#ricochet flare

[imaginedisish]

Inside Out (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: Oh my god I'm back again. This is another soft!Logan fic. I couldn't hold myself back from writing this one. The next fic I have planned is going to be devious and diabolical, I promise, but for now, here's another angsty, soft and smutty Logan one shot. Couldn't stop listening to "Inside Out" by Duster while writing this one. I think it fits. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Summary: After a tense battle, you and Logan have it out (in more ways than one).

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ Minors DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, PIV (unprotected...wrap it up, this is fiction!), Allusions to PTSD/mental health, Frenemies to Lovers, Fem!reader, AFAB!reader, Mutant!reader, Telepathic!reader (with heightened senses/visions), cannon typical violence/allusions to death, non-sexual intimacy becomes sexual intimacy (not sure if that warrants a warning), angry!Logan, reader has hair (length/texture/color not described!) major angst, probably grammatical errors, I think that's everything.

Word Count: 4477 wow

You and Logan are surrounded. You can hear the other members of the team nearby in the forest, screaming, grunting, fighting. Guns going off, ricocheting against trees. And now, there is a circle of government-sanctioned mutant hunters pointing their machine guns and rifles directly at the two of you. 

Your heart beats out of your chest. How the fuck are you going to get out of this? It seems impossible. Sure, you and Logan can regenerate, but not nearly fast enough. You’re outnumbered 2 to at least 40, and more to come. Maybe this is the end. Maybe there’s no going home this time. 

But then, an idea crosses your mind. Briefly. A flash. A shot in the dark. But it’s there. And if you’re strong enough, it might just work.

You wince as another presence weaves itself through the fabric of your thoughts. No, Charles shouts in your mind. It’s too dangerous. 

You shake him off, forcing up your mental shields. Logan recognizes that look on your face. He can tell you’re up to something. He has always been able to read you like a book. 

“Don’t you dare put yourself in danger,” he mutters under his breath so only you can hear him. “We are all walking out of here, and you’re no exception.”

You close your eyes. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.”

“Absolutely not!” His nostrils flare. The government agents cock their guns. 

“Lo, get down.”

“Fuck no!”

You can feel it coming—feel their fingers bracing their triggers. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Everything is silent for a moment. You can hear everything. Nothing. There’s a squirrel running up a tree just a few feet away. A cold breeze sweeps through your legs. Peace. 

It never lasts long, does it?

“NOW!”

BANG! The shots ring out, echoing against the branches, the sound shaking the trees. 

With half your focus, you shove Logan to the ground, and with the other, you stop each and every bullet pointed in your direction. You stop the agents too, freezing them in their places. Dense, heavy sweat builds upon your brow. You’re trembling, your hands stretched out towards Logan and the agents, but you’re still in control. You can hold on a bit longer.  

You swallow harshly, forcing the bullets to rain down to the ground. With the twist of your hand, you remove the magazines from each of the guns and unload them, the ammunition falling to the ground, too. With the agents still under your control, you bend their wrists just enough so that they sprain; just enough so that they can’t fight back. 

And then comes that sudden, familiar shift in your body and in your mind. You’re weakening, losing control, struggling to breathe. You growl in agony, your head ready burst from the pressure of hanging on too long—but you have to finish this. You have to save your friends. 

You have to save Logan. 

With one final push of your hand, you send the government agents flying deep into the forest, screaming in pain at the sheer force it takes. You fall to your knees, down on the ground next to Logan. You try to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly. You cough, choking on your own breath and saliva as the taste of metal burns at the back of your throat. You swallow it all down. One more second of that, or a few more agents to fend off, and you might not have made it. You might have died trying. 

You regain some of your energy after a few moments on the ground. It’s not until you try to stand that you notice Logan’s hand on your back. He tries to help you up, but you shake him off. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, dusting off your uniform. 

“Fine?” Fuck. He’s angry. “You call that fine? You almost died!”

You turn to face him. He wants anger? Oh, you can show him what anger fucking looks like. “We would be dead if I didn’t do that! I did what I had to do!”

He prowls toward you. His claws are still out. “Are you fucking crazy?” He’s backing you into a tree now. “Tell me, what the fuck was that? What did you think you were doing?” He retracts his claws as he pins his hands into the tree, right next to your head. The bark scratches into the rips in your uniform. 

You condescendingly poke his chest with your pointer figure. If he’s going to treat you like a child, you’re going to do the same to him. “Saving your ass, that’s what!” You shout back. 

“This is not the time or place for you two to have it out.” Scott’s grating voice fills your ears. He is the last person’s opinion you’d like to hear right now.

You and Logan snap your heads to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Scott!” You spit in unison. He throws his hands up and backs away. 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Logan practically growls. 

You shake your head, your nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!” You shout. “And I did! It worked!”

The rest of the team starts to board the jet, but Logan shows no sign of budging. Storm crosses her arms as she stands in front of the ramp. “Logan, let’s go.” 

He doesn’t move an inch, still caging you in. “I’ve got the bike. I’ll take her with me.”

“My bike!” Scott calls from just inside the ship. Logan shoots him a death stare. Even you roll your eyes at the comment. 

“Logan,” Charles chides from next to Storm, his voice a warning. 

You tilt your head past Logan to see Charles. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you guys at the mansion.” 

Charles nods. You swear you can see a faint smirk spread across his face, but he’s turning around and wheeling himself up the ramp before you can truly make out his expression. 

The ramp shuts behind him, and the jet powers up to leave. “So how are we settling this, hm?” You ask, cockily. Logan works his jaw, staring down at you with a fury you’re not quite sure you’ve seen before. “What would you like to do, bub?” You smirk. “What, you gonna tell me we’re supposed to be a team or something? Thought that wasn’t your style.” You know you’re being harsh, using his own words against him, ripping into him, but you don’t care. The jet takes off, but neither you nor Logan pay it any mind. 

His tongue swipes his bottom lip, and you can’t help but watch. You try to ignore how much you like the sight of it. Of him. 

“Never,” he seethes, not wavering an inch. “Never do anything like that again.”

“Why?” Is all you ask, knowing full well you’re poking the bear. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done.”

He ignores you and presses on. “I swear to God, if anything ever happens to you, I will punch a fucking hole in the goddamn universe so big that…” He trails off, his eyes searching your face. There’s a shift in his expression. “So fucking big that…” But he still doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s holding back tears. 

You’re suddenly embarrassed. You can’t keep his stare, his eyes locked on you. You look down at the leaf-covered ground, and you realize just how dirty you are. Blood on your hands, under your nails, caked into your skin. You’re finally understanding the gravity of the moment—of what could have been if your plan didn’t work. 

“It was the only way,” you pause, feeling tears sting behind your sinuses, burning as they reach your eyes. “Only way I saw it ending without you d-dying.” You have to choke the words out. “C-couldn’t lose you,” you mutter, hoping he can’t hear you. 

“And what?” He says, not backing down. “You think you’re the only one with something to lose?”

“N-no,” you stutter softly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just—”

“I’d rather die than live in a world without you.” He says finally. He pushes himself off the tree and away from you. He turns, walking towards wherever he parked the bike. 

You look at his back in disbelief. “W-what?” “You fucking heard me,” he shouts, not bothering to stop and wait for you or to elaborate further. You push your back off the tree and follow him through the forest. 

“Slow down!” You call out, still not quite fully recovered from using your powers. But he keeps pressing forward. “Logan!” You call again. “Please, I—” You stumble a bit, almost falling over, but you catch yourself just in time. You reach out to a tree for support, gripping a low branch tightly in your hand. You suck in deep, shaky breaths as you let your eyes fall closed. 

Logan shouts your name in the near distance, his voice filled with panic. His footsteps crunch the leaves of the forest floor. You can tell he’s sprinting with every twig that cracks beneath his boots. “Fuck, are you okay?” He’s next to you now, his arms enveloping you, reaching around your waist to offer you support. 

You can feel your tears bubbling to the surface, threatening to burst. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, opening your eyes to look up at him. “I just didn’t see any other way.”

“I know.” His voice is gentler now, calmer. He helps you straighten up, taking a tentative step and watching as you take one too. He walks slowly, making sure not to rush you, keeping an eye on your every move. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “What you do…you just scare me sometimes.”

You hope he doesn’t see the tear that slips out the corner of your eye and down your cheek. “I scare myself. I still can’t control my powers. I know I’m a monster.” You can see the bike in the distance, so you take another step, but Logan stops. “I just feel so inside out sometimes, like I can’t be comfortable in my own head never mind my own skin.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is steady now, firm. His grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. “You’re not a monster. You’re beautiful—” He cuts himself off. “What you can do, is beautiful.”

“Then what is it that scares you?” You need to know. 

“You’re just so selfless. What you did back there…” He pauses. “You knew you could die. I saw it in the way you were standing. The way you looked at me. It was reckless.”

He searches your face, your eyes, your lips for an answer. “You’re no better,” you huff out. Logan smirks, guiding you towards the bike yet again. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”

“I know.” His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I know,” he repeats. 

He helps you onto the back of the bike, holding your hips as you straddle the seat. His hands linger longer than they should. He squeezes softly before letting go and walking to the front. He straddles the bike himself, grabbing the key from his jacket pocket and turning it into the ignition. The bike springs to life. 

“Hang on, alright?” He calls out over the roar of the engine. You nod against his back, slipping your arms under his jacket and around his waist. He kicks the stand up, and the bike rumbles underneath you as he presses on the gas. You tighten your hold on him as the bike jolts forward. 

You rest your head on his back, letting yourself fold over him completely. He’s warm and solid underneath you. You shut your eyes, too tired to watch the tires speed across the black pavement. Aside from the engine, the tires against the street below, and the wind, there’s no sound. No one around. It’s just you and Logan. Alone. 

You feel him breathe in deeply. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”  You can feel the words reverberate in his back. “I mean it.”

“But I did,” you say, lifting your head so that you can speak against his ear. “I’m right here.” He hums in affirmation, and you rest your head on his back again. You hesitantly reach your hands under his shirt this time, arms wrapping around him as tight as possible. You know this is pushing the boundaries of your “friendship,” but he doesn’t stop you—doesn’t push you away. He just hums again. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, and shut your eyes. 

“Good.”

The ride back to the mansion isn’t terribly long, and you wish it could’ve been longer. Logan drives the bike into the garage, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking out the stand. You lift your head, and before you can even think of getting up on your own, Logan is wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you off the seat. 

You let him hold you there for a moment. You try to tell yourself that this is just a hug between friends, that this whole situation is what happens when you care about someone too much. But it’s hard to lie to yourself when you feel so impossibly strongly about someone. 

He drops his arms from your body and silently takes your hand in his. He guides you to the door that leads to the mansion, keeping you close. 

It’s dark once you step inside. Everyone must have gone to bed. It likely took you and Logan five times as long as the jet to get back to the mansion. Quiet fills the halls. There’s not a stir, not a creak, not a step. You can sense that everyone is asleep, or at least in their rooms. 

“Lo?” You whisper. He squeezes your hand. A surge of confidence racks through you. “Can you stay with me?” You’re not quite sure what you mean by that—what you expect him to do if he stays. All you’re certain of is that you don’t want him to leave. 

He nods, leading you up the stairs. “Won’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He guides you down the hall towards his room. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 

He opens the door and guides you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He lets go of your hand, the sudden emptiness making your palm feel cold. How do people become so important, so quickly? How can someone letting go of your hand hurt so bad when they’re still just a few feet away? You’re not sure, but you know this feeling is dangerous. 

He’s rummaging through his drawers for a few seconds before he pulls out a t-shirt and places it on the dresser in front of him. He grabs another set of clothes, closes the drawer, and carries them over to you. He extends the shirt out to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. That’s what he is right now: soft. You’re not used to this side of him. 

You take the shirt from him, smiling back. “You should shower. You can use mine.” His head tilts towards the bathroom on the other side of his room. You nod and pad over, opening the door, turning on the lights, and closing the door behind you. 

You keep moving, undressing and turning the water on. It doesn’t take long for the water to heat up, the steam fogging every inch and surface of the room. You step inside the shower, letting the water run down your body. Your eyes fall closed while your mind searches for some kind of peace. You try to recall what Charles often told you: Calm your mind. But it isn’t working this time. Your mind is racing. 

You envision Logan’s angry, fearful face; his concern and panic. Charles’s call that it would be too dangerous echoes and reverberates. You see yourself dead on the ground, Logan holding your lifeless body in his arms. Even worse, you find yourself imagining that it didn’t work at all—that you couldn’t save the team, never mind yourself. This time it’s Logan’s body you see, on the ground, dead. Just like that, your whole world can slip out of your hands and turn to nothing. 

Choked sobs escape your throat as you let yourself fall to your knees. There’s a piercing, splitting pain somewhere deep inside your head. These visions, these feelings, this pain—it’s physical and mental. And it’s too much. It’s not the first time you’ve had visions like these after a fight or a mission, but it is the worst episode yet. 

There’s a knock on the door, followed by Logan calling your name. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat. Logan knocks harder, but you still can’t speak. “I’m coming in!” The door swings open and his eyes widen as he sees your crumpled form on the shower floor, face stained red with tears. 

He shoves the shower door open, practically cracking the glass in the process. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you are, but it’s clear Logan isn’t. His gaze is trained on your face. “I-it happens, sometimes,” you stutter, reassuring him that this is normal. “A-after missions.”

Logan’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with understanding. “I know what you mean.” His hands come up to your arms, rubbing gently. “Let me help you.” He gestures with his head toward the shower. You nod and watch as Logan takes his shirt off. He stands to take off his jeans, and you look away, taking the moment to force yourself to stand. You hear him step into the shower and slide the door shut behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, swallowing harshly. 

Logan stands behind you, less than a foot away. The shower is just big enough for the two of you. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just let me take care of you.” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You hear him shuffle a bit, squeeze a bottle, and shuffle a bit more. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you answer. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. But before you can think about it too much, his hands come up to your wet hair. He massages shampoo into your scalp, his fingertips scrubbing ever so gently. You feel your shoulders settle—your body relax. No one has ever done anything like this for you before. 

You watch as the dirt trickles down your body to the drain. After a few moments of massaging, Logan nudges you forward a bit, and you take the hint to step under the water fully. You close your eyes as he scrubs the shampoo from your hair. 

When he’s done, he removes his hands from your hair and slides them down to your neck, and then to your shoulders. You step away from the water, almost bumping into his chest in the process. 

“’M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“No more apologizing, darlin’.” His hands come off your shoulders. You feel lost without the contact. You listen as the bottle pops open again, and Logan quickly scrubs the shampoo into his own hair. You instinctively step forward to let him rinse, and he does.

You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate and calm down now that his hands aren’t on you. But it doesn’t last long. He opens another bottle, pouring more liquid into his hands. 

He rests his hands on your shoulders again. You can feel the body wash run down your arms. “Can I…” Logan trails off, his hands firm, unmoving until you give the word. 

“Mhm,” you hum. His hands start to work the soap into your arms, up to your neck, your collarbone, stopping just above your chest. “Logan,” you murmur, letting yourself lean into him. You feel his heart beating against your back. His breath fans over your shoulder.

You can tell he’s losing his composure, the way he slouches around you, inviting you in. This isn’t something friends do. You two aren’t friends. This is something more. 

And he knows. 

“There’s no coming back from this,” he whispers, his lips at your temple. “If we do this.”

You push back further into him. “Who says I’d want to go back?”

Your back is suddenly met with the cold shower wall, your chest flush with Logan’s. His lips press into yours, swallowing your moans as his hands come up to your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly. He moves down your body quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, your neck, the center of your chest, your stomach, stopping just above your clit. 

“Relax,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing your hips. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands before pressing a kiss to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, whispering his name and throwing your head back. 

He licks a long stripe up your cunt, landing on your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking roughly. He laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. One of his hands resting on your hip comes down in between your thighs, experimentally sliding through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

It feels so good, but you want him—need him—closer. He inserts two fingers, gently pumping in and out, flicking your clit with his tongue at the same time. 

“Logan,” you whine. You look down at him, his head buried in your cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with lust. You’re already close. But it’s not enough “Need you, now. Want you here.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles against your core. You’re shaking, melting underneath him. 

“N-need you,” you beg again. “Please.” 

He sucks on your clit one last time before removing his fingers from your cunt and standing up to meet you.

His hands rest on either side of your head. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice wavers just a bit, a slight tremble shaking the usual steadiness of his words. He looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes—his jaw working, as if he’s searching for a sign that you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want him anymore. 

But you’ll always want him. You always have. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter. He wraps one hand around the back of your neck and uses the other to hoist one of your legs around his waist. His hard cock rubs against your stomach as he moves to line up with your entrance. 

“Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl.” He thrusts into you, sinking down to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, pulling you into him, his free hand grabbing your ass and picking you up so that both legs wrap around his waist. 

He uses the wall as leverage, fucking you into the tiles at your back. Once he’s sure you’re stable against him, his hand leaves your ass and comes in between your bodies, searching for your clit. He begins to stroke, drawing perfect circles there, while his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 

It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. It all feels so good. You moan his name, his hips rutting into you over and over again.

“Doing so good for me,” he husks, biting the skin just under your jaw, licking the spot where your pulse point is, peppering kisses there. You wonder if he does it because it’s a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still breathing. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.” 

His words work to coax you off the edge, each swipe of his fingers and thrust of his cock bringing you closer to your orgasm. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his name—him—the only thing in your normally noisy mind. This is what peace is. This is the calm you’ve been searching for your whole life: it’s him. 

You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls flutter around him, your clit becoming overstimulated and sensitive as he flicks roughly. You’re so close. “Lo—” but you can’t find the words. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles, his forehead pressing to yours. “Want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me?” 

You moan a yes as he buries his cock deep inside you, before pulling out and pumping back in again. 

You can feel your eyes growing heavy, but you keep them open, watching Logan as he pulls your orgasm from you. “That’s it. I’ve got you.” His words, the bass of his voice, him, it all sends you over the edge. He works you through it, still circling your clit, his pace growing sloppier as he chases his own orgasm. 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He knows what you want. “Inside,” you whisper. 

“Oh f-fuck,” he moans, coming inside you, filling you up. 

His thrusts begin to slow, his hand leaving that space between your bodies. You feel like air, weightless, drunk off the way he makes you feel. He carefully slips out of you, but he doesn’t put you back down on the ground. He simply readjusts, picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the shower. 

He sets you down on the bathmat and crosses the tiled floor to the towel rack, where two towels conveniently hang. He wraps one towel around his waist as he strides over to you. He starts to dry you off, rubbing you gently, kissing each spot he dries as he goes. He’s worshipping you, taking care of you. No one has ever taken care of you like this. 

Once he’s finished, he wraps you up in the towel, and picks you up again. He carries you back into his room, resting you gently on the already turned-down bed. He crawls in after you, discarding his towel in the process. You toss your towel to the side, too. You nestle in under the covers, and Logan does the same. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You can feel that peace again, that calm from before, when he was buried inside of you. It was him. It was always him. Your mind is quiet, no longer all loud and inside out. 

“I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, his legs tangling with yours. 

You bury your face into his chest. “Don’t let go.” But you know you don’t need to ask. 

His mind is already made up. 

“Never will.” 

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[cap-winter-barnes]

He's A Loser Pt.3 (Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader)

Part One Part Two

Y/N is Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw’s little sister and he’s finally introduced her to the rest of Dagger Squad. What neither of them anticipated was them both have an instant attraction, despite Bradley’s best efforts, the inevitable still happens.

This part is a fair bit long than the other two but there's a lot I wanted to get out there for pt3.

Warnings: swearing, big brother Rooster, mentions of sex, minor details of sex, Hangman being hot asf

Buy Me A Coffee | Commissions Open

"That's my baby sister, so get your goddamn hands off of her!"

"And what if she doesn't want me to take my hands off of her?!"

"How fucking dare y-" Rooster launches himself at Jake, he grabs him by the front of his vest, shoving him backwards as hard as he can. You move out of the way before you get physically dragged into this confrontation.

"Bradley!" You find your voice as your heart races in your chest, fear for the man you're falling for at the hands of your big brother. "Brad!"

"Stay out of this Y/N, this is between me and him!" He doesn't even look at you as he raises his voice. Never in all your years has Bradley ever raised his voice at you, not even when you scratched up his jeep or threw up all over the backseat that one time. But he doesn't scare you, it only lights in the fire in the pit of your stomach, anger flaring in your bloodstream.

"Bradley, let him go." Rather than listen to you, Bradley shoves Jake harder into the tiled wall, his breath leaving him as his back forcefully hits the cold, lilac walls. Yet, there's still a smug smile across his face, his eyes flashing between you and the man pinning him to the wall. "Let. Him. Go."

"He put his hands on you." Teeth gritted, Rooster forces his body weight further onto Jake, his face only inches from his own. "You put your goddamn hands on my baby sister."

"Technically she asked me to." There's only a second before Rooster is laying a hard punch to Jake's cheekbone, the crack of his knuckles echoing around the bathroom. "Ow." Despite the already blooming bruise around his eye and cheek, Jake still has a stupid smile on his face."

"Brad-" Your brother turns to look at you, his lip clenched between his teeth in pain. "Go home, you're drunk." Rooster shakes his head in protest. His eyes meeting yours, pleading for you to go with him. "Go home, Rooster."

"He's a loser, Y/N. Stay away from him."

"No, Rooster. He's not a loser." You make eye contact with Jake as he swipes a thumb across the mark on his cheek. "I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions, Roost." Looking back at your brother you silently communicate with him like you did as children. "Go, home. Sober up and I'll see you tomorrow."

You carefully take his arm and lead him to the door, as he steps through the open door, he blurts out - "just don't break her heart, Bagman."

The shock is clear on both yours & Jake's faces as you realise what your brother has said.

"Don't worry Bradshaw, I won't."

The door swings closed as he walks away, leaving both you and Jake in the ladies room alone. You take a deep breath in and then make the sudden decision to drag the litter bin across the floor and position it in front of the closed door.

"What you thinkin' 'bout, Baby Girl."

"Where were we, Seresin?"

"Come over here ma'am and I'll show you."

You don't waste a second before you're pressing the length of your body against Jake's. Your mouth against his in a searing kiss that has your heart ricocheting in your chest. His hands are everywhere as he pulls you as close as he possibly can towards him. You're desperate to feel his bare skin against your own, your hands tug at the hem of his vest, pulling it out of his khaki trousers. He's quick to help you by pulling the white material over his head and discarding it on the bathroom floor.

Wandering hands dance from his neck, down his chest and to his stomach, your nails dragging against his skin as the venture lower.

"Now, ma'am, I think you're a little overdressed for the occasion, don't you?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. I agree." Like a man who has been waiting all his life for this moment, Jake is quick in unbuttoning your blouse and pushing it from your shoulders. His eyes rove over your up body, a hum of appreciation at what he sees. His hands travel to your bra, thumbs toying with the lace material covering your breasts.

"This colour suits you, Baby Girl." You take your lower lip between your teeth, lust clear on your face. "But, I think I'd much prefer to see you without it. If that's okay with you?"

Nodding, you go to remove it yourself but strong hands stop your own. "I need to hear you say it, Princess." With a roll of your eyes and a flutter of laughter you whisper to him.

"Yes, Seresin. It's okay." Both of you let out a breath of air as he moves his hands behind you, rough fingertips running over your skin, goosebumps following in their path. You gasp as he pops the clasp of your bra so quickly. The material falls from your shoulders as you pull your arms through the straps. You're now half naked in front of a man you only met a few hours ago and yet there's no worry, no nerves. You are absolutely comfortable with Jake Seresin.

He pulls you in close, your bare breasts pressing into his chest. His warm skin radiates against your own. His lean muscles feeling natural against your front.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met, Bradshaw."

You lean up to press your lips against his own, tongue dancing against his. Your hands go for his zipper -

"Hey, there are people that need to use the bathroom out here!!" The sudden interruption has you both laughing like naughty children. Jake still holds you close to his own body, turning you away from the door just in case whoever is on the other side comes in.

"What do you say you take me home, soldier?"

"Yes ma'am."

@fallout-girl219 @djs8891 @86laura11 @smoothdogsgirl @autumnleaves1991-blog @cinderellasmissingshoes @yourgirlypop @thespillingvoid @bridgettt1821

[littlemissmanga]

The Slow Stretch

Pairing: Wrecker x f!Reader

Warnings: This is all spice. Rated E for explicit. There's no plot. Barely a framing device. Size kink, like really that's 90% of it, praise kink is also strong in this one. 18+ only please, if you don't like smut please don't interact but do not put a label on this!

Also, lazy writing but Tumblr wouldn't let me use bullets so I apologize this isn't as smooth as some of my other stuff. It is still pretty delicious, if I do say so myself.

W/C: 1,713

Summary: I had a very vivid thought about what a session with Wrecker would look like if you had a harder time taking him. Guys this thot consumed me and then I imagined how he'd encourage you through that and what soft praise would sound like coming from him ... and I became so unwell I had to get this written. It's pure filth. Enjoy.

Imagine sitting on Wrecker’s lap, three of his fingers buried in your cunt. He doesn’t move them, doesn’t curl them to make you see stars. He’s learned that’s how you get too overstimulated too quick.

But he has to prepare you, to make you come just enough that your tight walls can relax enough to accept his much larger size.

So he just holds you close on his lap, knuckles deep in your pussy as he coos at you to relax.

“I got ya, pretty girl,” he says, his large, warm hand rubbing soothingly on your lower stomach, pressing down just a little. It wasn’t much at all, but it was enough to force you further down on his fingers, the calloused tips now brushing mind numbingly against a spot that makes your vision blur. “Don’t clench, baby. Keep them muscles nice an’ relaxed for me. You can do it, I know you can.”

You don’t want to disappoint him, so you focus as hard as you can, concentration cutting through the fuzzy pleasure vibrating through your core as you force yourself to unclench your muscles and melt into his warm, broad chest behind you.

 “Tha’s it. That’s perfect, sweetheart.” His other hand comes down to draw gentle yet firm circles directly on your clit, forcing bolts of electricity through you. “One more. Just gotta give me one more an’ I think I can fit.”

You shiver on him, around him as his relentless assault on your clit gives you no other choice than to surrender to the pleasure as he rips it from your body … leaving you perfectly boneless and ready for him.

“Please, Wreck, please. Wanna feel full.”

With a deftness you’ve come to expect from Wrecker, he presses his fingers deeper, pushing against that tantalizing spot just once more before replacing them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, pulling you back so your head rests on his shoulder. He can see your face now, his eyes never leaving it, alert for any hint of discomfort even as he groans deep at the incredible way your walls constrict around him as he lowers you onto him.

Your back arches off him, your legs curling instinctively to give him more room, to spread yourself further to ease his progress. You vaguely remember you need to relax, but the stretch of him everywhere inside you, pressing not just against one pleasurable spot but all of them at once … It’s involuntary the way you convulse around him, the pleasure from one area flaring up before the pleasure from another can even fade.

Never before have you understood what it meant to be so deliciously full. You lose coherent thought, your entire being focused on experiencing the sensations coursing through your nerves.

Wrecker pauses as he all but bottoms out, just a few inches unable to sit inside you comfortably. Doesn’t matter. All he can focus on is breathing. The way your walls undulate around him, the way he can feel the intense pleasure ricochet through your body and into his threatens to push him over the edge.

“Shhh, pretty girl … need you to relax. I don’t wanna end this too soon, d’you?”

You whimper and shake your head back and forth dramatically. Still trapped in a hazy fog, forming words is beyond you but you need to make your immense displeasure at the idea of him leaving you empty and wanting after pushing you over the edge of heaven known.

“Tha’s good. So take a deep breath for me.” Again, his hands came to rub soothingly against you, this time trailing along your sides from your knee to your ribs and back again. You could feel Wrecker’s chest expand with each deep breath, a warm encouragement for you to do the same. So you did. Over, and over, until the tension slowly leeches from your muscles.

Soon, the desperation fades as well. But the pleasurable haze does not. It leaves you pliant and dazed on Wrecker’s lap. You remain draped back over him, but now your limbs hang limp. You trust him to keep you upright.

 He moves your legs outside his own, spreading you wide around him. Looking down, he can see how wet and puffy your lips are, so red and swollen around him. He groans into your shoulder and feels his cock twitch inside you. You cry out instantly, but don’t tense beyond a quick pulse he could tell you couldn’t control.

“Take me so good, sweetheart. Knew you’d be able ta do it.”

You hum in contentment. This is what you were craving when you approached Wrecker earlier. It wasn’t just to make the most out of your precious alone time. But a bone-deep need to be consumed by him. And now you were.

“You okay? Don’ go quiet on me now.”

A gentle press of his knuckles — still a little wet from your juices — turns your head to face Wrecker, a gentle smile trying to hide the glimmer of concern in his eyes.

“M’fine,” you manage to mumble. You decide actions are easier, so you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his sensitive skin there and curling into a smile at the choked sound he makes in response. “So fine. So full. ‘T’s perfect.”

“Good.” He pushes your legs together, mindful of the strain he must have put on you keeping you spread open. The movement draws a prolonged moan from you, but it’s gentle enough to keep you from getting desperate again. His thumbs run firm strokes against the top insides of your thighs before circling around your middle and holding you to him.

He knows it won’t be long before the pressure that’s blissing you out now will turn to pain soon. The constant stimulation wears you out quickly. That’s why he loves when you get like this — needy not for how he can take you, but just for him. He craves getting to hold you close and feel you surround him just as much as he sees you crave him filling you to your breaking point. A small thrill runs through him, knowing only he can make you feel this full, this good.

Eventually, once your cunt has completely relaxed around him, when your eyes have closed and even your pleasant little hums have quieted, Wrecker brings his hand once again to your clit. This time, he keeps his strokes gentle, coaxing your next orgasm from you. “Doin’ so good for me. Lettin’ me play with ya an’ stretch you out like this.”

For once Wrecker’s voice is subdued. He’s not whispering, but his gentle rasp is the softest you’ve ever heard him before. It rumbles through you, waking you slowly from the foggy, trance-like state you fell into. Without thinking, you shift your hips, trying to catch that slight tickle that made your sensitive flesh tingle.

And then you do. His rough thumb catches on the hood of your clit, making you clench all at once around him. Your hands fly to his forearms that are caging you in on either side of your hips, squeezing at the intensity you’re feeling.

“Hold on to me all ya need. I got ya.” Wrecker’s free hand flexes under your thigh as his other continues its almost painfully gentle ministrations.

“R-right there,” you breathe, knowing Wrecker is out of patience and you are out of time. With a hum, Wrecker focuses his attention repeating the motion to your exact request. But he keeps his pace smooth and controlled. He knows this is gonna be intense for you. So he’s gonna be as gentle as he can.

The slow, steady push combined with how deliciously Wrecker fills you guides you to the edge of what you know will be an intense orgasm. His steady strokes leaving no question to the exact moment your body will be pushed over. Even so, you’re still unprepared when it happens.

“Let me feel you, sweetheart.”

Every since inch of your body tenses as you seize in pleasure. The walls of your cunt spasm harshly, simultaneously pulling Wrecker ever deeper and pushing him out all at once.

You can barely feel your body. All you know is the bliss that wraps every inch of you in its embrace.

But Wrecker can definitely feel your body. Can feel the way your walls threaten to strangle him and he would happily welcome it at this rate. His hips begin finally thrusting into you as his thumb continues its assault on your clit, noticing the way you jump at each pass.

“WRECK” The cry is ripped from your throat as a wall hits you.

But Wrecker’s attention is pulled by the feel of water hitting his legs. He curses when he looks down to see he’s soaked. “Kark I love when you squirt all over me.”

You can only moan as he fucks you hard now, seeking his release as your body finally offers absolutely no resistance. Absently, you can feel the way you drip around him. Delight zings the edges of your consciousness as you realize to yourself, I was able to take him.

The indulgent satisfaction only intensifies, melting into a lava that crawls through your veins as Wrecker grunts once more into your neck and after two more thrusts, presses himself as deep as he can get to come inside you.

Neither of you move for a moment, too overstimulated and sore. Soon, though, Wrecker wraps you in his arms and, as slowly as he can, pulls himself from you, earning several shivers and whimpers. He coos and presses kisses to the side of your face and forehead at each one to soothe the sting.

Finally, when he’s completely out, you both groan in unison. You can feel the surge of his cum leaking out of you, cooling the abused flesh of your hole. And based on the angle of his eyes, he’s watching it drip out of you on to the floor below.

“I’ll get ya cleaned up,” he offers in a hoarse voice.

You tighten your grip on his arms. “Just … just hold me a little more?”

You can feel his lips stretch against the top of your head. “’Course. Long as you need.”

Taglist: @dreamie411 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite

@secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations

@sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @dhawerdaverd @mythical_illustrator

Divider art by @pinkiemme, divider by @freesia-writes

[captain-hawks]

Omg yay spicy sleepover! I have been having major kaiju no 8 brainrot lately (and I love the way you write them) so either Hoshina or Gen (you pick!) and the summer activity is eating a popsicle!

(✨ why not both ✨)

gen narumi x f!reader x soshiro hoshina

c: 18+ only, semi-public sex, inappropriate use of a popsicle, temperature play, oral/spit fixation, oral sex, cum swapping, cum eating, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER — HEAT WAVE EDITION

“C’mere,” Soshiro rasps, his finger skirting beneath your chin as he places the red popsicle between your open lips and slides it into your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, immediately salivating as the slick, wet stick of ice glides across your tongue. It tastes like cherry, but even more than that—it tastes like it’s been passed back and forth between Gen and Soshiro’s mouths. You imagine the layer of spit they’ve both left behind and moan around the popsicle as you begin to suck on it more eagerly.

“Fuck,” Gen mutters, watching as you take it even deeper into your throat.

The towel bunches up beneath you as Gen slides closer when Soshiro slowly pulls the stick out of your mouth, his lips closing over yours.

Gen groans as the cool temperature of your mouth collides with the heat of his, licking his way inside, tongue curling around yours. Fingers digging into the beach towel sprawled out beneath you, you gasp into the kiss, back arching further when Soshiro’s cold lips latch onto the swell of your tits, his fingers toying with the straps of your bathing suit.

Ocean waves crash against the shore of the small, deserted cove, gulls crying out overhead, but you can hardly hear anything beyond the lewd, wet sounds of lips on mouths and skin.

Gen’s lips leave yours as he threads his fingers into Soshiro’s hair, leaving the soft locks array as he tugs roughly until he elicits a groan from the other man, whose thumb is now stroking one of your peaked nipples through your top. He nips Soshiro’s lower lip, a playful look in the curve of his mouth, and Soshiro’s eyes flash as his hand momentarily abandons your tits to pull Gen’s hair back even harder. Gen gasps, though the sound is quickly cut off as Soshiro’s lips crash into his.

Swiping the popsicle, you watch Soshiro wrestle Gen to the ground, the heat curling in your abdomen flaring white-hot at the sight of the former grinding his hips downward into the latter as he pins his wrists to the towel.

You let the two of them go at it for a few moments, marveling at the dichotomy of Gen Narumi—with you, he’s in control (for the most part).

With Soshiro, he likes to test his limits and push his boundaries—but there’s no question as to who’s always going to be the one gasping and begging for it after.

When they turn their attention back to you, Soshiro curses under his breath as he takes in the wet streaks of popsicle syrup you’ve let drip all over your chest, your bathing suit top tossed aside.

“You’re messy,” Soshiro chides.

“I like messes,” Gen groans, though it’s muffled, as his mouth has already latched onto your tits.

“And you’re terrible at sharin’” Soshiro tugs on his ear, pushing Gen aside to override the monopoly he current has on both of your breasts.

They ease you down onto your back as pleasure ricochets through your body while they lap off every last drop of the sticky syrup, sucking your tits clean until your hard nipples ache with need.

Gen slides off your bottoms just as Soshiro leans in to kiss you, and he swallows down the choked sob of pleasure that you let out when you feel something cold slide down your dripping folds. Soshiro’s tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you deeply as Gen teases your hot, soaked cunt with the popsicle, holding down your bucking hips as you tremble in pleasure.

“Gen, fuck me. Please,” you gasp.

When Gen sinks his cock into your plush, tight hole, his hips immediately stutter as he moans over the cold skin that drags along his shaft. In your haze of pleasure, an idea occurs to you.

“Popsicle,” you demand, wiggling your fingers.

Soshiro raises a brow as you tug him upward while you resume sucking on the flavored ice, tugging his thick erection from his shorts with your free hand. But he quickly understands the moment he starts fucking your mouth and feels your cold lips and tongue on his flushed, throbbing cock.

By the time you’re finished—Gen sloppily kissing you and licking Soshiro’s cum out of your mouth as you stroke his cock (while Soshiro drags you over the edge of another orgasm as he tongue-fucks Gen’s cum back into your pussy)—all that’s left of the popsicle is a wooden stick and a red stain in the sand.

[poppy-metal]

patrick fucking you full nelson in front of a mirror, his tight grip on your head forcing you to watch your own cunt weep and stretch out around his fat cock :,( #needthat

he folds you like a lawn chair on his cock, arms looped under your knees and hands locked behind your head, bending your neck forward so you're forced to look down and see where he's sliding in and out - bouncing that pussy up and down on his lap. those thick thighs of his clenching as he works you - using his arms to manhandle you on his dick. you're so wet - the sight so fucking dirty - your cunt splayed wide - flared apart as his thick length tunnels you - his heavy swinging sack slapping your your clit every time he slams you down.

"you like that view, baby? see that cock fuckin' that little pussy up -"

"oh fuck -" clenching your muscles around him - your toes fucking curling - your body strains at being so tightly balled up like this, you know your whole fucking body is gonna be sore, like you'd run a marathon being bent and bended this way. you don't care. you'd let patrick put you in any position he wanted. "oh fuck patrick - that's so good - oh! oh yes -"

"clench that shit on me -" he grunts, fucking you like an animal like a goddamn ragdoll - and you listen - bear down around him - hear his answering grunt of the feeling, his chest hot against your back. "just like that. suck me up inside you, little fucking slut - aw fuck -"

your eyes roll back. thoughts leave your brain like flyaways. you're nothing but a toy for patrick at this point, a hot wet sheath for him to jerk his cock off with. wet and squelching inside and gripping his length, sucking at him so good he can feel that shit right down to his bouncing balls - like you're pulling the cum out.

"gonna cream this pussy so fucking full." he growls, feeling nearly violent with the urge to cum. his teeth are gritted, his muscles are burning, he slams you up and down even harder, your ass ricocheting off his thighs - "watch me -"

because he wants you to see how his balls throb and contract when he's buried all the way - see how thick globs of white will slide out of you around his dick, dripping down because there's just too much to keep it all inside. he'll make you gather it up with your fingers and rub it into your throbbing little clit until he feels you clamp around him in orgasm.

and when you stand up on shaky numb legs your pussy will make a lewd squelching sound as he slips out and he'll grin as you burn.

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Nanami Kento had long-since erected walls to the outside world. Very few were allowed a glimpse to his inner sanctum, and assessments of him as cold, aloof, ghoulish, humourless or melancholy provided his armour. He was externally unflappable, methodical, analytical; but under the water, his feet paddled frantically, and he felt his heart a million miles away, perched at the edge of a precipice.

Kento swam in Cursed energy; Father Tatsu was having trouble packing it back in-- the Cursed energy that had never belonged to him-- now he had shown his hand. The air was as thick as treacle. Grimly assessing that he had no choice but to fight if he wanted to give you a chance to escape, Kento rolled up his sleeves, the seal releasing on his Cursed energy as Overtime unlocked. Father Tatsu bared his teeth.

"Will it be me then, instead of that woman you call your wife?" Kento's stomach twisted as Father Tatsu picked at his nails, flippant and disinterested, "I say that...but she'll be gone by now, of course. No blood left for the leeches."

Kento read his adversary, his face impassive as he hummed in thought, seemingly considering you tactically, instead of with the gut-churning dread he really felt. I shouldn't have let her go, Kento tortured himself, bitter, she went back, and that's my fault, and she's gone already--

Kento went through mental acrobatics-- home and dead? Home and injured? Captured and home? Captured and taken to the Shrine? Captured and taken somewhere else? Captured but fought to the death? Captured and--

"She is useful," Kento mused, detached, "but not necessary for this part of the mission. It may be a blessing for her to die now instead of--"

Father Tatsu laughed, "Dead, my boy? No, no. The Goddess prefers to consume them while their heart still beats."

Kento felt a swoop of success at his easy fishing. Captured and taken to the Shrine. Taking a few steps back as Father Tatsu's power swelled, Kento's eyes glanced through the windows overlooking the village, in the direction of your house together. Kento sighed.

"Our mission was reconnaissance and escape," Kento lied smoothly, "so while it's a shame my colleague has likely been neutralised, there's no value in both of us being taken out. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving. I don't imagine it's long before my...institution arrives, to finish the job."

Father Tatsu snarled, his attempt to reel Kento to the Shrine failing. His Cursed-energy grew at an uncontrollable rate, and Father Tatsu appeared drunk, gulping back nausea, staggering. Both considered each others' moves; breaths balanced on a tightrope.

Father Tatsu darted for Kento, so much faster and stronger than his age would normally allow, and Kento jacked sideways into a roll. Righting himself, fingertips to tatami in a balanced squat, Kento swept one leg out under the staggering Father Tatsu, who landed with a resounding slam on his back. Dropping back to his haunches as Father Tatsu lay, stunned, Kento lifted the same leg, slamming the back of his booted foot down onto Father Tatsu's face.

With a nauseating crunch-pop, Father Tatsu's nose broke, lips split, choking on blood and teeth. Lifting his leg once more to land a killing blow, Kento's ankle was grasped in two obscenely strong hands; despite his leg being swathed in Cursed energy, he felt a crack ricochet up his leg, the pain like a gunshot.

Father Tatsu looked so briefly shocked, before his face twisted into a snarl, sloppy and bleeding, yanking Kento's leg, trying to pull Kento in by his broken ankle. He doesn't know how to control the power, Kento realised, hot pain flaring up his leg, because he's never had so much of it.

"Scum," Tatsu snarled, as Kento resisted his pull with gritted teeth and stubborn determination. Tatsu vomitted, hot blood, tooth fragments and bile soaking into Kento's jeans and the tatami below them. Kento watched in muted horror as the man's body seemed to swell and churn, Tatsu briefly contorted with torturous pain before sinking his fingers into Kento's leg, bellowing like a bear.

Father Tatsu was bloated with power, and it refluxed out of him in a gruesome, violent belch, when he stood, swinging Kento in an arc to the other side of the room. Beams splintered under the sinews of Kento's body, on the wall overlooking the village, and it buckled, part of the ceiling shunting down, showering Kento in plaster, clotting with blood on his forehead.

Kento stood, solid and tall, his breath hitching with the agony of standing on a fractured ankle. Kento focused his Cursed energy there, desperate for support, cursing himself for never mastering the art of Reverse Cursed Technique.

Kento was sloppy with distraction, each second away from you lowering your chances of survival. Father Tatsu crouched, arms and fingers twisting into himself like gnarled roots, an unstable implosion. He jutted forwards, staggering, animalistic, his face contorted with rage and failed restraint.

Kento turned on a pinhead, gripping a jutting ceiling beam, before kicking the crumpled wall with a roar of pain, striking a point of critical weakness. The wall collapsed outwards, and Kento and Father Tatsu were met with the cold slap of the drifting snowstorm, before Kento leapt, the remnants of the room's ceiling folding like a blanket over Father Tatsu.

Kento's belly swooped as he dropped three stories, landing in fresh snowdrift with a soft thud, before jackknifing away into the storm, making for the village gates, for escape. Kento heard a cry of rage from the devastated room behind, carried by the wind, making his gut churn with shame.

"Coward! Coward!"

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I'm underwater.

"...feed this one...goddess..."

"...too much...all the others already..."

Warm. It's too heavy. Hurts.

"...arguing!...orders..."

"...tender first...likes them begging..."

I'll just sleep let me sleep go to sleep--

WAKE UP!

Who is that? Love him. Want him.

You're running out of time. Darling. WAKE UP!

Your injury gripped you, and you sank, unbidden, into the deep once more.

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"If you don't ask him out for a coffee, I will. Maybe for me, or maybe for you." Your best friend cringed, squealing with laughter as you slapped at her.

"If you've only come in here to bother me," you chided, urging your friend to the staffroom door, "then go away, you must have something better to do, you pest--"

A gentle knock, and the door swung open, forcing your friend to spin back to you, grasping your shoulders with wicked joy, as Nanami Kento walked in behind her, his eyes questioning. You glared daggers at your friend, giving her an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Naturally, she ignored you.

"I'm so sorry, I can't come to lunch with you today after all!" She bemoaned, "I've got so much to do. You'll just have to eat alone." Your mouth dropped open at her shameless audacity. She excused herself quickly, past Kento, the door closing on you both.

There was a heartbeat of silence, and you adjusted yourself quickly, giving Kento a breathless smile in apology for your friend.

As you moved towards the door yourself, crippled by Kento's presence, you heard his silky voice behind you.

"I normally eat alone. The good company in this place is limited."

Your hand retracted briefly from the door handle as you turned to Kento, blushing. His heart skipped, his decision quick and life-altering as other, rejected paths trailed away, unchosen, alternate fates unravelling.

He folded his newspaper with a light clearing of the throat; "That being said...I know a good bakery. If you'd like to join me for lunch."

Your smile was as soft as dappled sunlight, and Kento felt something deep within him pass irretrievably to you.

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You woke with an agonal gasp, floundering in chains as a bucket of ice-cold water was flung over you. Your head spun and pounded, belly shaking with nauseous, racking shivers. Your wrists creaked against your chains, engraved in symbols; your stomach dropped as you realised your Cursed Technique had been completely neutralised by your bonds.

As soon as you raised your head to look around you, a backhanded slap across your cheek made your teeth crack together and your head rattle; a hit you knew, vaguely, to be from a man, instead of a woman. Your tiptoes pressed to the floor as you hung, coughing.

Nought but footsteps in front of you, something dark and slick across the stones, red-black light writhing and flickering in the gloom. Your foot caught on something as you tried to stand. A second slap had you feeling your captor was enjoying this.

"It's nothing personal, my dear." The voice tickled recognition in the back of your mind, but you hitched against the chains, your head and face battered. You tried to grab your thoughts, like catching smoke. Your captor had rightly ensured you had no chance to fight back-- no monologues, no grandiose speeches.

"Well...a little personal. Breaking into my library. Making a fool of me. The Fathers really did hope it wasn't you two, you know? Such talent."

A punch, deep to your gut. A scurry up your leg, a sharp squeaking bite that sank through your trousers and popped through the skin of your thigh. You were crying out now as you kicked the Librarian's rat off your leg, you were sure, but your head was ringing, vision spinning, cold seeping through to your bones.

You almost begged for mercy, but bit it back, wordless and gasping. Your feet slipped on the part-frozen slick beneath you. Your foot caught again, your floundering throwing something forwards; ragged fabric, dark with slurry, crunched bone, gristle and flesh peeking through it. You retched as the putrid-sweet smell of fleshy rot hit you. Leftovers, you thought.

The squirming nature of the light in this vast round chamber had you throwing your head back, staring upwards with bloodstained vision. An extraordinary mass of black arms and legs writhed above you, the inchoate flesh constantly changing as hundreds of blackened screaming faces, kicking legs, clawing hands moved within it, reaching out. As if in recognition of your acknowledgement, a pulse of Cursed-energy like a weapon of war shook your bones. You'd have dropped to your knees, if not bound.

"When your pain is pure," the Librarian continued, adoring, revenant, "she will devour. She shall be released. Our captive goddess, she of the fertile land, finally imbued with the righteous power needed to debride this festering country."

The Librarian approached you, his leathery hands cupping your face lovingly, shushing you as pink-stained tears ran down your cheeks. He spoke softly, as if gifting you such a boon.

"You will be part of something bigger now, sweet girl. You were misguided...but she is forgiving." The Librarian brushed tears from your tender, swollen cheeks and you grimaced in pain. He looked up, as snowflakes slipped occasionally down past the writhing mass, and reached into his pocket. With a flick, a pocket knife opened casually in his hand.

"Is your husband coming?" The Librarian asked, slow and thoughtful, "Perhaps not. I cannot feel him." Your heart crunched with pain, tears now rushing down your face in a strangled sob, hoping against hope that Kento was escaping, instead of dead.

"It is no matter." The Librarian supported the small of your back as he punched the knife into your gut. All the air shunted out of your lungs, your mouth hanging open in a voiceless gape, agony burning through every nerve of your body as the Librarian swiped the knife sideways through your belly. A slow, fatal wound. He pulled his hand away, drenched in your blood as you began to slip underwater again.

"She will taste your pain. She will come. Do not fear, sweet girl."

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You slipped out of the bathroom, skin still glistening with steam as you wiggled a towel around you, hunting for the tinny ringring-ringring of your phone.

Into your bedroom, throwing discarded clothes aside, and reaching into your pocket, you found your phone. You answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" A brief silence on the other end.

"I'm...sorry. You must be busy." That familiar voice, that made your belly twist and throb with want, velvet and slurred. You sat on your bed, gripping your towel around you.

"Kento?" You squeezed your phone until your knuckles were white. You heard a sigh and a shuffle, and blurted out in a panic, "No, wait! Don't hang up!"

A pause again.

"I just wanted-- I needed someone to--"

"Kento I--...I'm always here. For you to talk. About anything."

A thousand unspoken truths passed between you in silence. You closed your eyes, bringing your knees up to your chest with your arm wrapped around them. You felt Kento wrapped around you, warm as you waited.

"It's...it's just been a long week," he continued weakly, "Too much. Just way too much. I didn't get to see Haibara-- it was the anniversary, and I--"

You bit your lip, tears stinging in your nose for Kento. Reassurances flurried out of you. Kento felt himself warm through with your voice, slumped in his armchair, whiskey on his knee, shirt and tie open and messy over his broad chest.

You spoke over the phone, for the first time ever. The intimacy of his breaths, his slow chuckles, the crushed velvet of his tipsy voice...with your eyes closed, he was right beside you. He may as well have been in your bed. Your skin pricked with goosebumps as you heard him shift in his chair, releasing a gravelly groan with his aches and pains.

"You can-- you can come over...if you like. I'm not-- not doing anything," you offered, cringing with regret and anticipation as soon as the words left your mouth. You heard Kento's breathing hitch at the other end of the phone, before he breathed out a long, shivering breath.

"I...not tonight," he spoke, hesitant. Your stomach dropped, blushing, tears threatening to spill out as your face twisted in despair, mortified.

"I've been drinking...and you deserve better. So much better. But...tomorrow?" Your heart leapt, wondering how you would possibly wait that long. You bit your lip, burning with desire and delight as you nodded quickly.

"I-- yes. Yes. Please." Kento huffed out a laugh that had the hairs on your neck stand on end. You shivered in your cold, damp towel.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just-- just still in a towel, I was having a bath." Kento's breath hitched again, and you were sure you could hear his embarrassment.

"God, I'm so sorry," he pressed against your hurried reassurance, "I'll go, just...go to bed. Warm up, I'll...I'll see you tomorrow." You blushed, kicking your legs, wiggling your toes, overwhelmed with joy.

"Okay. Yep. Bed, I'll-- I'll get dressed," you squeaked, unable to help yourself, teasing him with your feigned innocence. He hummed, low and unreadable.

"Sweet dreams," he said, voice warm as honeyed tea. A brief hesitation, as you both held on...the call ending with a beep.

Kento dropped his phone onto the table beside him, cupping his hands over his mouth. His thighs bounced on the chair in thrill, and he fumbled, swearing as whiskey spilled all over his lap.

The next day, he scooped you into his arms off bloodstained concrete, shielding your gaze as your friend's broken body was shifted into black bags.

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Kento had long-since left the village, since heading to the gates in swathes of snow, his broken leg giving and buckling under him as his Cursed-energy buffeted. He had escaped, cold and tactically driven; better just one dead sorcerer, than two dead sorcerers, after all.

Father Tatsu was certain, howling insults into the snow like a wolf on the mountain. His bounding strides cratered the floor beneath him as he lurched through the Temple, throwing aside the questioning approach of the kimono'd woman. She slammed into the wall in a wet crunch, hit with the force of a high-speed traffic collision. Father Tatsu lurched out into the snow, retching and vomiting again.

Father Tatsu stood strong against the piling drive of snow, a maelstrom against a maelstrom. The village was barely visible in the sea of white, as he staggered towards the black-veined, dead hill of the shrine.

Watching the man zigzag up the hill from a snowy roof, a man surrounded by allies raised his hand to pull his balaclava low, his eyes tempered like chocolate, determined.

"Time to move."

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Your heart crumpled under the weight of grief, for a promised life with Kento, never fulfilled as you hung, dying in the red-black gloom. You regretted nothing of the past; only the future you had let slip through your fingers.

The writhing goddess thrummed above you, and viscous pulses of overwhelming power thickened the air. You tried to drink it in, a desperate grasp at life.

A familiar voice called your name in the gloom. You had slipped underwater now, sunk under ice, tangled in reeds.

Kento had nightmares about how he found you, broken, bleeding, hanging and cold, until the day he died.

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One chapter to go! 🤭🤭

Chapter Eight: Unchained, LINK HERE!

@angelofthorr @nn-hh192 @vxmethyst @moonmalice @daisynik7 @heyitsmirae @black-swan-blog27 @vocosys @mischiefmanaged71 @silkspunweb 🐈‍⬛🧎‍♀️ @deegausserr

[kkl1nch0r]

We've Got Business!

Boothill x Gender Neutral reader

Synopsis: What happens when two mercenaries, assigned to eliminate each other, walk into a bar? (No, seriously— what the fuck happens.)

---

“So what kinda business ya got me here for today?!”

He’s the one. You gaze at the paper in front of you— cattleman hat, a striking eye, and a cocky but toothy grin. Flared jeans, heeled boots, half flesh, and half metal, you get it— the whole package.

Eliminate him, is what the order says.

Your eyes look at the man entering the bar up and down— yup, it’s him. Boothill saunters over to the counter where you sit, and the bartender eyes him up and down, not unlike the way you did earlier, except it wasn’t just a glance— it’s a calculating gaze, up and down.

“Not much,” you say sarcastically, giving the cowboy space ranger a snide glance once more. “Figured you’d be digging around for the last gold nugget, eh?”

Boothill arches an eyebrow, propping an elbow against the counter, his metallic body clanking around noisily. “Alright, Missy or Mister. Who in the godly Aeons are ya?”

You shrug, but your eyes stray to the paper in front of you, haunting you like a dead ghost. Boothill sees it. He knows you know, and he doesn’t miss the way you reach up in your back pocket, hands ever so subtlety handling the muzzle of a gun.

“Y/n, but I guess you already know that.” You smirk, pouring the last of the drink down your mouth, letting out a satisfied exhale. “Boothill, is it?”

Boothill’s also gripping for his gun, and he spits out a golden bullet, opening the magazine and checking it as he grunts, shrugging. “Yup. Looks like we’ve got a naaaaasty job for today.”

“I second that,” you say, and sigh as you whip out the gun from your back pocket, flipping it midair so your hands are holding the grip. You yawn, not even looking as you fire the bullets at Boothill, and the bullets ricochet off the ceiling, bouncing left, right and sideways.

The cowboy smirks, his body flying as he weaves through the bullets with ease.

“Ha!” says Boothill, spinning his gun, cocking his gun, firing bullets of his own. “Ya gotta do way better than that, buddy.”

Bullets pierce the walls of the bar, but you yawn again, stretching as you rise from your chair— so this is what the client meant by playing a dangerous game?

Today’s order: as the most skilled mercenary in town, you're assigned to take down the only other skilled mercenary in town (albeit he has a bit of the sassy attitude). You hadn’t expected it to be this fun.

“Wooooweee!” Boothill whoops, flipping over acrobatically over an empty table in the bar, as the bartender yells and ducks for cover. The cowboy is having the time of his life as he fires countless bullets, even pouring the magazine in his mouth and churning more out of his mouth. “Well, come on! At least try to kill me, will ya?”

You grunt, sidestepping as another volley of bullets hurtle past you, and rush forward, ducking and weaving through tables and yelling drinkers. Boothill’s heeled boot skids backward as you get into his face, back-handing him with the butt of your gun as he hisses in pain.

“Well, fork me—”

Boothill is backed up towards a wall, but he eyes a table to his left— drinkers are playing poker on it— and he leans forward, yanking the table over the drinkers, wedging it between you and him to create some room.

“Alright, my turn!” Boothill chirps, cocking his gun. You reach behind you for anything you could use against him as he faces you with a shit-eating grin, finger already pressing down on the trigger.

He retaliates with a rapid-fire volley of bullets in your direction, but you snatch a random chair, grunting as you haul it up, and throw it at his face— as he whoops (this time in surprise), you jump over the wine-soaked table and leap over him, swiping at his cowboy hat to hopefully knock his head, but he ducks.

You groan. Of course. For a second you had forgotten he wasn’t a mercenary, too.

“It’s raining, baby!” Boothill hollers. 

The cowboy grabs an abandoned wine bottle and jumps onto the table— you land on the floor, facing the wall, but duck just in time as the wine bottle hurtles over and shatters over your head. Glass is falling on you as Boothill roars with laughter, throwing bottle after bottle of wine with reckless abandon, hoping he’d score a lucky hit.

He must’ve been terrible at the jackpots, then. None of the glass bottles hit you. Their shards surround you, though, but you hop over them easily.

Your hands fly with precision— taking another gun from your other back pocket, loading the magazine and cocking it, aiming for him, but—

He’s gone.

“Damn it!” you seethe, looking around wildly for any sign of the cocky cowboy, but he’s disappeared. For a moment you consider that Boothill’s gone, run off to escape, but then—

The cowboy chuckles darkly. “Right here, baby.”

You shiver as a gravelly voice speaks behind you, tingles running down your neck. Boothill, that sneaky bastard…

You whip around, elbowing the cyborg straight in the face— he sputters, and bullets fire again. However, Boothill has managed to catch you off guard, so none of his bullets really hit him. The only ones that do lodge into his metallic body (good Aeons, where have you been aiming?) and he sprints towards you as yells of protest circulate the bar.

Both mercenaries are in no state to listen. Boothill spits out a bullet, cocking his gun again, and you duck again. Defeaning bangs echo in the small bar.

Boothill’s bullets whizz past over your head, and he’s completely lost it. Whatever had been wiring him to sanity has snapped, and you gritted your teeth, stretching your leg out abruptly in a sweeping kick over the floor.

Boothill, for the love of Aeons, doesn’t notice. He’s knocked off his feet, and you cock your gun, straightening, and kick the gun out of his hands as he splutters censored curses and incoherent language.

“Here I thought this was gonna be fun,” you snarl, pointing at Boothill’s face, wedging the heel of your boot onto his body.

“Yeah, me too,” Boothill replies, and you narrow your eyes. He’s up to something.

The cowboy’s got some of your tricks up his sleeve— he’s managed to grab the foot of a chair and yank it towards himself, and you yell as he raises it above his head, and sends the chair hurtling towards your face.

“Eat this, Son of a nice lady!” he barks, and the chair is flying towards your face too fast for you to back up.

Something breaks. Your face, your nose— it’s bleeding, and Boothill looks pretty roughed up too— he’s got a rogue crack in his face and the fleshed part of his face is bruised. The cowboy is still laying on the floor, but he’s getting up again. You see the bullets lodged in random metallic parts of his body.

“That was my move!” you yell pettily, firing bullets at random, hoping one of them would hit the mark.

Turns out both of you suck at the jackpot. None of your bullets hit Boothill, and are instead lodged into the wooden floors of the bar.

“That’s my charm, baby.” Boothill winks as he stands, points his gun at you, and you both circle each other, having drawn to a tie.

You scowl. “Don’t pull that shit again.”

“Might just will.”

Both of you fire your guns at the same time. As the bartender and drinkers huddle in fear, there’s no sound of bullets firing— just empty clicks from the guns.

“What the—?” Boothill stammers and he opens his gun magazine. “My bullets!”

“What the hell did you do?” you yell back. Your gun is empty of bullets too.

Boothill, agitated, clenches his fist and flexes his metallic arm. “Alright, you asked for it.”

You spin your empty gun in your hands. “Looks like you ate all your bullets up. How is that my fault?”

“No way! You ate all mine!”

“I’m not a bullet-eating piece of shit like you!”

Both of you start spitting out insults at each other, and its almost gone physical when you realize the entire situation is pointless. The bartender swallows drily— It’s like watching two children fight.

Finally, you sigh, tossing your empty gun to the floor. “I’m tired of this bullshit.”

Boothill shrugs. “Me too.”

“Up for a drink?”

“Yup. Two beers, please.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

congrats on 1k!!! can i have Q and 🥵?

Thank you so much! 🥰

This was ... less angsty and more smutty in my head. 😅

Guiding light

Rated: E

Words: 997

Tags: Post-Vecna; Kas!Eddie Munson; monster!Eddie Munson; rough sex; monsterfucking; angst; hopeful ending

He doesn't know what pulls him in.

He doesn’t know a lot of things, these days.

The portals have closed. Master is dead. So are his siblings. The comforting buzz of their claws and wings and voices in his head, the cold, familiar slither of their minds against his, it's all gone.

It’s dreadfully empty, all alone in his head. His mind flails like a bird the dark, released from the confines of its … house? prison? A thing with bars, he doesn’t know the word. It’s lost somewhere in the void and he can’t grasp it, doesn’t know how to reach for it. Doesn’t remember.

That’s how the golden glow flickering beyond the trees finds him - naked in the night, stumbling around without aim. He doesn’t know why he follows it.

The house is dark, half-destroyed from the ground tremors. The light pulses from a window above him. A … a tiny fire thing. A candle.

A candle to light his way, like something from a … another thing he doesn’t remember the word for, a thing with words on pages that takes you to far-off worlds, a thing that smells of ink, paper, dust. A thing he used to … love.

The distant echo of the feeling makes his head erupt in pain, makes something horribly warm bubble in his chest. He scales the wall, using his tail and wings for support, ready to snuff out the tiny light.

“There you are.”

A whisper, barely more than a breath floating on air. He whips around as if yanked by a leash, fangs bared.

There’s a … sleep thing in the corner of the room. Blankets and pillows that smell of comfort, warmth, rest - but that isn’t what makes his mouth water and his stomach churn with a terrible, primal feeling. A feeling that’s close to hunger but not quite.

It's the figure sitting on top of the thing. A boy with eyes that are bright in the flickering candlelight, eyes brimming with emotions he doesn’t know.

But he knows those eyes.

The warm thing in his chest explodes, like boiling liquid eating at his insides. He roars in pain and confusion and fear and launches himself at the boy. He wants to shred, he wants to maim, he wants the burning to stop, he wants the emptiness to go away, he wants, he wants, he wants-

Something touches his face, something soft and light. A hand. He has the boy pinned, claws digging into his shoulders, ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Fangs inches from his throat, breath hot against his pulse.

There's no fear in those eyes. Instead, those lips - soft and inviting and familiar - curl into a smile.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” says the boy, fingers slipping up to his temples, gently combing aside the tangled curtain of his hair.

He doesn’t know gentle.

Then why does he remember it?

He peels back his lips and hisses, wings flaring out, tail slicing the air like a whip.

“It’s okay,” says the boy. His hand tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, slowly, tenderly and the warm thing coils in his chest, in his abdomen. “I know you're in there, Eddie.”

The pain in his skull turns blinding white. The word … the name ricochets in the empty cavern of his mind and his chest pulls with want, so hard he thinks it might crack open.

The boy's eyes are bright like the candle. Pulling him in. His claws shred through fabric, exposing soft skin, patterns of moles like … sky things. Stars.

“Go ahead,” says the boy. “I'm here. Take what you need.”

He doesn’t know what he needs.

But he thinks he remembers.

*

He doesn't know gentle, but the boy does.

His claws can only leave gashes and cuts, but those hands can tease and caress. His fangs can only bite and tear, but those lips leave kisses and whispered words of endearment. He's death and destruction and cold, but the boy is warmth and kindness and life.

He shouldn’t want that warmth, but he does. And he takes it. Takes it in all the ways he knows and all the ways he remembers.

The boy doesn't stop him once. Not when he pushes inside of him with a brutality that punches the breath from his chest in a hoarse whimper. Not when the force of his thrusts makes the sleep thing … the bed … groan and creak. Not when his claws leave bruises and draw blood, not when his tail wraps around the boy's throat, leaving him gasping for breath underneath him.

By the time he spills inside of that warmth and collapses on top of the boy, spent and exhausted and finally sated, the candle has burnt to a small stub and the sky beyond the window is turning brighter. Birdsong reaches his ears and he snarls reluctantly.

“You need to go?”

The boy's smile is tired and slow, and a little sad. He's beautiful in the waxing light, skin littered in marks. Marks he left there. The warm feeling blooms in his chest again. He thinks he could get used to the pain if means seeing that smile again.

“That’s alright.” Fingers combing through his hair, lips tracing the ruined remains of pictures etched into his skin. “I'll leave the candle burning so you can find me again, now that you know the way.”

He whines, even as he disentangles himself from the boy's embrace. He doesn’t know gentle, but he still presses his lips to the long stretch of that throat one last time, fangs scraping over bruised and bitten skin.

The boy sighs and melts into the touch.

“I'll get you back, Eddie. No matter how long it takes.”

He doesn't know gentle, and he doesn’t know the person that name belongs to.

But the darkness is a little bit thinner now. And he thinks that some day, he might remember.

Steve guiding Eddie back to himself through unhinged monsterfucking? Why not?

More celebration ficlets

[sunnynwanda]

How about a villain who fell inlove with a sidekick hero?

Villain & Sidekick

"Well, well, well." Sidekick can feel Villain's voice hitting their back and penetrating their spine. It ricochets off the walls, prickling their skin and stilling them in place in the middle of the dark corridor. "If it isn't my favourite wannabe hero!"

They should be used to the taunting intonations and mocking words by now, but somehow they are not. Hero would laugh in their face for such weakness of emotion. Or maybe they would get an educational beating instead. Sidekick did not understand how that was supposed to harden them.

"Where's your boss, darling?" Villain inquires, slowly strutting towards them. Sidekick refuses to turn around, determined to keep up appearances in case they decide to leave now. Villain would never know why they came in the first place. "You don't actually think you can defy me alone, do you?"

Not that they would fight Sidekick, ever. Mostly for the purpose of maintaining their reputation, but also because they couldn't bring themselves to hurt them. In fact, they were certain to maim anyone who did. Like that time Hero backhand slapped Sidekick amidst the battle for something they had no control over. Villain never forgot the way the poor creature stumbled back and landed on the floor, their hand pressed to their cheek. Needless to say, Villain made sure to wipe said floor with Hero's pathetic face that day, just to make them feel the same pain and humiliation.

Villain shakes their head, trying to focus on the situation at hand. They hum to themselves, noticing the tension in their favourite enemy's shoulders. Something's wrong. They round Sidekick and stop a few steps away, allowing their eyes to roam all over their body. Something's very wrong.

"Sidekick?" When they don't meet their gaze, Villain takes a step closer. "What's wrong?"

"I couldn't go home." The words are barely above a whisper. Villain moves closer, reaching for the switch to turn the lights on. "Hero wouldn't understand."

When the light illuminates their face all of a sudden, Sidekick squints and attempts to look away to hide their face. Villain catches their wrist, drawing them closer and hooking a finger under their chin to get a proper look. That's when their heart drops down to their feet. Or Sidekick's feet. They don't even know anymore.

"Who did this to you?" Villain's voice is now laced with worry that they cannot explain to the person in front of them. Not that it matters when said person is beaten and buttered, with cuts and bruises littering their beautiful face. Villain wants to kiss each and every one of those wounds until nothing hurts anymore. "Hero?"

Sidekick shakes their head, biting into their split lip. They cannot fathom why they even decided to come here. Why was it Villain and not their boss who made them feel safe and comforted? Villain exhales loudly, willing the storm within themselves to calm. It does not, but they manage to lift a shaking hand and wipe a drop of blood off Sidekick's cheekbone before speaking again.

"My henchmen?" When Sidekick looks up at them with watery eyes, Villain can no longer suppress the angered growl rambling in their chest. They have made it blatantly clear that no one was allowed to lay a finger on Sidekick, let alone beat them to such a state.

"I'm gonna rip them to shreds." They say, wrath flaring behind their eyes. Sidekick attempts to say something, but Villain cuts them off with a finger pressed to their lips. "And then I'm gonna destroy your boss."

It's not a threat. Sidekick can see that much. It's a promise. One that they know Villain can keep. They shake their head no, leaning into Villain's embrace and resting their head against their chest.

"I'm going to punish them whether you like it or not," Villain sighs, picking them up and heading towards their bathroom. "But we'll talk about it in the morning."

Thank you for the request, lovely anon! I had a blast writing this :)

Masterlist

[vixenmulder]

Stay Professional

Summary: Y/N gets injured on a mission, Her secret boyfriend Yord struggles to act normally.

Warnings: Blood, gunshot, battle

Word count: 3450

—————

Yord and Y/N hunkered down behind the crates as blaster bolts ricocheted off the crates causing them to duck. Y/N glanced at Yord who was taking deep breaths trying to stay calm. They were both Jedi knights and had been on many missions together, but this one was different. They had been tracking a human trafficker who had eluded capture for months. The trafficker stood in the center of the dark warehouse, flanked by his goons who were all armed with blasters.

Y/N leaned over towards Yord and whispered, "Do you know where the other Jedi are?" Yord looked around and pointed to the other side of the warehouse where he could just make out the silhouettes of two Jedi hidden behind another row of crates. "Over there," he said quietly.

Y/N nodded and turned her attention back to the trafficker and his goons. They could hear the trafficker yelling at his men to find them and to shoot to kill. The sound of blaster fire continued to fill the air as the crates they were hiding behind took hit after hit. Y/N took a deep breath and looked at Yord again. "We have to do something," she said urgently.

Yord turned towards the other Jedi and signaled to them to stand and attack all at once. They could use their lightsabers to deflect the blaster fire back at the goons. The other Jedi nodded in agreement. Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as they prepared to make their move.

Y/N took a deep breath and steadied herself. She could feel Yord's anticipation through their Force bond. The other Jedi were also getting ready to make their move. The sound of blaster fire was deafening, but Y/N could still hear the trafficker's voice above the noise. "Find them!" he barked. Y/N looked at Yord and nodded. It was time to act. Together, they stood up and ignited their lightsabers.

The bright plasma blades hummed to life, casting a colorful glow in the dimly lit warehouse. The goons all turned to face them, their faces startled. The trafficker, however, sneered at them, his eyes narrowing. "Jedi scum," he spat.

"You're outnumbered," the trafficker said with a sinister smile. His goons raised their blasters, their fingers hovering over the triggers, ready to fire. Y/N could feel the tension in the air as they all stood staring at each other.

Just then, the other Jedi emerged from behind their crates and ignited their lightsabers, their blades flaring to life. The goons looked from Y/N and Yord to the other Jedi, their eyes wide with fear. The trafficker's face contorted in anger, his grip tightening on his own blaster. "Damn you, Jedi!" he growled “FIRE!”

The fight between the Jedi and the goons was quick and brutal. The Jedi were expertly trained and their lightsabers danced through the air, deflecting blasters bolts and striking down the goons with ease. The traffickers were no match. As Y/N fought, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her leg as a blaster bolt hit her. she stumbled, her leg giving way from under her as she fell to the ground.

Yord felt a wave of concern wash over him as he saw Y/N fall. He quickly finished off the last of the goons before rushing to her side. "Y/N, are you okay?" he asked worriedly, kneeling beside her. Y/N winced in pain and shock but managed a small smile. "I'll be fine," she said through gritted teeth.

Yord tried to keep his emotions in check, but it was hard. He could feel the fear and worry bubbling up inside him, but he knew he had to remain professional. He helped Y/N to her feet and looked at her leg, which was bleeding profusely. "We need to get you to a medic," he said urgently.

The other Jedi had gathered around them, their faces showing concern. Yord knew he had to act professional in front of them, so he quickly masked his emotions before turning to address them. "I'll take her to find a medical droid, you search for victims and we can meet back up when we get to the temple.” he said briskly.

The other Jedi nodded in agreement, and Y/N leaned heavily on Yord as they made their way out of the warehouse. Yord kept his arm around her, supporting her as they walked. His mind was racing with worry, but he tried to remain calm as he looked for a medical droid.

Once they were out of sight of the other Jedi, Yord allowed himself to drop the facade of professionalism. He could feel the worry and fear welling up in him again, and he could feel Y/N shaking from the pain of her injury. He tightened his grip on her, his jaw clenching. "Just hold on," he said, his voice strained. "We're nearly there."

They continued making their way down the street, Y/N leaning heavily on Yord's shoulder. He could feel her tremble as she fought to stay upright. Every so often, she would gasp or groan in pain, and Yord's heart clenched each time. They passed by crowds of people, some of whom stole curious glances at them, but Yord didn't pay them any mind. His only focus was on getting Y/N to the doctor as quickly as possible.

They turned down a quieter side street and Yord spotted a small doctors office up ahead. He quicked his pace, practically half-carrying Y/N now. He could hear her breathing becoming labored, and her pain was evident in her expression. “I’m sorry, almost there.” he assured her. They finally reached the office, and Yord quickly ushered Y/N inside.

Yord paid for the medical services and was given access to a medical droid. They were led into a small, sterile room, and Yord carefully lifted Y/N onto the examination table. He winced as he saw the extent of her injury - the blaster bolt had torn through her leg, leaving a gaping wound that was still bleeding heavily.

Once they were alone in the room with the medical droid, Yord allowed himself to relax a bit. The droid started to work on Y/N's injury, its mechanical arms moving quickly and efficiently. Yord stood by Y/N's side, watching anxiously as the droid worked. "How bad is it?" he asked the droid, his voice filled with concern. The droid responded in its monotone voice, "The injury is severe, but treatable."

Yord let out a sigh of relief at the droid's words. "Thank the Force," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Y/N winced as the droid poked and prodded at her wound. Yord reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're going to be okay," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Yord stood by Y/N's side, running his fingers gently through her hair. She was lying back on the examination table, her face pale and sweaty from the pain. He could feel the tension in her body, but she softened slightly as he stroked her hair. The medical droid continued working, its mechanical arms moving quickly and efficiently. Y/N's grip on Yord's hand tightened as the droid touched a particularly painful spot, and he leaned down to whisper soothingly in her ear. "It's almost over," he murmured.

Finally, the medical droid finished stitching up Y/N's wound and sprayed a disinfectant over it. Yord let out a sigh of relief as he watched the droid withdraw its arms and retreat to a corner of the room. He looked down at Y/N, who was looking tired and pale, but at least the bleeding had stopped. He turned back to the droid. "She should rest and keep the wound clean," the droid said in its monotone voice.

The medical droid finished its work and powered down, its arms retracting and its lights going out. Yord turned his attention back to Y/N, who was taking slow, deep breaths. He could see the exhaustion on her face, and he could only imagine how much pain she had been in. He gently touched her face, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Y/N opened her eyes and gave Yord a tired smile. "I'm okay," she said weakly. "Just exhausted." Yord could hear the note of pain in her voice and knew that she was trying to downplay how much pain she was really in. He didn't like it, but he also knew that she was stubborn and would never admit to feeling worse than she let on.

Yord gently brushed his lips against Y/N's forehead, a gesture of reassurance. He then pulled her into a tight hug, careful not to jostle her injured leg. "I was so worried about you," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. He could feel his own heart racing as he held her, the relief at having her safe in his arms overwhelming him.

Yord helped Y/N sit up on the examination table, carefully supporting her weight. She looked weak and pale, and he could see the pain etched on her face. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. They sat like that for a moment, just holding each other. Yord could feel the tension in her body slowly begin to loosen as she leaned into him. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

He gently stroked her hair, taking in the softness of it and the familiar scent of her. He could feel her breath against his neck, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. For a moment, everything else faded away, and it felt like it was just the two of them in the entire galaxy.

Yord was snapped out of his reverie as the medical droids owner banged on the door, demanding that they vacate the room. Y/N flinched at the noise, her eyes widening in surprise. Yord quickly released her and turned to the door, plastering on a neutral expression. He knew they couldn't let anyone see the closeness between them, it would be too risky. The owner entered the room, looking at them expectantly. "I need the room," he said brusquely.

Yord nodded in acknowledgment and helped Y/N carefully stand up. She winced in pain as she put weight on her injured leg, and Yord had to resist the urge to scoop her up in his arms and carry her out of the room. Instead, he supported her as they made their way out of the room, the medical droid's owner eyeing them suspiciously.

Yord carefully supported Y/N as they made their way back to their ship. She was moving slowly, every step clearly costing her a great deal of pain. Yord kept a steady arm around her, trying to take as much of her weight as he could. They didn't speak as they walked, both lost in their own thoughts. Yord felt a pang of worry in his chest as he glanced down at her. She looked exhausted and pale, but he knew she was too stubborn to complain.

As they approached their ship, Yord could feel the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. The other Jedi had taken a different ship, so it would be just the two of them on the trip home. He quickly helped Y/N inside the ship, settling her into a seat. She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. Yord could see the pain etched on her face, and he knew she was trying to hide how much she was hurting.

Yord quickly set up the ship’s autopilot. He didn't want to spend the entire trip flying when he had higher priorities to attend to. He walked back to where Y/N was sitting and knelt down beside her chair, looking her over with a worried expression.

Yord looked at Y/N, his expression softening as he took in her weary expression. He knew she was exhausted, both physically and mentally. "It's a day's trip back," he said quietly. "I'm going to set up the bed so you can get some rest."

Yord helped Y/N to her feet and led her to the back of the ship where the bedrooms were. He gently settled her onto a small bed, being careful to avoid her injured leg. He then grabbed some cleaner clothes from a nearby locker and cloth and bowl. Yord helped her sit up. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, and he knew she was struggling to stay awake. He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "We should get you changed into clean clothes, and I’ll clean you up" he said quietly. "Then you can rest."

Yord helped Y/N to her feet once again, but she stumbled and winced in pain. He quickly steadied her, his hands wrapping around her waist. "Careful," he said softly, his voice tinged with concern. He helped her over to a chair and sat her down, quickly grabbing some clean clothes from a nearby locker. He helped her out of her dirty, blood-soaked top and next her pants, being careful not to jostle her injured leg.

Yord worked quickly and gently, his hands moving over her body as he cleaned her up. He avoided her injured leg, not wanting to cause her any more pain. He could feel the tension in her body, and he knew she was struggling to hold herself together. He worked in silence, focusing on the task at hand.

As Yord finished cleaning her up, he glanced up at her. She looked pale and exhausted, but her eyes were filled with gratitude. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice quiet and tired. Yord reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin gently.

Yord's hand lingered on her face for a moment, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. He was torn between wanting to pull her closer and wanting to give her space to rest. But in the end, desire won out, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

Yord cupped her chin, tilting her face up towards him as he deepened the kiss. He could feel her lips soften beneath his, her body relaxing slightly in his arms. She let out a soft sigh against his mouth, and he felt a pang of tenderness in his chest.

As the kiss ended, Yord pulled back, and he turned his attention back to helping her dress. He carefully held her injured leg steady as he pulled clean pants up her legs, gently easing them over her foot.

Once the pants were on, Yorg moved on to her top, gently guiding her arms into the sleeves and pulling it down over her body. He deliberately moved slowly, not wanting to cause her any discomfort. His fingers lingered on her skin as he smoothed the fabric down, his touch gentle and soothing.

With her top on, Yord helped her stand up slowly, making sure she was steady on her feet. He kept a firm arm around her waist, keeping her steady. He could feel her body trembling faintly against his, and he knew she was exhausted. He gently guided her over to the bed and helped her sit down carefully, supporting her as she leaned back against the pillows.

Yord tucked the blankets around her, making sure she was comfortable. He could see the exhaustion in her face, and her eyes were already beginning to flutter closed. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his hand running through her hair. "Get some rest," he murmured.

He turned to leave but Y/Ns hoarse voice stopped him “Don’t leave me…”

Yord froze at the sound of her voice. He could hear the vulnerability in her tone, and it tugged at his heart. He turned back to face her, his expression soft.

"I won't leave you," he assured her quietly. He took a step closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take her hand in his. “Do you want me to come lay with you?” he asked gently.

Y/N nodded.

Yord smiled gently at her nod, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. "Okay." he said softly. "I just need to change out of these clothes first."

He gave her hand a soft squeeze before letting go and standing up. He quickly stripped off his own dirty and bloodied clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor. He then pulled a pair of clean clothes from a nearby locker and began to change into them swiftly.

Y/N watched as Yord stripped off his dirty clothes, her eyes roaming over his bare back appreciatively. As he pulled on the clean clothes, she couldn't help but let out a catcall, a wolf-whistle escaping her lips. Yord scoffed and turned to look at her smirking face.

Even with how exhausted she was she still had a sense humour.

Yord chuckled and shook his head at her playful whistle, a wry smile on his face. "You're not too tired to flirt, I see." he teased, walking back over to the bed and sitting down beside her.

Y/N smiled weakly at his comment, her eyes closing as she leaned back against the pillows. "I'm too tired to move, but never too tired to flirt." she replied dryly, her voice raspy with exhaustion.

Yord chuckled, carefully maneuvering himself onto the bed next to her. Their legs brushed against each others as he settled in beside her, trying to keep his movements gentle to avoid jostling her injured leg. He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against his firm chest.

Y/N burrowed against him, nestling her head against his chest. He could feel her body trembling faintly against his, a reminder of how exhausted she was. She breathed in his comforting scent. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer and rubbing his hand over her back in slow, soothing circles.

Yord felt her body begin to relax under his touch, her breathing slowing slightly. He could tell she was close to falling asleep, but she fought it stubbornly.

He continued to rub her back, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over her skin. "You need to rest," he murmured quietly.

Y/N let out a soft sigh and shook her head weakly. "I'm not tired." she mumbled, her words slurred with exhaustion.

Yord chuckled softly and continued rubbing her back. "You're a terrible liar," he teased gently. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her body sagging against his. "I know," she mumbled, her voice muffled against his chest. "But I don't want to. It’s so rare we get time together like this.”

Yord's expression softened as he heard her words. He knew she was right, they rarely had chances to spend unhurried moments together like this. Between their busy lives and constant missions, the secrecy of their relationship, they barely had time to catch their breath.

"I know," he said softly, his hand moving up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "But you need to rest, love. You're exhausted. And you need to heal."

Y/N let out a low grumble at his words, her reluctance to sleep showing in her expression. She snuggled closer to him, burrowing her face into his chest.

Yord chuckled softly and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, his voice low and gentle. "Just close your eyes and rest. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N let out a long, weary sigh and slowly let her eyes close. "Promise?" she mumbled, her words slurred with sleep.

Yord's lips curled into a small smile as he watched her eyes slip closed. "I promise," he replied softly.

He continued to rub her back, he could feel her body slowly relax. Her breathing slowed, and her body sagged against his, the tension in her muscles finally releasing. He held her close, his hand moved in gentle circles over her skin.

As time passed, his own exhaustion began to catch up with him. His eyelids grew heavy, and his movements grew slower as he fought to stay awake. But eventually, the fatigue became too much, and he succumbed to it, drifting off to sleep beside her.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Where We Begin and End [Misunderstood Breakup Trope]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Misunderstood Breakup situation 1. One person thinks the other one has broken up with them due to a misunderstanding "Frank comes home injured and it shakes you to your core, the next morning he’s gone and you think he’s left you"

Warnings: Angst into a happy ending. No gender or pronouns specified for reader. No use of y/n. Established relationship. Nicknames sweetheart and baby. Blood/description of a bullet injury and the repair of it. 

WC: 2,033

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

Your fingers trembled as you worked, the silver tweezers dropped from your shaking hand and fell into the porcelain sink under you with a clang. 

‘Shit” you mumbled under your breath and retrieved them, the metal tool threatening to fall from your slippery, blood-covered hand again.

“S’ alright sweetheart, take your time.” Frank said softly

Usually his reassurance in a dire situation calmed you. But tonight there was an edge to his voice that had your fragile nerves teetering on an already thin tightrope.

You went back to the task in front of you, hesitantly plunging the tweezers into the flesh of his lower back, attempting to remove the bullet that had ricocheted and lodged itself there.

Repairing Frank after a long night out wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you. The sight of his blood didn’t typically phase you, having spent countless nights tending to his wounds as an act of love. But tonight, the injury in question had you fearing for Frank's life. 

You were by no means a medical professional, but you knew enough basic anatomy to know this bullet was dangerously too close to his spinal column and one wrong move by either of you could at best leave him with permanent nerve damage and at worst paralyze or even kill him.

“Almost got it.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to reassure more, him or yourself.

The dulled copper end of the bullet finally poked through amongst the crimson flooding the hole and the marred skin around it. You pulled it out, sighing in relief and releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Frank, always so stoic and calm, faced away from you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on his knees. His nostrils flared and his lip twitched, as the pain threatened to creep past the barrier against it he had plenty of practice building up. You were too busy threading the needle to stitch the hole closed that you hadn’t noticed his subtle signs of weakness.

Getting the bullet out was the hard part and an invisible weight lifted off your shoulders knowing if your mediocre medical repair hadn’t gone awry yet, it probably wasn’t going to from this point forward.

Your skin felt damp. God, how had you not noticed until now? You were sweating buckets from nerves and knew there was some of his blood on your face as well. Probably from unconsciously trying to wipe the sweat from your brow as you worked. Oh wait. There were also tears there. When did you start crying?

The silent air between the two of you felt heavier than a led balloon as you stitched the wound, neither of you daring to speak as you wiped the area down with an alcohol swab. 

“Okay um…” you sniffled, not wanting to let the flood gates fully open until you were out of the room 

“I cleaned up the blood surrounding it pretty good, so try not to get it too wet in the shower.” You finally commented, your work finished. 

Frank nodded his head. Typically a man of few words, especially after coming home from a job, he remained unnervingly quiet as you disposed of the bandage wrappers and gauze in the small plastic trash can under the sink. 

He leaned forward as if to speak, but decided against it, and instead turned on the spigot in front of him, letting the warm water splash against his feet. 

Avoiding his gaze, you washed your hands in the sink. The water ran down the drain in a river of scarlet, then a rusty orange, then eventually clear, the colors increasingly blurring in your vision as more tears filled your eyes. 

A soft thump behind you jolted you upright, adrenaline still buzzing and anticipating whatever might happen next. You relaxed a little again as you realized it was just Frank removing his jeans and tossing them on the floor as he changed the knob from the lower faucet to the shower head and stepped in to clean himself of the blood and grime of the evening. 

You never ask about what happened. No matter how severe the injuries he comes home with are, you never want to know. But tonight shook you so to your core, you can’t help but be curious. 

How did he make such a large miscalculation? Was it because he was getting old? Too distracted by his home life with you? Why had his bullet-proof vest not done a better job at protecting such a sensitive area? Your brain swirled with a million questions. 

He grunted in pain from behind the shower curtain and it made you jump once again. As the hot water hit the plethora of other wounds he came home with tonight, he knew you were still uneasy behind the shower curtain. 

“S’ okay baby. Really.” he reassured again

You proceeded into the bedroom, pacing in circles and not knowing what to really do with yourself, still unable to let yourself fully cry. 

A few minutes later, Frank emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel slung low on his waist. 

“You should be resting sweetheart.”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay before I laid down.”

“C’mon, I’ll lay with you.”

Gingerly, Frank laid on his stomach, not wanting to irritate the wound by sleeping on it. You curled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, no longer able to hold the levee against your tears. They ran down your face in streams, soaking his shoulder and your pillow case.

“Pl.. please Frank. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not asking you to change who you are but I can’t keep loving someone who constantly puts themself in a position where I could lose them. I can’t lose you Frank.”

“Sweetheart, you know this is what I do though. You know it’s dangerous. It’s just part of the job.”

“Don’t make me go through what you went through with Maria.”

Frank didn’t respond, only rolled on to his side to pull you against his chest and comfort you with his calloused fingers running soft lines against your skin until exhaustion finally won out and you fell asleep.

The pounding headache was the first thing you noticed in the morning. The heaviness of your eyelids as you attempted to open them was the second. 

You reached out for Frank, but your hand only met empty space and crumpled sheets.Not unusual for him to be up before you.

A dull ache radiated through your body as you slowly rolled out of bed. Frank was nowhere to be found in the kitchen, not making coffee as you suspected he might be.

“Frankie?” you called out, voice still small and croaky with sleepiness

But there was no answer.

You looked at the front door. Frank’s boots, coat, and keys were gone. He always let you know when he was going out and when he’d be back. You checked your phone. No text. 

Everything else seemed to be in place in your apartment but the feelings from last night still gnawed a pit into your stomach.

You remembered how scared you were and how you’d begged and cried until you fell asleep.

You’d asked Frank to do the impossible, something you’d never ask him, to give up being the Punisher. 

And he seemed he’d made his decision. He was gone. Walking out of the life you’d built together like it was nothing.

Getting ready for work was a chore you struggled through. Any sane person would take the day off after everything you’d been through in the last 6ish hours. But you needed the normalcy and the distraction, not wanting to sit around the apartment wallowing, waiting for something to happen that you knew wouldn’t - Frank coming home from wherever he’d gone.

You grabbed his hoodie from the hook in the entryway on your way out. You always wore it on days he was away, when you were missing him extra badly. God, how sick it was that the thing you were grieving was also the only thing you knew would bring you even a little bit of comfort.

You spent most of the day just sitting at your desk, staring at your computer, not really getting any work done. 

“God you look awful.” your coworker Kate commented when she popped her head into your office around lunchtime

“Frank and I, um… we broke up.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry. What happened?”

“We… something happened last night and when I woke up this morning he was gone.”

“Wait? Did you guys actually have a conversation about breaking up?”

“Well no but…”

“Did he take any of his stuff with him? You know like someone leaving would?”

“Well no but…”

“Did you, ya know, text or call him to see where he is?”

“Kate. Look. I just know Frank and after what happened, I just know this is it. He’s gone.”

Kate took pity on you and offered to take you to lunch to take your mind off of it. As you exited the office and walked to your favorite Thai place on the corner, you decided to take her advice and text him, knowing that you wouldn’t get one back.

Frank. I’m worried about you after what happened last night. Please just let me know you’re okay.

You must have checked your phone 30 times at the restaurant, with no notification of him texting you back showing up.

The walk back to the office was silent, Kate giving up on inventing one sided conversations to keep your mind off things.

A bouquet of peonies sat on your desk when you got back, as well as a pair of dirty combat boots attached to a very tired looking Marine, appearing as though he could use a nap, lounging in your office chair with his legs crossed and up on your desk. 

“Frank.”

“Hey sweetheart. You know your office needs better security?” he said casually as if he was just commenting on the weather and hadn’t just walked out of your life mere hours before

“You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“But you left.”

“Yeah. Sorry to run out so quick this morning, but something came up.”

“But you didn’t text me back. Let me know. You always let me know.”

Frank sat upright, removing his feet one at a time from your desk and walking across the room to stand in front of you. He reached into his back pocket and held up his cell phone between you. The device, cracked across the screen and smashed in the one corner, looked entirely useless between his calloused fingers.

“What do you think the bullet ricochet off of?”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a sob that escaped your mouth, but it finally broke your resolve and you threw yourself into his arms.

“It was in my back pocket and the bullet hit it and it flew up between my back and my vest. Was gonna get a new one today, but Madani yakked my ear off all morning.”

“Madani?”

“Last night had me pretty spooked too. I didn’t sleep. Thinkin too much about what you said. You were right. My biggest fear is you getting hurt, losin you like I lost them. Didn’t even stop to think that losin me might hurt you too. But you remindin me how it felt when I lost my family… made me realize what you go through with me and all my bullshit.”

“So why were you with Dinah?”

“Remember when I told Madani I’d start working for the CIA when hell froze over? Well guess the devil better buy a coat…”

“Pfft I’ll let Matt know next time we see him… God, you scared me Frank. I thought you left me. That we were done. When I didn’t hear from you and you weren’t home. After last night…”

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easy.”

“That so, big guy?”

“Yeah gonna go be a CIA man. Wear a suit and work in an office and shit.”

“You look good in a suit, Frank.”

“Think I look like a dork”

“But you’re my dork?”

“Damn right baby.”

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Zoro with a S/O who gets period cramps would probably be him yeeting them to Chopper and then come nap with you (because he gets good boyfriend points by taking a nap, what more could he ask for?) BUT what if he was being a real asshole? This is my brain rot. (because I have quite a few Zoro requests so he's on my mind :3)

afab!reader since it's period cramps, but NO PRONOUNS ARE USED so it's fairly gender neutral (like me lol).

TW's: period cramp pain, taking pain medicine, ooc Zoro, Zoro being an asshole

🍶 wc: 2k

I wanted it noted I'm a slut for Nami calling her friends "Honey" or "Darling" platonically when calming them down.

“Go fuck yourself, Roronoa”

Anger flooded your body, burning hot alongside the pain ravaging your lower abdomen and back. You glared harshly at your boyfriend, then flinched and held back a groan at the new wave of pain. You were shaking and trying not to cry, especially now that he pissed you off beyond belief.

“Hah? I don’t know why I pissed you off. Cmon it’s not that bad. My lover isn’t weak, now stop being dramatic. You’re interrupting my nap”

You couldn’t even fathom a retort, curled in a ball and unable to stand upright. And now you were stuck here. In the crows nest. With a boyfriend that has thoroughly pissed you off beyond belief.

You managed to crawl to the crows nest balcony, the effort making your breath heavier. You knew these cramps weren’t going to ease up without something to help, either heat or medicine, and neither were present in your current situation.

You used the last of your strength to SLAM the door shut behind you, curling up on the warm wood. Tears made their way over your face, and you held back a moan of pain.

“Shit”

You had to get down somehow. Maybe Luffy? No it’d be best to get chopper up here. Another wave of pain interrupted your train of thought, and you clenched your jaw. Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as your entire body tensed against the pain. It felt like someone was taking a spoon and carving out your uterine lining.

Slowly, you began to forcibly relax your muscles, keeping your breathing at a steady, short pace. Your eyes opened, and you sniffed. It still hurt, but Zoro was right. His lover wasn’t weak. Couldn’t be.

But he had pissed you off, and you knew just how to annoy him.

“SANJI?! CAN YOU COME HERE REAL QUICK?!” You called. You knew Zoro heard. The whole ship probably did. Soon enough, you heard Sanji enter the crows nest, bicker briefly with Zoro before you whined for him again.

“Yes you- shit are you okay?? Let’s get you to Chopper!” He picked you up easily bridal style, and you groaned as the new angle sent pain ricocheting through your abdomen. You gripped his coat, tears springing to your eyes as the pain sharpened. Your whole body tensed, and you hardly noticed Zoro’s call of your name as Sanji quickly descended.

Sanji kicked open the infirmary door, startling the poor reindeer. He quickly switched to doctor mode when he saw you cradled in the cooks arms, obviously in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

Sanji laid your gently on the bed, and you immediately curled back into a ball.

“Period cramps. Gimme medicine and heat- fuck- please!” You gasped. You breathed out, the cramp subsiding to a manageable level. Sanji immediately left, likely to heat some water for you. Chopper rummaged in his cabinets for medicine. Your cramp flared again, and you tossed your head back and arched your back before curling back into yourself.

“Here. Take this” chopper said by your head. You opened your eyes, and saw him handing you a large pill and a glass of water. You shakily uncurled yourself and managed to down the pill, collapsing with a groan back on the bed. Sanji appeared, a hot water pad in his hand. He put it by your head before leaving again. Chopper moved the water pad to your lower abdomen and you grunted out a thanks.

The door to the eating area opened again, with Sanji reappearing with a plate in hand.

“Robin and Nami said chocolate and salty snacks are the typical cravings. I also have coffee brewing to help widen the blood vessels or something. Unless you’d rather have tea?”

You shook your head, trying not to let tears escape as you huffed out your words.

“Thanks Sanji. Coffee is good. I’m sorry for bothering you two. Should be stronger”

“It’s no bother! Human menstrual cramps can be as painful as a heart attack” Chopper informed, smoothing a stray piece of hair back from your forehead. You missed Sanji blanch.

“A HEART ATTACK?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, before your cramp got worse with the movement.

“I knew they hurt but I didn’t know they could be that bad! Are you okay?” Sanji fretted. He hovered over you, as if he couldn't tell if he should touch you or not. He finally offered his hand to squeeze, and you gladly took it. You smiled a little before flinching as another wave of pain twisted your innards, and you gripped his fingers in a vice.

"Obviously fuckin- shit- not. But at least you recognize they hurt" you spat, the venom in your voice directed at your boyfriend.

"... did that Marimo not believe you?" the blonde asked. You nodded, unable to voice your answer as you shook and blinked back tears. Chopper rubbed your shoulder.

"I can't believe he would treat you like that! I thought he was in love with you, but he's an absolute idiot if he's saying that" Sanji grumbled. He continued muttering colorful phrases under his breath. Chopper blinked at him, but focused back on you as you hissed in breath through your teeth, easing yourself back into the moment as your pain temporarily subsided.

"Sanji. Can you please call Nami in here? I can't quite walk yet" you said breathlessly. Damn these cramps. You groaned and let go of his fingers, seeing the imprint of your grip on the pale skin.

"Sorry" you muttered, looking at his hand as the blood flowed back.

Sanji blinked at you, following your gaze.

"Oh! Don't be! I'll go get Nami" he ran out of the room, leaving you in blissful silence with Chopper. A few minutes later, the door opened again, bringing the scent of a freshly peeled tangerine with it. You opened your eyes, gaze falling on Nami sitting by your bed. She placed a peeled tangerine on the plate Sanji had left for you. You smiled at the gesture before flinching again.

"So. Cramps?" she asked gently. You nodded. She put a warm hand on your lower back, massaging gently. You moaned at the soothing action. Tears sprung to your eyes as you thought back to how dismissive Zoro was of your pain. You feel like you should be stronger, like you should be able to handle this pain. You're dating the man who's going to become the world's greatest swordsman, who also happens to have an incredibly high pain tolerance.

"I should be stronger" you mumbled into the pillow. Nami's hand paused briefly before continuing.

"Why do you say that?"

You looked at her, eyes filled with tears from both the pain and how useless you felt.

"Zoro..." you looked down again, too ashamed to continue talking while looking into her concerned stare.

"What about him?" she urged. You sighed, unclenching your muscles as the pain faded for a moment.

"He... He said that it couldn't be nearly as bad as what he had to face in the past, and when I got mad, he didn't see why I would be, and to stop being dramatic, and that his 'love' wouldn't be so weak" you said quietly.

"Oh honey, Zoro has nothing to do with the pain you know you have. He can't feel the pain for you, and he's being a total ass about this. Here. Chocolate?" she offered a piece of the sweet treat by raising it to your mouth. You shook your head, throat burning from holding back tears and a groan as your cramp started up again. She shrugged, and popped it in her own mouth.

"Listen, stay here and take a nap. Luffy and Usopp are fishing, so they should be quiet for a little. The medicine should start kicking in soon. Okay? And it's okay to cry from the pain. It really hurts sometimes" she said quietly. You nodded, finally letting the tears fall. You heard Chopper rummaging around briefly before Nami dried your tears with a tissue.

"Get some rest, okay? I'll leave you with Chopper. And don't hesitate to ask Sanji for anything. He may be a perv, but he makes a mean chocolate cake."

You nodded, little sounds leaving you as you let yourself cry. Chopper took Nami's seat, his now human hand rubbing the same circles Nami had traced. You let his soothing touch comfort you, falling into a light sleep as the medicine began to ease your pain.

--

You finally jolted awake as you heard a loud screech and a thump from the deck, calming quickly when you heard Luffy's distant cackling and Chopper's yelling. You moaned, rolling over from facing the wall to turn your attention to the room. Your gaze landed on a steaming cup of coffee, and you inhaled the rich aroma. Sanji is an absolute blessing of a man. You sat up and plucked a piece of chocolate off the snack plate and let it melt in your mouth as you sipped the drink. You hummed in satisfaction, sipping the coffee again. You placed it back down.

"Better?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin, a short yelp echoing through the room. Your eyes finally landed on your boyfriend, leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the room.

"Motherfucker! Don't scare me like that!" you snapped, breath heaving. Your hand clenched your shirt over your heart. Zoro didn't respond- just stared at you with his brows furrowed. You sighed, still thoroughly pissed off at him.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now. Not while I'm weak" you spat, knowing the words would hurt. He flinched a little.

"You don't have to talk, but I'm not going anywhere" he said determinedly. You glared at him, but he ignored you as he took a seat next to your bed, and handed you your drink. You took it, but only because it was some damn good coffee.

"Nami gave me a lecture" he started. You snorted.

"Yeah?"

He glanced at you.

"I didn't know... no. I was being a total asshole. I shouldn't have told you those things."

You looked at him. What the hell did Nami do?

"Do I even want to know what Nami did?" you asked. Zoro grimaced.

"Between her, Robin, and Chopper's medical books, you really probably don't."

You couldn't help the evil chuckle that escaped you.

"So? Learn anything?"

Zoro sat forward, grabbing one of your hands gently, tracing circles on the back of your hand. You looked at him in surprise.

"I was so, so wrong. And I'm sorry. Trust me when I say that witch made sure I knew how much of an ass I was being. God. It feels like it's being scraped out? Or like something is twisted around? It can hurt as much as a heart attack?"

You stared at him in shock. He was never like this.

"I mean... that's a little exaggerated but sure" you said, shrugging.

"Every month!?"

You shrugged again, sipping your coffee.

"Give or take, yeah. Some cycles it isn't as bad. but 's why Sanji spoils the girls when they ask for certain things."

Zoro's forehead thudded on the mattress by your thigh as he groaned.

"Let me make it up to you."

It suddenly hit you that he was bowing. Bowing. To you.

"Woah, hey. Sit up!"

He raised himself enough to look at you. You pushed his shoulders so he was finally sitting upright.

"Look. I'm still fucking pissed that you said that, alright? But you didn't know, and now you do. I'll let you make it up to me. Did Nami and Robin tell you at all what you should do?"

He grunted with a nod. You smiled, putting your coffee down as you held out your arms for a hug.

"C'mere then. I want my back and shoulders rubbed" you said cheekily. He muttered something under his breath, and gently smacked away your arms so he could wrap you in his embrace. You smiled, face squished against his pecs. If this is how he treated you every month now... you giggled. I could get used to this.

[a-fox-studies]

November 20, 2023 • Monday

Today was pretty productive. I studied three chapters! Also had a demonic flare lol. We push through exam season tho

🎧 my tears ricochet — Taylor Swift

[definitelynotstable]

Matching [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: My essay is due tomorrow at 5pm and I still haven’t started. I’m really trying my luck here. 

Synopsis: You and your Lieutenant manage to get matching wounds. A certain Scottish sergeant finds it amusing. Word count: 930 Warnings: Canon compliant violence, blood, guns, field medicine etc Ghost x fem!reader (callsign Red): No explicit romance but the chemistry is there babes. Veeeeery slight angst but mostly fluff. 

[][][][][][][][][][]

“You’re an idiot,” the Lieutenant gritted out as he tore your pant leg. If you hadn’t been so out of it you might’ve found it hot.

“Save the lecture for later, LT.” You groan as he wraps his belt around your upper thigh, pulling it tight as a makeshift tourniquet. “Suffering enough as is, yeah?”

He mutters something intelligible under his breath, shaking his head as he gives the belt one last tug. You hiss in surprise, batting weakly at his firm grip. He defends himself easily, shoving your arms back against your sides.

“Hold still,” he growls sternly and you still your wriggling. His eyes sharp and hard. No room for argument. 

Bullets thud and ricochet off of the crate the Lieutenant has dragged you behind. Happy with the tourniquet, he settles you against the wall, leg stretched out in front of you. 

“Stay.”

You scoff at the order but do as he says. Ghost turns his back to you, inching forwards to fire a round back at the hostiles. There’s a yell and a thump. The constant fire ceases. The Lieutenant edges around the crate, gun poised. 

“Bravo, this is Ghost. Main atrium is clear.”

“Copy, LT. We heard disturbance through Red’s comms, you seen her?”

You reach for your comms before the Lieutenant has a chance to reply. “I’m with the LT, nothing major, Gaz.”

Ghost scoffs, you glare at him. 

“Copy that, Red. Moving in now, LT.”

Ghost nods, hand against his ear. “Copy. We’ll cover you.”

You press your hands against the cool brick behind you, stumbling to your feet. You grab the ACR leaning against the wall next to you, slinging it over your shoulder. 

“Think you’ll last, sergeant?” The Lieutenant’s eyes are questioning, watching as you limp over to his side. He’d call EXFIL if you even gave him the slightest indication you couldn’t soldier on. 

So you grin, giving the stoic man a clap on the back. “We’ve got a terrorist to catch, LT.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

The Lieutenant’s pace is fast and unwavering. Bodies fall and bullets ping as you clear the hallways of the compound, providing cover for Bravo team who were attempting to secure the HVT. 

“On my six, Red.” Ghost barks, sending a round into the second atrium. The room is teaming with hostiles. Your leg throbs with a heartbeat of its own but do as your asked while the Lieutenant readies a flashbang. He lobs it into the room, ducking around the corner to take cover. You step past him, firing a couple of rounds at the flailing hostiles. 

A classic stun-’n-gun. 

Ghost joins you, providing cover as you together clear the room. 

“Bravo this is Red,” you pant in exertion, pressing a gloved finger to your comms, “second atrium is clear, copy?”

“Copy.” Soap’s accent is strong as he responds, “Target acquired, heading to EXFIL now.”

You raise your hand to reply when you catch a movement out of the corner of your eyes, a hostile on the floor fumbles for his gun. Someone barrels into you. Pain flares through your leg you hit the ground. You manage to send a bullet into his skull, the man slumps back, dead.

Ghost groans from where he lies atop you. You grit your teeth, shoving him over. “Christ, LT. Buy a girl a drink first.”

The Lieutenant huffs, clutching at his leg. “Noted.”

You notice the crimson soaking his right thigh, swearing under your breath and ignoring the pain in your own leg, you bat his hands away. Loosing your belt, you work it up his leg; just as he’d done for you earlier. 

“Eager to match, hm?” You joke, pulling the belt tight around his upper thigh. Exactly where his own belt sat on your own leg. Ghost doesn’t make a sound but his jaw clenches beneath his mask. The blood flow slows and you sigh.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He breathes, clambering to his feet, “Johnny’ll have a right laugh when he sees us.”

You nod, breathing sharply as you put pressure on your leg. Ghost takes note immediately, kneeling back at your side. He grips the belt around your own thigh, meeting your eyes with a questioning gaze. You bite your lip but give him quick jut of your chin. The Lieutenant gives the make-shift tourniquet a sharp yank and you yelp, grasping his shoulder to prevent yourself from falling over. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, squeezing your calf for a second before dusting off his hands and returning to his feet once again. 

“Don’t worry about it, LT,” you assure him with a quick quirk of your lips, “matching, remember?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Soap’s guffaw as he spots you both stumble towards the heli is music to your ears. 

“Now this’ll be a good story,” he chortles, racing over with Gaz who wraps an arm behind your back. Soap deposits Ghost in the seat opposite you, kneeling at the Lieutenant’s side as Gaz kneels at yours - a medkit open beside them. 

You sigh, resting your head against the rattling metal of the chopper as it starts its ascent. Your tired eyes meet Ghost’s, his cobalt irises twinkling. The Lieutenant pulls his mask up slightly, revealing his smirking mouth.

“Told you,” He mouths before yanking it back down, mirroring you and leaning back as Soap cuts away at his pant leg. 

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the tired smile from settling over your lips.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Masterlist

[of-teeth-and-tenderness]

Bound

M Werewolf x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: A planned encounter with a supernatural captive tethers the two of you together in more ways than one.

Warnings: Kidnapping, drugging, body horror, complicated noncon for both parties, fuck or die scenario, painful sex (and not painful sex), forced breeding, multiple orgasms, knotting, blood, gore, minor character(s) death.

~~

The echoing tap of boots on stone brings you to the surface of consciousness. Chain mail jingles in time with the dizzying sway of your heavy body. Your ears seem as though they are stuffed with cotton, every sound muffled and distant. Painfully, you swallow, your parched throat crying for water.

Slowly, pure sound returns. Keys rattle. A heavy lock thunks. Rusting hinges squeal. The stink of rotting iron, mildew, and heady musk assaults your senses. Snuffling, frantic inhales bounce off a low ceiling.

“W-What are you doing?” a deep but tremulous voice inquires. The fear behind the words gives you the strength to crack your eyes open.

Darkness is all you can see at first. Momentary panic grips you—have you lost your sight—but rapid blinking brings a stone floor into focus.

Before you can even begin to orient yourself, you’re slung from the shoulder of the man who had carried you here like a sack of goods. Pain erupts in your shoulder and hip when you crash to the floor, a weak cry tearing from your chapped lips.

A strained groan sounds from across the room, followed by gasping breaths and frightened begging, “No, no you can’t do this, you can’t do this! Please, for god’s sake, please—

“Quiet, dog! Isn’t this what you wanted?” a second voice snaps, condescension dripping from every word. “All that moanin’ and blubberin’ I’ve had to endure. Finally gettin’ your way and now you turn your nose up at it? Oughta be thankin’ me.” Cruel laughter ricochets off the ceiling. You wince and curl in on yourself. Darkness pulls at the edges of your vision, unconsciousness yearning to claim you once more.

A heavy door slams. The lock clicks.

“No, no, no, no….” the first voice chants, a despairing whisper. Deep, shaking inhales, then, “M-Miss…darling…I—please look at me, there’s no time….”

Groggily, you groan and force your eyes open. Focus, you will yourself. You push to your elbows, eyes quickly scanning the small room—a prison cell—before they fall on a man shackled to the far wall.

A small, barred window set high up into the wall allows just enough weak starlight into the cell to make out his features. The soft glow falls on dark, shoulder length hair. It’s wild and disheveled; that combined with the dirt on his skin and the thick stubble peppering his jaw tells you he hasn’t seen a bath or a razor in some time. He’s gaunt, like he’s been starved, and a sheen of sweat covers his body and glistens in the low light. His skin…. It’s completely unmarred, not a blemish in sight save for the thick purple scar covering his right shoulder. It is in the shape of a semi-circle, but you can make out nothing else in the low light.

You realize suddenly the man is naked, save for a thin cloth covering his groin. Even in the darkness you spot the erection straining under fabric. You gulp, bewildered and embarrassed, and meet his gaze. He regards you with wide, startlingly golden eyes. They dart to the window and back to your face. His nostrils flare like he’s scenting the air.

The question of how and why you’re here in this cell with this poor prisoner burns in your mind, but you remain quiet. You have a feeling this man will be your answer.

“That’s a good girl. Tell me your name?” he asks. His voice is strained, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm, or to calm you. You bite your lip hesitantly, your gaze flicking to the locked iron door and back again.

Your own voice breaking when you speak, you tell him your name as you push up to sitting. The room spins and you clench your eyes shut as nausea churns in your belly.

The tea.

They’d taken you—two soldiers in armor, armor with no sigil. They’d abducted you on your way home from town. They waited for you on the path you take through the forest, like they had known your route.

It was planned.

They took you to a nameless fortress hidden on the mountain. The dingy stone walls had oozed despair. They held you prisoner for several days in a room similar to this cell, though you’d been given a bed and a table and food. One night, flanked by soldiers—different soldiers, how many were there—a wizened old man had visited your room.

The old man told you he was a doctor. He made you drink a cup of foul tasting tea….

It was drugged, you realize now. Why? Are you still in the fortress? Why are you here now with this shackled man? And why is he so scared?

He repeats your name with a nod. “I am Callum. Listen…. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry there isn’t more time to explain. You—

Callum suddenly grits his teeth and tenses, his back arching away from the wall. You watch his toes curl and rake through the straw covering the floor beneath him. He whimpers and slumps forward, the shackles catching against his arms and digging bleeding groves into his skin.

Alarmed, you push to your knees, intent on helping in some way, but his eyes fly open and he shouts, “Don’t! Don’t, please don’t come near me. Your scent, gods, your scent….” He trails off, shaking his head and flexing against his bonds.

Audibly, Callum swallows and lifts his head to fix you with his intense stare. “The full moon is rising. I can feel it. I’m—I’m about to transform into…into something you’ve only ever heard tell of in stories. Something….” He trails off and shakes his head. “They…” he glares toward the door, “They left you in here with me as-as an experiment. I told them! I told them what would happen but they don’t listen. He has to see it for himself”.

Heart hammering against your ribs, you watch him, trepidation and confusion only increasing with his words. “I-I don’t understand,” you stammer, trembling fingers clutching the front of your dress.

“You will.” he whispers, eyes raising to the window again. They gleam in the light, tears brimming in his lashes. They trickle down his cheeks when he blinks and looks back to you. “I might hurt you, but I won’t kill you. Not this time. You’re-you’re going to be used for something else. I can’t control it. I wish—oh—how I wish I could. I’m so sorry, I wish it wasn’t like this, I’m sorry—

Suddenly, Callum stiffens, his body going ramrod straight. Golden eyes fix on the window, unblinking. He’s frozen in place, a statue. He doesn’t even breathe.

An agonized scream erupts from his mouth. You jolt and scurry away, your back hitting the opposite wall. Callum bows forward, more cries and groans leaving his quaking form. Joints snap, bones crack, and your eyes widen in shock at the sickening crunch.

With one, brutal tug, Callum cleanly rips the shackles from the wall. A shriek leaves you as he falls to his knees, dust and twisted metal raining down around him. His back curves when he falls forward and looses another blood-curdling scream.

Flesh tears. Terror sticks a scream in your throat when you watch the skin of Callum’s back split along his spine. Instead of bloody tissue and bone beneath, black fur emerges. More snapping, more shredding. Limbs elongate. Fingers grow heinous claws. Legs contort. Screams turn to snarls, sounds so deep and guttural you feel them in your chest.

Feverish panic surges through your muscles and you scramble off the ground to race to the door. You bang your fist on metal, frantically pleading through the small window with the man standing guard on the other side. He merely chuckles and shakes his head.

“Get comfortable, Missy. You’ve got a long night ahead of you. He’s in his rut, that one.”

Rut…?

Long, bony fingers wrap around your ankle and yank your leg out from under you. You squeal in surprise, barely managing to catch your weight and stop your face from smashing into stone. Hastily, you whip around, your entire body seizing in abject horror at what you find.

Staring back at you through the darkness are two golden eyes that burn with unnatural fire, glowing in the gloom. Black fur covers a monstrous snout. Moonlight glints off long, dripping fangs. Pointed ears flick to and fro, listening to your frenzied breaths.

It is a wolf, mostly. The long arms and legs and the ten grasping fingers, however, are unnervingly human. And the sheer, hulking size of it…. No normal wolf is this big. You know of this creature, heard your father speak of it once with the other carpenters.

He spoke of entire flocks of sheep slaughtered on a full moon night, their shepherds eviscerated and torn limb from limb. Yet, nothing was consumed. The culprit had only craved the hunt, the carnage. You had nightmares for weeks after, the name this man turned monster ever present in your fears:

Werewolf.

From the creature’s maw comes a rumbling growl, one that spills icy fear into your blood. You thrash and claw at the ground, but the monster easily captures your other ankle and pulls you across the floor.

Hot, viscous drool patters across your bare thighs, your skirts having bunched up around your hips during the slide. The wolf looms over you, its nose twitching this way and that as it scents the air. Scents you.

Shakily, you whimper when the wet snout dips to your neck—the teeth are so close, one bite and you’re dead—and snuffles along your skin to your ear. Its breath reeks of carrion, of death. You can’t stop your trembling as it travels down your chest and your abdomen before nuzzling into the apex of your thighs.

You yelp and squirm, but fall still when the beast growls again, more insistently this time. Claws catch in the fabric of your undergarments and tear, the sound of ripping fabric merging with your startled screech.

You’re bared to it now and can feel its hot breath ghosting across your slit. Drool spills from its mouth to drip onto your mound. Clawed hands leave your ankles to grip your thighs so it can wrench your legs further apart.

Pink tongue lolling from its mouth, the monster dips down and drags the slippery muscle across your folds. You’re so shocked you arch and gasp, unexpected pleasure jolting through your belly. Any attempt to twist your hips away only digs the creature’s claws further into the flesh of your legs. You’re trapped, a prisoner to its ministrations.

The werewolf begins lapping away at your cunt, its golden eyes slipping closed as if in rapture. Every pass of its rough tongue has your toes curling and your nails scraping against stone. You clench your jaw, mortified by the sounds aching to escape.

Distantly, through all your racing thoughts, the memory Callum’s words float to the forefront of your mind: “You’re-you’re going to be used for something else….”

Something else…. Did he mean…?

Climax hits you like a runaway horse. The tight coil of want deep in your gut snaps and pleasure rolls through you in molten waves. A strangled cry spills from your lips, your thighs twitching in the wolf’s grip.

Panting, dazed, you stare in disbelief at the low ceiling and curse your traitorous body. Later, think later. Get out, get away.

You move to wriggle away, but claws seize you around the waist. The room tilts as you’re flipped onto your front. One paw between your shoulder blades keeps your chest pinned to the floor, while another on your hip raises you to your knees.

Heart slamming against your ribs, there is now no doubt about what comes next. Straining, you peer back over your shoulder and catch sight of the creature’s thick red cock, hard and free from its sheath. The size of it renews your struggle, desperation to escape overriding the pain of claws pricking your flesh. It’s pointless, you realize, as the tapered head, slick with desire, slides down your rear and prods at your entrance.

“C-Callum, please don’t,” you plead, praying to the gods above the man inside the monster will hear.

Pointless.

The beast’s length eases past your opening and burrows into tight, slippery muscles. The incredible stretch takes your breath away and leaves you wide eyed and slack-jawed. Uncontrollable shaking wracks your form and you whimper pathetically, filled to your limit.

“T-Too-too much,” comes your tremulous gasp. Your nails carve bleeding divots into your palms. Behind you, the wolf rumbles in satisfaction. The fur of its chest brushes against your back when it curls over you, bringing with it the scents of earth and musk.

You feel its powerful thighs tense for the first, hard thrust, but just one is not enough. There is no slow start, no paced rhythm until you’ve adjusted. The creature snaps his hips with fervor, battering you into the floor. Wet slapping fills the tiny cell, the sound only overshadowed by your screams.

The screams, however, are not ones of pain, at least not completely. There is discomfort in the stretch, in how deeply and thoroughly your cunt is pummeled. Yet, there is no denying the pleasure, the ecstasy that takes control of your voice to make its presence known. You can’t contain the mewls, the moans, the high pitched keening.

“Please, p-please, please,” you whine, no longer certain if you beg for it to stop, or for more. Your knees ache and your cheek burns where you’re repeatedly pressed into the floor, but you hardly notice over the hot, sticky rapture spreading through your core.

The next climax takes your breath away. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as your cunt squeezes the girth within you, demanding payment. The wolf snarls, drool splattering onto your back to soak into your dress. Something hard and bulbous, thicker than its length pushes against your slit.

What—

With one vicious thrust, the beast’s knot pops into your spasming channel. Its cock tunnels deeper still, deeper than you could have imagined possible. You shriek and arch, eyes crossing, overwhelmed tears spilling down your cheeks. You cum again, your vision whiting out, euphoria roiling in your gut.

More warmth floods your insides, so copious it overflows and leaks down your trembling thighs. Through the pleasure-haze you realize it is pumping you full of its seed.

Breeding you.

The werewolf slumps a little, pushing you further into the floor and covering your back with warm fur. It pants in your ear, its heaving chest mirroring your own. The great snout nuzzles your cheek, wet tongue lapping at your tears and sweat. An experimental twitch of your hips tells you you’re firmly locked in place where you are joined.

Those heinous teeth so near your head frighten you. You pray Callum’s promise about not killing you holds true. Even if it doesn’t kill you, it could still bite and pass its curse onto you.

Long minutes pass where the both of you simply breathe in the other’s air. The wolf hovers over you, its massive body and long arms like a protective cage. Weariness takes hold of your shaking limbs and your eyes droop despite the setting and company.

Gradually, the swollen base of its cock begins to shrink. The creature pulls free, a deluge of spend pouring from your hole and splattering to the floor. Your knees give out and you collapse, a sticky mess.

You expect the monster to retreat, to curl up and sleep, but instead it startles you by grasping you around the middle and rolling you onto your back. Your eyes go wide, your stomach dropping when you see it is fully erect once again.

“W-wait, wait I—

Claws dig into your hips and lift. The wolf surges forward and spears you on its cock a second time. The cry you loose burns your throat.

The frenzied pace starts up again, white hot jolts of arousal arcing through your belly with every thrust. Jarring movement causes your dress to slip off a shoulder, your breasts spilling free. Eagerly, the beast dives forward and laves its tongue across a nipple. You choke on a moan, fingers unconsciously tangling in coarse fur.

It becomes increasingly apparent as you are stuffed full of seed, flipped on your side, and fucked into once again that this ordeal, this long night is far, far from over.

You won’t rest until the moon does.

**

Your cheek nestles against thick fur. Blearily, you blink and realize you had dipped out of wakefulness for a moment. You’re still, no longer rocking with the movement of pistoning hips. You think you might still be seated on the wolf’s girth, but it is difficult to tell, numb as you are.

The creature beneath you stirs, a long whine leaving its throat. In your peripheral, faint light shines through the window bars. The sun….

The cracking of bone heralds the change. Claws retract, limbs shorten. Fur falls away to be replaced by skin and human body hair. Low growls morph into pained groans.

You don’t have the strength to lift your head. Your cheek, buried in fur not a moment ago, now rests on a sturdy chest. Callum’s heart hammers in your ear and his haggard breaths jostle you. No longer held inside by the wolf’s knot, spend pours from your abused cunt to coat the both of you.

Quietly, he sobs. Trembling arms wrap around your limp body and his lips find your crown. Timidly, he croaks out your name. You don’t know what to say, too dazed and exhausted to even think. You remain silent.

Carefully cradling you to his chest, Callum moves the both of you off cold stone and onto straw bedding. He gingerly fixes your clothing, pulling it back in place and covering you as well as he can. You sigh heavily, too weary to care. Your only desire is sleep’s comforting embrace, nothing more.

Rest comes, however lightly. You doze, drifting in and out of that liminal space between waking and sleeping. Perhaps it is the way your hips ache that keeps you from slumbering deeply, or the way you can feel your heartbeat between your bruised thighs. The more time passes, the more your body begins to twinge.

Voices rouse you. Your eyes flutter and you listen, focusing on their words. Both are voices you recognize.

“…took the poor wench, if all that screamin’ was anythin’ to go by.”

“Is she still alive?” You frown. It’s the old man, the doctor….

“Dunno. Haven’t heard her in a while. Maybe not.”

“Did he knot her?” Your cheeks burn at the question.

“How the fuck would I know? Wasn’t in there taking notes, was I?” The lock thunks. Your eyes fly open only to meet molten gold.

A thrill of fear races up your spine. Callum’s human eyes are identical to those of the wolf. You suck in a breath and will your racing heart to calm. He’s still human.

Callum holds a finger up to his mouth, hushing you. Hastily, you shut your eyes and pretend to sleep. Hinges squeal.

“You don’t understand! If he claimed her as his mate, you have no idea the danger you’re in!” Boots on stone, louder voices, rattling of chainmail and keys. “His protective instinct will be ferocious—

“Quiet down, old man. Looks to me like he fucked himself into a stupor.”

Instantly, the heat of Callum’s body disappears from your side. There’s a grunt of surprise, a wet gurgle, then shocked silence. You risk a peek and your hands fly to your mouth to muffle your horrified gasp.

The guard who had spoken so crudely—the one who brought you here—clutches wildly at his neck. Scarlet gushes from a chunk of flesh that has been torn from his throat, flesh that now rests between Callum’s teeth. Little drops of gore, crimson rain, patter onto the stone around their feet, more violent red peppered across the front of Callum’s bare chest.

The soldier topples over, the noisy crash breaking the trance of the second guard. He rushes Callum only to receive a powerful kick to the chest. The man crashes into the far wall and collapses in motionless heap.

Callum then turns his attention to the old man cowering near the door. Pathetically, he cries out and moves to scamper from the room, but Callum is faster. He grips the doctor by the throat, fury burning in his golden eyes. The old man paws at Callum’s wrist, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Callum squeezes. A gut-wrenching crack echoes around the room and the old man goes slack in his grip, eyes rolling back into his skull. Unceremoniously, the doctor is tossed to the side, a lifeless rag doll crumpling into a pile.

Callum spits the blood from his mouth and hurriedly kneels next to the first guard. He strips him of his breeches and boots and dresses himself. Reaching for the sword, he pauses and peers closely at the handle. He must not like what he sees because he leaves it to stand.

Then, he turns to face you, face bloodied and eyes alight with righteous fire. You’re momentarily frozen in half-formed panic. He won’t hurt you, will he?

But you couldn’t flee if you tried.

His expression softens and he races to your side. Gently, he grips you under the arms. “We must hurry. More will come soon. Can you walk?”

You steel yourself and push your fears aside. Escape must take precedence. “I-I can try.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, he hauls you to your feet. You stagger into his side, your knees buckling, the deep ache between your legs growing unbearable.

Callum wraps an arm around your waist and ushers you from the tiny cell. You stumble along as well as you can, every step reminding you of your list of hurts.

Before you lies a hallway. He lifts his head and sniffs the air. “This way,” he murmurs, steering you to the right. Together, you rush, stepping as lightly as you can, your padding footsteps and labored breaths like a cacophony in the quiet hall.

Over the rush of blood in your ears you hear voices up ahead. Your heart leaps into your throat. Frantically, you look up at Callum.

He wastes no time. As though you weigh nothing, he lifts you clean off your feet. Backtracking, he slips into a nearby stairwell and presses flush against the wall. Callum crushes you to his chest and the both of you hold your breath.

A pair of guards approach, boots stomping, chainmail jingling. They laugh about some shared joke, their chortling filling the hallway and echoing down the stairwell. Please pass by, please pass by….

You slowly release the air trapped in your lungs as the soldiers continue forward past the stairwell. Though, you won’t have long before they discover the grisly scene in the cell and sound the alarm. Callum must understand this too.

He darts back up the stairs, sets you on your feet, and continues onward, more urgency in his steps. You stumble along, fingers digging into this shoulder while your other hand clutches desperately at the arm around your waist.

Down a set of stairs, through another corridor you go. Ahead lies a heavy wooden door. Callum shoulders it open just as a bell begins clanging from the guard tower.

Daylight blinds you both. You nearly tumble down the short set of stairs in your rush to throw a hand up over your face. The arm on your waist steadies you.

Hurry, down the steps, hurry.

You grit your teeth, every step jolting sore limbs. Dull aching becomes sharp stabbing. Push it down, ignore it you tell yourself as you rush through the grass. Just head is tree cover.

Your knees buckle. You crumple, a strained cry leaving you as you crash to the ground, grass dirtying your palms and your dress. Morning dew still clings to the blades to soak your clothing.

“I can’t, just—

Callum doesn’t let you finish and instead scoops you up off the ground to carry you bridal style. How he can run right now, carrying you and exhausted from the previous night is beyond you. Still, he sprints into the trees, gracefully leaping over brush and fallen branches.

Soon, however, he begins to slow. Sweat beads along his brow and his chest heaves. There is such weariness etched in his features; in the light you can see the dark circles under his eyes, the sunken cheeks.

“Callum, stop,” you urge, your palm gently resting on his chest. He blinks and looks down at you as though he’d been in a trance. He staggers and falls to his knees, dead foliage crunching beneath. You clamber from his arms and help him lay on his side as he sucks in laborious breaths through his teeth.

Hastily glancing about, you find a moderately sized branch. Using your remaining strength, you haul it behind Callum, half concealing his shivering frame. It will have to do. You can manage no more.

Next to him, you collapse, your body riddled with pain and fatigue. Never have you experienced weariness down to your very bones.

You don’t think anything of it when you curl up against Callum’s chest. It seems the natural place to be. The arm that wraps around your body and pulls you close is meant to be there. Your vision blurs, merciful darkness encroaching.

Finally, sleep takes you.