#not only did sleep happen but my muscles stopped being bunched up and painful for a few hours

[karlwriting]

Your JJK darling but with a reversed personality

Featuring- Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento

Warnings- none, only fluff (A shy gojo and playful nanami)

Gojo Satoru (art by @teaforgods )

A quiet and self-contained sensei in JJK high school. Students often address him as a man of few words.

Acts cool, seems nonchalant to his surroundings. You always catch him quietly immersed in his thoughts. Sometimes, the corner of his month goes up , then a sigh follows.

‘What is he contemplating under the blindfold?’ You can’t help but wonder. It’s difficult to understand the strongest man.

He may seem cool, however, all his cool appearances change once you are around him.

To gojo, you always stand out.

Since when he can easily spot you out of a bunch of people? The way you walk, your cute gestures… Is it all because of the ability of his six eyes?

And why does he get so annoyed and upset to see you crying over Yuji’s death?

‘I’ll make sure the higher-ups die in the most painful way possible.’ The hate towards the higher-ups grew stronger in gojo’s mind.

Gojo didn’t know what these feelings were, and the knot tied in his heart was growing tighter everyday.

The moment he realized it’s called ‘affection’. Lord, it only gets so much worse.

He started to notice more about you. Your collar bones, the curve of your muscles when holding a bow.

Gojo feels so embarrassed to be like a stalker. He is just too… mesmerised by you.

He wants you to know how he feels, he wants you to know being friends is not enough and it’s driving him crazy.

He genuinely wants to tell you all of these, only the thought of it makes him impossibly shy. But deep down, he knows that action is needed.

‘I am a possessive man after all.’

Gojo invited you for a lunch today. You realize that you two spent more time together than before. To be honest, you have never felt this good.

“It’s not fair.”

“…Why do you say so? Did something happen to you recently?” Gojo says as he hands you a can of already opened coke.

“Oh thanks. I mean the blindfold. You can stare at anything without anyone knowing what you are staring at.”

“I get overly sensitive if i take my blindfold off.”

“Like all the stimulations to the senses get magnified?” You ask curiously.

“Yea, you can say that.”

‘…also how your existence stimulates me.’ He quietly thought.

“I see you always do the smirking thing under your blindfold… do you sense something that we don’t?”

You just caught Gojo off guard by this question. What should he answer? Will you think that he is a perv? Will you go away and never see him again?

“The reason of the smirk -” his voice trembles.

“- is that i find your reactions cute, unbearably cute. And you are the one i am always staring at.”

The only question on Gojo’s mind now is that:

Is there a blindfold for ears? So i can cover the redness of them?

Nanami Kento (art by @myaoruki)

You have never seen a lazy ass can be this sexy as Nanami Kento

Known to be the god of procrastination in the company. But his boss can’t brag anything about it because the work is excellently done.

If Nanami is believed to be the top employee, then you are the second. Despite the fact that you work overtime a lot, and he just leaves immediately at 6.

Your dark circles are what Nanami found cute and funny. How can this man tease your dark circles IN FRONT of your colleagues non stop?

“Did you not get enough of sleep because you kept thinking of me the whole night?”

“Darling I am sorry, i should have let you get enough of sleep last night. Sorry for being so rough.”

“Should we set boundaries every night?”

The colleagues around share each other a gaze, blushed.

Thanks to him, the entire office thinks that you both are dating. And he doesn’t deny it when people ask.

He seems playful, but deep down to his heart, the respect he has to you is tremendous.

If you want to stop the tease, he will gladly stop it and apologize.

He is 100% serious about you, he just doesn’t want to be too deadly serious at first. This is his strategy to grab your attention after all.

And to be honest, you don’t really hate it. It’s fun and talking to Nanami makes work more bearable.

But one day, a male employee approached you despite the rumours between you and Nanami.

That’s the moment he knew he must do something to show his growing affection to his girl.

You are working overtime as usual. Sitting alone in the office makes you feel kinda sentimental. Is your life just like this? Working non stop?

“Still working? Diligent girl?” You are so immersed in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize the approaching footsteps.

“Nanami? Such a surprise to see you in the office after 6.”

“I knew you would be here, hey- i bought us some food, let’s eat it.”

“What brings you here? Don’t tell me you are gonna work, people said you hate working.”

“Tell them to shut up, i love this company.” Nanami takes the food out then hands you a pair of chopsticks.

“For what?” He loves work? No way.

“Cuz you work here as well.”

“Oh cuz there’s a pair of dark circles you can tease at?” You roll your eyes.

“Ok i am deadly serious now, i worry about your lack of sleep.”

“Thanks, that new employee said he will take me to a sleep therapist. I guess i will go,”

“No. Not with him.” Nanami suddenly puts the chopstick down and stares at you. His hands grabbing your. You only sit here, confused.

“I mean… teasing you is not only for fun, i only want you to notice me. And maybe you don’t even need a therapist if you have me? I am offering myself to you now. Please?”

At least Nanami does not procrastinate in confessing.

[hederasgarden]

Okay, obligatory ask for a fic with Rooster x Reader x Hangman.

I'm normally not a sucker for "competition"-type fics, but oh my god, these two would constantly be sizing each other up or one upping the other. Like Hangman gets you flowers one day and smirks over at Rooster, but the next day, Rooster gets a bigger bouquet and winks at Hangman as you go in for a hug. Just like, a constant subtle dick-measuring competition. And like, they try to keep it subtle, but Reader knows this is happening and finally says something after one of them goes too far, and the boys placate Reader with a steamy NSFW session that's all about "teamwork" (if you know what I mean 😏).

Like, tell me that's not perfect????

Hello new best friend! I like how your brain works. 

I started writing this as a headcanon, but it got away from me. It’s now over 2.5K and going strong. It will probably take me a while to finish. I don’t want to leave your ask hanging so I hope you like the preview below.

I did switch things up a little. The reader runs Admiral Simpson’s office and due to a misunderstanding thinks Rooster and Hangman aren’t actually into her and are instead playing a game at her expense.

Let me know if this is something people want to read more of!

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader x Jake "Hangman" Seresin Word Count: 1K Rating: Mature (There is some cursing and sexually suggestive language).

You’ve heard rumors about pilots running games on unsuspecting women, competing for bragging rights like being the first to sleep with a girl or get her number. You never expected to be the subject of one, wrongly assuming no one was stupid enough to mess with the woman who managed the admiral's office. Except apparently for these two idiots. At first you’re too mad and embarrassed to address the issue, sitting with the revelation for a few days until a life-size stuffed bear arrives from Rooster. That’s when you know you need to do something and do it fast. The last thing you want is for your boss to catch wind of this. 

You send Rooster and Hangman a meeting invite from the admiral when you know your boss will be off base. Both men show up with Starbucks in hand for you and although it physically pains you to dump out good coffee, you relish the look on their faces when you drop the cups in the trash can. 

“This stops today,” you tell them, arms folded over your chest. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want no part of it. No more gifts or flowers.”

Both men exchange a look. 

"It's not a game ma'am," Hangman says. 

Your eyes narrow and you purse your lips. “Then what the hell are you doing?”

“Wooing you,” Rooster offers rubbing the back of his neck, a hopeful smile on his face. 

“Wooing me?” You repeat back, allowing them to hear how dumb they sound.

“We are interested in you,” Hangman adds, surprisingly earnest. 

“Sure. You both want to date me,” you say sarcastically. To their credit when you stand up they both take a step back immediately. “Here is what’s going to happen. I will oh so kindly not tell Admiral Simpson that his two best pilots are behaving like a bunch of 12-year-olds with nothing better to do than play mean games and you’re going to leave me alone.”

“Ma’am, it’s not–” Rooster starts, looking almost a little panicked. You cut him off with a raised hand. He glances at Hangman who watches you with a blank expression but then you see a muscle in his cheek jump.

"Moving forward I am the ark of the covenant to you. You do not look at me or touch me. If you do, I will make sure the admiral sends you off to the shittiest carrier in the pacific. Also if I hear that you’re playing this little game with someone else, the aforementioned threat will become a reality. Am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” they respond in unison. 

Rooster almost looks a little hurt. Hangman’s jaw is set and you catch him shooting his friend an angry look. They both linger for a moment after you sit back down at your desk, only leaving once it’s clear you have nothing more to say.

✥

For three days you don’t hear a peep out of either pilot. Then the admiral calls for a joint meeting that involves both of them. Hangman doesn’t greet you but you feel his eyes on you during the meeting. He’s got a toothpick in his mouth, working it hard enough it actually snaps in half while he’s staring you down. Rooster seems a little more cowed, giving you a quiet ma’am as he passes your desk. He looks forlorn enough that the admiral asks if someone shot his dog. 

It makes you feel a little bad about the dressing down you gave him. At least until the next day when you find him and Hangman waiting for you in the parking lot. Hangman’s leaning against your car looking completely unbothered, wearing a pair of aviators with his arms folded across his broad chest. Rooster’s standing at what you assume is his lax version of parade rest. When he spots you approaching he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“We come in peace. Just give us one minute and if you don’t like what we have to say we’ll go.”

You press tonight against your cheek. They were persistent, you’d give them that. “You have 30 seconds.” 

“To be blunt…we fucked up ma’am,” Rooster starts.

“You fucked up,” Hangman says pointedly. “I told you this wasn’t going to work from the start.”

“Well, you didn’t have any bright ideas at the time, did you hot shot?” Rooster fires back.

You clear your throat, tapping your wrist. Both men return their attention to you.

“Let me handle this,” Hangman says, pushing Rooster back and stepping into your space. He flicks his glasses down far enough to look at you over them, his green eyes uncharacteristically serious. “We are interested in you. It wasn’t a competition. Well, not a mean one but we got a little carried away with it.”

“You expect me to pick one of you to…what? Date? Sleep with?”

“Either, both if you like,” Hangman tells you confidently enough that you're a little impressed by how stupidly self assured he is.

“But then we got to thinking, maybe you don’t have to choose,” Rooster adds, clapping Hangman on the shoulder. “A two for one deal if you will.” He smiles at you, that trademark charm on display. 

You say nothing for several seconds, blinking rapidly. Whatever you were expecting from them, this wasn’t it. They’re both watching you but your expression is frozen. They couldn’t possibly be serious. 

“I think we broke her,” Rooster whispers, the corner of his mouth turned up under his mustache.  

“Nah, she’s imagining us all together,” Hangman says, winking at you. 

You actually weren’t until he suggested it but now you can feel heat creeping into your cheeks. That would certainly be a sight. All those tan muscles on display...the two of them working together for your pleasure. You just know Hangman would be the type to run his mouth during sex and something tells you Rooster is eager to please. 

“Think on it,” Hangman suggests, leaning in close enough that his breath tickles your ear as he moves past you. “If you’re interested we’ll be at the Rusty Monk tomorrow at 7.”

[soft-boi-eli]

Could I get a cc!dadza and mumza oneshot? Where they have a child and the child gets sick with the common cold or something like that and it's just a bunch of fluffy fluff?

He'll yes. I have one other request so I'm sorry that it took a bit! I promise that i didn't forget this request.

Being sick is a dick

Dadza and mumza x sick!preteen! reader

All you knew was that when you got up to go pee last night everything felt cold. You felt really weak. Extremely tired. And you were shaking so bad.

There was no reason on to why you were feeling like that. But when your mom woke you for school she immediately knew something was up.

Her hand touched your forehead, it felt nice. Flipping it over she sighed. "Phil. (Y/n) is staying home. They're running a fever." She called to your dad. You looked at her tired. "But mom-." "No buts you are staying home I know you have a project you have to do for school. That teacher can suck it. You can do it when you're better." She was quick to cut you off.

"Now do you want soup? Crackers? Toast? Tea?" Humming lightly you shook you head. "I wanna sleep." Giggling lightly she rubbed you're head. "I know but can you wait for a sec. I want you to take some ibuprofen to get that temperature down."

Humming once more you forced yourself awake. It was hard when that's all you wanted to do. With that new stuffy nose that random tingle in your throat. But she was quick and the medicine that was was getting would help with these hot flashes from hell.

Handing you the two pills she placed your water bottle on you're night stand. "Take those and get some rest sweet heart." Humming was the only thing that didn't hurt. So carefully taking the pills you laid back down.

"Text us if you need anything. I don't want you getting a head ache or making one worse." She seemed to catch onto the humming.

When she left you just curled up in your blanket. Surprisingly you fell right back to sleep. For how long you had no clue. Having not want the pain in your head to start again you haven't touched your phone. Sitting up carefully you just looked at the dimly lit wall. Feeling more like trash then earlier.

No headache.

Just weak, not hungry, a little washy in the head, and unstable.

You didn't want to exit the cacoon you were in but your bladder wasn't going to let you stay there.

The instant you sat down there was that uncomfortable colder feeling. It made your body feel weaker and that sick muscle feeling worse.

Not like you were gonna hurl. More of just uncomfortable. As you finished up you washed your hands. Just wanting to lay down again.

As you werebwalking back your mother ran up to you.

"Child you shouldn't be out of bed." Shrugging you spike quietly, "had to pee." Sighing at you she shook her head. "Go lay back down. I'll bring you some soup." Humming slightly you walked off.

The soft smile on her face told you she wasn't truly mad. Just worried. Understandable because here you were swaying and looking as frail as glass right now. But colds did that. What do you expect? To not feel like trash when your body was using energy to fight off a damed bacteria?

Not happening.

When you leaned against the wall, body against your wall you relaxed. Letting the muscles in your body not use up any energy they didn't need to.

"Hey. I brought the soup. We thought you would like some company." Your father and mother were at the door. Smiling gently at them you lightly shook you head. "You guys will get sick. I don't want that." Your dad stared at you. "You had my whole stream worried child. When your mom called out and told me that you had a fever everyone was worried about childza. And like a little cold will stop me."

"Dadza. When you got sick last time you acted like it was the end of the world." The two in front of you shared a laugh. Lightly chuckling you grabbed the soup that was offered to you.

Mumza made the best soup. When you were sick all you want is her soup. It makes you feel happy. Brightened up the bad feeling in your body.

"You two are so childish." Her voice was soothing. "Well I am still a kid." She hummed. "But your father isnt." Looking them in the eyes I raided my eye brows. "He streams minecraft of course he's a child." Letting out a laugh mumza couldn't help it.

Phil. He was shocked. His child. How could they.

"Oh come on dadza it was a joke I promise. You honestly make me. Laugh when I need it." Holding his hand to his chest he feigned distrust. "No. It's obvious I am the child of this house. Announced by my own child." Laughing at his dramatic acting you forgot about the sickness. This is what you needed. This was perfect.

This was family.

Again apologize it is on the shorter side. I'm just having motivation issues and due to some physical pain lately I haven't been focusing. But I had so much fun with this one.

I'll let you guys in on a secret that might show alot.

I have never had a good father figure. My bio dad left me. He wasn't a good father. Not for a long shot. So I don't mind that he's gone.

So I have no idea what fatherly love is.

I just try to think of what I wanted my father to do for me as a child. And use that as a father child relationship.

Anyways i hoped you liked.

Eli out!!

[silversatoru]

Can i regurst a gojo x reader smut where y/n is gojo’s ex girlfriend and also a strong jujutsu sorcerer and they get back together asdfghjkl 🥺😂? Tyy 🥺

hehhee yes ma’am here u are!!! i actually loved writing this one (i think i just have a thing for writing gojo lately lmao) anyway! i! hope! you! enjoy!

to heaven and back

gojo satoru x f! sorcerer!reader

synopsis: you and your ex, gojo satoru, beat the hell out of a few special grade curses and then head back to his house to rekindle an old (and kind of kinky) flame

tags/warnings: nsfw (18+), smut, handcuffs, blindfolding, little bit of oral sex, teasing, alcohol consumption, some fluff at the end? just a little

word count: 3.1k

You lifted your elegant glass of random wine that you could care less about knowing the name of, and took a long sip. All of these old rich bastards talked way too much about brand names, aging, and what cheese paired well with each wine. They were missing what was really important — which one would get you drunk the quickest. 

These kinds of formal events weren’t really your scene, and having to listen to a bunch of old, conservative, high-up jujutsu leaders was terribly boring — so why not take this opportunity to get a little tipsy? You deserved it for putting up with all of these assholes. After all, the only reason they invited you to this prestigious event was for protection. If that pesky band of special grade curses caught wind that all of the higher ups from both Kyoto and Tokyo were in the same place, they were sure to launch some kind of attack. The old, wrinkly douchebags couldn’t care less about your opinions of the jujutsu world and how you would change it, they only liked you for incredible cursed technique. 

And so here you were, spitefully wearing your most elegant dress and downing glasses of wine in an attempt to drown out all of the nonsense around you. There was only one thing that could make this event any worse and— 

“Hello everyone! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer has arrived — I know you were all looking forward to my appearance”. 

And there it was. There was that one thing that could make this event any worse. Gojo Satoru.

You dipped your head low, burying yourself in your glass of wine and praying to any god who would listen to not let this man see you. It’s been over two years since the two of you broke up, but he still wasn’t someone you enjoyed running into. 

Gojo was terribly notorious for having a long line of girls at his disposal, and with his incredible strength and annoyingly good-looks, it wasn’t hard to understand why. The two of you had never been in an officially committed relationship, and so technically Gojo was free to do as he pleased — but you were practically dating and your heart ached every time you caught wind of him being with another woman. And so two years ago you cut things off with him for good — you were tired of being the one he always ran back to at the end of the day. 

He’d looked at you with eyes full of pain that night, begging and pleading to stay with him. He showed you a vulnerable side to him that you had never seen before — and he swore to you that if you had asked to make things official, he would have committed himself to you fully. You declined however, because you felt like you shouldn’t have needed to ask for that kind of thing — but maybe that was just your ego getting in the way. 

“Hey, beautiful, I’ve never seen you around before, you must be from the Tokyo campus,” Some random assistant casually leaned against the counter you were sitting at and shook you out of your thoughts.

“If you’ve never seen me before then you must not be very important,” You shot him a distasteful glance, taking another sip of your wine. 

The man’s face lit up with panic — he must not have been expecting such retaliation to his pathetic attempt of flirting. 

“Are you bothering her?” A familiar voice came from behind you — a long, slender hand slapping down onto your shoulder, “Please don’t flirt with my wife”. 

“Ah- Wife? I’m so sorry, sir,” The man stumbled over his words, bowing his head to Gojo and scurrying away. 

Gojo wasted no time sliding into the seat next to you and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle you’d already been working on. 

“Really? You’re telling people I’m your wife now?” You gave him a deadpanned look. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his glass. 

You rolled your eyes hard, “Why are you here, Satoru?” 

“Same reason as you. The old, conservative pussies are afraid those special grades might attack — so why not invite their two prized sorcerers to protect them?” 

“Fair,” You let out a heavy sigh, “Not sure that was their best move though — I don’t think either one of us is very motivated to save these fuckers”. 

“No, but I brought my students with me today. So, if anything does happen, make sure you put on a show for them,” He winked, already topping off his wine glass. 

You looked over to see a few kids sitting a couple tables away from the two of you, chatting amongst themselves and wondering why the fuck they had to be here. 

And so an hour or two went by, and to your surprise, you found yourself laughing hysterically alongside Gojo. The two of you had definitely drank a bit too much, and your personalities complimented each other a little too perfectly. You shared the same terrible sense of humor and he had quite the knack for bringing out this lighthearted side of you. You had missed moments like this these past two years. 

Neither of you were paying any attention to the current debate that was occurring between the higher ups when a loud crash sent broken pieces of glass flying through the grand hall. Sure enough, the curses had made their appearance and came flying into the building through a now broken window.

“It’s our time to shine, huh?” Gojo looked over at you, and you imagined that his icy blue eyes were swirling with excitement under that mask. 

“Yeah, let’s make this quick,” You found a warm ball of excitement churning in your own stomach — it’d been a long time since the two of you had fought together. 

Your technique revolved around the manipulation of cursed energy and converting it into light. You could wrap yourself in a shield of light, send curse-filled bursts of light at your enemies, and move at the speed of light as well — which was almost as efficient as Gojo’s teleportation abilities. You had a series of more advanced moves as well, but those required more energy output and therefore you used them a little less often.

The two of you were both able to move so fast that the curses really didn’t stand a chance. You found yourself laughing as you flipped through the air, hurling balls of light at the curses as Gojo worked closer in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, while the two of you were flying past each other, Gojo stuck out his hand and gave you a high five, both of you smiling like maniacs who enjoyed fighting a little too much. 

Between Gojo’s Limitless and your extreme agility and bursts of light, the curses were quickly forced to flee. Both of you were feeling much too drunk and much too lazy to chase after them, even with all of the higher ups begging you to do so. Gojo simply flipped them off and stuck out his tongue, saying that he did what they paid him to do — keep the curses away — and now that the curses had been scared off, he was no longer needed. 

“You want to come back with me, relieve more of our old memories together? I remember how much you loved sleeping in my king sized bed,” Gojo looked back at you, offering one of his large, slender hands. 

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your stupid, stupid heart, but you reached out and took his hand, “Fuck it, let’s go”. 

Gojo’s house on the outskirts of the Tokyo campus was just as you remembered — sleek black interior with modern furniture and extravagantly silky sheets on his bed — his same bed that you were currently sprawled out on, laying in nothing but your undergarments. 

Gojo joined you a couple minutes later, his bare skin warm and familiar against yours. He pressed a few sloppy kisses to your lips, both of you still incredibly tipsy and unable to stop the small giggles from leaking out between your lips while you kissed. 

“Take the blind fold off you weirdo,” You pulled at the back of the black fabric. 

“Mmm, okay,” He mumbled, undoing the knot and exposing his piercing blue eyes.

“So pretty,” You murmured under your breath — his eyes really were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life

His fluffy silver hair fell down messily over his face, a drunken smile stretched across his lips. His smile quickly turned into a devilish grin as he slipped the mask over your eyes instead, tying a tight not at the back of your head.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You droned, but you didn’t argue — you certainly weren’t opposed to being blindfolded.

“It looks good on you,” He slurred, his words messy and his lips even messier as he pressed them back against yours. 

The kisses seemed to last forever, and both of you were perfectly okay with that — your hands taking their time exploring each other’s bodies for the first time in far too long. 

Gojo’s hands worked their way up your back, tracing lines along your toned muscles until he finally reached the nape of your neck. His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, soft hums coming from his lips.

“I still have handcuffs, if you’re still into that sort of thing,” he mused, massaging his fingertips into your scalp. 

“Damn, I can’t believe you remember what I like. I thought my preferences would have gotten lost among the sea of other women you were pleasing,” You let the snarky remark roll off your tongue, though there was clearly no real spite in your words — you’re both adults and what happened then was in the past now.

“It wasn’t even that many,” He defended, “And you were the only one who ever mattered”. 

“I’m flattered,” You laughed, “Now, where are those handcuffs?” 

Gojo stifled a deep laugh, his hands leaving your hair as he lifted himself up and stood from the bed. When he returned a few moments later, there was cool metal wrapping around both of your wrists. He had two sets of handcuffs, putting one on each wrist and then hooking the other side to the bed posts. 

You were entirely at his disposal now, your hands secured over your head and your vision blocked off by the black mask. 

“I could tickle you right now and there’s nothing you could do,” Gojo observed aloud, pressing kisses up the side of your torso.

“Satoru, I would kick the living shit out of you,” You threaten, goosebumps growing under your skin. 

“Yeah, but you can’t touch me unless I let you,” He retaliated, his soft hands reaching underneath your bra to feel your breasts.

You groaned in response — his Limitless really did make him impossible.

He cupped each of his hands around your firm lumps, gently massaging them between his fingers. His cool fingertips then made their way down to your lower body, swiftly removing your remaining underwear. You were now completely exposed to him, chills running down your spine as you wondered what he would do next. 

You heard a shaky breath leave his lips, his hungry hands massaging circles into your thighs, “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you so much, you know that?” 

“I’m sure you did,” You breathed, “I’m a wonderful person to be around”. 

Gojo let out a hearty laugh, and you heard what you assumed to be the sound of his own underwear getting thrown to the floor. A few seconds later he was straddling your torso, his warm thighs wrapped around your body. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his massive member had to be right in front of your face now. 

“Remind me what that pretty mouth can do,” He cooed, pressing the tip of his length gently to your lips. 

You graciously granted him access, parting your lips and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive tip, earning a few twitches from Gojo’s body. You began to bob your head back and forth as much as the handcuffs allowed, a few quiet moans leaving his throat in response. 

He began to move his hips against you, gingerly pushing his member deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were taking the full length down your throat. He groaned and let a few curse words slide from between his teeth — your mouth was wrapped so perfectly around him. Tears pricked at your eyes and a couple rough gags ripped through your throat, Gojo finally pulling away and allowing you to catch your breath. 

After that, you felt a single one of his long, slim fingers slide into your mouth, and you wasted no time wrapping it in your tongue and sucking hard. 

“Good girl,” He murmured, plucking his finger back out of your mouth and moving it down to your aching entrance. 

Between the saliva on his finger and the slick juices around your opening — his finger slid in effortlessly. He started moving in quick movements, curling his finger up into your g-spot each time. A few light moans left your lips, your fists clenching in the cuffs as your yearned for more. His finger felt good, but you wanted the real thing — you needed it.

“Satoru, please,” You practically whined his name, a tiny bit ashamed for how desperate you were for him right now. 

“Patience, love,” He clicked his tongue and your heart did somersaults at the endearing name. 

He removed his singular finger and intertwined it with a second one before sliding them back into your cavern. He picked up a steady pace again, your breath hitching in your throat. Two fingers was certainly better than one, but the continuous teasing was just making you even more desperate to feel his member inside of you. You mumbled his name over and over, small pleads and shameless whispers leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hands.

“No ones fucked you as good as I used to, have they? You’re horribly desperate right now” He clicked his tongue again, removing his fingers and moving them up to your clit. He rubbed the smallest, softest circles against the small nub, your core growing warmer with desire. 

“I won’t make you wait any longer then,” He whispered, sitting back and positioning the head of his length against your throbbing cunt. 

“Please,” You mumbled fervently, any ego or pride that you once had was completely down the drain now. 

Your pleads were finally rewarded, Gojo pressing himself deep into your tight walls. The immediate feeling was complete bliss, your head rolling back in pleasure as you heard a throaty moan creep it’s way out of Gojo’s mouth. His moans were so pretty — god, you’d missed the sound of them.  

He moved in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace at first, your hips bucking and wiggling as you made fervent attempts to make him go faster.

“So eager…” He shook his head, continuing to move at a pace that was absolutely agonizing — you thought you might die if he didn’t rail the hell out of you soon. 

“Please, fuck,” You gasped, “Stop moving so goddamn slowly”. 

“Your whines are so pretty, baby. Say my name and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” He murmured, his voice low and husky. 

“Fucking hell,” You gritted your teeth, “Please Satoru, please fuck me already”. 

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, your words sending electricity coursing through his body. 

After hearing you say that, he was quick to give you what you wanted, picking up his pace and wrapping his hands firmly around your hips. Strangled combinations of moans, whimpers, and cries filled the air as they flew from your mouth. You didn’t care how loud or desperate you sounded, you wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

The two of you were an entangled mess of sweaty skin and throaty moans, Gojo filling your ears with praises and compliments the entire time. His lengthy member railed into you over and over, hitting that perfect pleasure point with each stroke and sending warm surges of ecstasy through your veins. 

Your bodies moved together in sync, your breaths aligning and your climaxes threatening to arrive simultaneously. After a few more firm strokes, you felt yourself drowning in pleasure — euphoria crashing through your body like waves. Gojo reached his end point just a few moments later, his loud cuss words and strangled moans filling your ears. 

The two of you rode out your orgasms together, and almost immediately afterwards Gojo collapsed next to you. He lazily reached up and uncuffed each of your hands, leaving the cuffs dangling from his bed posts just in case there was a round two in his future. He rolled the sticky condom off his member and tossed into a nearby trash bin, a relaxed sigh slipping between his parted lips. You peeled the black mask off of your eyes, finally able to meet his again. 

He was staring at you with eyes filled with all kinds of emotions — the emotions that he’d been too afraid to admit to the first time the two of you were together. But he wasn’t afraid of commitment anymore, he was absolutely certain about what he wanted, and it was you. 

“Stay with me,” He asked, his eyes pleading with you, “I’m ready this time, I promise. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me”. 

You found a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you looked deeper into his eyes, “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you still feel this way when you wake up sober tomorrow”. 

“I’ll feel this way forever,” He pressed his head into you and mumbled into your chest, “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it”. 

You wrapped your arms around him in response, the two of you fitting impeccably together. He placed a few gentle kisses to your skin before his breathes began to slow. You found your own breathing to be evening out, your cloudy thoughts pushing you closer and closer to sleep. The two of you slowly drifted off together, your heavy breaths falling perfectly in sync.

[asupernaturalgirl]

Bruises At The Bar

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Someone leaves a bruise on the reader when she goes to the bar with some friends. She tries to keep it from Sam so he won’t worry. 

A/N: This is a little different than what I’ve written before but I’m hoping you like it. I wanted to highlight the fact that being protective over someone is okay, but stopping them from doing the things they want to do is not and Sam strikes me as the kind of guy that would understand that.  I hope everyone enjoys it!

Warnings: Creep at the bar, bruises, worry

                                                            ...                                                                 

If you could stay in a hotel and avoid your boyfriend for the next few days, you would. You stood in front of the door to the bunker, contemplating whether or not to go inside and hide the freshly forming bruise on your arm or instead hide yourself for the next few days. The idea of putting Sam in that much of a panic just because of someone that happened at a bar didn’t seem all that appealing to you. 

Sam always wanted to give you as much autonomy as he possibly could. He was so respectful and never wanted you to feel like he was holding you back or being too possessive just because he was worried for your safety. That was why he always encouraged you to go out with your friends whenever they were around. It wasn’t healthy to only be around your boyfriend for the rest of your life and he could take a few hours of worrying if it meant you got to live a happy, enjoyable life. 

Your best friends had come into town to visit you. You had to be very hush hush about hunting and knowing that you had some profession that required you to be very secretive, your friends had offered to stay in a motel nearby and you could all go out together one night. Sam was so happy to see you happy and encouraged you to do it when you showed hesitance. He said he wanted to make sure you were getting a break from the everyday drain that your lives could be at times. 

Everyone was going fine. You’d dressed up nice at their motel and all of you left together, walking into the bar confidently and ordering the drinks you wanted. Occasionally a guy would come up and try to talk to the three of you. The group would playfully flirt until finally telling the men they were just having fun tonight. 

One guy got a little bit too into it though. He was flirting specifically with you, obviously very interested in the cleavage that showed in your dress. Used to wearing flannel shirts and jeans, you slowly were becoming more and more self conscious. Finally, you asked the man to leave, telling him you had a boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested,” You started, shaking your head and turning your body away just slightly to try to end the conversation. “I’m just out having fun with my friends. I’m actually already with someone.”

“That’s okay,” He leaned in too close, his breath hitting your cheeks. “I won’t tell him we did anything.”

You gave him a warning stare and pushed him away slightly. “Well, you won’t have to because nothing is gonna happen. Now leave, please.”

“C’mon,” He reached up to push a piece of your hair away and you cringed back, trying to move away from him. Your friends had now ended their conversation next to you and noticed the creep you were dealing with. “Just one night. It won’t take long.”

You reached up and moved his hand away from you. You wanted to break his hand, to break his wrist, but it would bring too much attention upon you and you weren’t sure if this was the time to use those skills. Dean had taught you those things for hunting. Would this even be an appropriate time to use it?

“Get away, dude,” You exclaimed firmly, giving him one final warning. Your friends were beginning to back you up, wanting him to go away as well. 

Finally, his anger came to an accumulation and he grabbed your arm, pressing so hard that you let out an exclamation of pain. “Ah, what the hell?!”

As soon as the gasp of pain came out, your two friends pushed him away and the bouncer had now become aware of the situation. He quickly walked over, grabbed the man by the back of the shirt and escorted him out of the building. After making sure you were okay and safe, you and your friends decided to call it a night and left the bar. 

You finally made the final decision to enter the bunker and attempt to wear long sleeves for a few days until he would inevitably find the bruise and you could pass it off as something other than the imprint of a male’s hand. Pushing your key into the doorknob, you walked into the entry and smiled at Dean who was sitting at the table on his computer and drinking a beer.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” He said, using the affectionate nickname only he used as he turned away from the computer and towards you. “Did you get hammered?”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing and chuckled slightly, setting your purse on the hook beside the door and moving towards the table to sit down with him. “Anything to forget the past, Dean. Where’s Sammy?”

He furrowed his brows and covered his heart with his hand. “Am I not good enough for you?”

“Where is he?”

“He’s taking a shower. You know how he has to do anything to not worry about you when you’re gone,” He said, going back to searching on the computer for a small case to go on. We weren’t looking for anything too big recently but if need be, we would go. 

Sam tried not to let you know that he worried about you, but you knew he did. When you came home from anything you did alone, a thousand things would always be done. It was the only way to keep his mind busy. After losing so many people he loved, it was nearly impossible for him to just go about life as usual. It wasn’t always bad though. You knew all you had to do was pick up the phone and he would be where you were in a matter of minutes. 

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” You let out a sigh and pushed back from the table, walking slowly down the hall. “Night, Dean.”

“Good night.”

Your boyfriend stood in the room the two of you shared, a towel around his waist. His muscles flexed slightly as he took another towel to his hair. While you definitely enjoyed his physique, it was the way his eyes lit up when he noticed you that made you feel almost completely better after the eventful visit to the bar. 

“Hey, baby,” He said, walking over and kissing you on the lips slightly before going back to dressing from the shower. He put on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, knowing he would be going to bed soon. “How was the bar?”

You walked to the bed and laid down, allowing the muscles in your body to completely relax. “Good. You know that’s not really my scene though. I usually just go for Y/B/F/N.”

He nodded. Whenever Dean would try to drag the two of you to a bar, you would always try to fight it. Usually, you could convince the older brother to go to a diner if you promised to buy him pie.  On other occasions, he still forced you to go and you would sit with Sam in the corner, slowly sipping a drink.

Sam crossed the room and got on the bed with you, slowly wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer. “You want to put some pajamas on so you can get ready for bed?”

It was hard to imagine how you were going to pull this off without bringing attention to yourself. You’d been with Sam for a while now and getting dressed in the same room was commonplace. You stood up from the bed and grabbed some clothes to sleep in and began making your way towards the bathroom. 

“You gonna take a shower?” He questioned, wondering why you were leaving to the restroom. 

There was your excuse. “Yeah, I’m just feeling a little icky from the bar. Bunch of sweaty bodies all together, not a fan.”

He laughed at your explanation of the bar and turned on the TV in the room, decided to watch a bit of television until you came back into the room. 

You changed in the bathroom, sliding on one of Sam’s long sleeve t-shirts. It comforted you to have his scent around you. Even though you liked to imagine yourself as a strong, independent woman, and you were, you had still wished for a moment in that bar that Sam would have walked through the doors and helped you. He wouldn’t have even allowed it to get as far as it did. 

Exiting the bathroom and slowly padding across the floor, you climbed into bed on top of Sam. He turned off the TV and moved his hands around your waist, holding you close to him. “I’m happy you had fun with your friends. You deserve it more than you know.”

It always made you blush when he talked like this to you. He was so kind, so considerate. “Thank you, Sammy.”

The two of you laid together for a while, enjoyed each other’s company. He would occasionally press a kiss to the side of your head while his hand gently moved up and down your back. You asked yourself constantly how you deserved him? How was this the man that walked into your life all those years ago? 

“I need to go get a glass of water,” Sam said, moving to stand up. He moved his hand over and pressed against your arm as he lifted himself from the bed. You let out a wince and tried to quickly cover it up. He had already noticed. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You winced. What did I do?” He quickly tried to grab your arm but you pulled it away. He didn’t need to worry more than he already did. “Did I hurt you that bad? Just show it to me.”

“Sammy-” 

“Y/N, if I hurt you bad, I want to see it,” He was being more stern now, slowly growing frustrated with himself for what he thought he had done. You moved to the side of the bed and let your feet touch the ground. 

“You didn’t do it, Sam,” You finally said. If he thought he had hurt you, he would never forgive himself. “It happened at the bar and you just happened to press on it when you got up.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he took in your words. “What do you mean it happened at the bar?”

Sliding up the sleeve on your shirt, you allowed him to see the fingerprint shaped bruises. His eyes widened and he gently took your arm, running his thumb along your skin. “Who did this?”

His eyes met yours. You could see that he was trying to remain cool to keep you calm but could see the fury brewing in his eyes. “This guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was trying to get me to leave with him and he grabbed me a little too hard.”

Sam closed his eyes and kissed the bruise, looking up at you painfully. “I should have been there. I would have made him leave.”

“It was okay, Sammy,” You reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. He always felt guilty when you were hurt. “As soon as it happened, my friends pushed him away and the bouncer got him. Everything was okay.”

“You don’t have to hide things like this from me, Y/N. I want to know when things happen.”

Dean peeked through the open door to say goodnight to Sam and stopped when he saw the position you two were in. “Everything okay?” 

He was the one you really had to worry about. While Sam was concerned with respecting your autonomy and making sure you felt supported in your relationship, Dean saw you more as his sister and had no issue telling you no in order to protect you. He didn’t see the same relationship boundaries that Sam did. “Just dealt with a guy at the club.”

The older brother seemed concerned as he moved into the room. He got a look at your arm and clenched his jaw. “What bar?”

“Dean, pipe down. It’s not a big deal. I’m fine, I’m safe. He was just getting a little pushy,” You said it to Dean but directed it to both of the brothers. He bit his lip and rolled his eyes, walking out of the room. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam apologized. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with this sh*t when you go out to have fun.”

You shook your head. “It happens, Sammy. I just didn’t want you to be worried.”

“I’ll never stop you from doing the things you want to do, Y/N,” He said, pushing your hair back slightly. “Although, I wouldn’t mind if you let me come with you and sit separately next time.”

You laughed and laid back in the bed. It seemed like the best solution for the current problem. “Thank you for being the best boyfriend, Sam.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I know. I am pretty great.”

[dragon-of-dreams]

A Debt to pay

My Masterlist

Pairing: dark!mafia!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: noncon; breading kink; threats, murder, readers parents are dead, reader getting hit across the face, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Seariously, this is some really dark shit with some astonishingly soft sx... No idea how that happened... 18+!!!

No mentions of y/n, and reader is kinda an off because she has a back-story but no physical descriptors are used.

Summary: Your dad dies unexpectedly and you take over running the family cafè. The costs for your daddy’s funeral bring the head of the Barnes family to your doorstep as you struggle to keep up with the payments for a loan you had no idea your dad had taken out with them. You get “offered” an alternative method of payment.

a/n: this was a request by the lovely @oneoftheprettynerds

I hope I did it justice! Thank you for being the most patient person in the world, when Covid, life, exams, life and so on and so forth got in the way of your wish!

Prompt: Can I please get a dark mafia bucky or peter with noncon and breeding kink? With a side of people hitting on reader

 Wordcount: 2,800

 In all seriousness, you had to consider yourself lucky. Most people in this small city had it worse than you. Most didn’t have their own business, certainly not at your age, and most would never have enough money to even dream about that. Your town had the habit of sucking money out of people faster than they could make it and as of late that was also the case for you.

           After your dad had died unexpectedly in a car crash, money had been tight, really tight. You’d never known how fucking expensive funerals were and his drained all the savings you had, just before you’d managed to scrambled together enough for a community college education in business. Now you were left an orphan in your early twenties running a café on only the knowledge you’d learnt from your dad with no prospects of an education. Now you were as stuck as everybody else in town.

           What made matters even worse was the bill you’d gotten two weeks after the funeral. A bill from the one company in town nobody wanted one from. Rich men running successful businesses on the backs of the honest town’s people by draining their money. The mafia. Sharks in suits.

           According to the bill your dad had borrowed money from them 10 years ago. Your best guess was that he had needed it for your mother’s funeral and had never told you. Be that how it may, you didn’t know how to pay that bill. So you asked for time and put in extra hours, keeping the café open til late at night.

           You hated the extra hours. Not only because you got less sleep and had to work so much more and couldn’t afford to hire more employees but also because the later it got the more aggressively people hit on you.

           You hated them. All those men coming in once the sun set, calling you their sweetheart like you were property and grabbing at you and you having to smile and flirt because you needed their tips. Desperately. And yet it seemed to make no difference. There was just no money to be made in this town.

           Bucky Barnes, the head of the Romanov family had given you two months to come up with the next payment, and you knew that you’d end up dead in a ditch with them ceasing your café if you didn’t make it.

           So you smiled and joked with the moms coming in in the mornings and afternoons and flirted and swayed for their husbands at night. When you were in your little apartment above the café after you finally closed you usually cried yourself to sleep. And all throughout the day you would see him. See Bucky fucking Barnes watching you. At first you thought you were imagining it, but he was driving past your café in way too regular intevals, and would even occasionally take up one of your tables. You always sent other staff to serve him, you couldn’t bare to go to him, but his cold blue eyes never left you.

           Over those two month it became abundantly clear that you would never manage to come up with $2,000. And when one of Bucky’s men came in on the Wednesday before the Friday the payment was due, you thought of the 1,200 bucks you’d managed and wanted to cry.

           You knew the man, you’d gone to school with his younger brother Peter who had been a royal pain in your ass, having provided a glimpse of the harassment by the men you now faced every evening. Still you smiled at him: “Steve, hi, what can I get you?” ignoring that you had already flipped your sign to closed and where moping the floors.

           “Hi y/n, a coffee would be great, if you still got some” Steve answered while inspecting your café like he already owned the place.

           “Sure thing!” You tried to sound chipper, but the strain in you voice was audible, as you went behind the counter and got the machine going.

“Sugar? Milk?” you asked, with your back turned to Steve, hoping to draw out the inevitable.

“Just sugar, thanks.” Steve sounded gruff and distant and you knew you’d lost. He probably already knew that you wouldn’t be able to pay. He had accompanied Bucky a bunch of times, never ordered anything, just watched and listened, as Bucky drank or ate. The men had attracted stares. Not only because they were mafia, but because for personified devils, they sure looked like gods.

As you set his coffee before him he asked: “So what can I tell my boss to expect on Friday?” You stared at Steve in his perfectly tailored suit in harsh contrast to the homey but ultimately grimy café surrounding him as you decided on what to say. He looked amazing, and you hated him for it.

Steve raised an eyebrow at you. He was getting impatient. “I… I have a little over half.” You muttered and looked down at your hands, twisted tightly together. “My daddy’s funeral cost so much money, and I” you were interrupted by Steve’s fist hitting the countertop, making you flinch. His rage was pouring out of him so suddenly, taking over everything else. He seethed: “Safe your excuses, little girl. Just make sure to get the money. Bucky isn’t as lenient as I am.” With that, Steve got up from the bar, drained his coffee in one long gulp and left without giving you the chance to beg. You would have. You would do anything now if it meant saving your life. ‘Lenient’, you thought. How was any of this lenient?

           On Friday morning, you didn’t want to get up, much less open the café, but you did both. You put a notice outside that you would close earlier tonight, so Barnes and his henchmen wouldn’t scare off your customers and then you went to work.

           The entire day felt like molasses. Time didn’t move at all, it left you fidgety and nervous. You screwed up more orders than you were willing to admit and then suddenly time jumped and it was 6 p.m. and the sun was setting and you’d closed the café down, pulled all curtains closed except for the front door and were sitting there, waiting. What for, you didn’t know.

           At 6:30 a black limousine came to a stop before your café and Barnes and Peter got out. Which you decided was a good sign. Surley if they were to kill you, they would’ve brought some muscle, not lanky Peter… Bucky Barnes wouldn’t get his hands dirty with you, would he? Or was that what Peter was for? Did he still have to prove himself in the company?

           As Bucky entered you wished it would just end now. To your sheer horror, Peter stayed outside, blocking the door, leaving you all alone with the man you feared most in this world. He looked just like everytime he’d previously entered your café. His suit fit perfectly and you could see the muscle beneath. He was astonishingly beautiful. If he only were so on the inside as well, you mused.

“Hi sweetheart,” Bucky drawled as he approached you, “Steve told me you don’t have my money.” You shrunk in on yourself, but nodded, as Bucky came to tower over you.

“That’s not good, angel, not at all. Why don’t you come out from behind the counter and we sit down and talk about it, huh?”

All you could do was nod. “What happened? Cat got your tongue?” Bucky teased as he grabbed you by the elbow and led you to a boot in the corner of the café, way out of view from the front door. His touch was startingly kind. You had prepared for pain, but were met with kind support. Your brow furrowed.

“I…” You looked up at him. “I g got $1,300. I know that’s not enough, but”

“Shh.” Bucky murmured and pushed you down onto the bench, took of his suit jacket, hung it carefully over a nearby chair and then caged you in by sitting at your side. You were trapped and you were shaking with fear.

Bucky was so much taller than you and even through his perfectly tailored black dressshirt you could see his muscles bulging. You couldn’t decide weather you wanted to start sobbing into his chest or punch him in the stomach. “Steve already told me all about that, angel, don’t worry, I already came up with a new payment plan.”

“You’re not mad?” you question, to terrified to be hopeful.

“Well, I am not thrilled, but I’ve always had a softspot for this place. My pa used to take me when I was little. I watched you grow up, you know?”

Hope bloomed like desert rose in your heart. He knew you! He had a connection to you! That surely meant he wouldn’t kill you. You’d figure out the money. Suddenly you were certain that you could do it.

“really? That’s – I never knew…” Your voice was fluttering with hope.

“Well, it’s a small town.” Bucky’s voice was calm and soothing. You almost forgot that you were squished between him and the wall.

“And with me seeing you grow up, and seeing all the other women in town I decided that you would give me an heir to take here. To watch people with, so he too could choose his wife. An heir for me and forgiveness for your debt and a happy home life for you.” Your world stopped spinning. It screeched to a halt.

“What? No, Bucky, I…” Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulled you close. The arm was tight across you back and stole your words from you as fear spread from every spot he touched throughout your entire body.

“You’re a hard worker, you have a drive for better and higher things. I like that. It’ll make you a diligant mother, you know angel? And that is what I need. A good mother to the boy who will inherit this town, don’t you agree?”

You sit there frozen, unable to reply. Your brain is going a thousand miles an hour trying to find a way, any way, to get away, but before you can do anything Bucky grabs your right hand and presses it to his crotch. He’s hard. The calm demeanour falls off him suddenly as he growls: “Here is how this will go, angel,” he starts to move your hand up and down his crotch, “I will let go of your hand and you will undo my pants and get me ready and then I will have that little pussy of yours on this table. I mean it ain’t romantic, but once you are my little wife I’ll make up for that, sweetheart.”

You swallow hard, press your eyes closed and feel him move his hand over the fine cotton of his suit and his hard length underneath, then you force yourself to nod. It’s a jerking, hurtful motion, but Bucky released you hand, as he leans back on the bench, spreading his legs, opening himself up to you.

You want to thrash out, but instead you shaking hands wander to his belt. “Go on, now. we ain’t got all night, darling.” You are tearing up, but do as you’re told. You lean slightly over him and undo his belt first, then his pants. His cock strains against his boxer briefs and you gulp. Bucky lifts his hips and you push his pants and underwear down.

His cock is beautiful. Long and thick and veined and you can’t help but press your thighs together at the sight. Bucky notices and smirks down at you. “Now that’s a good girl. Keep it up and I make sure you enjoy yourself!” he whispers in your ear as he guides your hands to his dick.

As you jerk him, you realize that you underestimated his size. Your fucked. Literally. There is no way you’re gonna enjoy this. Bucky shoves his left hand up your skirt suddenly and you freeze until he clears his throat and startles you back into action, while his fingers start exloring your sex.

“You know,” Bucky explains, “I find it helps ladies to go down on a guy before actually fucking. Gets them nice and ready, you know?” One of his fingers slides into your tight chanel, “But with you it seems we don’t need that. The sight of my cock alone made you cream. I knew there was something special about you!” He grins and removes his hand. “We might still have to work on your handjob skills though…” he muses, grips your hand and removes it form his dick, as he gets up.

You shrink back but he pulls you out after him. Finally, blessedly, your panic response sets in any you try to struggle, but Bucky’s hold on your arm tightens painfully and his left hand hits you across the face before you even see it coming and it makes your world spin. “Stop it, now!” Bucky barks at you and you freeze. Your feeble attempts forgotten as Bucky lifts you onto the table and rips your panties off. You start sobbing as he bends your right leg to your shoulder and situates himself.

“Sssh,” he cooes at you softly, “I’ll make it better, baby, just one moment.” His suddenly warm voice lulls you into a false sense of security as you stare into his deep blue eyes. They are bewitching you, and you only feel him push in when it’s too late.

He sheethes himself in one agonizingly long stroke. The pain breaks you out of your reverie, you arch your back and groan. It hurts! It hurts so much, and yet you want more, so much more. “Bucky!” you plead, you sob, you whine and once more there it is, the calm voice of the devil now owning your life, rolling in like the tide washing over you, calming you. “I know my sweet pet, I know, just relax now. Just breathe.” And you do. You can’t help yourself.

Bucky lets out a pained moan as you settle around him, and once your clenched eyes flutter back open, once your back comes back down from its painful arch, the god above you starts to move. Every drag and push is better than the last. He hits home every time. His dick lights up a pathway to your pleasure, with every sharp, hard, relentlessy painful thrust, in time with his pubic hair grinding against your clit. A particularly hard thrust shifts his cock so it hits your cervix and you scream with pain and pleasure. Your arms reach up, your hands burying themselves in his thick hair as Bucky leans in closer to you, bending you in half on that table, and nuzzles at your neck as he starts to hammer into you. Every thrust is pure bliss. You want to feel ashamed, you want to push him away, but all you can feel is the drag and glide of his cock, his pelvis against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix. You are on fire and the coil in your core is ready to explode. The intensity of Bucky’s thrusts never wavers, even as you feel him swell even further as his balls draw up and that tiny change breaks you, your orgasm explodes and you cry out in ecstatic pleasure, just as Bucky falters and shoots his cum in thick long strokes into you. His warmth joing yours as he lazily pumps to stop within you.

You only come back to yourself as Bucky pulls out slowly and you can feel your combined, cooling spend trickle down your legs. He eases your leg back down and kisses you softly as you start crying. “Ssh, darling, you’re alright. You’re done. Your debt is paid and you’ll be my wife in no time, the mother to my heir. You did so good, angel!” He coos sweet nothing at you until you can control your crying enough to speak.

“Bucky, I’m not on anything! What if it really takes?” you whimper, emerging from the fantasy he built up in your head.

“That is rather the point!” He snaps harshly. The calm voice gone as quickly as it emerged. You shiver as you realize the extent of what he said before. He really meant it all… Bucky pulls up his pants. “Pack up your things, lovely, tomorrow I’ll pick you up and you are moving in with me, so I can keep an eye on you!” With that Bucky pulls on his suit jacket and heads for the door, as you struggle to sit up, shaking and crying.

At the door Bucky looks back at you, his voice a lot calmer again: “I’m real happy about our new business arrangement as it ensures you will be staying with me, little girl. If only your daddy would have agreed to let me have you, his car wouldn’t have had to end up wrapped around a tree so your little college fund would go away. Sleep tight now, Mama, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[y-so-hungry]

Midnight Food For Thought

Beelzebub x MC

Ok I wasn't sure whether to write it as "MC did this, they did that" or "you did this, you did that" or even "I did this, I did that" for this fic, so I went with the first option, lemme know if you guys prefer it a different style (I don't mind any way) and I'll keep that in mind for if/when I write another one of these!

This wasn’t the first time MC had gone downstairs for a midnight snack and found Beel already in the kitchen, but this was the first time they’d seen him in demon form at this hour. They supposed that’s why they lingered just by the steps, watching rather than going in. Not that he was scary in this form, but they worried he was upset, and would rather not be bothered. Beel didn’t have his head in the fridge like usual, oddly enough he seemed to be making something. Usually he was too hungry and tired at night to cook, so it was rather odd to see him kneading dough.

What was odder than that was it seemed he didn’t actually have any other ingredients out, just flour and a cup of water next to him. MC watched for a couple more minutes as he continued making more and more of this dough, adding flour and water and flour and water over and over again until the ball of dough was as wide as a dinner plate. That seems to be when he ran out of flour.

He sighed an oddly miserable sigh, and MC watched in confusion as he took a handful of dough and started… eating it. And it was only when he sat down a second later that they actually caught sight of his face.

There were tears running down his cheeks.

“Beel?” they said, finally calling attention to themself. Beel snapped up, fear flashing through his violet eyes before he saw them. After that, all that showed on his face was a mixture of guilt and embarrassment, his face turning as red as his hair and eyes filling with even more tears.

“Beel?” MC repeated, making their way into the kitchen. “What’s wrong, why are you crying? And why are you just eating dough? I’m sure there’s something a lot better than that to eat.”

Beel looked down and took another bite of his pitiful midnight snack.

“There wasn’t,” he muttered.

“What? What do you mean?”

“There wasn’t anything else to eat,” he said, louder this time. “It was all gone, there was only a little bit of flour left. I-I didn’t know what else to do. I’m s-so hungry, I-I didn’t think I’d make it to Hell’s Kitchen before I passed out o-or something so I-I just--” he cut off with a tiny sob, raising a wrist to scrub at his eye.

“Oh Beel, I’m so sorry,” MC said, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and pulling his head to rest against them. His horns didn’t feel exactly comfortable against their ribcage, but they didn’t really care at the moment. “I could’ve sworn there was plenty of food earlier today--jeez I don’t know what happened to it all.” They gazed around at the now completely bare cupboards, feeling almost angry at them for being empty despite the fact it’s not actually their fault.

“There was food! I saw it! We must’ve eaten it all at dinner, I didn’t even go in the kitchen to make sure I’d have something for tonight,” Beel said. His stomach snarled right then, and he quickly shoved another handful of dough in his mouth, grimacing at the taste.

“There should be more, Lucifer always takes into account how much you need to eat--wait, who went shopping this week?” MC asked.

“Mammon,” Beel growled. “He probably spent half the money on some sale and didn’t get enough food.”

“Goddammit Mammon,” MC said, pinching their brow and squeezing their eyes shut. I’ll have to beat him up later, they thought. Snag his credit card, buy poor Beel all the cheeseburgers he wants. They opened their eyes to see the hungry demon was already halfway through his tiny meal, more tears coursing down his face as he watched his food disappear.

“Hey,” they said softly, cupping his cheek and tilting his head up so he could meet their eyes. “We’re gonna go get you something to eat, okay? Something real, not just sticky dough. We’re gonna go to Hell’s Kitchen and you’ll end up so full your shirt doesn’t fit right, how does that sound?”

The rumble that sounded from Beel’s stomach at the suggestion seemed to be rather painful; he wrapped both his arms tightly around his belly, curling in on himself with gritted teeth and a small whimper.

“Oh Beel,” MC murmured, running a hand through his flaming hair. They gently pulled his arms until he stood up, still clutching his grumbling belly. They quickly grabbed his glob of dough still on the table and handed it to him, hoping it would be enough to tide him over until they both got to Hell’s Kitchen.

~~~

MC called the restaurant on the way, letting them know the situation, so despite the fact that it was a rather busy night at Hell’s Kitchen, they were seated quickly, and in a quiet, secluded area of the restaurant. Beel asked for his usual, a large plate of burgers, and said he’d give MC a few. He always seemed to forget that MC didn’t need ten whole burgers to feel full, but they appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Beel’s dough was long gone now, and he kept pressing his fingers deep into his stomach, it’s rumbles only growing louder with time. Besides his belly though, Beel himself was rather quiet, staring down at the empty table with his eyes unfocused and far away.

“You okay, Beel?” MC asked. They felt a little stupid as soon as they said it; it’s quite clear that he’s not okay. But he blinked and glanced at them, seeming to understand what they meant.

“I just… really hate when this happens,” he muttered. “I get all wound up and upset, and now everyone gets to see the Avatar of Gluttony being an idiot and crying because he didn’t have enough of his stupid snacks.”

His face was screwed up now, anger and disgust warping his features into an expression MC wasn’t sure they’d ever seen on him before. They’d never seen him so repulsed, not even when he found out about Lucifer trapping Belphie in the attic.

“Beel, you shouldn’t say such mean things about yourself. You’re not being an idiot, and your snacks aren’t stupid, you need them, and that’s okay. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about this, it’s not your fault,” MC said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. But his words were still bitter when he answered.

“I bet none of my brothers ever cry about their sins. Why can’t I just be like that? Why do I have to burst into tears if I miss breakfast in the morning, or if someone eats the rest of something I saved for later? Why can’t I just calm down?” Beel muttered, wrapping his arms more protectively over his belly. His shoulders and legs were tensed up so hard MC wondered if it hurt, he looked like he was trying to curl in on himself. Even his wings were wrapped around him, all in an attempt to protect his middle. His muscles bunched even tighter as his stomach gave another pitiful grumble, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

MC sighed and reached over, pulling at one of his arms curled around him until he moved it away with a questioning glance at them. They moved their own hand in to replace his, pressing their palm to his belly. They could feel it rumbling continuously against their hand, and they began rubbing gentle circles into his middle, loosening the knots of pain as best they could. Beel almost instantly relaxed, melting against the cushions of the booth. The grumblings of his belly didn’t stop, but they didn’t seem to be as painful as before.

“Your brothers do cry, you know,” MC said. “Sometimes about their sins, sometimes about other things, just like you.” Beel looked up at them, his eyebrows raised.

“Really?” he said. MC nodded, shifting closer to massage deeper into his middle. He relaxed further, leaning his head back with a small sigh.

“They do,” they said. “Yours I think is the worst of them to be honest. It causes you physical pain, and affects you more often and worse I think than the others. But that doesn’t mean their sins don’t hurt them.”

Beel scoffed, looking away from MC and down at the empty table again.

“What could Mammon possibly be crying about?” Beel snarled. “Getting his credit card taken away?”

“Well… yeah,” MC said. “Mammon can’t control his want for things. It’s a bit like if someone took food away from you. Not quite the same since that would actually hurt you, but it still upsets him. And I mean… He doesn’t actually like how greedy he is. He knows it can hurt people, he just can’t really stop. And that makes him sad.”

“…He actually feels bad about that stuff? I always thought he didn’t care,” Beel said.

“He does,” MC said. “It’s the same with your other brothers. Lucifer is so prideful that when he messes up even a little it can send him spiralling. Levi, his envy can get so intense he feels like he’s all alone in the universe. He gets so jealous of other people that it can blind him to what he has. Satan gets so angry sometimes that he starts crying out of rage. Asmo cries because he feels so much love for people that it hurts to see them in pain. That and of course he gets angry at himself for being so vain. And I’m sure you’ve seen how upset Belphie can get when he hasn’t slept. I've seen him go to bed with tears running down his face after a whole day with no rest.”

“I have too,” Beel said solemnly. “I used to hug him when he couldn’t sleep after Lilith died. Even when I got hungry in the middle of the night, I’d hold him until he fell asleep. …Though I think sometimes he’d pretend to be asleep when he heard my stomach, that way I would go downstairs to get something. He always worried that I didn’t eat enough.”

His stomach growled pointedly right then, loud enough that Beel actually looked down at his belly in surprise before wincing in pain. Those chefs are really taking their sweet time getting his food here.

“Well he had reason to,” MC said, rubbing deep, soothing circles into the place where it seemed to hurt most. “Basically my point is that you’re not the only one who struggles with their sin. I think you struggle the most, but you’re not an idiot for crying over something that hurts.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I never knew my brothers got upset about that kinda stuff,” Beel said, and he shifted closer to them, laying his cheek on their head for a moment and careful to avoid hitting them with his horns. “Thanks for coming with me, MC. You’re the best.”

His words were simple but they made MC’s heart swell with happiness. They were so happy actually, that they may have lost focus and pressed a little too deep into Beel’s stomach. MC only realized this after he grimaced and stiffened up, a loud growl erupting from his middle, the hungry rumbles shaking their fingers before tapering off.

MC opened their mouth to apologize, but Beel was already waving it off with a miserable glance at his stomach.

“Don’t even, it’s not your fault,” he said. “I’m starving. It’s just so empty now, it feels like it’s trying to eat itself. The chefs must be really understaffed today or something, they usually have my food out by now.”

Not a second after he said that though, the rich, thick smell of a variety of foods suddenly got a lot stronger as several people made their way to MC and Beel’s booth. They were waiters, about ten in all, each carrying at least two platters piled high with food, if not more. MC could see burgers, fries, pizza, sushi, and then it seems for dessert they had platters full of Wicked Cupcakes and apple pie.

At the sight of the food MC was reminded that the whole reason they even found Beel eating dough in the kitchen was because they’d been craving a midnight snack, and their own middle shifted hungrily as they gazed at the platters. Their stomach had nothing on Beel’s though, which gave a long, desperate rumble under MC’s hand. He even put his hand over theirs, pressing it deeper into his belly in an attempt to soothe his hunger.

“Sorry for the wait,” one of the waiters said, giving a small chuckle at the look of surprise and desire on Beel’s face. “We wanted to bring it out all at once as a surprise!”

“Well you definitely surprised me,” Beel said, eyes wide as they set down the food in front of him, swallowing thickly at the scent of the burgers only a foot away. But suddenly he got a rather sad look on his face, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t take all this, Lucifer would kill me if I bought this much food at once--”

“Beel, you misunderstand, it’s on the house!” a curly haired waiter said, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder after setting down a platter of apple pie.

“What?” Beel said, his eyes flicking open again, but staring at the waiter instead this time. “Why?”

“MC told us what happened,” the waiter answered. “And when you came in here you looked so upset, we wanted to do something special for you. You’re our oldest customer here, you were here buying food back when Hell’s Kitchen was small and struggling to stay open.”

“I remember when you found out we were on the edge of going out of business you bought all your meals here for weeks until business picked up again so we could keep everything afloat,” another waiter chimed in.

“And you’ve brought your brothers here for every birthday you’ve had since we opened,” said someone else.

“You’ve been here for us for years, Beel,” the curly haired waiter said. “We figured it was time we tried to pay you back.”

Beel stared at the waiters gathered around him for a moment, his mouth open but with no sound coming out.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. “Thank you, that… that means a lot.” He looked down, his face turning red as his voice cracked with emotion. Several waiters made noises of sympathy or an understanding chuckle, before they all suddenly gathered around the back of the booth, reaching forward to wrap their arms around Beel. MC laughed at the awkwardness of everyone pressed around them, but they could tell Beel was enjoying the affection immensely, a small smile widening on his face, a soft blush in his cheeks.

However, his belly had other plans.

A loud rumble suddenly sounded from Beel’s stomach, sounding quite empty, and desperate for the food in front of it. MC could feel his stomach shaking under their hand, and it was certain that anyone who’s arms or hands were near his belly could feel it too.

“Aww, Beel!”

“Your poor belly!”

“Jeez, you’re really empty aren’t you?”

“Poor thing!”

If it was possible Beel turned even redder, laughing a little nervously as MC patted his belly sympathetically.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m starving.”

“No shit,” said the curly haired waiter with a laugh. “We’ll leave you and MC to your food. You fill up, let us know if you need anything, alright?” Beel nodded, waving goodbye to the waiters as they returned to their jobs.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring at all the food. “I… fuck, I don’t even know where to start.” He sounded overwhelmed, but in a delighted, eager way. His belly gurgled excitedly, and he quickly reached out, grabbing the first thing his fingers touched, which happened to be a burger. He ate half of it in one bite.

“Mmmmf,” he said, letting his head fall back against the cushion as he chewed. When he swallowed MC could feel his stomach immediately start to churn and contract, breaking down the food rapidly. It seemed quite happy to finally have something to digest.

“Feel better?” they said with a small laugh as he shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth. Beel just nodded, a deep sigh escaping him after he swallowed. It was in that relaxed, blissful moment that Beel’s form changed, his horns and wings retracting, his clothes shifting from the leather of his demon form back to his soft pajamas he’d gone to bed in.

“Much better,” he said. He reached for a slice of pizza next, folding it in his fingers so the whole thing would fit in his mouth easier. He looked a bit like a chipmunk now, and MC laughed at the way his cheeks puffed out.

“How the hell do you fit all that in your mouth?” they said. Beel swallowed, with a bit of difficulty it seems, but his eyes were bright when he answered.

“Lots of practice,” he said. “Chubby Bunny was my favorite game when I was little. I always won, even with Mammon stuffing bunnies in his mouth like a maniac.”

“…Human world Chubby Bunny is very different from Devildom Chubby Bunny.”

Beel laughed, grabbing a plate of sushi and ignoring the chopsticks, instead just picking it up with his fingers and popping the roll in his mouth. Then he suddenly looked down at MC, glancing from their eyes to their hand still rubbing his stomach, and back.

“Do… you want me to stop?” they asked, a little confused.

“Huh? Oh, no, well, I mean--Weren’t you hungry?” he said, pushing another roll of sushi in his mouth. “You came to the kitchen because you were hungry, right? Here, you like apple pie, right?” Beel pushed the large platter of pie slices over to them, looking expectantly from MC to the pie and back. They smiled and thanked him, transferring a slice to their plate and starting to eat. When MC took the first bite he beamed in approval before continuing to eat his own food.

For a while there was silence, each of them too focused on their food to talk much, but after finishing their second slice of pie MC was starting to feel a bit sleepy again. They turned to Beel, wondering if he wanted to box up the rest of his food and eat it at home, but when they actually saw him, that was no longer at the forefront of their mind.

Beel had actually stopped eating, though not because he’d run out of food, in fact there were a few platters still untouched. No, Beel had stopped eating because there was a significant swell in his middle that definitely hadn’t been there before. His stomach was so full it had begun to press against his shirt, making it look a bit smaller than it was supposed to. He looked up at MC after a moment, hands over his stomach, and a sleepy little smile on his face.

“Think ‘m full now,” he said. “You weren’t lying when you said I’d be so full my shirt doesn’t fit right.” MC laughed, reaching over to press their hand into his belly again. It was still grumbling, but it was in a muffled, happy way now. They weren’t sharp noises, more soft and low, almost like the sound of a kitten purring.

“You sure sound full,” they said, massaging slow circles into his stomach. “You wanna head home? We can get boxes for the rest of your food, we can eat it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Beel nodded, but suddenly leaned over, pressing his cheek to the top of their head.

“Thanks for coming here with me. An’ for rubbing m’ tummy. That felt really nice, even when I was hungry,” he mumbled into their hair. MC laughed and patted his swollen middle.

“Well tell you what, when we get home I’ll rub your tummy all you want, how bout that?” they said. Beel made a small noise of delight and wrapped his arms around them in a tight hug.

It was the best hug they’d ever gotten in their life.

[maletfsstories]

The International ("Soju 🇰🇷")

Requested By linxiaopei

"Newcastle"

-"You are here" Said Matt’s boss in a drunken tone as Matt walked towards the table his boss and some coworkers were seated in.

-"Jesus Christ how much have you guys drunk already" Said Matt as he sat down and observed a mountain of empty shots and beer mugs.

 

-"Not enough and you haven’t had any yet" One of Matt’s coworkers said as he continued drinking from his mug.

-"If you guys forgot I'm the one driving all of you home so I can't drink" Said Matt rather tired as he wanted to be at home instead of in a bar filled with drunk and obnoxious people.

-"Just buy yourself one and bring us another round of beers" Said Matt's boss as he passed him a coupon for a free drink.

 

Matt begrudgingly got up from his seat and walked towards a small area where a female bartender was passing a few drinks to a waiter.

-"Hello Sir how may I help you?" Asked the bartender as she pushed a menu in front of Matt.

Matt turned around and counted the number of people that were seated around his boss.

 

-"Could you give me four pints of beer please?" Said Matt as he looked back towards the bartender.

-"Sure" Said the bartender as she rapidly started to fill four large glass mugs with beer.

-"You seem a little stressed sir, are you alright?" Said the bartender once she noticed Matt's blatantly obvious impatient demeanor.

 

-"Sorry, the thing is that I shouldn't be here at all" Said Matt with a little bit of anger in his voice.

-"Same here, today is my first day on the job and I already want to call it quits" Said the bartender as she placed the first mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Why haven't you?" Asked Matt

-“Even though I don't like large crowds and this bar is the worst I at least get more than the minimum wage” Said the bartender as she placed the second mug of beer in front of Matt.

 

-"So are you going to continue working here for the rest of your life?" Asked Matt

-"Not at all, I'm working here to pay for my studies, unlike the rest of my family I prefer to work for my stuff” said the bartender as she placed the third mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Your family is rich?" asked Matt with little intrigue in his voice.

 

-"Yup, they are a bunch of snobbish idiots, my father doesn't work because he inherited a lot of money from our estate and my brother is an influencer who wins a lot of money by posting revealing images of his gym routines on his Instagram" Said the bartender as she stopped filling the last mug of beer and turned back to face Matt directly.

-“Wow, I can't imagine you see your family very often" Said Matt

-“No I don’t, my father lives in our family estate which I don’t normally visit and my brother is currently traveling around the world with his group of roided meatheads”. Said the bartender as she rolled her eyes.

 

-"It must be a fun life, kind of wish mine was like that" Said Matt with a little bit of melancholy in his voice

-"It does seem desirable but I frankly believe in working hard for one’s stuff" Said the bartender with a smile on her face.

-"What are you studying?" Asked Matt as he made himself comfortable in a small seat placed in front of the bartender's workstation.

 

-'' I'm studying accounting at Newcastle University" Said the bartender.

-"Well I'm an accountant ..." Said Matt with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

-"Really? How is the job? I mean I love the classes I'm seeing but I don't know anything about how to apply them in a real-life scenario" Said the bartender with a glee in her eyes.

 

-"Well I've been an accountant for the last five years and believe me when I say that the scenarios in class are way easier than the ones I've experienced in the job, it's hard and complicated but I still kind of like what I do" Said Matt in an attempt to reassure the bartender's career choice.

-"Why are you taking so much!"

Matt turned around and saw his drunk boss moving slowly towards him.

 

-"Sorry I was just speaking to the bartender," Said Matt as his boss leaned on the bar, meanwhile the bartender immediately completed filling the last mug of beer and placed it in front of Matt.

Matt's boss looked at the four beers and immediately frowned -"Where the hell is yours?" He asked.

-"Sir I can't drink I'm driving you and everyone else home" said Matt in an attempt to stop his boss's insistence.

-"Nonsense, just drink a small bit, that's all I'm asking from you" Matt's boss said as he moved closer towards him.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender as she grabbed the smallest glass size possible, while she was doing that Matt looked at the menu that had been placed earlier in front of him.

In the meantime, Matt's boss rapidly drank his beer and walked away toward his table with the other three that were left.

-"Is this good?" Asked the Bartender as she showed Matt the small glass, Matt immediately looked up and nodded.

-"Do you have something that is similar to vodka but isn't that powerful?" Asked Matt as his boss approached him again.

-"Well, we do have Soju, it's from South Korea and it's in a way an exact match to Vodka, the only difference is that it's mildly less alcoholic, will that do?" Asked the bartender.

-"Please give me one in the small glass you showed me earlier" Said Matt as his boss was now standing next to him.

-"What did you order?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"I ordered some vodka" Lied Matt.

-"Wow Matt, I thought you didn't want to get drunk tonight" Said Matt's boss as he laughed like a clown.

In the meantime, the Bartender had poured Matt's drink from a small green bottle with Korean lettering onto a small transparent glass.

-"I hope you enjoy it sir" Said the Bartender as she placed the drink in front of Matt.

-"Here goes nothing" Though Matt as he swallowed every drop of Soju in an instant, because of this he immediately felt a burning sensation in his throat, luckily it wasn't as bad as the one produced by drinking vodka.

Matt then gave the empty glass to the Bartender and looked at his boss. -"Are you happy now?" Asked Matt with a little sarcasm in his voice.

-"Where is the fun in only one?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"You can't be serious, do you want me to get arrested" Said Matt in a raised tone of voice as he was tired of being pushed around by his middle age child of a boss.

-"Don't you dare to speak to me that way, I'm your boss, if you don't drink another shot I'll fucking fire you" Said Matt's boss in an aggressive tone.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender who had a sad expression on her face while still having the green bottle of soju between her hands.

-"Another one please," said Matt as he finally relented to his boss's order.

The bartender immediately grabbed the empty glass and filled it with the crystalline liquid -"Here you are sir" said the bartender as she passed the drink to Matt.

As Matt grabbed the glass and drank its contents he wished he could end it all, to have a new life where he didn't have a boss or any type of responsibilities.

Once Matt placed the empty glass in front of him the bar where he was in seemed to disappear and was rapidly replaced by the interior of a luxury hotel room.

-"What the hell" Said Matt in a worried tone as he was about to get up from the bed he had suddenly materialized in, before Matt could completely get out of the bed a strange pain made his stop.

This pain was due to Matt's five feet nine stature increasing to six feet three, while that was happening Matt's slim build changed into a more muscular one. His flat chest developed a pair of juicy and muscled pecs, down below in Matt's stomach a few small tires of fat were rapidly removed out of existed which left him with a flat surface that was rapidly replaced by the growth of a six-pack.

Meanwhile, in Matt's skinny arms his biceps, triceps, and forearms grew as new muscle mass filled them, a few veins also appeared here and there, as that was happening Matt's back also became incredibly shredded.

While all the changes to Matt's upper body were occurring all the healthy patches of hair that covered the majority of his body disappeared leaving him completely waxed.

As the majority of Matt's upper body had gone through a certain amount of changes the next area to change was his lower body.

At first in Matt's pelvic area his equipment grew larger and larger. This made him immediately aroused as a moan escaped from his mouth, this moan however was very masculine and in a way, it sounded like that of a huge beast.

When Matt's dick reached the ten-inch mark his ass became the next target of the changes, it grew until what was left was a perfect round and bouncy bubble, then Matt's thighs and calves grew larger leaving him with a pair of powerful legs.

Because of the new growth in muscles around Matt's body, his clothes became extremely strained, as Matt suddenly moved his clothes finally gave in, they broke into small pieces which immediately disappeared, the larger pieces which were still attached to his body also disappeared leaving him completely naked.

A few seconds after Matt's clothes had disappeared a pair of black underwear and black swimming shorts now covered his private area while still leaving his upper body completely exposed.

-"Shit" Said Matt out loud as he noticed his new body and the weird clothing that had replaced his shirt and dress pants.

While Matt continued looking he felt a weird sensation as his face lots its Caucasian features which were replaced by more Eastern Asian ones

Matt's lips inflated only a small bit, his nose became fair and straight, his eyes became slightly slanted and his pupils became dark in coloration, the last thing to change was Matt's hair, it became coal black and his previously office neutral haircut was replaced by a more trendy one.

With the changes now complete Matt got up from the bed he was laying in and grabbed an ultra-modern Samsung phone that was placed on a sleeping table next to the bed.

Matt unlocked the phone with his new face and immediately opened the camera, he was obviously shocked and amazed at the beautiful young Asian face that was looking back at him.

-"너무 이상해" (This is so weird) Said Matt in fluent Korean with his new deep voice, the Adonis looking back at him through the camera shared nothing in common with his old nerdy self, the only thing that was the same was the pair of black glasses he was still wearing.

After exploring his new face with the camera for a little more Matt finally decided to look at Instagram for any info about his new self, Matt opened the personal profile which had the name "Gan Sangwook" displayed next to a picture of Matt's new self flexing with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Matt after looking at the name and picture also noticed that the new him had a following of almost a million people and that his account was verified meaning that he was relatively famous and well known.

Matt then proceeded to scroll down, as he did he saw dozens of images of the new him working out in gyms surrounded by similarly muscled men, there were also some pictures of him in different locations from around the world and a few pictures were modeling and sponsor type posts.

As Matt continued looking at the pictures a new personality and identity became more dominant in his head, during the process of Matt's old life and memories being eliminated the door of his hotel room opened with a loud bang.

With the door now wide open a group of five heavily muscled Korean men entered the room, Matt remembered seeing some of these men in the Instagram profile but now he somehow recognized all of them and felt a deep personal connection with them.

-"이봐, 여기서 뭐해? 늦었 어. 해변에 가야 해" (Hey dude what are you doing here, it's late. We should be on the beach) Said the bigger of them as the others around him cheered with their deep dumb sounding voices.

-"해변 친구들을 위해 준비된 것 외에 제 인스 타 그램을보고 있었어요" (I was looking at my Instagram, other than that I'm ready for the beach dudes) Said Matt as he started flexing his muscles, the men he now recognized as his gym crew also started flexing their muscles.

-"그럼 가자!" (Then let's go!) Said another one of the muscled men as Matt got up from the bed and walked with the men through the large hallways of the most luxurious resort in Jeju Island.

After a short elevator ride, Matt or Gan Sangwook walked with his friends toward the private beach owned by the resort.

-"수영하러 가기 전에 여러분 사진을 제 인스 타 그램에 올려도 될까요?" (Dudes before we go swimming can I post a picture of all of you to my Instagram?) Asked Gan as he and his crew were a few feet away from the sea.

All of the men said yes and Gan got into position, once he took a few hundred pictures he posted the one he thought looked the best with the caption "해변 준비 😎💪🏻" (Ready for the beach)

After Gan took the picture he continued walking toward the sea, as he did the last vestiges of his old identity of a thirty-year-old British accountant were eliminated what was left was in its place was Gan Sangwook, a young and muscled South Korean jock whose only worry in the world was to keep his body in shape and his one million Instagram followers happy.

[cloudy-leonhart]

hiii!! i’ve recently found your writing and i am honest to god in love!! i was wondering if you could write a poly!veterans fic where the reader is a titan shifter (the vets don’t know), and during a really rough expedition she has no choice but to transform and help out?

NO BC I LOVE PPL WHO ASK FOR POLY VETS REQUESTS—

I’ll also just add another titan to the nine titans- kinda like annie’s :P

guys don’t be shy to request anything! I’m fine with anything sfw :33!!

———

Save My Home. (Poly!Vets x Reader)

Summary: Reader and the Vets were in a losing situation, if Reader didn’t make a choice, her lovers will perish, she didn’t realize her feelings had made the choice for her

female reader.

Recommended Song: Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic At The Disco.

Theme: Angst/Fluff?? Canonverse.

TW: Near death experience, injury, swearing, blood(?).

“Captain!” A voice shouted out, you scowled swinging around the tall trees, an expedition had gone so wrong. Bodies pooled the forest floor, you tried your best to get the metallic stench out of your nose, large footsteps followed your every move. “Johann!” You pulled on your trigger, saving your only remaining member of your squad. 

Your fingers clutched tightly against his waist, hoping that you’ll have enough gas to pull yourself and Johann to a safe spot. “Captain, I don’t think we’ll make it.” Johann grimly stated. He was in pain and he could see you were running out of gas to get you back near Commander Erwin’s base. 

“Shut it, Johann! We’ll get there, you hear me!?” You did your best trying to convince Johann and yourself that you will live to be out that forest. Damn it, why did so many titans come out from nowhere? You felt angered and stopped at a high branch.

“Johann, I’ll bring more gas, alright? Try your best to stay alive, that’s an order.” You had placed Johann against the tree, checking your gas canister. He tugged on your uniform, afraid. “I’ll come back, I promise.” You reassured him, tying your jacket around his bleeding leg as a tourniquet. 

You flung around the forest, a determination to find at least some kind of supplies to keep you guys going just until you were out the forest, you had already stolen a gas canister from a dead soldier, your blades were close to blunting. You were on your last string.

It felt like hours you’ve been swinging around, ‘damn it, where are they?’ You swung on one more tree branch, before hearing a yell. 

You used your gear to swing towards the sound, titans were everywhere, reaching and grabbing for you. 

“Reader!” A voice called out, a deserted Hange stood on a tree branch, waving frantically. With them, held an injured Nanaba, and beside them stood Levi, Erwin and Miche, who looked like they were arguing. You landed on a tree branch that was a bit higher than them. 

“What the hell’s going on?!” You exclaimed, making all five of them stop their squirming and their childish screeching. “Reader! Have you seen a cart anywhere?” Erwin yelled up at you, you winced, grappling your hook onto their tree branch and jumping on. 

“There’s no cart anywhere, where I came from. Don’t tell me,” You sighed, “we lost the supply cart?” your lovers looked at each other with a guilty expression, “No worries, we can just-” The tree branch shook. Everyone stopped their movements, checking around, seeing what was happening. 

“Guys, get off the branch! A fifteen meter got on, it’s about to break!” Levi warned and jumped off the branch, hooking himself to the bark of a tree so he could land down on the ground safely. 

“Hange, go! I’ll carry Nanaba.” You ordered, grabbing Nanaba from their arms, Your blonde lover groaned in your arms, clutching her side more tightly.

“It’s okay, Nanaba, I got you.” You comforted her before landing on the ground safely with your other lovers. Miche came towards you, helping you with Nanaba before greeting you with a kiss on the cheek, as a way to say he was glad that you were safe.

“Levi, have you got no blades left?” You asked, staring at his empty blade holster. “Yeah, I spent it on the last few, everybody else is just stuck on gas.” You internally groaned. “Alright how about this-” You could hear a loud roar from the female titan, your eyes widened.

‘Is she calling in more titans?!’ you had thought gripping your gear’s handles tightly, your mind raced on how your lovers were going to survive another wave of titans. 

“Reader? What’s wrong?” Hange asked you, their hand littered on your shoulder, rubbing it in comforting circles as you stay internally panicking at the female titan’s screech. 

“Hange- I need you to take my gas canister and reconnect it to you. It’s got enough for you to grapple on a tree branch and bring the others on there.” Hange stood speechless, what were you thinking of doing?

“Reader, what are you talking about?” Hange asked as you frantically unbuckled your ODM gear, thrusting the canister into their arms. You pulled your hunting knife from out of your boot, holding onto it for dear life. “Reader, you’re not going to survive with just a-” Hange held your hand, stopping you from moving further.

“Hange, just go!” You yelled at them, out of a state of panic. Hange pulled back, a bit shocked on how shaken you are with just hearing a titan’s roar. Levi could overhear the arguing, he looked over to you and Hange who just seemingly nodded and grabbed hold of Levi’s waist. 

An unreadable expression painted Hange’s face, as they flew onto a high enough tree branch. “Hange, what-” Levi started, not even finishing his question as they turned back with Miche and Nanaba. Erwin being the last one on the branch.

“Reader? What about her?” Nanaba’s coarse voice cut through the tension, “She just said to bring you guys up here, not to come back for her.” Hange explained, further tending to Nanaba’s wounds. Levi’s eyes widened, even twitching before grabbing hold of Hange’s cape. 

“You left Reader there to die?” He spat angrily, as Hange grunted pulling against him. “She said to!” Levi shook them by the cape, “And you agreed to it!?” Hange started to fight with Levi, “I didn’t want to, alright?!” Their fight was soon interrupted by a loud thunderclap. 

A yellow bolt of lightning had struck where you once stood, a titan’s shape started to appear from where you were, starting from the nape, and it’s muscles forming lastly from the foot. A loud roar which shook the forest came out from the titan’s mouth.

Your lovers stood on the branch speechless and flabbergasted, their hearts started to beat erratically. Erwin started to speak, “That..That’s not her, right?” Your body was covered with steaming hot muscles, your eyes glanced at the still group on the branch, who stared at you with bewilderment, almost even amazement by Hange.

A screech had erupted from your side, a twenty-meter mindless titan held onto you, gnawing on your skin. Your skin hardened in a matter of seconds, your first turned to crystal, punching through the titan’s neck, cutting the titan’s head clean off.

You were still trying to control your titan and a bad side effect of that, was your lack of capability in controlling your titan, you started to black out, starting to rampage with the titans called in by the female titan, your eyes started to get clouded, more and more titans had toppled over you, starting to consider that you were a threat.

You had fallen to the ground, you turned over to the where your lovers resided, seeing a bunch of soldiers replacing their gas tanks, symbolizing that they were safe and had enough to get out of the situation, you could see a figure approach you as your vision blacked out.

You felt tired, closing your eyes, almost accepting your fate that you might get eaten.

---

Your body twitched, suddenly, you awoke, too fast for your liking, since as soon as your eyes refocused on what you saw, a headache came crashing down on you, a wince had left your lips, as you clutched your hands around your head, feeling a thick layer of gauze. “What..is going on?” You grunted, turning over to the side of the bed, your feet dangled off the medical bed as you pulled away the thin covers.

“Oh jeez, please don’t move, you’re going to further damage or maybe even re-open your wounds,” your nurse called out, urging you to lay back down. “Thank the walls you’re still okay, Captain Reader!” She chirped, helping you drink water, knowing how dry your throat probably was. 

You were about to speak when you saw a group lay on the ground, sleeping. The nurse noticed your gaze on the sleeping group. “They’ve been there since you were admitted a few days ago, except one of course, she lays on the bed beside you, still taking a nap..” She whispered, careful not to wake your lovers who slept like little babies.

You stared in amazement as you even saw Levi leaning against the wall, soft snores leaving his mouth, indicating that he was dead asleep. You looked behind you, Nanaba sleeping in the bed beside yours, so soundlessly. You could feel your lips lift a little, making a little smile appear on your face. 

“I’ll get you some food, alright? I’ll be right back.” The nurse gave you a smile before leaving the room, the door closing alerting Nanaba awake. She woke up, a pained whine leaving her lips as she clutched her side, you laughed silently. 

“Careful, you might re-open your stitches.” You mumbled out, as you watched Nanaba freeze as her face went through five stages of confusion. “wait a min- Holy shit! You’re awake, Reader!” She yelled out, spooking the group. You winced at the loud tone of her voice, as she yelled out a pitchy screech leaving her bed to jump at you.

A yelp left your mouth, as you caught Nanaba’s fast-approaching lunge in your arms, laughing at her. Hange was the second to be up and running. “Reader! You’re awake!” They chirped as they too, joined in on the hug you and Nanaba were sharing. 

“Oi brat, you try and do that shit again, I’ll never forgive you.” Levi’s voice cut through your laughs, you stopped for a second before going back to laughing and whining as Levi ruffled your hair. 

“You never told me you could shift into a titan like the Jaeger kid.” Levi said, as they were all huddled onto your bed. Miche had sat behind you so you could lay on his chest as Nanaba and Hange cuddled each other between your legs, leaving Erwin on a chair at the side of your bed, and Levi sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Honestly, I didn’t want to.” You confessed, playing with Hange’s hair. “I’m not even supposed to be alive right now,” You mumbled, starting to space out. Levi and Erwin’s eyes widened at your statement, you continued, not giving them a chance to talk. “Well! I’m still here though! So, I’m not done annoying you all just yet!” A laugh left your mouth.

Levi and Erwin looked at each other with a questioning glance. Both of them didn’t bother to ask, setting it aside for later, as they both wanted to spend time with you after you had stayed in bed for more than two days. Both watched you laugh, a question on their minds.

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦  ღ  ◦∘  Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine  ∘◦  ღ  ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf. 

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly. 

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse. 

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop. 

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer. 

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word. 

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys. 

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own. 

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence. 

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist. 

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.” 

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings. 

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you. 

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear. 

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?” 

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly. 

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in. 

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue. 

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can. 

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it. 

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?” 

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue. 

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing. 

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings. 

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded. 

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up. 

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top. 

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom. 

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

[laurore-stormwitch]

Here is my written-during-an-emotional-crisis “short” take on how is Nikolai going to propose to Zoya. They like to play tough but I imagine them both being really soft with each other, so I always believed it would be a moment somehow like this. And yes I do love to project my emotional issues on zoyalai thank you both very much to them.

word count: 1969 

tw: mild reference to blood/violence

our first lifetime

Nikolai tossed a rock in the lake, watching the water curl and smooth in circles. He was sitting with his back leaned on an old oak, his knees up and his head thrown lazily on the side towards the sunlight, glancing at Zoya every now and then. They didn’t get to have many moments like this anymore. Since the war ended three months ago, their life had been a whirlwind of changes, sleepless nights, meetings and parades throughout the country. Nikolai cherished these rare times they got to spend on their own, the simple pleasure of knowing they had each other after it was almost taken away from them. Considering his life spent searching for adventures and thrill, he thought he was beginning to understand the appeal of ordinary things now. Even though he would not call the gift of having Zoya by his side, spread on the grass with the wind in her hair, ordinary. Three months and he still didn’t get used to this one bit. He turned to her, taking in the sight of her relaxed, eyelids closed, the morning rays warming her skin and his heart. They’d been here an hour or so, the same thought turning inside Nikolai’s head over and over again, not for the first time in these months. He laced his fingers with her hand, stirring her out of her quiet. There was a certain nervousness curling in his chest as he wondered why he hadn’t spoken yet. He told himself it was because he was trying to set up a grand gesture, something to deserve her, but that was not it. He was just scared. Scared of letting this slip again, of being so close to have everything he had ever wanted. Even the idea of staying away from Zoya sent a searing ache through his body. A sudden urge burned his throat in response, as if the words were fighting to get out on their own will. Just tell her. Gather some boldness and tell her. He couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to know that they could have this for a long time, if there was a kind of peace awaiting for them. And maybe the perfect moment was this coddled secret quiet they shared, the way they felt safe with each other.

“Zoya?”

“Mh?” She murmured. Nikolai let the words roll out before thinking twice about it.

“I want to ask you something.”

Zoya opened her eyes to look at him, with that serene and soft look reserved only to their intimacy; she prompted herself up, turning to face him and leaning on his legs to focus her attention on him, their hands still bound together. As she lowered her head on his knee, the scar on her chest peaked through her loose shirt. Nikolai traced it slowly with his fingers, feeling the grip of anxiety stealing the air out of his lungs. Flashes of the battle stormed his mind as it happened so often after the war, throwing it into chaos. He saw Zoya lying on the field, the stench of the fight, the smell of ozone and rain scraping at his nose. His clothes drenched with her blood, the way he wanted to rip his skin off his hands to make the stains go away, bright red streams hiding his darkened fingers. The hollow quiet in her chest when her heart stopped moving, the well of pain ripping his insides apart as he felt her limbs go numb. Her first ragged breath that tore the silence apart, the light slowly coming back in her blue eyes, the impossible relief he felt as he kept calling for her with a cracked and desperate voice he didn’t recognize as his own. The possibility of losing her, wrenching, shattering everything in its wake, worse than death itself.

“Nikolai - ”

He grasped his name coming out of her lips, blinking until Zoya came into focus again.

“Nikolai, I’m here.”

Nikolai sighed, moving the hold he had on her hand to her wrist, brushing his thumb on her pulse point and letting the rhythmic pounding of her heart take him back to reality. It had become a habit, this small gesture. Whenever the world felt overwhelming, whenever the dread and the grief blossomed at the memory of what had happened, he needed to feel this sound to know that she was real at his side. It was the only act capable to calm him down, to drift him to sleep at night. He felt he was being unfair, sometimes: Zoya was the one who died in his arms, and he was the one still having nightmares about it. But the terror he knew in that moment had been unlike everything he had ever had to live through. She’s alive, he would say to himself, matching the words with every beat. Staying awake for hours gripping at her wrist, carefully watching her breathing. Still gripping it while she whispered in his ear and ran her hand through his hair, while they sealed their wounds one stitch at a time and kissed their scars. We’re fine. We’re together, Zoya would tell him, over and over, a lullaby. Waiting their tremors away like she did once in the confines of a carriage. You haven’t lost her. She came back. When he felt his breathing steadied, he tentatively curled his lips in a reassuring smile, Zoya patiently waiting for him. She waved the smile back, encouraging him to speak with a nod of her head. She’s alive. We’re fine. Ask her.

“You said you have something to ask.”

It occurred to him he could’ve probably planned this better, at least rehearsed a speech maybe. Yet, Zoya was the only truly not calculated and unpredicted event in his life, someone who came in and swept everything else away. It felt fitting to grasp at this spontaneous impulse, and he didn’t regret the impromptu decision. Nikolai didn’t want this to be a political matter. It was about what they had always been; the two of them holding each other together as they had done for the past three years, be it on an evening spent sorting through letters or in a peaceful morning on the shore of a lake.

“You’re going to have quite the number of lifetimes, right?”

Zoya furrowed her brow with an amused look, easing herself on him the way she was before when she noted he was back to being the calm and nonsensical Nikolai she had fell for.

“A bunch, probably.”

She conceded. He nodded and inhaled deeply, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ears, grazing her gorgeous face with his knuckles. Why was he so tense about this? It felt like jumping off into the unknown and coming back home at the same time.

“Would you like to spend your first one with me?”

Zoya stilled, not moving a single muscle as she looked at him like she was pondering how exactly insane he was being. Despite her incredible ability to stand frozen through a tide of emotions, his thumb felt her heart racing up. When his seriousness sank in, her eyes shone and she pursed her lips, barely containing a grin, feigning indifference. He heard her breath itch.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m kind of asking you to marry me, Zoya.” He huffed with a teasing expression, showing a confidence he didn’t really feel. This time she smiled, knocking him off his feet.

“Oh, yes, I figured. But I don’t see a ring.”

Zoya chuckled, getting him dizzy on that crystal-clear sound. Her cheek was still laying on his knee, her gaze studying him attentively. Nikolai tilted her chin delicately, locking their eyes together, leaning forward.

“I have no ring for now, I’m sorry. I know this is sudden, and it’s soon. I don’t want us to do this because we feel pressured too, or because it makes sense. I just – I want this. You. I want you. More than everything. I’ve never thought it was possible to have a love like this, and now that I do, I’m not letting you go. I want you by my side, for the rest of my pointless human life. If you’ll have me, and I do hope you will.”

The spark in her eyes flickered, a slight tremor of her lips betraying the turmoil stirring in her chest. She closed the inch that separated them to drew him in for a kiss, resting her forehead on his. Nikolai smirked against her mouth, taking her actions as a good omen, an unbelievable solace flooding his chest. A whisper came out of her when they broke apart.

“Took you long enough to ask.”

“Were you getting impatient?”

“You’re know to throw away proposals like handkerchiefs. I was beginning to feel left out.”

Nikolai felt a weight lifting off his chest as he chuckled too at her accurate remark. He could sense there was some truth hidden in Zoya’s words; it was still hard for her to believe that they conquered this, in the end. That there was someone who wanted to be her home. He brushed their lips together again, the touch soft as a feather.

“I promise you this is the only wedding I will actually go through with.”

“I’d make a stunning bride. Hard to walk away from.”

“Most definitely. Is that a yes?”

He registered the shadow sweeping behind her eyes. It was a challenging choice; he knew he was not just asking her to marry him, that it would not be as easy as it felt in this moment. He was asking her to wed a king, to take a country, to face politics and prejudice, to give herself to an otkazat’sya she would have to say goodbye to, someday. As many as the obstacles were, though, he could also see how this future was a promise of light. That every burden withered on the face of the life they could share, and he could only hope Zoya saw that too. Sure enough, she pushed through her doubts, her fortifications crumbling into dust; she cupped his cheek, releasing a long breath and throwing out her answer with an ever so slight shiver in her voice.

“I think I’d like to see you making my first lifetime insufferable.”

“You’re not going to give me the satisfaction of hearing yes, my dear Nikolai, of course I’ll marry your awesome self, right?”

“That was as close as a yes you’re going to get have until you get me a ring, my dear Nikolai.”

They both laughed wholeheartedly, flustered and jittery as two kids with a happiness too great to fathom on their shoulders. Nikolai pulled her on his chest, letting her settle herself in the crook of his neck. He buried his nose on her hair, circling his arms around her, beaming with joy and relief.

“I’ll do it better next time, I assure you. I’ll get you the most precious ring you can imagine, I’ll get down on my knees and everything.”

“You might just like proposals better than weddings. Don’t do the knee thing please, a ring is more than enough.”

She teased, breathing deeply in his scent, her heartbeat slowing down. They stayed silent for a while, tightened in their embrace. Nikolai held her like she was the lighthouse that guided him safely in his troubled ocean, hoping to keep her in his arms so that she wouldn’t notice his watery eyes. He had never felt so lucky in the entirety of his stupid life.

“I’m really glad you said yes, Zoya.”

“I’m really glad you asked. And Nikolai, it was perfect like this.”

Zoya sighed, planting a delicate kiss on his palm.

She’s alive. You haven’t lost her. You’re going to get to hold her forever.

[yikesharringrove]

Me and my thots

Read on ao3

-

Billy didn’t black out when the first limb clamped onto his side.

He figured he would.

Figured the searing pain would cause his brain to short.

But it didn’t.

He didn’t even drop when the next one hit, chomping into his other side.

He figures the adrenaline was keeping him going.

And probably the other-worldly strength from whatever bits of the creature was left in him.

All he knows is that the final one pierced his chest.

And he didn’t lose consciousness.

Not as he fell.

Not as Max hovered over him.

Not as he heard shouts, and felt hands pressing into his wounds.

He woke with a start.

He shook the dream out of his head, rolling to press both fists into his eyes.

He slid out from under the thick duvet, pulling it up and over the sleeping form of the person next to him.

Like he did every morning.

He scratched his chest, making his way over to their sunny little kitchen, getting the coffee going.

It’s been a while since he’s dreamed about the Mind Flayer.

In his thirty years since that night at the mall, he’s gotten enough therapy to break most of it down, to accept what happened to him, what he was forced without question to do.

He startled as arms slipped around his waist.

“You okay?”

Steve’s voice was sleep groggy, his chin hooked over Billy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Pretty Boy. I’m alright.”

Steve placed his hand over the faded scar on Billy’s chest, kissing his shoulder blade once.

Billy turned to look at him, taking in the sparse grey hairs Steve liked to complain about, the soft lines near his eyes.

Billy sucked in a gasp of air when he woke, spluttering as his lungs burned.

He was in the hospital, his heart monitor going haywire.

Nurses flooded the room, but Billy paid them no mind, his eyes locking on the big brown ones.

Steve had pushed himself against the wall, giving the nurses room to check him over.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the mall, just knows hat Steve’s face looks hurt, old bruises turning yellow and green as they healed.

He was stabilized, and he felt more steady. His breathing still hurt, but he was doing it on his own.

The few nurses made their way out once again.

“Jesus, Hargrove. Scared me half to death.” Steve didn’t sound scared. He sounded relieved. “I was almost asleep and then you took this giant breath, Christ.”

Steve’s hands were shaking as he lowered himself into a plastic chair facing Billy’s bed.

“Sorry.”

Billy’s voice was hoarse, and it hurt to talk.

“How long-?”

“A few weeks.” Then Steve’s face got hurt that same night.

It was odd looking at him.

He looked so young, not the face dream Billy was used to, the face of a grown man.

“Hargrove, you okay?”

And echo of that dream.

And boy did that hurt, the realization that it was a dream.

His idyllic life with Steve.

Nothing but his subconscious. Probably creating something to keep him calm while his body healed in a coma.

“Why you here?” Speaking still burned his throat. He wished he had some water.

Maybe even tea.

Steve usually makes him a nice chamomile tea when he’s sick. Puts some fresh lemon juice and honey in there. They have a lemon tea in the backyard.

He shook himself.

That was just a dream.

“Been worried about you, man.” Steve wasn’t looking at him.

Steve has trouble with eye contact.

Years spent with a father that forced it only to berate Steve for-

What the fuck. His daydream kept bleeding over, giving him all this nonsense about the dream version of Steve he had conjured up.

“Don’t know why.”

Steve looked at him then.

“Really pulled some shit, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you, you deserve to die, or something. You weren’t in control.”

“Was that night I beat your face in.”

Steve looked away again.

“Water under the bridge.”

Steve once told him he doesn’t know what that expression means, just that he’s heard people use it in situations like this.

“You don’t even know what that means.” Billy couldn’t stop himself.

He just blurted it out.

And Steve gave him a funny look.

Because of course he does. Because this Steve, this real Steve is different than the coma fantasy one Billy conjured up.

“Well, no. But people usually say it like that, don’t they?”

And Billy just stared at him.

And then his vision went hazy around the edges, and he slipped back into darkness.

“Which one?”

Steve was holding up two pairs of swim trunks. Billy was just staring at his ass.

“You know I like those little green ones.”

Steve threw him a look over his shoulder.

“I don’t think the green ones even fit anymore.”

Steve sometimes got self conscious about himself. His thighs had thickened up considerably, his ass getting plumper too. And his belly was soft, doughy, and perfect for squishing.

But the green shorts fit, even though they were tight.

And Billy loved his older body, loved when Steve put on some extra fluff. A chubby Steve meant a happy Steve. And Billy would know.

You learn a lot about a person in thirty-some years.

Steve was dressed now, shouldering a bag.

“Beach time?” His eyes were bright.

“Beach time.”

They held hands as they walked.

The air smelled like ocean spray.

The beach was close to their little house, and they found their usual spot right away, far from any other beach patrons.

“Hargrove!”

Billy came to with a start, back in the cold hospital room, back with a younger Steve.

What the fuck was going on?

“Sorry, you kinda passed out. I thought you were slipping back under, or something.”

Steve looked sheepish.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. Not totally.

Because Billy wanted to live in that fucking daydream for the rest of his goddamn life.

“Sorry, I should let you sleep. I mean you’re probably exhausted.” Steve stood up, gathering the few things he had with him, a water bottle, and empty coffee cup, and a book. An old worn out copy of The Outsiders.

That’s dream Steve’s favorite book. He reads it once every year. He said it was the first book he ever read in class that actually gripped him. The only one he actually took the time to push through his rampant dyslexia to read and understand.

He won’t be diagnosed dyslexic until he’s 23. He’ll feel really vindicated and Billy will take him out for a fancy dinner. They’ll go skinny dipping in the ocean after and Steve will whine the whole time.

Billy hadn’t realized he had been staring at Steve the whole time that all ran through his brain, not until Steve snapped his fingers in front of him.

“Billy!”

“Yeah, what? Sorry.”

“Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?”

“No, I just-” he tried to scrub a hand down his face, found his muscles screamed out at the movement of his muscles after who knows how long in that bed.

It didn’t matter anyway, as his hands were wrapped up in a mitten of bandages.

“Was havin’ a good dream.”

“What was it about?”

Billy couldn’t look at Steve. Couldn’t look at those big brown eyes, couldn’t search for the specks of gold, the streaks of green that he knows are there.

“Future. Dream future, I guess.”

“Do you-” Steve hesitated, and Billy finally looked at him, watched as he reached up to tug on a lock of hair near the crown of his head. A nervous tick he’s had since he was a kid. “Do you wanna share?”

“California. Little house by the beach. Slice of Heaven, really.”

“A wife?”

“Been married for a few years.”

“She pretty?”

“The prettiest.”

Steve smiled at him softly.

“Sorry you had to wake up to me, then.”

And that? That made Billy wanna tear out his own damn hair. Made him wanna pull Steve to lay on top of him the way they both like, pet through Steve’s hair, tell him how goddamn perfect you are, Sugar.

“It’s okay. Prefer your company.”

“I guess I’m alright if the alternative is being alone.”

“Cut that out.”

Steve blinked at him.

“We’ve been talking like, five minutes and all you’ve done is apologize and talk shit on yourself.”

“Sorry, I- it’s just a habit, I guess.” He was back to playing with his hair. Being a little rougher, tugging on the lock between his fingers a bit. Billy sighed as well as he could with his burning lungs.

“Just, I like it that you’re here, okay? I’d tell you to beat it if I wanted you gone.”

And Steve smiled at him.

One of his six real smiles, not one of the eleven fake ones.

Billy can tell.

Because the real ones make his nose scrunch a bit. They make his eyes go bright and his shoulders bunch up.

And he must’ve fallen back into that dream again, because suddenly he was looking at his Steve, his grown up Steve, giving him that exact same real smile as Billy ran wet fingers over his skin.

And he pulled Steve close to him in the shower, mouthing at the skin of his neck.

And if this was a dream, he was going to burn all of this into his memory.

The way Steve’s skin tastes, the way he gasps when Billy nibbles at his ear. The way Billy feels buried deep inside him, in the soft bed that they share, the one that took months to buy because Steve is weirdly picky about bedframes for no discernible reason.

And just as he was watching Steve’s face crumple, as he was trying to memorize the exact noises he makes as he cums, he was jolted out of his dream by the real Steve, fucking sneezing.

“Sorry.” He looked distressed. “You were like, really asleep and I, I tried to hold it back.”

“’S okay. Know you got that dust thing.”

Billy was drowsy. He felt like he was inches underwater, everything moving slowly around him. Almost like the world was a little muffled.

Turns out his last dose of pain meds had been administered while he was out.

“Wait, what dust thing?”

“Got that. You know. You’re allergic to dust. And peanuts. And cashews. And-the green ones.”

“Pistachios?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know that?”

“You told me. Nearly fuckin’ killed you first time we really made out. I had just eaten a PB and J. Sent you into anaphylaxis.”

Billy felt himself drifting, that perfect dreamland tugging him back.

And then there was a cold hand on his arm, shaking him gently.

“Billy, Billy don’t fall asleep. You gotta, Billy what the fuck? We haven’t made out. We, how do you know what I’m allergic to?”

But Billy was swallowed up by sleep once again.

He was laying next to Steve, stretched out on their bed, Steve’s head resting on his shoulder.

“Today was nice. Haven’t had a day like that in such a long time.”

“We should do it more often, then. Call outta work and hang out at the beach all day.”

Steve rolled a bit to glare playfully at Billy.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of setting our own hours, Mr. Boss Man.”

“Billy!”

And he was back, back to staring at the pale nervous face of Young Steve.

“Billy, you’re scaring me.”

Sunlight was beginning to haze through the meager window at the end of the hospital room. Billy hadn’t had any idea of time since he got here.

Steve looked like shit, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Billy, I don’t know if you remember, everything you said before you fell asleep but-”

“I remember.”

Steve furrowed his brows.

“How do you know that? About, about my allergies. And yesterday, you said, you said I didn’t know what water under the bridge meant. And you said, that we m-made out.”

Billy sighed again, his lungs protesting the effort.

“My dream. The future. You’re the person. My person. And now it’s like, whatever Dream Billy knows about Dream Steve I know. And I figured I just, like, made all that shit up.”

Steve was studying his face.

“Okay, then let’s see if you’ve just had some lucky guesses. Tell me what else you know, and maybe it’s all wrong.”

And Billy didn’t really like the way Steve looked like he hoped is was all wrong. Like he didn’t wanna be tied to Billy in this way.

Billy narrowed his eyes.

“When you were fourteen you watched A Streetcar Named Desire with your mom and you credit Marlon Brando as your queer awakening.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, his mouth trembling.

“Your dad has smacked you once in your life, and it’s when you got the rejection letter from Indiana State. You hid the letter from him because you knew he’d be mad, but he found it and hit you and didn’t talk to you for nearly a month.”

Steve’s eyes were shining now.

“Your mom used to always talk about how much she wished you guys could have a better garden, but because it gets so cold here, she can’t grow anything. The house we have in the daydream has like, a huge fucking garden in it, by the way. I hate gardening but you love it.”

Steve stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room in front of Billy’s bed. Billy just kept going.

It was like everything was ready to burst out of him. To prove that he knows Steve, that he loves Steve. Even if this Steve is somehow different to Dream Steve.

“You go fucking batshit over corn on the cob, just with a little butter and salt on there. That’s somehow your favorite food. Because you’re the most Midwesterner to ever Midwestern, I guess. Your second favorite food is your grandmother’s lasagna. You keep trying to recreate her recipe and no matter how much I tell you it’s fucking delicious, you always get this little pout going and explain to me about how it’s not quite right. You only started smoking because-”

“That’s, I think that’s enough.”

Steve looked like a strong gust of wind would knock him right over.

“It true.?”

“It’s, it’s all true. In, in detail. I mean the, the letter, and my dad. I swore I was never gonna tell anyone about that.”

“It took you a few years. We were talking about my dad. How he treated me, and you admitted that. How sometimes you think about that one time and it makes you sad because that was my everyday-” Billy cut himself off.

Because fuck.

He forgot that Steve knows jack fucking all about Billy.

Which means Steve was currently giving him that look, that wide-eyed, nostrils flared, mouth tight look that he always did when he was angry on Billy’s behalf.

It was kinda hot.

“Excuse me?”

“Forgot my apparent psychic abilities were limited to just me knowing about you.”

“Billy, did your dad hit you?”

And Billy kinda saw no point in lying anymore.

“All the damn time.”

And Steve was back to pacing.

“Fuck. Fuck. That honestly, wow that explains a lot. I mean, yeah. I get it now. I get it.”

Billy let him mutter to himself.

Steve always does better thinking out loud.

“You know, I was actually fucking nervous to tell you, but now I don’t care. Your dad was one of the flayed.”

“Yeah, I know. Only person I never felt guilty about.”

“You’re handling this, like, scary well.”

“Technically, I’ve had thirty years of therapy. All this has been processed already.”

“Wait, your little dream is thirty years in the future?”

“About.”

“So we’re, like, fifty?”

“About.”

“How do I look?”

Billy barked a laugh, regretting it almost immediately as his whole body screamed in protest. He wheezed a few times before he felt like he could speak again.

“I think you’re hot, but you don’t handle aging well.”

“Oh, God. What’s the damage?”

“Not telling. You’re just gonna spend the next thirty years stressing more than you already would. But lemme tell you, first time you found a grey hair? That was the funniest day of my damn life. It was like being in a soap opera. You found it and then called our lawyer to begin drawing up a will. And you kept saying how you probably only have a few god years left in you. It was hilarious.”

“Glad to know you laugh at my pain.”

“It’s one grey hair. Plus you maintain good health, don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time to whine over grey hairs.”

“At least I don’t go bald.”

“Nah. Full head of natural hair. Not even receding.”

Steve brushed a hand through his hair, dropping heavily back into the seat next to Billy’s bed.

“Man, this is too trippy. Like, from my end, we’re not even close, you know? But to you, we’ve been together for decades. That’s fucking wild.”

“Imagine how I feel. Am I some kind of psychic now, or is this all just fucking delusion?”

“I mean, you know too much shit about me for everything to be, like, a figment of your imagination. But what happens now? Like, if we don’t live out the future just like your daydream, is the world gonna fall apart? Or is that an alternate dimension? Like, if the Upside Down exists, there’s gotta be other worlds too. Is that one of them and maybe because you were infected by the Mind Flayer you have like, a link between both worlds?” Steve’s brows were furrowed, his eyes darting all over the ceiling as he thought out loud. “And, I mean, I’m confused. I don’t know what my feelings towards you are. Like, don’t get me wrong, there’s been interest since you showed up. But now you’re telling me in some reality, we’ve been together for thirty years, and obviously you know all this deep shit about me, so do we date? When you know me like the back of your hand and I barely know you at all? And are you technically fifty years old? Since you lived out that other life?”

Billy’s head was starting to hurt, and he felt tired again.

“Sugar, you think we could table this?”

Steve’s cheeks went red as his jaw clacked shut.

“Is that what you call me? Sugar?”

“Call you a lot ‘a stuff.”

“Uh, like, like what?”

“Sugar, Pretty Boy, Stevie, Baby, Sweet Thing, Honey. Mac n’ Steve comes to mind.” Steve smiled softly at the last one, his cheeks still warm. “Princess.” Steve opened his mouth, his brows furrowing, the blush spreading down his neck. “No sense in denying how much you like them. Those are tried and true. Thirty years of calling you all that. Plus a few others. But, you know. Those are mostly reserved for the bedroom.”

Steve’s eyes went huge again.

“Fuck. You probably know what I kinks I have better than I do.”

“Oh, we’ve done some exploring in our time.”

Steve bent forward to bury his face in his hands with an Oh, God.

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“Trust me when I say, you enjoy most of it.”

“Oh, most. That’s great.”

“There’s some trial and error. But we’re good at laughing stuff off, you and me.”

And then Steve’s eyes went wide, and he sat up straight in his chair.

“Wait, you said. When I first asked about the dream, you said, you said married. We got-I mean, we can get married?”

“Yeah. And we like, make out in public and shit. Hold hands everywhere. We’re big saps.”

Steve took a shaky breath.

“So things get, they get better? For people like us?”

“Yeah, they do,” Billy kept his voice soft, felt like sharing this thread of hope should be kept intimate, quiet. And Steve’s face split into a wide grin.

“God, I can’t fucking wait. Just to be, not to be scared all the time. Of everyone finding out this big fucking secret. It just, is.” Steve huffed a laugh. “Can’t believe it. Two guys getting married. Was our wedding nice?”

“We had two. One in the courthouse, one with everybody.”

“Wow. I just can’t believe it-wait, who;s everybody?”

“Your gang of weirdos. Here.”

And Steve lips parted, and he made that cute little face he always does before he cries.

“They all come? Dustin and the Byers and everyone?”

“Robin officiates. Dustin cries really fuckin’ loudly.”

“And they’re all, they’re all fine with it?”

“Yep.”

“God. It’s all, you think it’s too good to be true?”

“Everything I know about you was right. Don’t see a reason why everything else would be wrong.”

“Then, where do we go from here? Like, do we try to follow your memories? Or, forge our own path? Will the fact that we know about this future automatically change it?”

Billy’s heart was doing something funny as Steve wondered aloud to himself about all this.

The fact that he was all in, dead set on having this happy future with Billy, when he didn’t even know Billy.

“Are you sure about this? If we do this? Or some form of it. I mean, I know fucking everything about you. And you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you well enough to see the good in you. I know you well enough to see that under all your big scary toughness you’re caring. And you’re kind. Although you’d probably rather be dead than admit it. And besides. If, in another reality, or in the future, or whatever, I pick you to spend my life with, obviously that means there’s something in you that makes me love you.”

Billy gawked at him.

His face was hot, no doubt bright fucking red.

Because, holy shit was that a lot.

And even Billy, used to Steve’s passionate little tangents after thirty dream-years worth, was taken aback by how quickly Steve was ready to jump into this.

And all of a sudden, Billy wanted nothing more than to reach out to Steve, to pull him close and kiss him until he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Harrington, I’m gonna need you to come kiss me right the fuck now.”

And Steve smiled, his most sunshiney happy smile, and the chair legs scraped along the tiled floor as he got up, sitting carefully on the edge of Billy’s bed.

He leaned over him, cupping Billy’s cheek in his hand, and pressing the softest of sugar kisses to his lips.

Billy let his eyes flutter closed, and he put one hand bandaged on Steve’s lap, wanting to grasp at him, to pull him even closer.

But Steve wrapped his other hand as gently as possible around the thick bandages, pulling away slowly, studying Billy’s face.

“I never asked. Is this always how our first kiss went?”

And Billy tried to search his memory, tried to find the sweet first kiss.”

“I-I don’t remember.”

Steve sat back.

“What?”

“Our first kiss, from the memories. I don’t remember. It’s like, when I think of our first kiss, all I can think of is that one just now. The other one is gone.”

An ache settled in Billy’s chest at the prospect, at losing a perfect memory with Steve. Losing their first kiss.

“So, when we do something, it like, replaces the old memory?”

“I guess.”

“So, we can build new ones then. And like, you won’t have to go through your whole life twice. We can start closer to square one. Memories that’ll be ours, and not ones that I don’t know.”

And that’s true.

For the pain of every memory gone is a brand new one, one that Steve would remember and be a part of too.

“Then I’m not telling you anymore. If we’re gonna build the memories together, we can’t be working off of some, some blueprint. Things need to be ours.”

“Agreed. We’ll make it up as we go.” Steve hadn’t stopped smiling at Billy.

“Is it weird I’m gonna kinda miss seeing you all old? You’re a silver fucking fox.”

“Yes, Bill. That’s fucking weird.” Steve took his hand and pressed a kiss on his bandages, right over where his palm will be. “Just means you’ll have to watch me go through it all again, though.”

“God, that’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Yeah? That get you going? The thought of me aging?”

“Nah, Pretty Boy. The thought of us aging together.”

“Wow. When you said we’re saps, you really meant it.”

Billy rolled his eyes, sighing as deeply as he could.

“Can it, Harrington. Or I’ll call the nurse and have you escorted out by security.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.” Steve pressed another kiss to his bandaged hand before sliding off the hospital bed, sitting back in this chair, scooting it as close as possible to the bed. He rested his elbows on the edge of Billy’s bed, and set his chin in his hands. “So, California, huh? When do we head out there?”

“Remember, like, twenty seconds ago when I said I wasn’t gonna say any more?”

Steve pushed his bottom lip out, making his eyes go big as he pouted at Billy.

“That doesn’t work on me anymore, Baby.” That was absolutely a lie. It worked on Billy nearly every time. But what’s he gonna do, reveal his weakness to Steve? Absolutely fucking not.

“C’mon, Bill. Just like, the year.”

“Nope. Not saying a damn thing.”

“Please?” Steve pouted some more.

“So odd to hear you begging outside of the bedroom.” Billy grinned with his tongue between his teeth as Steve dropped his little pouty face, his cheeks going red. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Sailing right past pleading and into petulant.

“Fine. I’ll just rot here until you decide to whisk me away to California. Better make it soon or else I may just die of boredom.”

“Jesus, so fucking dramatic. Didn’t we say we’re gonna make our own memories and shit? You can very well ask me to run away with you.”

“Maybe we should like, go on a date first. So I know you’re not a serial killer before I get in a car with you and drive out of state.”

“You’re so weird.” Steve made a snarky face at him. “But you better be planning our first date. I don’t wanna accidentally repeat the other one. Want us to have our own.”

And Billy felt that overwhelming sense of sadness at losing the memories of the other date, the perfect timid experience. Going to the diner and ordering to go, eating while sitting on the hood of Steve’s car overlooking the quarry, talking for hours and hours.

But he’ll get a new memory. One he’ll cherish just as much, maybe even more, knowing that Steve will cherish the memory too.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take out. Maybe just metaphorically speaking, as I don’t think you’re in any shape to be going out.”

“Ha ha, Shithead. Just make it nice. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he sighed dramatically.

“If our whole relationship is just you holding me to the impossibly high standard of alternate reality me, then I want out now.”

“Relax. The standard’s not that high.”

 Steve made an indignant squawking sound.

Billy just laughed.

“I’m kidding. Just, you know. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble meeting the standard. I fell for you once. I can do it again.”

And Steve’s face went all soft again, and he curled forward to rest his head on Billy’s arm.

“Thirty years. Always thought I’d end up divorced. People tend to get sick of me.”

“Not me. Never got sick of you, never gonna get sick of you. You’re stuck with me.”

“Then you’re stuck with me too.”

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Drowning Part 7

I felt like writing today, so you guys have two Drowning parts today. Enjoy, but beware that I did not edit this.

Masterlist

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: possessiveness, medical whump, odd medical practices, anesthesia, major descriptions of vomit, striped of clothing (not sexual), restraints, IVs, needles, knives, surgery (intense descriptions)

~

Hero blinked her eyes open, taking in the scene around her. She wasn't in the chair anymore, she could move her arms and legs and there wasn't the consistent beep of the monitors hooked up to Supervillain's skin.

Her hands must've have recovered some of their strength for she dug them into the object she was laid upon. It sunk down, but rebounded when she released pressure.

A bed.

Her head was also set gingerly upon a soft pillow- caressing to give her optimum comfort.

Light streamed in through a window, landing on her torso. Hero stiffened, noticing a shadow pass through her abdomen where it stopped.

"Look at me."

Hero hesitantly brought her head up to meet Villain's blue eyes. Memories of their encounter streamed through her head, blocking any other thought process.

"There we go now dear," Villain sat on the foot of the bed, tracing some form of shape into the ruffled covers with a smug smile on his tanned face.

"What do you want?" Hero asked, though she halfway knew the answer.

"You, of course, my dear," Villain said with such confidence that it almost sounded arrogant, cocky...

Possessive.

"Well, now you have me," Hero stated, her tongue feeling bitterly dry. "Where's Supervillain?"

"You still care about him? I thought the doctor- oh sorry, your friends- did a pretty good job of taking those feelings away," Villain tutted. "What breakfast? I made a smoothie bowl." Then he added with a twinkle to his gaze, "Your favorite."

"Hmm no thanks," Hero smiled, still glaring at Villain as if that would remove him from her sight. His whole fit body was a vulgar sight.

Villain sighed dramatically. "Can't I do anything right for you?" He asked, voice in a bitter snarl. "Nope," he answered himself. "No because Hero is too righteous to take anything from a villain..."

"Quit with the guilt tripping. It is not working," Hero informed him, rolling her eyes. "I don't want anything because I don't need anything."

"You can't walk."

"Can to," Hero retorted, crossing her arms, relieved that those at least had some strength in them.

"Try it," Villain dared, leaning against the bed with his palms dug deeply into a mattress, a twinkle in his eyes. Hero vaguely noticed the decrease in swelling, the near fading scar on his right temple- a reminder of how long she had been caged up.

Hero swung her legs to the other side, dangling them down before putting all her weight on the shaky muscles. Gripping the sides of the bed, she pushed herself off and...

She fell, only to be caught by strong arms.

"There now. Proved you wrong dearie, now how does breakfast sound?" Villain asked, smiling down at his little captive.

Hero snarled, tucking her chin to her chest, before nodding subtley. Villain grinned even wider and carried her to the kitchen where she was sat down at the table.

"What are they doing to Supervillain when I'm not there?" Hero asked, looking down at her hands.

"Probably healing him up," Villain replied as he dished flax meal and chia seeds on the berry smoothie bowl. "And then do who knows what."

"We should rescue him," Hero said, nearly a whisper. Villain cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He asked nonchalantly. Hero nodded and took the cold metal spoon and began to eat the more than delicious breakfast.

"That is, hmm, not happening," Villain scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Why not?" Hero asked, pausing her eating.

Villain didn't answer. He just left and began to wash the dishes.

"Hello?" Hero called, but received no answer in return.

Within the next fews days of movement, Hero built up enough strength in her legs to carry herself across the house without as much as breaking a sweat.

"I want to watch a movie tonight," Villain said once when Hero was helping clean up after dinner.

"What movie?" Hero asked, never giving him an joy-filled statement once in her stay.

"Thor," Villain replied. "The first one."

"Why don't we watch Iron Man? The first one. Or whichever one Tony gets drunk at the party and fights Rhodey."

"Because Stark sucks, Loki is the best."

"Uh, nooo. Loki is the definition of bad acting," Hero rolled her eyes as she set a dirty plate into the sink.

"Stark is the definition of a crappy character," Villain retorted as he handwashed a knife. Hero studied him, watching as the soapy water drenched his long sleeve shirt. His soft blonde hair trickled into his icy blue eyes as his pink lips were pulled tight into a concentrated purse.

"Or maybe we watch the Kissing Booth," Hero murmured and joined Villain to rinse off the plates and utensils to put them in the dishwasher.

Villain smiled, but it wasn't his usual broad, creepy smile that made shivers run down Hero's spine. It was a smile one, a contented embarrassed one. Tied with his blushing cheeks, Hero would've even called it cute.

That was if he never betrayed her, or never kidnapped her.

If he never kept her from rescuing Supervillain in that wretched place.

Yes, Hero noticed that doors that could only be unlocked by Villain's fingerprints. The sealed windows that refused to budge.

And the fact that the one story trailer house was different from Villain's previous home that consisted of three stories with a gym room and a gaming room.

He was moved, or moved himself, specifically to keep Hero locked in.

Not even his charisma could change that foreboding fact.

《~~》

"Welcome Supervillain to the lab."

Supervillain blinked slowly as LED lights brushed past tender eyelids. The rolling floor memorized him slightly as he watched the equally placed lines fall under the gurney's wheels.

The gurney took a turn, causing a nauseating lurch of vertigo to pass through his stomach. He held back the urge to gag and instead burped repeatedly until he tasted the beginnings of vomit.

Tossing his head over to the side, Supervillain opened his mouth a threw up. He wanted to lurch, but the restraints around all points of movement other than his head and neck forbid that. He was left to allow the puke to streaming down his front, landing on his bound hands.

"Look at you!" One of the heroes chastised, slapping Supervillain hard across the face with a backhanded slap. The world around Supervillain whirled and he nearly threw up again if it wasn't for the gag- no, metal bit- shoved into his mouth, hitting his teeth and sending yet another gag reflex through his esophagus. But this time, he was forced to keep the vomit within and threw up inside his own mouth. Groaning and eyes rolling up slightly, Supervillain laid his head back against the thin pillow that protected his head against any form of head injury. Eyes fluttering closed, he tried to draw more sleep in.

Only for a sudden release in pressure to wake him up from his momentary slumber. The bit was removed and his body was held under a faucet for his mouth to be washed out. Someone came behind him and dumped a bunch of listerine into his unsuspecting mouth. Sputtering from the numbing taste of strong original mouthwash, Supervillain allowed his head to dangle- black hair wetted by the flowing hot water.

Next, his soiled clothing was removed- even his pants- and replaced by a faded pair of shorts. His torso was left bare.

The next movement was of him being laid across a metal table, his limbs once again being held in place by the four-point restraint system- padded metal contraptions barricading any form of movement or escape from the inevitable pain that was to come.

"Patient is restrained, begin procedure."

Nurses bustled around, two on each side of him, one by his feet, and one by his head.

"We are going to force the water out of his lungs," another voice, one that was not owned by any of the nurses surrounding him. Out of the corner of Supervillain's eye, he saw the doctor. The doctor, pacing around not even once looking at the stretched out patient before him.

"This will be painful, but we need the patient entirely conscious for this to work," the doctor instructed. "We are going to insert a tube directly into his lungs- on both sides-, piercing them, and using a sort of plunger instrument to force the liquid through his trachea. To ensure he does not choke, Medic and Nurse, once the plungers are released, you ladies need to unrestrain him and roll him over to his side. We go slow and the second all the fluid is expelled, we need to anesthetize the patient to due emergency surgery to stitch the lungs back together. Estimated recovery time is a couple days with the rapid-healing drug we will administer. Any questions? Prep the IV, Nurse2 be ready there."

The hairs on Supervillain's arms stood up and goosebumps picked his skin. The order from the doctor made him struggle against the restraints, pulling aggressively against them.

"Oh please don't do this," he blubbered, tears spilling from his ducts. "Don't do this. I can't do this. Oh please, please, please, please." He started sobbing, terrifed, as a nurse stuck his elbow with a needle.

"Prepare insertion."

Two sharp metal pieces found their home right below Supervillain's rib.

"Ultrasound."

A cool gel was squirted between the two sharp pricks before a rectangular object was placed upon it.

"Ultrasound ready."

"Begin incision."

A buzzing sound, right before a knife cut in his skin. No, not once, that was a lie, but two.

Two sharp, agonizing knives.

Supervillain screamed, wailed pitifully, as his body thrashed around.

"Stop, stop!" He begged, picking his head up only for hands to shove it back down. His fingers stretched out, clenched, anything for the torture to end.

"Left, move yours towards the ribcage a bit so you don't cut the liver."

Supervillain tensed, clouded thoughts coming to the surface. Cut my liver..., he thought before attempting to evade the knives cutting into his body.

"Don't, don't, don't!" he screeched. "Please."

"Prepare to pierce the lung."

Supervillain shoved himself downwards, but it did nothing with the unrelenting cuffs keeping him close to rock still.

The pure agony that he felt when the knife pierced the lung, then the way the knife evolved into a plunger, was indescribable.

Supervillain screamed. Screamed so loud that even the practiced nurses flinched. The doctor though stayed still, watching the procedure with his authoritive gaze.

"Release the patient."

His wrists and ankles were quickly let free by the wave of a card. He tried to curl in on himself to avoid the operation, but professional hands kept him stretched out.

"Start pumping at Level One to begin."

The horrendous feeling of the machine inside of Supervillain changed into a coveted one when the same machine started to pump. A plunger hit the liquid, sending it up and into his trachea.

Supervillain coughed, rolled over to his side. At first, he imagined that the left plunger would quit working as if it was kinked, but found out that it must've been electrically powered.

Mucus, blood, and water shot up through his trachea. Pain forgotten, Supervillain gagged and coughed the abhorrent liquid out until blackness began to crawl at the edges of his vision. It clouded his thoughts, but he body still involuntarily gagged, coughed, and spat all of his lung's content out.

"Stay awake," a rough voice sounded as his body was shook. Supervillain complied and returned to his coughing fit, agony once again returning to his veins and muscles.

Then, as soon as it started, the pressure ceased as soon as it started.

"Administer the anesthesia promptly."

A dial clicked, though Supervillain hardly registered it. Even before the sedative started pumping through his veins, he was losing consciousness.

A mask was placed above his mouth just as the world descended into blackness.

[vannahfanfics]

Raincheck

Category: Angst, Drama, Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hitoshi Shinso, Ochako Uraraka

Hello everyone! This is my story for the @shinsoubigbang​! When you get a chance, also check out my partner's artwork; they did an amazing job illustrating a scene from the story. :)

The wind tugged at Hitoshi’s lavender locks and whipped at the capture weapon around his neck as he perched on the edge of the rooftop. He hunched like a gargoyle as he carefully surveyed the sprawling mess of back alleys below his sneakers. Crime always festered in dark places, especially on cloudy, moonless nights like these. Hitoshi could almost hear the whispers of malcontent and mischief rising with the wisps of fog. His instincts were buzzing, tingling just beneath his skin, indicating that his hunt for criminals would soon bear fruit. 

His lilac-hued eyes snapped to the side as the air suddenly rang with the rhythmic clacking of heels. A young woman in a waitress’ garb quickly strode down a cobblestoned back road. She clutched her purse tight to her chest and feverishly looked to her left and right. Despite her vigorous attempts, her caution did not avail her. Hitoshi watched a shadow slink out from behind a dumpster. A knife glinted in the dark as its blade caught the dull yellow light spilling from the nearby streetlamp. The shadowy figure crept up behind the unsuspecting woman, reaching for her brunette hair bunched in a bun— 

and that’s when Hitoshi swung down in a dark fury, his capture weapon wrapping tightly around the man’s wrist. The woman screamed and stumbled into the wall as the hero wedged himself between her and her would-be assailant. The mugger cursed and tugged violently against his bindings, but he could not best the hard-earned muscles of Hitoshi’s arms, which flexed as he drew the capture weapon so tight that it ceased the man’s blood flow and forced his fingers apart. The knife clattered to the ground, useless, and the startled thief met Shinso’s cool, cold purple eyes. 

“Someone taught you the wrong way to pick up women, mate,” Hitoshi tsked while wagging his finger scoldingly. The mugger’s face turned an ugly red-purple hue, and he vehemently resumed clawing and yanking at the capture weapon. 

“You motherfucker! I’m gonna—” He wasn’t going to do anything, actually, which he realized when his jaw slackened and his eyes clouded over as Hitoshi’s Quirk washed over him. 

“Do me a favor and stop struggling, will you?” Hitoshi tutted. The man obediently lowered his arm, standing still as a statue as Hitoshi loosened the bindings and looped them back around his neck. The hero returned his attention to the young woman, who was still pale-faced and hugging the dirty brick wall while staring at the mugger in horror. 

“He… He won’t do anything?” she squeaked as Shinso abandoned him to walk over to her. 

“Him?” he asked with a jab of his thumb. “Nah,” he reassured with a wily smirk. “He’s completely under the control of my Quirk. He won’t do anything I don’t put in his empty head. Now, miss, are you hurt?” Still gawking apprehensively at her attacker, she slowly shook her head. To Hitoshi’s relief, however, her rigid body slowly relaxed, and she turned to look at him. 

“Thank you for saving me… I should have known better than to use this shortcut, but it’s my daughter’s birthday party and I wanted to hurry home after my shift since I couldn’t get off for her party…”

“I’m sorry you had to miss it,” Hitoshi said genuinely. “It’s dangerous around here, though. I’ll call in a police escort to get you home safely in addition to handing over this guy if you don’t mind waiting a little longer, okay?” Though she probably didn’t want to waste any more time, the near-catastrophe rattled her thoroughly enough to comply. Hitoshi walked out of the side street onto the sidewalk flanking the main road. After phoning the police, he paused to open a video message. 

“Hey, ‘Toshi!” Ochako’s bubbly round face dominated the screen, cheeks rosy and brown eyes sparkling as she waved excitedly. “I just got back from my P.R. trip to America. You wouldn’t believe all the amazing things I saw! We should get together for lunch tomorrow so I can tell you all about it. I’m sure you’re on patrol right now and will be until morning,” she said, leaning back in the camera frame, and he could see that she was dressed in a pair of fluffy white pajamas printed with green aliens in spacesuits. It made him chuckle; she always had adored silly pajamas like that. “I’ve got a bit of jet lag so I’ll be awake for a while, so call me when you get off, okay? Bye-bye now!” she chirped while waving before the video cut off. 

Hitoshi stared at the frozen image of Ochako’s big bright smile, a soft one forming on his own lips. After he’d joined Class A in U.A.’s Hero Course, he’d become fast friends with all of them. However, to everyone’s surprise including his own, he’d gravitated the most to Ochako. She was just so bubbly and bright, the perfect counterpart to his subdued and relaxed personality. He found her endless optimism and drive refreshing, so much so that they still kept up with one another even after graduation. 

His big fat crush on her might have had a little to do with that, though. 

Hitoshi waited impatiently for the police with the waitress. He asked her questions about her daughter, and though she eagerly embraced the small talk to ease her nerves, Hitoshi really just let her responses go in one ear and out the other. He was too busy mentally configuring his schedule, trying to figure out the soonest he could call Ochako. In the end his impatience got the best of him, as he ended up calling her number as the police officers were loading the suspect into the back of the squad car and the other was taking a report from his would-be victim. 

“Wow, that was fast.”

Hitoshi smiled at her cheery voice buzzing on the other end of the line. He leaned against the hood of the patrol car and slid one of his hands into his pants pockets. 

“I just happened to have a break,” he shrugged. “I wanted to call and see how you were settling in after your trip.” 

“I’ve only been gone two weeks, but it still feels kind of weird to be back!” she giggled. He could envision her grabbing one of her fluffy pillows— probably the big sun plushie wearing sunshades— as she reclined against her headboard. “America was incredible! I can totally see how it was the birthplace of heroes. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, ‘Toshi.” 

“Are you sure you can wait until tomorrow?” he joked. In the background, he could hear the police radio crackling about a carjacking and a high-speed chase through town. As the sirens began to wail and red-and-blue lights painted the dark night sky, Hitoshi straightened up and looked around with narrowed eyes. “Hey, Ochako, hold on a minute. I think—” 

He never got time to finish the sentence. 

Everything was a blur as the car came careening down the street, followed closely by a police cruiser. The air filled with squealing tires and burning rubber as the police car braked harshly, but the carjacker had no care to do so, instead opting to plow right through the two police cars parked in the middle of the road in his effort to get away. One of the police officers managed to tackle the waitress into the safety of the alleyway, while the other was bowled over by the criminal, who was attempting to use the chaos to escape, even though he was handcuffed. 

Hitoshi was not so lucky. As the car zoomed past the cruiser, crunching the metal with a sickening sound, it glanced him. Even being glanced by a car going over one hundred miles an hour was enough to send Hitoshi flying back into the alleyway. His phone was slung from his hand as he crashed against the rough ground; he released a strangled gasp as he felt several of his bones snap. As he rolled down the alley, the back of his head smacked against the cobblestone. A white rush flooded through him from head to toe, filling his brain with cotton and his ears with a persistent ring. When he finally came to a rest on his back in a mangled mess of limbs, he was staring uncomprehendingly at the sky, blood leaking out of his lips. 

Dimly, he could hear Ochako’s voice echoing through the alleyway. He’d somehow managed to turn the phone on speaker. 

“‘Toshi? What happened? ‘Toshi? Hitoshi?!” 

The sirens continued wailing. The blue-and-red lights flashed around him like the stars falling to earth. He could feel blood leaking out from the back of his head, coating his lavender hair in thick, sticky globs. The woman was screaming and crying, while the police officers were shouting into their radios for an ambulance. As the darkness encroached on the edges of Hitoshi’s vision, he hung onto Ochako’s frantically screeching voice like a lifeline. 

He had to live. He had to live. He was going to meet her for lunch tomorrow…

~~~~~~~~~~

It began with a dull pounding ache. It thundered at the base of his skull, rising in intensity with each inch he crawled towards consciousness. The persistent pain made him want to drift back into the sweet embrace of sleep, but unfortunately the ache prevented it. He groaned lowly, lolling his head from side-to-side and hitting the hard plastic of the neck brace hugging his throat. His purple lashes fluttered open, and his eyes were greeted with bright, burning white. 

He blinked slowly, uncomprehendingly, at the nondescript white tiles above him. He could hear a heart monitor blinking steadily beside him. He could feel a thin hospital gown rubbing against his bruised skin, the casts wrapping his right arm and leg to immobilize them, and the bandage covering his swollen right eye. He was in a hospital, clearly, but what had landed him there in such a deplorable state? 

As he tried to remember, there was nothing. Emptiness. A blank slate. 

He furrowed his eyebrows in mild panic. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t summon up memories about much of anything. He knew his name— Hitoshi Shinso— but that was it. As he shifted on the bed, breath hitching and his heart rate jumping on the monitor, it alerted the nurses outside. 

“He’s awake!” a nurse called as she bustled in through the doorway. “Hey, hey, it’s all right. You’re safe, in the hospital,” she cooed as she leaned over his bedside. Hitoshi looked at her with wild eyes. “What’s the matter, hun? Are you in pain? Do you need medication?” 

“Don’t remember,” he grumbled. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t remember anything…” 

The nurse gasped and straightened up, hand flying to her mouth. She looked nervously at the other nurses crowding the door. As they began to murmur worriedly to one another, the doctor strode in, frowning over Hitoshi’s chart. 

“Doctor, he says he doesn’t remember anything,” the nurse reported in a quiet voice. The professional looked at her before walking to Hitoshi’s side. Hitoshi squirmed uncomfortably under his stern, inquisitive stare. 

“Son, do you know your name?” 

“Hitoshi Shinso.” 

“Do you know how you got here?” 

Hitoshi shook his head as much as the neck brace would allow. “Can you remember anything from the last week?” Another shake of his head. “Last month?” Again, he shook his head. “What do you remember?” 

Hitoshi squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to summon something, anything, from the recesses of his mind. A few snippets floated up in the sea of emptiness, which served to ease him just a little. “I’m a hero… I graduated from U.A. High School… But I don’t remember going there. I just know I did.” 

“Well,” the doctor sighed as he straightened up, tapping the pages of his chart, “you suffered a basilar skull fracture and an epidural hematoma. We had to puncture your skull to relieve the pressure on your brain, but you still developed a very severe concussion. It seems the head trauma has induced amnesia.” 

Hitoshi’s heart rate skyrocketed, causing the monitor to wail shrilly. 

“Will I get my memory back?” 

“Most likely. It may take some time, however, with an injury like yours. Some of your classmates are here; they’ve been waiting for you to recover from surgery. I can bring them in if you would like. Their presence may help to jump-start the process.” 

Hitoshi nodded robotically, still trying to process the great hole that had suddenly developed in his life. Time seemed to blend together, because the next thing he knew, a green-haired young man was inching into the room with a shaky smile. The doctor probably informed his supposed friends of his amnesia because the freckled boy treaded lightly and carefully— like he was afraid Hitoshi would shatter with one wrong word. 

“Hey, ‘Toshi,” the boy smiled as he pulled up a chair to his bedside. Hitoshi squinted at him. There was something familiar about that quivering smile, nervous twitching, and bright emerald eyes, but that was all. “I’m glad to see it’s okay… It’s me, Deku— er, Izuku Midoriya! Not that you would know that, I guess, considering the amnesia and all… We went to school together, y’know?” 

Hitoshi swallowed, but his mouth was dry so it made it a little difficult. 

“I see,” was all the lavender-haired boy said. At this time, a blond-haired skinny boy with a lightning-shaped streak of black in his bangs bustled in, red-faced and looking like he’d run all the way there. 

“Holy crap, is it true, Deku?” the boy panted, rushing up to grip the back of his chair. Izuku pouted over his shoulder at him. 

“Yeah, Denki… He doesn’t remember anything…” 

“Oh, man,” Denki said while nervously running his hand through his hair. “Ochako’s gonna be devastated…” 

Hitoshi perked up at the name. As soon as it passed Denki’s lips, it sent a jolt of recognition through him. Oddly, aliens and stars and the color pink suddenly came to mind. The two boys immediately noticed his reaction and exchanged hopeful glances. 

“Do you recognize that name?” Izuku asked hopefully. 

“I think so…” Hitoshi said quietly, fisting the scratchy white hospital blanket. “Ochako…” The name seemed to roll off his tongue so perfectly, and it sent a bubbly, happy feeling rising up inside of him. 

“That’s great! She was so worried about you, Hitoshi! It took her forever to get answers out of the first responders, and then she had to handle calling all of us, and then she was really upset when they wouldn’t let her see you because you were in surgery, so she’s been a mess all night—” Izuku babbled, but Hitoshi ignored it as he tried to process the way his heart was fluttering at the hazy image of a sweet round-faced brunette trying to surface in the void of his mind. 

“I think… I think I was in love with her.” 

Izuku stopped mid-sentence, emerald eyes blowing wide. Denki had his hand over his mouth as Hitoshi looked at them in muddled confusion. “Were we dating?” 

“Uh… no,” Denki coughed uncomfortably. Hitoshi’s frown deepened and he looked back down at the blanket. If that was the case, then why did just the mention of her name summon up a sense of deep fondness and happiness within him? “But, uh,” Denki continued, scratching at the side of his face, “we’ve all known you’ve had a crush on her for a long time— everyone but Ochako, that is.” 

“Denki!” Izuku gasped scoldingly, whirling around in his chair. 

“What?! The man’s got amnesia! I gotta help him out, right?” the blond argued defensively. Hitoshi was too busy blushing to listen to their quibbling. So, I do love her… But she doesn’t know. So, did I never tell her? Why not? 

“‘Toshi? Where is he? ‘Toshi! Hitoshi!” 

As she came barging in the room, tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks and brunette hair a mess, he immediately knew why. Even flustered and sobbing and disoriented from lack of sleep, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever clapped eyes on. Even with no memories, he knew that. She tripped over his IV cord in her effort to scramble to him, face-planting against the tile floor. He jolted up in bed, the heart rate monitor picking up the leap in his heartbeat, but she was so frantic that she immediately recovered and practically threw herself down on the bed beside him. 

“I was so worried!” she sobbed, grabbing at the blankets as her tears rained down on his face and into his lavender hair. “We were— we were on the phone, and, and then, there was this big crash, and then the sirens, and— oh my God, ‘Toshi, you wouldn’t answer me, and no one would tell me anything, and I-I-I— oh, ‘Toshi, I’m so glad you’re alive!” she rambled through her tears before burying her face into his chest. Hitoshi grunted when pain flared across his body as his broken ribs crunched under the assault, but like hell he was going to say anything. Ochako wailed into him, drowning the thin cloth of the gown with tears and snot. As her body wracked and heaved, it jolted Hitoshi a little, but he gritted his teeth through the little stabs of pain. 

When she’d calmed down enough, she quietly asked against his chest, “Is it true? You have amnesia?” 

“Yes,” he admitted in a small breath. Ochako breathed in deeply, shakily. Then, she shot up, her teary brown eyes gleaming with determination. 

“That’s okay! We can work through it!” Hitoshi’s heart fluttered at her use of “we.” She grabbed his hands and squeezed them tight, giving him a watery smile. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, ‘Toshi. We’re gonna get you better, okay?” she said softly and threaded her fingers through his lavender hair. Her fingers skimmed over the shaved patch in his head and the sutures from where they’d had to split his skull open, and she hiccuped as a fresh wave of tears streamed down her cheeks. “I-it’s gonna be okay.” 

He wanted to tell her that of course it was, now that she was here. But words failed him, as he was too lost in the watery sea of her chocolate-brown eyes and the feeling that everything really was going to be okay. He remembered Ochako, and that was enough comfort to him to face all the trials ahead. 

~~~~~~~~~~

He was discharged from the hospital a week later. In addition to his head injuries, he’d sustained a broken arm and leg, three broken ribs, two fractured cervical vertebrae, and a myriad of scrapes and bruises. Because of the severity of his wounds and his amnesia, it was difficult for Hitoshi to manage by himself, so his friends took it upon themselves to care for him. Nothing humbles you like being unable to do even the most menial tasks, like put on clothes or bathe yourself. Hitoshi’s friends took it in stride, though, and always batted away his emotional expressions of gratitude. “It’s just what friends do,” they said. 

It made Hitoshi wish he remembered their friendships. Maybe then it would make him feel less like a charity case. 

Though his friends rotated shifts around their hero duties to help him throughout the day, Ochako always cooked dinner for him— without fail, every night. They would always insist on sharing the load, she stubbornly refused them. Toting in groceries, sometimes still in her hero uniform and beat up from the toil of the day, she’d grin determinedly. 

“My mom always said that nothing helps you heal faster than a good meal. That’s how I can help!” 

Hitoshi couldn’t find the words to tell her that her presence helped him heal more than food ever could. He’d sit in his wheelchair watching her cook, the way she turned up the radio and danced around the kitchen singing into the wooden spoon. Swinging her hips, she’d whirl around to serenade him with a goofy smile. Hitoshi never knew the words to the songs. He’d just grin back, charmed by her zest for life. It was so dazzling, so blinding, that even now he couldn’t find the courage to tell her how he felt. She was like the sun, so radiant and sublime that he felt like he couldn’t ever compete. 

He should say something to her. Really, he should. But… the words just couldn’t come, just like his memories. 

Three weeks in, Hitoshi’s memories had trickled in somewhat. Most of them were dredged up by old stories his friends told him, so there were still tons of gaps. Still, it made Hitoshi feel a little better; he no longer felt like he was trapped in a void and a stranger to himself. Looking back, it was a terribly scary and lonely feeling, for others to know more about you than you did. Though the doctor kept telling him to give it time, Hitoshi had already resolved himself to the fact that maybe he might not ever get them all back. His past would just be a jigsaw puzzle of little snatches of memory and secondhand information. 

As much as he tried to convince himself that it was all right, he couldn’t. He hated the not knowing— the not knowing all that time he was in love with Ochako besides those feelings. He wanted all of it, every moment he’d ever had with her to treasure and savor. It was maddening, not having that, so Hitoshi decided to just make do with the new moments. Now, if he could just get over himself and ask her out. 

“‘Toshi? Do you not like it?” 

Ochako’s sweet voice dragged him out of his thoughts. He was reclined on the couch with a bowl of noodles growing cold in his hand, the fork still halfway raised to his lips. It had been a new recipe, Ochako had said. Hurriedly, he scooped the noodles into his mouth and gave her an approving hum. 

“No, sorry. I was just lost in thought. It’s really good.” 

Ochako smiled relievedly, melting into his armchair. She set her empty bowl of noodles on the coffee table, idly flipping through the television channels as Hitoshi finished off his food before it really did grow cold and unappetizing. Eventually, Ochako decided there was nothing worth watching and flipped off the television. She rose to get their dirty dishes, and Hitoshi watched her with lidded lilac eyes. How could every move a person made be pure magic? As she waltzed out the room into the kitchen, the fluidness of her body just amazed him. 

Yet… something was wrong. He could tell. Her body was tense, the edges of her smile crinkled, her eyebrows just barely furrowed. She tried to pass it off with a smile to him as she walked back in, but Hitoshi wasn’t buying it. As she proposed renting a movie, he cut her off, gesturing for her to approach. Confused, she walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table beside him. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at Hitoshi’s brusque command. She shifted on the wood, pressing her hands between her thighs and rolling her bottom lip under her front teeth. Hitoshi waited patiently for the girl to gather her thoughts. 

“I haven’t been sleeping,” she admitted finally. “I’m tired.” Now that she brought it up, he could see the dark lines ringing the undersides of her eyes and the way that her body sagged. He wordlessly ordered her to elaborate, making her cheeks flood darker. “I… Ever since the accident, I’ve had nightmares, ‘Toshi,” she said hoarsely. The tears sprung to her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks, making her try and wipe them away with the heels of her palms. “That was the worst night of my life, hearing those awful sounds and not knowing what was going on, and— it felt like forever before I could finally find you, and then they told me you were in surgery and you might not make it, and I just— oh, I can’t get it out of my head. That night is just on replay for me, over and over.

And the worst part is that it’s so selfish of me!” she wailed, leaning over and burying her face into her hands. “You were the one in the accident, not me! If anything, you should be the one who’s haunted by it and I have no right to complain, but I… but I… I feel trapped…” she moaned miserably. “If I hadn’t picked up the phone… Then maybe you wouldn’t have ended up like this…” she revealed in a harsh whisper. 

“Oh, Ochako, no!” Hitoshi cried. In his effort to comfort her, he slid off the couch a little, making his brittle bones flare painfully in protest. He didn’t care. Clumsily, he gathered the crying girl into his arms and dragged her onto the couch with him. It was a tight fit, but she still curled into his side, crying into his shoulder as he hugged her tightly with his good arm. “God, Ochako, don’t blame yourself for what happened to me. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“But… If I had done something different…” she protested weakly, shaking her head and smearing her tears across his shoulder. To snap her out of her spiral, he pinched her cheek and tugged hard. She shot up into a sitting position, looking at him with wide eyes and her teeth and tongue peeking out from underneath her stretched lips. “‘Toshi… Ow… Tha’ hursh...” she slurred in protest and blinked rapidly as the tears continued to prickle at her eyes. 

“Listen to me,” he said sternly. “The accident was not your fault. It was just a freak thing, okay? If anything, it’s my fault for picking up the phone because I couldn’t wait until my patrol was over to call you.” As he spoke, the memories of that night and all the nights before came flooding back. As they rushed in like water, the flow of his words rose in tandem. “I was just so excited that you were back that I just had to hear your voice, right then, and I wasn’t paying attention to anything but you, and—” 

He stopped short, cheeks flooding pink as he realized what exactly was tumbling out of his mouth. Ochako stared dumbly at him, a little drool leaking from the corner of her mouth as he was still stretching it. He stiffly released her, causing the skin to snap back. There were pink imprints in her skin where he’d pinched it; she slowly reached up to rub at it, blinking sluggishly.

Well. The cat was out of the bag now, so Hitoshi might as well let it go wild. 

“Ochako… I don’t want you here every day because you feel responsible for what happened to me.” He smiled softly and reached up to cover her hand in his own, cupping her cheek. “I want you here because I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

“You remembered?” she asked meekly. As a fresh wave of tears streamed from her eyes, Hitoshi’s smile widened, and he thumbed them away. 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I never forgot, Ochako.” 

She sucked in a breath, then let it out shakily. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed a few times, tearfully processing the situation. After a few minutes of just silently crying next to Hitoshi, her cheeks began to flood pink again. 

“I… I would really like it if you kissed me right now,” she admitted bashfully. Hitoshi snorted with laughter, but hell, who was he to refuse? He gently moved his hand to the back of her head to pull her forward. Ochako melted into his touch, allowing him to maneuver her as he would to bring her face close. Her hands felt onto his chest, digging into the soft fabric of his tee-shirt. Hitoshi held her there for a moment, centimeters away, to admire the gorgeous view of her lidded brown eyes and flushed cheeks. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. Her blush darkened and she shyly bit down on her bottom lip. He chuckled as she wiggled in impatience but opted against teasing her more. He closed his eyes and the gap between them, pressing their lips together in a sweet but passionate kiss. Ochako hummed as his mouth smoothed over hers, so naturally like it had always belonged there. Hitoshi kissed her languidly, savoring the softness of her lips and the aftertaste of chicken broth that was oddly pleasurable. Nothing promotes healing like a good meal, he thought with a mischievous smirk. Ochako would probably explode from mortification if he told her that. She was so cute when she was flustered, though, that it might always be worth saying. 

They kissed idly for quite a while, until their faces were flushed and they were a little out of breath. Ochako had draped herself over his chest and wormed her legs between his, careful not to jar his mending bones. She looped her arms around his neck to play with the ends of his fluffy lavender hair, chin propped on his chest so close that he could lean in and peck her lips every once in a while. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked him after he’d been quiet for some time. A smile slowly spread across his lips. 

“I was thinking…” he said, pausing to give her another soft, sweet kiss, “that we never had that lunch date, did we?” 

A smile slowly spread across her face, lighting her up like the sun. Bright as it was, Hitoshi couldn’t tear his gaze away; he wouldn’t, even if it blinded him forever. He would be glad if it was the last thing he ever saw. Giggling, Ochako snuggled into him, fluttering her long brown lashes. 

“No, we didn’t. You asked for one heck of a raincheck.” 

Hitoshi scoffed, making her stick out her tongue mischievously at him. One heck of a raincheck, indeed. That was okay, though. Even sad moments were moments, too, and Hitoshi valued every moment with Ochako like the most priceless jewel on Earth. Though he’d like to collect every one he could, he thought as they cuddled and began to drowse, he wouldn’t mind stretching this one out a little. It marked the beginning of new memories, after all.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. ��Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

------------

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[patchwork-panda]

“I won’t do anything. Probably.” (BSD OdaSaku x Reader) Part 2/3

Title: “I won’t do anything. Probably”

Genre: Comedy/Romance/soft angst/smut

Rating: Part 2 is semi-nsfw. Part 3 is 18+ (NC-17 aka nsfw)

Reader-insert is written as afab (gender non specified, so can be femme or nonbinary but IS shorter than OdaSaku) and 20+

CW: afab language, kissing

Plot: You are a member of the Port Mafia who has been sent on a “cleanup” job with Oda Sakunosuke, who you have a crush on but won’t admit it. You don’t finish the job until very late at night, at which point, you’re forced to check into a hotel. But there’s just one problem:

There’s only one room left.

And only one bed.

AO3 link for full fic: HERE

@calamityismyspecialty​ you asked to be tagged specifically, so here ya go! :3

“You really shouldn’t have cut him off like that, you know,” Oda says as you stalk down the hall. “It was pretty rude of you.”

“Rude?”

You snort.

“If I cared about being polite, do you think I would’ve joined the Port Mafia of all places?”

Oda shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Oda speaks again.

“Did you? Actually choose to join, that is?”

Instead of answering, you walk faster.

The distance between you grows.

“When do you think the rain will stop?” you ask, after a pause.

You don’t look back at him as you speak, but you hear a soft rustling of fabric, as if Oda is calmly shrugging behind you from down the hallway.

“I dunno,” he replies, confirming your guess.

His tone is polite. Even. He doesn’t seem at all offended that you completely ignored his question.

“Early morning, perhaps?”

You sigh.

“In other words, we’re gonna have to spend the rest of the night here?”

“Not necessarily,” Oda hums. “You did suggest camping out under a bridge earlier--”

“There’s no way we’re doing that and you know it.”

Oda falls quiet. You wonder if he’s shrugging again.

“Okay.”

“Look,” you say slowly, as patiently as you can. “It’s late, we’re tired and it’s raining. We’re clearly going to be stuck here for the night, so let’s just not make it any weirder than it already is.”

You can see your destination coming up ahead: a nondescript wooden door at the very end of the hall, the numbers on the placard beside it dark and clear.

“It’s like you said earlier,” you declare, taking the keycard out of your pocket as you approach. “We’re just a couple of colleagues who got stranded in an unfamiliar town while out on a business trip.”

You take the keycard and hold it up to the door.

“And we’re just going to be sleeping. Just sleeping.”

There’s a soft beep. The light beside the door turns green. 

“In any case.”

You grab the doorknob and turn it.

“You just stay in your bed, on your side of the room,” you say, fumbling along the wall for a light switch.

You find it just as Oda squeezes into the narrow entryway with you.

“And I’m sure we won’t have a--”

The lights click on and your voice falls to a hush.

“Problem.”

Oda steps into the main room with you just as you realize what the receptionist was trying to tell you.

This is a single.

And there’s only one bed.

Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out.

Oda was right. Maybe you shouldn’t have cut off the receptionist...

Without another word, Oda brushes past you. He heads for the couch in the corner.

“No good,” he says, lifting up some of its weathered fabric cushions. “It’s not a pullout.”

He drops the cushion back onto the couch and stuffs it into place.

“And it’s too short for me to sleep on.”

And to demonstrate, he sits down on it, his back against one armrest. His long legs take up most of the couch’s short length.

Letting the keycard drop onto the nearest nightstand, you walk towards him.

“Let me try,” you insist, gesturing for Oda to get up.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, as you sit down on the couch and try to lay horizontally on it. “You’re gonna fall out.”

“No, I won’t,” you insist, stubbornly tucking your legs up towards your chest.

But once again, Oda proves right.

The minute you wrap your arms around your knees, the springs under the couch squeal and before you know what’s happening, you roll out onto your face.

You think you hear Oda suppress a laugh as you pick yourself up off the floor and as you look up at him and scowl, he quickly looks away.

Your scowl deepens.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you mumble, your cheeks red.

The tap squeaks when you turn it.

The water comes out a little colder than you expect it to and you wince as some of it leaks out of the showerhead above you and onto your head.

It wakes you up a little and the realization that this is real--that you’re really, really stuck sharing a hotel room with Oda Sakunosuke hits home.

As the water heats up at last, you peel off the rest of your dirty, grimy clothes and get in.

You glance at the door.

Oda Sakunosuke is just outside that door.

While you’re in here. Naked.

He’s probably sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone while he waits for you to finish up.

And then it’ll be his turn...

Suddenly, your cheeks burn in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the shower.

You grab the miniature bottle of shampoo sitting in the alcove and dump it onto your head, scrubbing at the tangled locks of hair as if you can scrub the image out of your brain but you can’t.

For some reason, you can’t get the image of Oda Sakunosuke taking off his clothes, dumping them on the floor in a pile where yours were now and walking into the shower, where the hot water would run down his skin and soak into his hair...

He’d be using the same shampoo and bar of soap you’re using now.

And you know for a fact that there’s not enough steam to cover up what needs to be covered...

Freaking out, you throw the soap at the cubbyhole in the wall but it bounces and hits you in the face.

Groaning with pain, you crouch down in the shower, clutching your forehead as the not-as-hot water slowly runs down your head and body.

“You okay?” Oda’s voice calls out from the other room.

“Fine!” you shout back, embarrassed.

You somehow manage to finish the rest of your shower in peace.

“All set?”

Oda calls out to you without looking up from his phone.

Clutching your bathrobe (there were two in the bathroom) tighter about your body, your hair still slightly wet, you nod.

You’re not quite sure whether you’re relieved or offended that he’s not looking at you, but you quickly decide on “relieved.” 

Oda’s yellow jacket lays neatly folded on the couch, resting a few feet above his shoes and socks. And while he hasn’t taken off his black striped shirt, he’s undone the first several buttons, revealing a narrow stripe of skin right down the middle. His sleeves are rolled up halfway to his elbows and you notice that every time he types something into his phone, you can see his forearm muscles tense.

Your mouth suddenly feels dryer than before.

Something about seeing Oda like this, lounging so casually on the covers of a queen sized bed, just browsing his phone with his shirt half unbuttoned... it makes your heart race.

Noticing your silence at last, Oda looks up.

His deep blue eyes seem to pierce into yours and without knowing why, you tense.

“My turn?” he asks, to which you only nod.

He nods back.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you’ve traded places.

You realize only when the bathroom door is about to close that you’ve left your clothes inside--including your bra and underwear.

“Oda-senpai--!” you call out just as the click of a lock rings out throughout the room.

Too late.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you trudge towards the couch, grabbing your phone on the way there. It’s not very comfortable to sit on and the cushions sag under your weight but you don’t want to sit on the bed. The bed that Oda was laying on.

The bed you might be sharing in just a few, short minutes...

You scroll through your apps, trying to find something that might distract you from the sound of running water next door and the mental image of Oda stripping in there when you realize you can hear a deep voice humming.

Oda is humming in the shower.

He sounds pretty good...

Your face growing warm, you turn away from the bathroom wall and continue scrolling through your phone. You find a game you haven’t touched in a while and start playing...

But you can still hear Oda humming and occasionally singing quietly from the next room over the sounds of your game.

All too soon, the water stops running.

Oda’s finished showering.

Your heart beats faster as you hear footsteps approaching the door. You’re still wearing nothing but your bathrobe...

For one heart-stopping moment, you wonder if he’s going to come out shirtless, in just a towel. Just like the hot guys usually do in those TV dramas.

But before you can look away, the door clicks open and Oda steps out.

“That was a nice shower,” he comments casually as he strolls through the room, toweling off his wet rust-colored hair.

You’re so busy staring at the way those dampened dark-red locks frame his cheekbones and face that it takes you a moment to realize it.

Oda is wearing the second bathrobe from the closet and nothing else.

Now you match.

Like a honeymooning couple.

“Hm?”

He blinks at you.

“Why are you sitting on the couch all bunched up like that? Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“N-no.”

Oda just stares quietly at you and your hand flies back to the front of your bathrobe. It wasn’t falling open but you suddenly feel the need to hold it closed.

Just in case.

Oda shrugs and goes to sit on the bed. The mattress and covers sink a little under his weight.

“Ready to sleep?”

Shakily, you nod.

“Y-yeah.”

But you don’t move any closer.

“By the way,” Oda says, reaching for his cell phone. “While you were in there earlier, I managed to look it up.”

He turns it towards you so that you can see the screen.

“First train’s at seven in the morning so if we want to catch that, we should get some rest soon.”

He lowers the phone and looks at you over it.

“Unless…”

As he moves, his bathrobe opens up down the middle a little more.

You can see the line of his chest muscles...

“You’d like to sleep in a little more?”

Oda regards you, his deep blue eyes meeting yours from across the room.

You flush.

“What are you saying...?”

“I’m saying,” Oday says calmly, his expression as stoic as ever, “if you’re not a morning person, we can sleep in a little longer.”

He flips through the phone again.

“There’s trains coming at eight and nine too.”

He looks up at you again.

“What did you think I was implying?”

“N-nothing! The seven o’clock one is fine!”

“Okay. In that case...”

Calm as can be, Oda sets his cell phone aside and reaches for the alarm clock, programming it.

“Let’s hurry and go to sleep.”

And before you can say anything, he lifts up the covers and slides in (his bathrobe almost falling open in the process).

He looks to you expectantly.

“You coming in?”

It’s cold in your corner of the room and the couch springs are hard and uncomfortable beneath the thinned, battered cushion but you don’t move a muscle.

You squeeze the front of your robes closed.

“I’m fine here.”

“You sure?” Oda asks.

The corners of his lips turn downwards.

Or you think they do.

He’s so stoic, it’s really hard to tell.

“That looks uncomfortable.”

“It’s really not,” you lie, as the couch springs dig into your backside. “I’ve had worse.”

Oda looks unconvinced.

“Have you now?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer, but instead of words, a huge yawn comes out.

Oda’s gaze softens.

“Hey...”

He sits up a little, propping his head up on one hand as he regards you.

“You’re really tired, aren’t you?” he asks gently.

You stifle your yawn immediately as he slowly sits up, the covers slipping off of his body as he moves.

“It’s warm here, you know. The pillows are soft, too. So...”

Oda pats the bed next to him.

“Come and sleep. I won’t do anything.”

He pauses to think for a moment, his sapphire-blue eyes flicking up towards the ceiling.

“Probably.”

Probably?!

“Mm. Yeah,” he mumbles, his eyes still fixed on that spot on the ceiling, his expression as impassive as that of a man reviewing a grocery list. 

Crossing his arms, he nods to himself a little, as if he’s made up his mind on something.

Oda looks back at you.

“I won’t do anything,” he says again.

Somehow, it’s even less convincing the second time he says it. 

You don’t budge from your corner and Oda sighs.

“Like a frightened alley cat,” he mumbles under his breath and upon hearing this, you bristle.

“I’m not scared of you!” you snap, stomping towards the bed.

Without further ado, you grab one corner of the covers and get in with your back to him, tucking yourself into bed like an angry little burrito.

“Good work today, Oda-senpai! Good night!”

You hear a soft chuckle.

“You too.”

The lights click off.

“Good night.”

Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears.

It seems to echo back to you in the gloom.

You wonder if Oda can hear it.

He was right. The bed is soft. And warm. And comfy.

It’s been quite a while since he turned the lights off and you’re as tired as you’ve ever been.

And yet...

You shift a little under the covers, your heart racing in your chest.

Even though you’re taking care not to turn in any direction that could risk you coming face to face with Oda (you’ve chosen to sleep with your back to him), you just can’t get yourself to calm down...

How can you? When you’re sharing a bed with Oda Sakunosuke? Both of you wearing nothing but these thin bathrobes?

You feel Oda shift next you, a subtle dip in the mattress accompanied by a soft, barely audible creak of bedsprings. His body is heavy, dense with muscle and you feel yourself rolling slightly towards him before you shift away to stay on your side of the bed.

But the span of mattress between you still seems much too small. 

The minutes tick by, accompanied by only the sound of soft, steady sounds of Oda’s breathing.

You find yourself wondering if he’s asleep.

And if he isn’t... 

Is he lying here, staring at the ceiling or at the opposite wall, with his heart pounding, unable to stop thinking about the person lying behind him?

Just like you?

You feel your pulse quicken at the thought of Oda thinking about you, or even looking at you.

Is he facing you right now?

Your shoulder tingles as you imagine him reaching over and grasping it, pulling you towards him so that you can face him.

Is his hand already stretching towards you?

You clutch the pillow next to your face. Your whole body feels like it’s burning with anticipation.

But he said he wasn’t going to do anything, didn’t he?

And Oda is a man you know you can trust.

He’s helped you out of a pinch so many times already, including this morning’s mission and he’s always been kind to you, even though he is a bit hard to read.

The beating in your chest slows and you feel your body slowly filling with the cold emptiness of disappointment.

Your grip tightens on the pillow.

What if... you really do end the night without anything happening?

Is that really what you want...?

Closing your eyes again, you take a deep breath in and sigh.

The darkness seems to grow deeper.

Suddenly, Oda’s voice pierces the dark.

“Can’t sleep?”

You mumble something unintelligible and shift again, just a little further towards your pillow. You decide not to roll anywhere or you’ll fall out of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gentle. “Was it today’s job?”

Oda shifts a little, the little bit of mattress between you sinking under his weight as he moves towards you.

You realize he’s looking at you, or facing you at the very least, and something about that makes you feel a little bit better. Your cheeks warm but you still don’t answer.

“Yeah, it was kind of a messy one, wasn’t it?” Oda says, shifting again.

Judging by the sound of his voice, he seems to be even closer to you than he was before. Your back begins to prickle.

“I told you yesterday, didn’t I? My jobs aren’t for the weak of stomach...”

Oda trails off. He sounds like he’s thinking very carefully about something...

“Hey... if today’s job seriously got to you... I can ask for someone else instead of you next time.”

The bed springs creak as he shifts again (he’s definitely facing you now) and the prickling feeling on your back grows stronger. You’re not sure if you’re growing warm from the proximity to his body or if it’s your own body heating up as you realize he’s drawing closer to you.

“I might not have that much pull at the organization,” he says, “but I can do at least that much--”

“I-It’s not the job.”

Oda stops talking.

“I see.”

The bed springs groan and you realize he’s lying on his back. Probably facing the ceiling with one arm behind his head.

That bathrobe’s probably getting a little looser around his body.

“Then... what’s bothering you, if it’s not today’s job? You wanna talk about it?”

Does he really not know?

You stay silent, not sure if you want to tell him the truth or not. You smile a little.

He’s pretty dense, Oda Sakunosuke, but at least he’s hot...

In fact, he’s a lot of things...

Oda sighs.

“Ah. I think I get it.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

He’s figured you out. That hand’s going to come reaching over to your side, over the invisible line between you any moment now and then...!!

Your pulse begins to race again. Your eyes are wide and staring at the wall in front of you. You wonder if you used enough soap in the shower earlier--

The bed springs creak again. The weight on Oda’s side of the bed suddenly lifts and you realize he’s getting up.

“If you’re that bothered sharing a bed, I can sleep on the floor--”

“Wait!”

Oda stops moving as you sit up abruptly. He looks down at his arm and sees that you’ve latched onto his sleeve. Realizing it yourself, you let go at once.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” you tell him. “Sleep on the floor, that is.”

Oda studies you.

“You’re sure?”

You nod and shift back as he sits back down on the bed.

“And if you were wondering... I wasn’t all that troubled by today’s job,” you mumble. “I might not have been with the Port Mafia for long but, I’ve seen and done much worse than this. So you don’t have to worry about me...”

Oda grows quiet.

The silence is starting to feel awkward so you tuck yourself back under the covers and face away.

“How much was it?” you ask, suddenly, to change the topic of conversation. “The hotel room? I can pay for half.”

“What?”

Oda lets out a soft, incredulous chuckle.

“That’s what you were thinking about?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I have the money, you know. Just tell me how much it was and I’ll transfer you my half in the morning.”

“Like I said,�� Oda says, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. “It’s fine. You don’t have to pay me back. Think of it as a favor from a senpai.”

“But I want to,” you insist, rolling over to face him. “I’m not like one of those kids you take care of, you know--”

“I know,” Oda says quietly, cutting you off. 

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

Something about his tone just now.

It’s almost as if... 

“I don’t see you like that,” he says, his voice low.

...as if he meant he saw you in that way.

In the same way you saw him...

The short stretch of bed between you suddenly feels that much smaller.

“Oda-senpai...”

Your body is burning.

You wonder if he can see what you’re thinking.

He moves closer. His blue eyes lock onto yours.

“You know,” he says quietly. “I did say I wouldn’t do anything earlier. And I meant it. I’m not going to do anything to you, so you can relax. I’m not like that.”

“I know,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to his lips as he finishes speaking. “I know you wouldn’t do anything without my permission. Senpai isn’t that kind of man..."

You bite your lip.

You know what it is you’ve said.

Now the only question is if Oda has figured it out. Has figured you out...

He falls silent.

“Without your permission, huh?” he asks, studying your face.

The red light from the alarm clock behind him casts his head in a dull red glow--like a halo. His expression is pensive.

“Does that mean you’d like me to do something with your permission?”

Your heart’s pounding again. You can’t look away from his face.

Slowly, hesitantly, you nod.

Oda considers you for a moment.

“In that case...”

He reaches towards you and lets his thumb and forefinger curl about your chin. His eyes seem to burn as they look into yours.

“Let me ask you again,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. “Do you want me to do something?”

You wet your lips. The place between your thighs feels hot.

Your voice comes out in a breathless hush.

“Yes.”

Oda smiles.

And it’s the first smile you’ve ever seen on him like this.

He looks utterly bewitching.

“Thought so,” he murmurs.

And without another word, he presses his lips to yours.