#shit fluffsmut says | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saint-eridell · 4 years

Text

7:41 AM | Deku/F!reader fluffsmut

By demand of @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten, here’s a oneshot I wrote months ago while on an AU spree. Unbeta’d, I just wanted to put something up for people here to read. c:

8.3k, no major content warnings (aside from the possibility of dental work once your teeth start falling out from the fluff). All characters are in their early twenties.

It’s an exceedingly rare occasion when you and Izuku have the same day off. It’s such an uncommon thing that you can’t remember the last time it happened. When you peek over at the alarm clock next to your bed, you immediately smile - the green-faced display says it’s 7:41, a new record for Longest Morning Cuddle. You resolve yourself to keep the streak going as long as possible as you tuck an elbow under your pillow and consider dozing off again.

Something moves in the corner of your vision - an arm, your still mostly asleep brain registers - and drapes itself over your waist. A strong hand flattens itself over your midsection as an equally solid body tucks itself against your back. Izuku groans quietly, clearly still sound asleep. You chuckle quietly and curl back into him. “Good morning,” you whisper to test the waters.

You feel a set of lips curl into a smile against the back of your neck. “Morning,” he murmurs back, rough and gravelly with fatigue. Was he even awake yet? You’d seen him essentially sleepwalk to the coffee maker in the kitchen plenty of times; talking in his sleep is more than plausible. He settles again with a sigh that brushes over your neck and the back of your ear, and you can’t help but quietly laugh to yourself. Yep. Definitely still asleep, then.

Not that it matters in the slightest. The sun has only barely begun to light up the blinds that cover the bedroom windows. If he wants to sleep in, you’ll be the last one to stop him. Izuku never took time for himself anymore; between everything that Deku required of him and the constant training it took to keep up with the top spot, there wasn’t much left for the man behind the suit. Izuku’s the one in your bed, not the superhero he is during the day, and that means he doesn’t owe anyone shit for once. The fact that you have even a tiny bit to do with this makes you more than a little happy.

The hand not pushed under your pillow traces idle lines up and down his forearm, careful to not linger on any rough spots or seams. You’ve yet to work up the nerve to ask about the marks that cover his body, despite things being consistent between you for several months. It just doesn’t feel right to ask about. When Izuku wants to talk about it, he’ll say so… right?

Your nails circle the top of his wrist, then trail over the back of his hand. He picks his hand up and slides your fingertips between his knuckles before you can drift back up his arm, your fingers interlocked when he tucks them under your chin. You smile again, halfway obscured by your pillow, your conundrum momentarily forgotten. “Sneaky,” you murmur.

You feel him chuckle against the back of your neck, the soft breath that he huffs out enough to have the hair on the base of your scalp standing on end. “Observant,” he replies quietly, his voice rough from a night of sleeping like a boulder. “You turned your alarms off.”

“So did you,” you point out.

Izuku shrugs. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” He’s beginning to sound a little more lucid, but his arm is still a heavy weight over your side and his frame sags into you like a weighted blanket. It’s entirely too early for him to be doubting himself, and you’re far too comfortable to even flirt with the idea of him running off.

You roll your eyes. “From getting cold,” you jab back. “You’re not going anywhere, so don’t get any funny ideas.”

His smile widens against your neck. “Funny ideas?” he asks back, his sleepy but earnest tone juxtaposed against the teeth you can feel brushing against your hairline. Even while mostly asleep, Izuku can still play the Boy Scout card like an absolute bastard. “I dunno what you mean.” You glance back toward him out of the corner of your eye, and even if he’s out of direct sight for you he’s close enough to see you looking because he immediately noses behind your ear. “What, don’t trust me?” he pouts.

You tilt your head and give him more room to nuzzle against your neck. “With my life,” you reply honestly. “But you’re a shitty liar when you’re fully cognizant and trying your hardest.”

Izuku laughs, a low sound that rumbles through you from behind and lingers under your skin as he pulls you closer. “I’m as innocent as a church mouse,” he murmurs back, mirth dripping through the mock innocence. He lets go of your hand, his index finger tracing down the hollow of your throat. “What would make you think otherwise?”

You have a hunch. You curve your back into his chest, and are rewarded with a half-hard but definitely interested shaft pressed to your backside. He lets out a quiet noise somewhere between a squeak and a groan and reciprocates the movement. “Nn- now that is entirely on you.”

You smile into your pillow. “No, that was you.” You grind against him again, slotting him between your cheeks for more contact. “This is me.” His hand immediately closes around your hip and pulls you in closer, his own hips returning the motion with enthusiasm. “Still feeling innocent?”

His lips brush over the side of your neck, not enough to make direct contact but enough to have you shivering on the spot. The huff he lets out ghosts over your loose tee shirt collar. “Why, you wanna corrupt me?” he asked back. The hand on your hip lets go, returning to palm the round curve of your ass. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped to a low rumble that sinks directly into your bones and renders them down to gelatin in mere seconds. “Because I could be convinced to lay still with the right offer.”

Bastard. That purr. Memories of the things he’s poured into your ears using that voice have gotten you through many a multi-day mission. He knows what it does to you, just like he’s perfectly aware that his shy act is precisely that - a pretense, an amusing yet convenient wall to keep all but the most intimately familiar of people out. And to top it off with a shiny bow, Izuku can weaponize it at the drop of a hat. He’s a clever, quick-witted bastard and the realization that he’s really the one lying behind you, baiting his obscenity with honey and only letting you get a taste, has a happy bubble of warmth blooming in your chest.

The absolute bastard.

He catches you off guard by pressing a kiss just behind your ear. He places another just below it and continues downward as you squirm against the hand gripped to your ass. “Thought you were gonna show off,” you point out, very aware of how warm the skin under your shirt collar is getting as he approaches your shoulder with the edges of his teeth.

He tilts his head far enough to catch your eye. He’s sitting up on an elbow that’s planted behind your head, dark teal eyes fixated on you with only traces of the fatigue that had dragged him down earlier. “Thought you were gonna convince me to,” he purrs back, a sharp edge peering through his smile.

That’s enough of a hint for you. You turn onto your back and grab him by the chin, his smile only widening as you pull him down and seal your mouths together with a hungry noise. He shifts to kneel between your spread knees without argument, draping them around his hips.The kiss gets progressively needier as you both shake what remains of your sleepiness, tongues more grappling than dancing by the time you separate for a desperately needed breath.

It takes you an extra second. The window behind your headboard has lit up enough to allow soft golden light to filter through, the rays illuminating only the longest curls that stick out of his head. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink under a spray of freckles that stand out in sharp relief, as is his heavily shifting chest as he stares down at you with wet, parted lips. The scars that cover every part of him you can see stand out like his freckles, stripes of jagged, smooth pink against weathered tan that both entice and entrance you as you look them over. It’s a fact that you’ve obviously realized already, but… Izuku really is gorgeous. Like, the kind of gorgeous that has you swallowing down butterflies the second they walk in the room.

He blinks and reaches a hand to push a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, snapping you from your reverie with a sharp inhale. “You okay?” he asks, devoid of anything but genuine concern and a softness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

You nod and dart your tongue over your lips. “Yeah,” you confirm, winded. It would be a little awkward to explain that you’d been momentarily dumbstruck and reduced to a puddle because your bedroom has God-tier selfie lighting and your boyfriend looks like an angel when he’s not spazzing out. You pull him down again, this time with a hand spread over his jaw as you dive back into trying to remove any trace of his own taste from his mouth. He tugs the hem of your shirt upward and you break away to remove the offending garment, tossing it somewhere off the bed before Izuku begins kissing his way down your bare chest.

Your head tilts back and you let your eyes close. “Show me what you know,” you breathe. “And we’ll go from there.” You feel him grin against your sternum, where he nips a small mark into your skin before doing the same on the underside of a breast. You jump at the second nip; it didn’t hurt, but it was a sharp sensation you hadn’t been prepared for. You open your eyes and begin to say something, but your complaint dies in your throat as Izuku pulls a nipple between his teeth and rolls it against his tongue. Your eyes shut again and a quiet whimper escapes you. He matches his tongue with a hand on the opposite breast, swapping off without warning and quick enough to leave you no room to react. You can’t bring yourself to look down again, but you know he’s watching: you can feel his eyes boring into you, searching for every little twitch and whimper and cataloging it away like ticker tape. He gently bites the bud between his teeth and you finally have to relent, peering down through heavy lashes as his hand trails toward your shorts.

“I think I know what I’m doing here,” he says. He pokes a finger under the waistband and pops it against your stomach, his smile widening despite how fucking earnest he still sounds. “You’ll tell me if I can do something better, right?”

UGH. Absolute fucking bastard. “You’re pushing it,” you warn, though it’s heatless and you’re smiling around the retort. He seems to know he’s toeing the line and leans in to softly bite at your throat, which you happily accept with a quiet, high pitched yelp. You slip a hand through the curls on top of his head, and he arches his head into your palm with an appreciative groan against your collarbone. His hair is a melting point for him; one good scratching session and he’s passed out in your lap every single time. For how dense the curls are, they’re incredibly soft and slip effortlessly around your fingers like strips of dark green silk as you drag your nails across the crown of his head.

Izuku melts underneath your soft grip. For a moment he seems to forget where he’s going and any sense of what he’s doing, only aware of the nails running through his hair. Just as Izuku’s shoulders begin to slump, your fingers slowly tighten until you have a decent handful of curls wrapped around them when they begin to tug. Izuku keens into it with another groan, this one lower and guttural around his slackened jaw. “Don’t go to sleep on me,” you murmur down to him.

He grins against your sternum with half-open eyes. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he promises. You give the top of his head a gentle push, and he quickly gets with the program and shifts his way downward. He kisses your abdomen, then just above your navel, then just below it as he grabs the waistband of your shorts and guides them down over the swell of your hips. You let go of his hair and lift your ass to let him pull them all the way off before he throws them somewhere out of sight.

You eye his basketball shorts with disdain, lingering on the heavy tent standing up in the front. “You’re wearing too much,” you pout.

Izuku glances down to his lower half. “Later,” he replies. Without bothering to strip them off, he shoots you a grin and lowers himself with a startling quickness. You yelp, both in surprise at the sudden movement and protest at being blown off, but immediately shove the noise back into your own mouth as you slap a hand over it. He lays his chest flat to the bed in one quick shift and pins you with a wide, intense stare as he drags his tongue in a single flat stripe up the length of your slit. They part against the flat surface of his tongue and he wastes no time pressing inside you, his terrifyingly strong hands wrapped around the bend of your hips to keep you glued to his face.

A strangled moan creaks out as you writhe on the spot. For how often Izuku chokes on his own tongue in day to day life, he’s an undeniable master when he puts it to work. He’s long figured out which angles and spots made you lose your marbles, and he cycles between all of them as easy as turning a page. Your hands once again grab into his soft curls as your thighs slacken and fall away from his ears. He latches around your clit when he feels you relax, laving his tongue over it and pulling another sharp cry out of you as your legs tighten over his ears again.

He keeps you hovering there for what feels like hours. He doesn’t bother moving either of his hands, seemingly too content to press finger-shaped bruises into the valleys of your hips as you slowly fall apart in his arms. You glance downward and feel the same brick from before smash into your chest: he looks wild with tousled green curls sticking out in every direction, his wide eyes locked onto you with laser-sharp focus over the curve of your mound with the barest hint of an obscured smile just beneath. He knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing, and the devilish curl of his tongue through the wetness that has collected at your opening screams it.

“Am I doing alright?” he asks when he surfaces for air, his wet cheek pressed to your inner thigh. His breath tickles your overstimulated folds and you jump on the spot. You nod, unable to formulate a verbal response. He grins against your leg, his lips shining in the faint morning light. With the shadows pulled into sharp relief, his darkened eyes look almost bottomless as they follow your every movement. He watches you, hungry and devious in equal parts, before briefly biting into your thigh and returning to your slit.

Your back arches off the bed as you suck in a sharp breath. He lets go with one hand and traces a fingertip through your soaked folds, prepping it briefly before sliding it into you all the way to the top knuckle. You keen hard with your lower lip between your teeth. His hands are covered in calluses, the shift of just one finger inside you enough to make your brain short circuit. Despite their roughness, he curves them at the exact angle to light you up from the inside out and continues laving over your clit to keep you off center.

It works. By the time he slides a second finger inside, you’re openly moaning toward the ceiling. You glance down again, and for the first time he isn’t looking up at you. His eyes are shut and pinched with focus, his forehead free of any of the usual tension he carried there. He’s as lost as you, drowning in the same obscene noises that echo off the walls as he ruts down into the comforter through the fabric of his shorts. In an instant the intimacy of the moment punches you in the gut, ripping a loud moan out of you as your fingers grip tighter into his hair.

“M’go-” No good. Words aren’t happening. You make do with pulling him into you by the scalp, something he seems to be completely fine with as he relaxes his neck and picks up the pace with his fingers. Your breathy noises become full on wails as he pushes you closer to the edge and, with one particularly skillful twist of his wrist, shoves you over. Your thighs clamp around his head as you wail his name up toward the ceiling, your back arched high as every muscle in your body contracts at the same time. He keeps up the pace until you finally collapse like a broken marionette, falling to pieces around him as you struggle to regain your breath.

He leans his head against your thigh and hugs it to his cheek with his clean hand, his own breathing harsh and ragged. He’s flushed from the hairline down, a sharp contrast to the damp green curls that stick to his forehead. He’s obviously worked up and hasn’t stopped grinding himself down into the mattress (he might not even realize he’s doing it, with how hazy his eyes are), but he’s watching you with a wet grin as he corrects his own breathing. “You okay?” he asks again.

You roll your eyes toward the headboard behind you. “I’m pretty sure I just lost feeling in my feet for a second,” you respond between exhales. It’s hard to hold your head up, let alone form cohesive words, when your entire body feels like it’s been melted to a sticky puddle.

His eyes flicker wider, his body suddenly very still. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

You let a cackle roll out of you unabated. “Are you joking?” you ask back. “Relax, Izuku. That’s a good thing.” Your head luls back as your neck begins to protest how heavy your head is. The pillow catches it and you spend a moment just staring at the ceiling, letting the last of the aftershocks roll through you as Izuku kisses at your inner thigh.

His cheek shifts along your thigh as you regain a chunk of your composure. He’s staring up at you, his cheeks still flushed a bright pink and his lips parted. “I know how to do more,” he murmurs into the pause. A hand slips off your hip and down to his shorts, which he finally peel off and kick away without any regard for where they landed. He sits up and guides your legs back over his hips, hovering over you with his bare dick resting in the cleft of your ass. “If you want to see.”

You pick your hips up in response, giving him something to grind against as you roll into his lap. His jaw slackens in response as he takes a handful of ass on each side and squeezes, lifting you into the motion of grinding against him. His arms flex, the sharp lines of muscle he’d built up over many years standing out in bold, dark lines as he effortlessly holds your weight with just his grip. You let him take hold of your lower half and relax into the pillows under your head and shoulders, your stomach muscles pulled taut against the arch of your back. If he’s going to show off, then you can dish it right back.

He swallows hard, his eyes widening. A devilish spark dances across them as he stretches a hand down between you and presses the pad of his thumb to your still sensitive nub. You squeal in response and thrash in his grip, but he holds you steady and guides you through it as he takes his time preparing himself. When you twist and catch the head of his length for a brief swipe across your soaked entrance, you buck again and only fail in pushing him into you because he grips your hips tighter and forces you to stay in one place.

“Easy,” he soothes in a low tone. “We’ll get there. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Fuck that, if you get what you want it’s going to hurt in every good way possible, and the sooner you get started the better. You twist in his hands again, but he’s far too strong and holds you in place with obvious ease. He seems to read the tension building on your features and swipes himself through your folds just as much as he absolutely has to before pushing you down half of his length.

The sting of him pressing your walls outward is intense, almost blinding. You let out loud cries in unison, his jaw nearly falling off his face with visible effort to maintain his composure. “So tight,” he manages to growl out from behind his teeth after his jaw snaps shut. “Don’t move, please, not yet.” You obey his plea and go still in his hands, watching intently as his eyes slide shut for just a moment. He pulls himself almost all the way out of you with a slow inhale, exhaling as he thrusts in again and ending it with a sharp little noise from the bottom of his chest when your hips seat together.

Izuku isn’t an absolute monster behind the zipper, but he’s got more than enough and he absolutely knows what he’s doing with it… despite his typical oblivious act. As soon as you’re both adjusted he begins thrusting deep, using his wide planted knees as a sturdy base to bounce you off his lap with hard pops of skin. It’s rougher than it probably should be, but the burn of it is so incredible you can’t bring yourself to tell him to slow down. He watches from above, ragged breaths puffing out of him every time you thrust back against him. He hits a spot that makes your lungs freeze and he thrusts there again hard and deep, rolling against it with a drawn out groan that seems to come directly from his core. You reciprocate the with a desperate one of your own, leveraging your toes against the bed to push down against him as your eyes roll toward the back of your head.

“Beautiful,” he gasps out, his grip nearly unbearable across your ass until he lets go and you finally get some relief. “So fucking beautiful.” You moan in gratitude and let your hips relax into his palms as he guides them down so your spine is flat to the sheets again. He leans in to plant his forearms flat to the bed over your shoulders and kisses you deep. You wrap your legs around his slim waist, your arms snaking around his neck so you can reach his hair once again. He rumbles into the kiss as you find a couple handfuls of curly green locks at the back of his head and give them an experimental squeeze, his hips snapping into you in response.

Tugging his hair like a set of reins kicks him into a higher gear. As he drills you into the mattress, all hesitation abandoned, he gasps and groans into the crook of your neck without a single attempt to quiet them. A litany of praise and vulgarity mixes in with the desperate breaths, mirrored by your own calls to deities and encouragement when he finds an angle that has your legs clamping around him hard enough to hurt. “Fuckin- unh, so good,” he chokes out, his lips a mere inch from your ear. “Mine. All mine. Nn- fuck, lift up like that oh my God yes…”

He can’t seem to stop his mouth, and every word out of it is praise for you as he hovers in your face, unavoidable and stripped down to his rawest thoughts as you hold him close with both hands. “So gorgeous. So sweet. Wanna taste you every day forever.” It’s so sincere, so unfiltered and so goddamn him it makes your heart ache like it’s trying to burst in your chest as he floods you with a wave of vulnerability you’re not sure you even deserve.

You feel a coil begin to tighten behind your navel as he presses hard kisses to the front of your throat, his pace needy and focused as his words begin to slur together and mutate into simple noises from the back of his throat. “Almost there,” he warns, his voice high and tight against your skin. You nod your acknowledgment and pull him by the hair until your faces are level again, when you crush your lips together and immediately seek out his tongue. The kiss itself is more an open mouth display of tongues and obscene noises than anything intimate, both of you momentarily chasing your own release until they sync up and, with one last hard tug to his scalp, you wail his name toward the ceiling again and let your orgasm completely wreck you.

Izuku follows immediately afterward, his teeth sunk into the hill of muscle where your neck meets your shoulder, muffling the shaky moan that tore through him. He seats himself deep and rides out his own release with hard rolls of his hips, your insides lighting up hot with the load he streaks your inner walls with. You hadn’t even been aware that it was possible to go that deep, but there’s no denying it when you can literally feel where he is.

The silence that lapses is punctuated only by ragged breaths and the smack of lips pulling off each other as you both struggle to piece your brains back together. Unable to sit still you let go of his hair and skate your nails down his back, earning you a quiet groan of approval and a scar-riddled back arching up into your fingertips. “Holy shit,” he breathes to break the silence, looking down at you with a lopsided grin. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You giggle and hurriedly exhale. “Morning,” you reply airily. You reach a hand up to brush away a particularly long curl that’s stuck to his forehead. He watches your hand but doesn’t move away from it, and when the stray lock is pushed away he gently takes your hand and guides it to his lips. He opens his mouth to say something but pauses, seemingly reconsidering it and choosing to kiss your knuckles instead.

You frown at him. “What?” you ask. “You can’t make a face like that and then just leave it.”

Izuku opens his mouth again, appearing like he might argue, before he closes it again. You arch an eyebrow up at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he says defenselessly with a shake of his head. “It’s hard to think.”

You give him a soft smile. “Relax. You’re okay.” You guide your tangled hands toward your face and brush your lips over his knuckles like he did to yours. “Now, what were you gonna say?”

The moment of focus seems to be enough to force a hard reset of Izuku’s brain. He blinks hard and shakes his head with a chuckle. “Sorry,” he repeats, holding his hands up again when you shoot him a dubious look. “I was gonna say that-” He pauses again and scratches idly at the back of his head. His gaze averts to the few inches of bedsheet that sit between them and it clicks - he’s getting bashful about something. Your dubious look shifts into a cheshire grin as you sit up to look him in the eye on his level. “I was gonna say- um…”

You nod to encourage him, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs around another hard swallow. “Go on,” you goad, sitting forward a little to distract him with your bare chest. It works; his gaze drifts downward and lingers for a few seconds before he snaps his focus back up to your face, his cheeks once again flushed a pale pink.

“Well…” He rubs the back of his neck and squirms on the spot. He peers around the room like he expects someone to be eavesdropping behind the dresser or something before leaning in, a hand cupped around one side of his mouth. You roll your eyes but play along and lean in closer so he can whisper in your ear:

“You’ve got a nice ass.”

Your elation flips to irritation like a lightswitch, and just as quickly you’re letting out a loud, raucous laugh. You grab a pillow from behind you and whip it in a crescent to peg him across the face with it. He takes the shot with a muffled grunt and bats the pillow down to his lap, a wide grin slapped across his face. “What? It’s true!”

“That’s not what you were gonna say and you know it,” you grouse back through a mock look of anger before poking your tongue out at him. He returns the gesture and the two of you fall into a moment of spastic laughter before coming back to reality with a chaste but tender kiss. You can forgive the leading on; he’d already communicated what remained unsaid in the bruises you can feel forming across your skin, on the teeth marks stinging at your shoulder, on the soft lips and sharp teeth you can still feel pulling at your bottom lip. You break it off and take his hand, scooting toward the edge of the bed and dragging a willing Izuku with you. “Shower, then coffee. You’re stuck with me today.”

Izuku presses the back of his free hand to his forehead as he follows you toward the bathroom door. “Oh no, whatever will I do?” he titters.

You shrug as you push the door open. “Get your dick sucked if you’re good.” You let go of his hand and enter the bathroom, a wide-eyed Izuku hot on your heels.

---

@the-angriestpineapple @deadassqueeraf @practisewhatyoupeach @cherrycolabomb

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x female reader #bnha smut #bnha lemon #bnha fluff #my fics

729 notes · View notes

sitabethel · 7 years

Note

Any chance you could post some random fluffsmut headcanons for trashshipping today? I kind of ran into some jarring stuff I'm gonna have to deal with later. -aspidisecalis being a nerd at the bakery again

Oooooooo~ I think It’s time to do a teaser for One Man’s Trash (the Trashshipping fic I’ve been working on here and there. I have 14 finished chapters so far). This is the end of Chapter 8, the “first kiss” scene.

Context: Kek and Bakura are trying to live like “normal people.” They finally get their own apartment, but they’re broke af, so they don’t have much. There are some OC mentions:

Tomoko: She’s the landlady at the hostel they stayed at before they could move out on their own. She’s pretty much an adopted mother to Kek.

Granny: She’s a grumpy old woman that owns the noodle shop in which Bakura works. She walks around all day drinking booze and coffee, so Bakura gets along with her pretty well, actually.

It was frightening, how he felt, but Bakura caught his reflection in a store window on the walk home and stopped to really stare at himself.

He saw a little of the thief he once was, mostly in the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed in automatic suspicion at everything in the world, but otherwise… he looked like he belonged in Japan, Ryou’s long lost cousin. He had Ryou’s delicate cheekbones and eyes, his narrow nose and thinner lips. It was like he’d been reincarnated, and Bakura supposed he had been. He fought the Pharaoh in video games now, and snuggled on the couch with an orphan who’d been adopted by a hostel’s landlady and a tanuki who possessed a couch. It wasn’t weirder than anything else that’d ever happened to him.

Bakura snorted, smirked at his own reflection, and walked home, wanting to see Kek. He struggled for a second to get the key to turn in the worn out lock, but then he opened the door and stepped inside.

“Hey, Kek, I was wondering if you wanted- holy shit.” Bakura started laughing.

Bubbles covered the kitchen floor. In some areas, the suds rose almost half a meter tall. The mess soaked into the edge of the living room carpet.

“Just- shut- the- fuck- up!” Kek shouted through sobs. He knelt amidst the foam with a towel in each hand and tears running down his cheeks.

“Oi, oi.” Bakura shut the door, slipped off his shoes and socks, and tiptoed to the kitchen. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I can’t do this!” Kek wailed. “How am I supposed to be a human being when I can’t even run a dishwasher!” He rubbed his eyes against his bicep. “What did I do wrong? I don’t understand how I fucked up something so easy.”

“Did you use a tab?” Bakura asked as he crouched beside Kek.

“Tab? I used dish soap?”

“The liquid kind?”

“There’s more than one kind?” Kek’s face wrinkled, still shouting. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“You weren’t.” Bakura wrapped his arms around Kek and held him. “Tomoko didn’t have a dishwasher. How could you know? I only know because of Ryou.”

“Stupid Marik,” Kek hissed between clenched teeth. “If he was normal- I wouldn’t be so fucked up!”

“You wouldn’t exist.” Bakura used his thumb to tilt Kek’s face up. He smiled when Kek looked at him and traced Kek’s cheek. “And hey, I kinda enjoy the fact that you exist. This humanity thing would be underrated if I couldn’t watch you stumble through it with me.”

Tears welled up in Kek’s eyes, and Bakura hated seeing tears in his eyes.

“It’s just soap and water.”

“I fucked up all the towels.”

“I’ll go get some more.”

But Bakura didn’t stand up. Instead, he dropped down to his knees, allowing the bubbles and water to soak through his jeans, and leaned in to kiss Kek. They both closed their eyes as their lips moved tentatively against each other. When Bakura pulled away; Kek gasped.

“I’m going out to get towels-”

“We can’t afford-”

Bakura kissed him again and realized it was a great way to shut an Ishtar up. He should have kissed Kek back in Battle City. He’d take that over getting roasted by a god any time.

“Don’t worry about it.” Bakura shook his head. “Towels are cheap, and I’ve been stingy so I could get your present- which I’m also getting, so throw those towels in the wash, and I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know about the tabs.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bakura combed Kek’s hair with his fingers, and then got up and left before Kek could apologize again.

He went to the thrift store with soap-soaked pants. He grabbed the entire stack of towels, and the manager noticed Bakura carrying an armload of towels with wet pants and a sheepish look on his face, and she gave him a discount for buying the entire batch. After the thrift shop, Bakura counted up his money. He’d been trying to manage to save enough to get Kek a nice, red leather jacket that he’d seen, but the dishes, the eggs and rice, the extra towels… Bakura still had enough for something, but not a leather jacket. He sighed and started walking towards the house, glancing at the shops and wondering what the fuck he was going to do.

Then he saw the pet shop and had a brilliant idea. Bakura bought a fishbowl, dark purple gravel, dechlorinator, and two cheap fake plants. Then he went over to the betas and picked the brightest, most blood-red one he could find. His shopping bags in one hand, and a plastic container in the other, Bakura rushed back to the apartment with a huge grin on his face.

“I’m back!” He shouted into the apartment.

“Did you get the towels?” Kek asked, standing over the rice cooker with bubbles all around his feet. The apartment carried the warm scent of cooked rice as Kek used a regular spoon to stir it because they didn’t own a rice paddle yet.

“I got something better than towels.” Bakura held out the fish.

“Idiot.” Kek rubbed at his eyes, but didn’t cry again. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I wanted to.” Bakura set everything down on their table.

Kek walked up behind him and, despite the wet floor, Kek picked Bakura up, turned him around, and set him on top of the table beside the fish. Bakura opened his mouth to complain, but Kek’s tongue slipped inside and he moaned instead.

“Thank you,” Kek whispered against Bakura’s lips. “You taught me how to say that, you know.”

“It’s just a bad habit I picked up from my old host.” Bakura chuckled at himself because the statement was true.

“H-how do I…” Kek pushed away from Bakura and went towards the fish.

“Put the gravel in the bowl. Add the plants. Fill with water. Then follow the directions for those drops.”

“It says it has to sit to work in the water.”

“Then let it sit. He’ll be fine in the cup until then.” Bakura stretched and groaned. He grabbed the towels and they used them to mop up the floor and then Bakura stripped and stuck in clothes and the towels in the washer.

“Should have saved one for yourself,” Kek said.

“Shit,” Bakura cursed. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Whatever. I’m still taking a shower and drawing a bath to soak in afterward.” He glanced at Kek. “Want to join me in the bath?”

“W-wh-what?” Kek giggled, his face going flush even through his complexion.

“It’s common in Japan. You rinse off in the shower and then relax in the tub.”

“With other people?” Kek asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes.” Bakura snorted and walked towards the bathroom. “Look, I don’t care either way, just thought I’d offer.”

“I didn’t say no!” Kek followed.

“Give me a second to shower first.” Bakura laughed.

“You’re already naked. What’s the point of me waiting now?”

“Whatever.” Bakura stepped into the shower.

He washed his hair, soaped up, and rinsed everything as quickly as possible. He heard the bath running as he rinsed. Bakura didn’t have a towel, so he had to wring out his hair the best he could and shake dry before stepping out of the shower cubicle.

“Thought you’d want to go straight to the tub,” Kek said.

“Thanks.” Bakura dipped his body into the huge bathtub. “Fuck. This is nice.”

“I’ll hop into the shower now.” Kek disappeared behind Bakura.

Bakura kept his eyes closed and relaxed. He heard the water turn on, then a few minutes later off, but didn’t bother opening his eyes until he felt Kek’s bodyweight displace the water in the tub.

“It’s nice, right?”

“Sure is.” Kek sighed.

“After today, we both deserve a bath.” Bakura stared at the ceiling. Water stains bloomed like yellow carnations

“I made rice.”

“Sounds freaking delicious.”

“We still don’t have towels.”

“I’ll use a shirt.”

Kek laughed. Bakura grinned and shifted so that he could look at Kek instead of the ceiling. “I’m serious. It won’t work as well, but fuck it? Better than dripping over the rest of the carpet.”

“You’re the same as always.” Kek rose out of the water.

“How do you mean?” Bakura averted his eyes, although he really wanted to stare at the way the water gleamed off of Kek’s body.

“Even when things don’t go according to plan, you just roll with it.”

“Ha, yeah. I had to learn that skill pretty early on. It’s the only way I survived.”

“Pffft, I’ll get some shirts then.”

Kek went away and returned with two of their more worn t-shirts. They did a piss-poor job drying, but Bakura made do and put on dry clothes. He used the wet shirt to wrap up his hair, adding a hair dryer to his mental list of shit they needed to buy.

“I’ll serve the rice.” Kek walked onto the now dry kitchen floor and grabbed their only two bowls out of the dishwasher. “There’s still bubbles in here.”

“Just rinse them off. I think we may actually have a dish towel left.”

“Fuck. I forgot dishtowels even exist.” Kek pulled the drawer and took one of the smaller towels out.

“I’m going to put the laundry in the dryer.”

Bakura shook his head even as he moved over to the washer. More and more he was adapting to regular life, but it was still odd to think about putting towels in the dryer. Not only was it the sort of thing he used to make Ryou deal with, but there hadn’t been dryers in Egypt thousands of years ago. Bakura would just wash his clothes in the river and nap naked in the sun until they were dry.

“Here’s dinner.” Kek set the bowls on the table.

He took the little cup and popped off the plastic lid, dumping the water into the bowl. The beta swirled like a quick flame before righting himself and breaking the surface for a breath.

“They breath air from the top.” Bakura pointed. “And they blow nests out of bubbles.”

“How do you know?”

“Granny rambles about them all the time.” Bakura started digging into his food. “It’s good.”

“Fucking liar. We don’t even have salt.”

Bakura laughed. “You’re right. I was lying. It’s not bad.”

“Makes it real, right?”

“Yes.” Bakura winked. “The Shadow Realm knows I love steak. It’d never try to tempt me with plain rice. This moment is utterly real.”

#One Man's Trash #Trashshipping #Yami Bakura x Yami Marik #it's more fluff and less smut but this story is the closest thing to slow burn I'll ever write

12 notes · View notes