#tandem jerk off guys <3

[huldrabitch]

ok ouch fuck you too

[gumiluver]

TWO PRETTY BEST FRIENDS! ~ JUJUTSU KAISEN

synopsis: what happens when two pretty best friends get you in their grasp?

cover pic credit: k1tty_4ndy on pinterest |border credit: @/cafekitsune

lovers <3: gojo satoru x afab!reader x geto suguru

byr/byi: the content in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18, minors please do not interact (you will be blocked!)

cw: nsfw, pwp, fingering, oral (f. receiving), manhandling, threesome (mfm), dirty talk (suguru’s a slut with his words), squirting, pet names

an: hope y’all enjoy! I’m considering making this a series with different jjk!best friend pairings!…lmk if you guys would be interested in smthn like that <3

“Ohh, do that again—she likes that,” Suguru groans, enchanted by the way your pretty eyes cross in a haze of lust-filled bliss. He’s got you in between his legs, a fistful of your hair in his grasp, making you angle your head up towards him so he can gaze upon your innocent face and watch it slowly morph into the fucked out cumslut he knows his good girl is.

“Hah, ‘course she does,” Gojo snickers, reveling at how your sweet pussy drips oh so deliciously for him.

“It’s ‘cause of me isn’t it, princess? You like when your ‘toru touches you right…” he trails off, creating an even deeper ache in your already pulsing cunt. He slowly weaves his index and middle finger through your folds to find your dripping core and finishes off his remark with a thrust of his fingers,”…here.”

“Ngghhh—fuuuck!!” you cry, overtaken by the intrusion of Satoru’s fingers that were, yet again, making their way into your gummy walls. His fingers move with purpose and certainty, hooking them toward your plush womb with the sole intention of abusing that spongy spot that makes you weep for him.

You felt like you were suffocating. Geto’s firm grip on your hair and neck leaves you squirming in his hold, but he’s quick to put you back in your place, “be good for us sweetheart, I’d hate to have to punish you so soon,” he chides, secretly hoping that you’d start to lose your rationality and step out of line. The shiver that rides along your spine doesn’t go unnoticed by Suguru, and he takes pride in knowing how his words sway you towards submission.

It seems like Satoru was able to read his best friend's intentions and wanted nothing more than to aid him in your descent, noting how Suguru’s clenched jaw and bulging arm veins hold him hostage from his true desires. He could see the sheer restraint that his best friend was holding onto, and Gojo would be lying if he said he wasn’t holding himself back as well.

Because fuck—look at ya.

Your head was thrown back, sheer ecstasy written on your face as Satoru quickened his pace, effectively fingering you into an early orgasm that had you squirting all over the two. The moans and cries you let out have both men grunting like animals, humping up into the air to gain some sort of friction on their sensitive cocks. Your hips sway in tandem with Satoru’s fingers, making both men become hypnotized by the very essence of your being. Both men drooling like fucking dogs, waiting to sink their teeth into you, waiting for your beck n’ call. The glistening sheen that radiates from your body resembles an innocent-like aura, just begging to be corrupted—and corrupt they shall.

Satoru’s already conjured up his own sick and twisted plans, wanting to get you an all fours to fuck you from behind while watching his pretty best friend fuck his lover's mouth.

And of course, Suguru had his own salacious desires, aching to see you split on top of his dick as he watches his pretty best friend jerk off at the sight of him fucking you.

And you? Well, you’d be happy if either of them would hurry up and fuck you already—the endless teasing starting to weave between the lines of pleasure and pain. Satoru continues to overstimulate your poor cunt and Suguru’s grip on you makes you yearn for something harder—something rougher.

Satoru’s ability of forethought seemed to have played in your favor as well, seeing as he can’t help but gaze at your sweet cunt that’s just begging to be filled. You can see his cock strain against his boxer briefs, an occasional twitch or two catching your attention and making you drool—wanting to taste his heavy tip.

Your gaze is hyper-fixated on Satoru’s cock now, your body moving forward—like a magnet being drawn to its force. But before you could even reach him, you feel yourself get pulled back into Suguru’s chest, “Ah—ah—ah, where do you think you’re going, pretty girl? Did you forget about me?”

You look up towards Suguru again, puppy dog eyes on full display to convey your innocence, “n-no!! I’d never forget you Sugu~” you cry, reaching up to place a warm hand on his cheek. You look over to Satoru who’s watching the two of you intently and beckon him over, wanting to please both your lovers equally, “Just wanna feel you—both of you.”

And who were they to deny their precious baby? The one and only person that could make them drop to their knees and beg for just a simple taste of you. The single most important person in the world to them. And most importantly, the only person that they are willing to share and love, together.

“Mmmm—fuckin’ love hearin’ you cry for us, such a desperate little thing. Isn’t that right, Satoru?” Suguru says, a cocky smirk adorning his face as he sees your blush darken over your cheeks. He squeezes your cheeks together with one hand, loving the way your plump limps perk together for him to kiss and suck on.

“Mhm~, poor baby’s just drippin’ for us,” Satoru responds, lowering his head down towards your cunt. Before you can protest, before you can even beg for their cocks, Suguru covers your mouth and pins your body on top of his. His forearm holding you down as Satoru spreads your thighs open again but this time, to suckle at your pink bud, and the whimper that you let out is like fucking music to their ears.

“I know you want our cocks sweetheart, but we gotta prep you more. Just relax, let us make you feel good,” Suguru charms, lulling you into a state of naivety to get you to blindly trust them. With the multiple orgasms that Satoru has been pulling from you coupled with Suguru’s debauched speech, you were more than ready to take both of them at this point.

But this? This was pure greed, from both men.

Suguru, wanting to see just how much you can handle before you’re a fucked out crying mess, begging to be stuffed with their cocks. And Satoru, reveling in your taste and secretly hoping to get you to squirt on his face.

Both men had their filthy little plans of watching you come undone, and both were intrigued by what the other’s plans were to get you to come undone.

And you? Well, all you could do was take it. Take the pleasurable torment. Take what they give you and then some.

After all, who knows what these two pretty best friends have in store for you in the long run?

an: what did you guys think?? I love hearing your feedback and what you enjoyed!! Should I make this a series? <33

As always, likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

[inkykeiji]

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut with a bit of angst sprinkled over it

notes: the second part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back. i’m really not kidding when i say this is almost entirely smut. uhhh virgin!tomura is a nasty nasty boy, please please please heed the warnings and stay safe! <3 | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), non-consensual branding (yes, branding in the sense that something is being burned into the skin), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, cheating, degradation/dumbification, emotional manipulation, cumplay/snowballing, cockwarming, size difference, generally toxic relationships

words: 7.1k

synopsis:

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

To your surprise, you spend the rest of your night the day after the party texting Tomura, and every time your screen lights up with a message from him, it sends a whole flock of butterflies fluttering in your tummy. You should feel guilty, really, but you’ve never been in a situation like this before and it’s…exhilarating.

It’s risky, answering these texts when Touya’s a mere few feet from you, but it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the idea of getting caught doing something you’re definitely not supposed to, the very thought of how upset he’d be if he knew, making you feel giddy.

You guard your phone closely for the rest of the week, deleting messages exactly after you send them—Touya has taken it and gone through it in the past, so it wasn’t far-fetched to think he may try to do the same thing again. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice your nose in your phone, little giggles bubbling up from your chest as you responded to whatever was on the screen. You can see it in his eyes, the frustration building each and every time a soft laugh escapes your lips, eyes glimmering as you tap out a response.

You plan your impending visit strategically, in tandem with Tomura. He knows Touya’s unpredictable and seemingly ever-changing schedule better than you do, and you both know that there’s absolutely no way in hell Touya would ever willingly let you hang out with each other—he barely leaves the two of you alone when Tomura comes over to your house, so you can only imagine how livid he’d be if you even asked to go spend some time with him, just the two of you.

You wear your prettiest dress—Touya’s favourite dress, a deep, satiny crimson—two inches too short to be considered proper, the hem brushing your midthigh. It hides a pair of baby pink cotton panties you’re sure Tomura will like.

Your veins thrum with the combined mix of terror and anticipation as he lets you in, and the heady combination has your entire body trembling. Tomura gives you a look as you kick your shoes off, eyes narrowed as they scan your body.

“You comin’ down or something?”

“I-I’m not allowed drugs,” you admit meekly, eyes falling to your feet, toes wiggling a bit.

Tomura snorts, an amused little smirk on his lips as he mutters, “No, of course not,”

Long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, his cold touch making you jump, giving a slight yank as he begins leading you. He lives alone, in an apartment his father pays for—which is surprisingly much tidier than you expected—and you can’t help but look around curiously, eager to learn more about him, glazed eyes searching for hints in the empty takeout containers littering the counter, in the few articles of clothing strewn around the place.

Brows knit together when he bypasses his bedroom completely—the door wide open to reveal a large bed with blue sheets tangled at the bottom—and leads you to a living room with plush couches and an ornate rug you’re positive he didn’t pick out by himself. His fingers release, and he plops down on the floor, hands curling around a gaming controller. Scarlet eyes drift to you, up your legs and to your face, and you resist the urge to shiver under his intense gaze—you’re sure he can see straight up your dress from this angle.

But he does nothing except look at you expectantly, not breaking his stare until you finally sit down next to him, daintily tucking your knees under yourself.

Then he’s shoving an extra controller at you almost aggressively, the sudden motion pulling a gasp from your throat, making you flinch away.

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, pushing the controller at you again and shaking it a little in his hand, trying to entice you to take it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, or anything,”

“You…You’re—what?”

Tomura observes you carefully, scrutinizing now, eyes narrowing a little as they scan your face. You stare back at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. “What?” he snaps.

“But I thought—I mean, I want you to—”

“What?”

“That came out wrong,” you rush to say, shutting your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “What I mean is…Um, didn’t I come over so we can like, fuck?” your cheeks burn as you force the words out, ears ringing as blood rushes to your face, so loud you almost miss his sharp intake of breath.

Tomura’s eyes widen and he stares at you for a long moment before he checks his phone, scrolling through your messages. “You said…You wanted to play video games?”

You look at him, blinking in astonishment. “And you believed that?”

Tomura frowns a little, eyebrows knitting, slightly defensive. “Well, yeah?”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare back at the man sitting cross-legged in front of you, watching you closely. This is the guy Touya so desperately didn’t want you to be around?

Powerless to stop the little giggle that bubbles up in your throat, you inch towards him on your knees. “You’re kinda cute, y’know?”

Soft notes of tiger orchid and sweet sticky toffee waft over him, your body heat clinging to his skin as you settle beside him, thigh touching his knee. He seethes at you, and his fingers twitch around the controller, a hand moving to rake his nails against his neck.

You reach out, little fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling it away from his flesh.

“Do you want to?” you ask softly, gazing at him through your lashes, bringing his palm to rest over your breast.

“Are you stupid?” he spits, fingers instantly tightening the moment they meet satin, the strength of his grip making you gasp. “Of course I fucking want to. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to you? Christ,”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the confession, sparking a dull heat that begins to spread deep in the pit of your stomach. You’re flattered, even though you can hear Touya’s voice in the back of your mind, sharp and condescending, reprimanding you for being so easy.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice quivers a little as you ask the question, but that doesn’t stop his ruby eyes from darkening, his free hand dropping the controller to shamelessly rub at the bulge in his jeans.

“How cute your little cunt must be, how sweet it’d taste, how good those lips would feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck your throat,” his voice drops an octave as he speaks, low and dangerous as he kneads your breast hard—too hard, but adrenaline keeps the pain from registering.

He’s reaching for you now, pale hands pawing at your hips and dragging you over, forcing you to straddle his lap. A soft whimper falls from your lips as he instantly begins rolling his hips up, like he can’t bear to wait, fingers digging into your flesh as they hold you in place.

Neither can you, apparently, because you begin wiggling a little in his grasp, trying in vain to rut against him.

“You’re a little whore, huh? Even with a virgin, you can’t help but grind on a hard cock,” he smirks, lips at your ear. “A hard cock’s a hard cock I guess, makes no difference to you, greedy little slut,”

A mewl escapes your throat as you nod, hips pushing forcefully against his, grinding your little cunt against rough denim.

Wait, virgin?

“A v-virgin?”

“Yeah, lucky you,”

His words taper off into a growl, vibrating in his chest, hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and roughly pull your face to his, lips crashing into yours. You emit a soft, startled noise into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, tongue forcing its way through your parted lips and into your mouth, commanding your own tongue into submission almost instantaneously.

It’s nothing like kissing Touya. Your body follows your tongue, melting into him. Fingers grip your jaw, pressing crescent indents into the skin as he guides your head to exactly where he wants it to go.

It isn’t romantic. It’s harsh, and desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and revealing your arched neck to him. His lips trail down the column of your throat, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake.

“I wanna fuck you already,” he whines a little, aggressively thrusting against your clothed core. You moan out an affirmative noise, nodding.

“One rule,” you breathe out.

“Hmm? And what’s that?” his lips are against your neck, tongue painting it in glistening saliva with slow, languid strokes.

“No marks,” you yelp out just as his teeth sink into your skin. It stings, Tomura keeping his mouth latched onto your neck for a few seconds, teeth buried in the soft flesh. His tongue laves over the mark before pulling away completely, and a shiver crawls up your spine as the bite is exposed to the cool air.

He’s giggling into your shoulder, nipping at the skin superficially. “Oops,”  

“Tomura!” you whine, making no effort to pull his lips from your neck. “Touya’s going to murder me,”

He laughs again, pulling back and rolling his eyes. “And, what? He isn’t already going to kill you for fucking someone else?”

There isn’t a moment to respond, though, not a second to try and explain how weird Touya gets about marks in particular, because then he’s crushing his lips to yours again, hard, fervent, bruising.

“Gonna cum soon if you don’t fucking do something,” he practically snarls into your mouth.

The very thought of Tomura cumming in his pants just from a few minutes of dry humping makes your entire stomach flutter, a flash of pure confidence surging in your chest as involuntary words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh?” you murmur, breath hot against his lips. “Something? Like this?” you begin gyrating your hips in tiny, quick circles, giggling at the groan you rip from his throat.

And Tomura hates how fucking innocent you sound, gazing at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and a sinful little smile.

“Stop,” it’s supposed to be a command, an order, but it comes out as a broken whine, his hands latching onto your hips again as he forces you to move even faster, rocking into you.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to stop,” you pout a little and he huffs out a curse.

It’s intoxicating, to be in a position of power like this. It isn’t your favourite—you’re much too shy and indecisive to be in a role like this all the time—but the novelty of it excites you nonetheless. Touya never lets you do anything like this, hates being teased with a passion, but Tomura seems to enjoy it, like it’s some sort of game to him.

“Little bitch,” he breathes out, though his forehead is resting against yours, eyes shut, soft grunts spilling from his throat.

“C’mon, Tomura,” you whimper, and now it sounds like you’re the one begging. “Make a mess in your pants for me? P-Pretty please?”

That’s all it takes to have his hips stilling, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he grips you tightly, holding you in place and forcing you to grind against him ever-so-slightly as his cock throbs and twitches in his jeans.

You expect him to push you off immediately after, to shout and berate you for such behaviour, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms encircling your waist and bringing you with him.

It must be uncomfortable, to sit in those soiled jeans filled with cum, but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in exploring your mouth with his tongue as you kiss lazily. You don’t mind, although your clit is aching and swollen, pussy fluttering around nothing every so often as his fingers explore your body, kneading your ass and tweaking nipples, your panties soaked all the way through and sticking to you unpleasantly.

And it’s due to this that your hips still manage to rock against his in minuscule movements that are more teasing than anything else, little micro-circles that have your drenched cunt grinding gently against wet denim.

It seems he has an impossibly short refraction period because, before long, his cock’s hard again, pressing up into your clothed hole. You whimper his name into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, shining with saliva.  

“Take my cock out,” he instructs, voice stern despite his slight breathlessness. You crawl off his lap and do as your told, popping the button, tugging the zipper down and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He lifts his hips just enough to aid you in dragging them down to his thighs, cock springing free.

“Clean it up,”

It’s covered in cum, so much cum—too much cum, more than is normal—glistening in the low light of the living room. It twitches a little under your gaze, as if to say get on with it already, so you wrap a hand around the base and bring the head to your lips.

You start with kitten licks, tongue tracing around the head and playing with the slit, pulling a deep, throaty moan from him.

“Don’t—Don’t swallow it,” he rasps. “Clean me up and keep all my cum in your mouth,”

It’s difficult—his cum is much more bitter than Touya’s, and you gag a few times as it settles on your tongue, marinating in your mouth. You try your best to hold it in your cheeks and away from your tastebuds, working as quickly as possible as you lap it up, gazing up at him with teary eyes when you’re finished.

“What a good girl,” he spits in a patronizing tone, like it’s an insult. “Kiss me,”

It’s a demand you have no choice but to obey, a hand rooting in your hair and yanking you up to face him.

He all but smashes your lips together, fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way through your lips and you greet it eagerly, desperate to get his cum out of your mouth.

Except he doesn’t let you pull away after you’ve passed the majority of his cum to him, the bitter taste still stinging your tongue. No, he uses the fist tangled in your hair to keep you still as he shoves his tongue into your mouth again, transferring the cum—now watered down a little with his saliva—into the warm cavern yet again.

You whine, and he chuckles, lips spreading into a grin against yours.

“Swallow it,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to watch your expression as you force it down your throat, face souring, eyes squeezed shut as your lips pucker just a little. “Open, lemme see,”

Your mouth falls open obediently, little droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you gaze up at him, waiting for approval.

“Good,” he practically purrs, eyes darkening as his fingers caress your face. “Now I want to fuck you,”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t give you a moment to respond, beginning to manhandle you into the position he wants before he’s even finished speaking. The oriental rug is soft against your cheek as he presses your face to the ground, hands curling around your hips as he hoists them up.

“What cute little panties,” he breathes, dragging a finger along your clothed slit before yanking the material down to your knees.

It stings a little as he practically shoves his cock into your sopping cunt, not bothering to stretch you out—you’re not even sure if he knows he’s supposed to—but you’re wet enough that the breach is relatively easy, and the burning fades quickly as your little hole adjusts to the girth of his cock.

He begins thrusting immediately, and he’s rough, overeager, uncoordinated, the vicious snaps of his hips uneven and sloppy.

Truthfully, he’s only using you as a hole the first time, but you don’t mind—not really, anyway. Blazing sapphire sears through your mind, and you think about how furious Touya would be if he knew, if he could see the way you’re degrading yourself, letting yourself be reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for a nasty virgin to desperately hump away at, sacrificing your own pleasure for his.

Touya would never.

To Touya, making you cum is half the fun. He gets a rush from it, gets high off the way you go absolutely fucking stupid from his fingers and cock, how quickly he can turn your brain to soup, rendering you a dumb little blabbering mess only capable of whining out the words niichan and Touya-nii. It feeds his ever-growing ego.

But Tomura is eager to please in a different way. He’s more selfish than Touya, sure, but he’s keen to learn all he can, curious and committed.

And, once he finally gets the hang of it, confident, too.

His thrusts gain more finesse as he fucks you, but he’s unable to keep up any steady rhythm, the tight fluttering of your pussy every time he grazes a specific spot inside of you making his hips stutter, forcing needy, guttural groans from his throat.

He cums quick—not that you expect any less from a virgin—with a deep growl of your name that has your stomach swooping, cunt throbbing around him again as he fills you with thick, burning cum.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, abused body melting into the lush carpet as your cunt throbs desperately, his cum slowly oozing out of it. Tomura snorts as he looks down at you, gentle hands tugging your panties down the rest of your legs and removing them completely, discarding them a few feet away.

“Up you go,” he’s murmuring as hands snake under your armpits and haul you up. You mumble his name and he hushes you, collapsing heavily on the couch with you still in his arms. Strong hands manhandle you into straddling his lap again, leaking pussy pressed against his softening cock.

The television hums to life, quiet main menu music floating through the room as the soft clicking of buttons sounds behind you.

You should go home now. You know you should. You’ve done what you came here to do, and now you should be leaving.

Should, should, should.

But Tomura’s so warm, and you’re so tired, muscles aching despite the fact that he did most of the work.

“Rest,” he instructs quietly when you begin to whine into his neck, fingers preoccupied with unwrapping a piece of watermelon bubblegum.

He’s so much softer than you expected—disgusting, but soft—and you can’t believe you spent months being terrified of him. You know this is probably the last time you’ll be able to see him in a long time—a fact that produces an inexplicable ache deep in your chest—so you allow yourself bask in the moment, just for a little, you promise yourself.

You obey his gentle command, snuggling up against him and permitting yourself to drift in and out of consciousness to the sound of aliens being killed and aggressive button smashing.

But then something hard is poking you—you aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for now, long enough for Tomura to power through a few matches, at least—and that blistering heat flares again, beginning to coil tight in your tummy.

You shift a little, an involuntary whine slipping from your lips.

“What is it?” Tomura asks, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers never pausing. “You wanna sit on my cock, baby?”

Christ, yes. You mumble into his shoulder, nodding and rolling your hips in response.

He chuckles—a low, quiet sound rattling around in his chest—and allows you to sink down on him again, captivated by the soft moan you emit as you do so, crimson eyes gleaming and breathing slightly laboured.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters when his avatar on the screen gets shot, redirecting his attention.

And it’s…it’s nice. Surprisingly nice. He’s cozy, and comfy, his breathing slow and even with every rise of his chest, despite the alien shrieks coming from the TV behind you. He smells like cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon with just a hint of cedarwood, and you inhale deeply, letting the scent fill your lungs.

Touya rarely lets you cockwarm him; Touya doesn’t have the patience, Touya doesn’t have the time. You fall into a state halfway between asleep and awake, hips rocking against Tomura just enough to keep him hard, just enough to have you whimpering into his neck.

He could get used to this, he tells you. The confession is soft, a private little thought that just kinda slips out, mindlessly falling from his lips, but you could, too, you think.

It’s intimate, which is odd, considering you barely know him, used to be frightened of him. But it’s such a refreshing contrast to Touya’s intense, scalding flame.

Eventually, though, it isn’t enough, the teasing’s too much, and you need more.

Gazing up at him with glittering eyes, you begin to trail your lips up his neck, over his self-inflicted scars, slowly, hesitantly.

He inhales sharply, jumping a little in surprise, and you freeze, terrified you might’ve overstepped some invisible boundary you were not previously aware of.

“Keep going,” he whines, a little petulantly, hips wiggling against yours.

Lips resuming their ministrations, you place gentle, chaste kisses up the column of his throat and along his jaw, delighting in each soft sigh you manage to pull from him. The game playing on the TV suddenly halts, Tomura throwing the controller on the couch cushion next to you before large hands cup your face in a tender way you did not think him capable of.

Your mouths slot together, kissing messily, saliva glistening on your chins as you pass his watermelon gum back and forth between yourselves. It’s kinda gross, kinda filthy, juvenile and sloppy, but it’s fun, has the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths, a little breathless from it all.

“Wanna ride you,” you murmur, almost shyly, against his slippery lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, just barely bouncing you in his lap. “You wanna use my cock to get off?”

“Yes, please,” the plead comes out as a pathetic whimper, and you squirm impatiently.

Finally, finally you get to cum. In this position, you have leverage over the angle of your hips, able to situate yourself just right, so his cockhead nudges exactly where you want it to.

He does nothing this time, just leans back and watches you with those dark, half-lidded scarlet eyes, hands idly exploring your thighs, occasionally raking his nails down them. He’s in a trance as he gazes at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes are starting to roll back, by the way each drag of his cock against that spot has you keening, by the way his name leaves your lips in broken little whines that have him gasping in response.

Your hips speed up, and you’re desperate, so desperate to cum, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt.

“Gonna—” he starts, breathless. “Gonna cum?”

You nod a little frantically as eager hips rock against him, his hands finally finding your waist and helping you move.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Wanna feel you,”

And it’s his begging that does it, that finally sends you over the edge, pussy clenching around him, convulsing almost painfully and gushing on his cock with a sharp cry of his name. He follows immediately after, painting your insides with hot cum as a curse hitches in his chest.

Your body collapses against him, going pliant and boneless as you both pant. Everything feels heavy—you haven’t had an orgasm that intense in a while—and the absolute last thing you want to do is get up and walk home.

Tomura can sense it. He can feel it in the way your fingers are knotting in his t-shirt, in the way your hips try to scoot forward, chest pressed against his tightly, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to keep you close for just a minute more.

Silence blankets the room as the two of you calm your breathing. You’ve been anticipating a certain sense of awkwardness to finally wash over you all night, but it never comes. Instead, it’s pleasant, and you hum a little, nuzzling your face into Tomura’s shoulder as skinny fingers brush through your hair.

“I don’t wanna go,” you say, and it’s so quiet, muffled by the material of his shirt, that he barely hears it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

“Just stay,” he mumbles, resting his chin atop your head. “Text your dad some bullshit, or whatever,”

You want to. You’re surprised at how much you desperately want to.

“Touya will kill me,”

“Touya’s gonna kill ya either way, sweetheart,”

You suppose that’s true. Neither of you tricked yourselves into thinking that you’d actually get away with this. Touya will know the moment he sees you, will probably be able to smell Tomura all over you, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, not in that moment, not when Tomura’s so comfy and you’re so sleepy and it’s all just nice.

Good, you think. It’s about time he gets a taste of how much stuff like this hurts.

And so you find yourself crawling into his bed, in one of his t-shirts, with bruises in the shape of his fingertips rapidly blossoming, heat seeping into your cheeks when he tells you he thinks you look cute in his clothes.

He latches onto you the moment you’ve settled into his mattress, long arms encircling your waist and dragging you towards him. One of your legs slots between his, and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Hard again, Tomura?”

“Shut up,” he says, no heat to his voice. “Can’t help it,”

His words echo your own, three simple words you’ve said so many times to Touya, and you feel a pang in your chest.

“Not my fault you’re too hot,” he continues, grumbling into your neck.

Honestly, you didn’t peg him as a cuddler, and maybe he isn’t—maybe he just wants to grind and hump against your thigh—but you welcome the warmth of his body nonetheless.

It doesn’t bother you, although it probably should, as he ruts against you, tiny broken moans and high, breathy whines being exhaled against your neck. But it’s so new, all of this is so new to you, and curiosity clouds your better judgement. While you’re pretty sure you should be shoving him away, reprimanding him for such behaviour, positive that’s what any normal person would do, you don’t. Little fingers thread in his hair instead, carding through silvery-blue fluffy tufts, reveling in the groan it pulls from him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, thick and sticky in his boxers, the material wet against your thigh. You’re impressed, both by how easily he cums, and how much he cums. You want to tell him, want to tease him about it a little, let him know you think it’s cute, but heavy, hazy fatigue begins to wash over you, and you fall asleep to Tomura’s soft breaths mingled with the sound of you phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

Your phone’s dead when you wake sometime in the early afternoon, and for that, you’re thankful. Anxiety floods your stomach, bubbling up in your chest acidly as you think about what’ll be waiting for you when you recharge it.

Tomura walks you to the door, which you find to be very odd behaviour, but sweet nonetheless, and watches carefully as you slip on your shoes.

“Uh, text me later, okay?” He sounds unsure for the first time since you’ve been with him, and your expression softens.

“I will, if Touya doesn’t take my phone away,”

And you pretend to miss the look on his face, the way his eyebrows knit as a hand comes to scratch idly at his neck, the way he looks almost worried. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

He knows. The moment you step foot through the front door, he knows.

You knew he would, but it doesn’t make the glare scathing your skin any less terrifying.

He’s on you in an instant—you didn’t even know humans could move that fast—pinning you to the drywall, large hands wrapped around your wrists and forcing them above your head, keeping you trapped.

“You little slut,”

Unexpected anger flares in your chest, even though tears are already beginning to collect in your eyes, and you squirm in his grasp.

“I fuck one other person, and I’m the slut?”

You gasp the moment the words leave your lips, wide eyes searching his face and shaking your head frantically, would slap your hands over your mouth if they weren’t currently secured in his bruising grip against the wall.

The look he gives you is absolutely petrifying, blue eyes darker than the ocean—so dark they almost look black—his stare cold and hard as stone, sending sharp spikes of ice up your spine.

“You fucking reek of him,” he spits, face screwing up in disgust. You’re sure you do, too, after spending a good twelve hours in his bed, almost positive you can smell him in your hair, the remnants of cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon clinging to you.

Patronizing eyes rake over you, zeroing in on the violet that’s bloomed on your neck. His nostrils flare as he stares at it, breath beginning to come in rapid, uneven huffs. His eyes slowly drift back to yours, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

It’s shock, and disbelief, and rage, and…and sadness? It passes too quickly for you to even tell, and then he’s pulling your wrists down callously, still gathered in his hand, and dragging you towards his room.

He all but throws you on his bed face first, breathing harsh and erratic as he exhales forcefully through his nose and climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. A large hand wraps itself in your hair and tugs, forcing your upper body to arch.

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back. Sure, he’s furious beyond belief, looks like he could kill you right here, right now, with his bare fucking hands—but he’s also extremely upset, if the slight quiver present in his voice is any indication.

“Yes,” you wheeze out. If it made him feel even an ounce of the emotional turmoil he’s put you through with his whores, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” his voice is low, threatening, calm. It’s disturbing, how quickly he can switch, and a chill of unease settles deep in your bones—once Touya stops with his growls and snarls, once his voice becomes monotonous and almost serene in a way, that’s when you know he’s really angry.

Shoving your head down into the mattress, he tells you to stay fucking put as he gets up and wanders over to his desk. He returns to the bed moments later with a tool that vaguely resembles a pen, hand tangling in your hair again as he pulls you up.

“You know what this is?”

You shake your head as best you can.

“It’s a soldering iron,” his voice is still composed and collected, sounding almost as if he’s explaining something to a child, but there’s a malevolent glint in his eye, a look you’ve never seen before. “It gets really, really hot. I just so happened to be warming one on my desk,”

He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is an object one would regularly keep in their bedroom or on their desk.

“It’s not supposed to be used on skin,” he shrugs a little, twirling the tool between his fingers. “But today, I think we’ll make an exception,”

“What?”

“Head down, ass up,” he instructs sternly, pushing your head into his pillows.

“Touya, wait—” you start, the rest of your sentence muffled by the sheets. His hand gives one firm shove—a warning to stay down—and then he begins shuffling around on the bed.

Careful to keep your cheek pressed hard against the pillow, you turn your head just enough to speak.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice is trembling, thick with tears, dense anxiety building in your chest.

“I’m going to burn my name into your pretty little ass,” he responds simply as he positions himself behind you, yanking your panties midway down your thighs and sitting back on his heels. “A nice, pretty, permanent mark so you, and everyone else, never forget who you fucking belong to,”

“No!” you gasp, beginning to lift your head only to have him force it back into the pillow with a snarl. “No, Tou—niichan, I-I’ll do anything, please—”

“No, no, no, baby,” he says over your senseless babbling, voice almost gentle, thumb caressing your silky skin. “Don’t squirm, now,” he chides. “If you squirm, my hand might slip, and I might burn other parts of your body. We don’t want that, do we? Be a good girl for niichan and sit still,”

And so you do. You should feel ashamed, pathetic, revolted that he’s able to manipulate you so easily, that he knows exactly how to turn you into putty to be molded and shaped as he pleases, even when he’s about to sear his name into your skin.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as he carefully carves his name into the supple flesh, saying the letters out loud as he does so. It’s a unique, stinging-stabbing type of pure agony, one that sends sharp pain radiating up to your lower back and down your thigh.  

Fingers curl in his dark sheets as you sob into his bed—chest-wracking sobs that have your entire body trembling, chest-wracking sobs that you so desperately try to hold back and swallow, to stay still, to be good for your niichan. Touya tells you to be happy, be grateful, that the temperature of his iron goes up so high.

“Otherwise, I would’ve had to go over it several times in order to make it really stick,”

It’s over quickly, though, a mere fifteen minutes later and he’s cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and gently taping thick gauze over it and uses this opportunity to take your panties off entirely.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hoists you up, manhandling you to straddle his spread thighs, careful of your now very sensitive bottom. “You did so good for niichan,”

And you can’t stand the way your heart weakly flutters at his praise. You can’t stand the way you instinctually bury your head in his chest, tiny fists forming in the material of his t-shirt as you wail, can’t stand the way he is still the only one you want comforting you.

His cock is hard through his jeans, and you can feel it pressing into your core as he shifts a little under you. It’s humiliating, but you’re powerless to stop your hips from moving in subtle little circles, grinding your cunt against the rough denim. And he lets you do it for a little, too, tender fingers petting your hair as he soothes your sobs, taming them to little sniffles and hiccups.

“Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” he asks softly, murmuring against your scalp, voice almost sickly sweet.

It takes you a moment to respond, eventually nodding your head.

A smirk spreads across his lips and he instructs you to get up, tapping the side of your thigh.

You lift yourself, walking back on your knees and giving him enough room to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans before his hands find your hips again, dragging you back.

“Baby,” he breathes as his fingers spread your folds, his eyes darkening in a manner much different than before. “Already wet for me?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering a little as he pushes a finger into you.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasps tauntingly, voice dripping with artificial surprise. “You didn’t like being branded, did you?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head quickly. No, it wasn’t the branding that did it—not really, anyway. It was the aftercare. It was Touya’s cold hands gently tending to your injured bottom, Touya pulling you into his lap as he praised you and dropped kisses to the crown of your head, Touya getting hard from the punishment, from permanently searing his name into your flesh.

You should be disgusted with yourself, with how eager you are, hips wiggling a little only a few moments later as you whine out softly, “Niichan, cock,”

“Impatient,” he huffs. “Don’t get bratty with me now, you were doing so well,”

A pout forms on your face, still hidden in his shoulder.

“Jus’ want it so bad,” you mumble against him, beginning to slur your words. “Please, Touya-nii?”

He hums to himself, makes you beg just a little bit more, reveling in the way your voice begins to get desperate, all high and needy as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers, whimpering and begging with pathetic little please, niichan?’s.

“Is this how you want it? Huh? Wanna ride niichan?”

Mewling a little, you nod, rolling your hips into his palm.

“Words, sweetheart,”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “W-Wanna ride you,”

Finally, he gives it to you, lets you sink down on his cock, watching the way you wince as it stretches you, expression contradicted by your soft moans.

He forces you to begin bouncing immediately, doesn’t allow you to set the pace—he never does—smirking at those little pained cries spilling from your throat, though whether they’re because his cock or the five letters freshly burned into your skin, he isn’t sure. Maybe both; probably both.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, tone condescending. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah? Yeah?” his voice mimics yours, pitched high and whiny. “I bet it fucking does,”

A hand travels down to grope your ass—specifically, the cheek with the brand—squeezing hard as fingers dig into your skin. You cry out, tears finally leaking from your eyes, chest hitching as you sob out, “Touya-nii,”

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” he says in your ear, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever go fuck another man because you’re mad at me, do you understand?”

Heat begins to coil tightly in your stomach at his smooth, dark voice. “Y-Yes,”

“Promise me,” he growls, grip tightening on your ass.

“I promise,” you’re weeping as he gives one more harsh squeeze, pain scorching through your backside, a loud yelp escaping your lips.

“Bet his cock didn’t feel as good as mine,” he sneers in your ear, panting a little. “Wasn’t as big as mine, didn’t fill you up the way mine does,”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in time with his thrusts, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Probably could—” a low groan cuts him off as your pussy flutters around him. “Could never make you cum the way I do,”

A loud whine rips from your throat, your head nodding as he continues his relentless thrusts up into you, never once faltering. Adrenaline and endorphins rush through your veins, high off the heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

“N-Niichan,” you gasp, nails digging into his flesh through the material of his thin t-shirt. “Niichan,”

“Gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna make a mess all over niichan’s cock?” he’s asking breathlessly, slamming into you at a rapid pace and using his thighs for more leverage, hands gripping your hips.

“Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he commands hoarsely. “Cum on your niichan’s cock,”

And you do, helplessly, incapable of disobeying a direct order, creaming so hard your vision blanks for a second, overwhelmed by the extreme, potent mix of pain and pleasure crashing over you.

“Who do you belong to?” Touya’s nearly keening now, hips jackhammering, making your body twitch and shudder with every sharp thrust into your sensitive pussy.

“You,”

“Tell me again,”

“I belong to you, niichan,”

And those five simple words—those five simple words have him cumming hard, hips stilling and cockhead pressed firmly against your cervix, filling your cute little cunt with his seed as broken curses fall from his lips.

You’re both panting, covered in a thin, sheen layer of sweat, your hair sticking to your face and little droplets of tears still glistening on your lash line. He all but collapses back against the bed, taking you with him, cock still buried inside of you.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers into your hair, hugging you tightly—too tightly—to his heaving chest. “I’m yours,”

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, you wonder if you’re destined to play this game for the rest of your lives.

He’s yours.

Are you stuck with him now, forever?

He’s yours.

Will you every get married? Ever get the chance to date someone else?

He’s yours.

Do you even want to?

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, knowing he’s yours, do you even want any of that?

No. With your head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his gentle breaths, slender fingers combing through your sweaty hair, you realize that this is all you want.

He’s yours, and you’re his, and that is enough.

[intheticklecloset]

A Trick of the Light (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

My favorite part about this fic is that I found a way to make it part of the primary universe! I can't wait for this new storyline to unfold! Hehehe - enjoy! ^^

~

It was ludicrously dark down here. Bakugou grumbled to himself as he slowly made his way from the hall into the quiet and nearly pitch black kitchen. It was the middle of the night – roughly around 3 AM, according to his phone – but he’d woken up from an unpleasant dream dying of thirst only to remember his water bottle was empty. He’d meant to fill it up before bed but it had slipped his mind, so here he was at some stupid hour of the early morning trying to find the fridge so he could refill.

Sure, he could have used the tap water from the bathroom on his floor, but that stuff tasted like crap and he didn’t want to pass out again with a bad taste in his mouth.

A tiny noise caught his attention, making him pause and hone in on his surroundings. Someone else was down here, silently shuffling around in the dark kitchen. What were the odds? Just when Bakugou was about to open his mouth and demand to know who else was up at this time of night, the door to the fridge opened. He blinked in surprise and let out a grunt in tandem with whoever it was, barely managing to focus in on the outline of the person before the door closed again and the room was darker than ever.

Still, he’d recognize that wild-haired, slim-built figure anywhere.

He grinned wickedly. Deku. This was perfect. In the middle of the night, the nerd would never see him coming. He’d be able to tickle him into submission in no time, adding a win to his record while making his old friend laugh at the same time. He’d never admit it, but the nerd’s laughter did brighten his spirits whenever he heard it, and after that unpleasant dream, he could use a bit of spirit-lifting.

Bakugou waited until the nerd started back towards the hallway he loomed in, hiding in the shadows until he was close enough to reach out and grab. He ignored the yelp and splash of water across his arm as he tackled the boy to the ground, blindly reaching for a ticklish spot. He didn’t remember Deku being so difficult to pin down, but those thoughts were quickly erased when he heard soft giggles that were obviously trying to be covered up.

“Surprise, nerd,” Bakugou murmured, keeping his voice down but still loud enough to be heard.

“W-Whahahahahat? Whohohohoho--?” The body beneath him jerked and tried to roll. “Who is thahahahahahat? Kahahahahaminari?”

“Why the heck would it be Kaminari, you moron?” Bakugou thought he was somewhere around the stomach area, so he slid his hands upward until he found the hollows of his victim’s underarms and scribbled. He was surprised when he didn’t get more of a reaction, but wasn’t disappointed with the hysterical giggling that quickly grew muffled. Clearly the nerd was trying to keep quiet. Bakugou chuckled.

“Wh-Who ehehehehelse wohohohohohould it be? Ohohohohohojiro?”

That was an odd name to pick out of all of their classmates. Did Deku and Ojiro have tickle fights he didn’t know about? Not that it mattered.

“Of course not!” he whisper-snapped, growing frustrated. How did his oldest friend not recognize his voice? He finally went for broke and slid down to his hips, digging in deep. “Seriously, who else would be doing this to you at three in the freaking morning?”

The boy beneath him jerked and finally started laughing, again muffling himself as much as possible. “I-I dohohohohohohohohohon’t knohohohohohohohohow!” he cried, desperate. “Midoriya?!”

Bakugou felt his blood run cold. He stopped tickling immediately, heart hammering in his chest. Midoriya? Deku would never throw his own name out as a potential guess like that, and even if he did, he wouldn’t use the name Midoriya. He’d probably go with his hero name, that dork. The blonde leapt to his feet and reached out to the wall beside him, feeling for the light switch.

A split second later the room was illuminated, and to his horror, the student lying on the ground with pink cheeks and a confused smile wasn’t Deku. It wasn’t even someone from Class 1-A.

It was Shinsou.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, not saying a word. The purple-haired boy looked just as shocked and embarrassed as Bakugou felt. “Y-You?”

Bakugou suddenly felt panicked – something he didn’t feel often and would never admit to anyone. But it went straight to his heart, and he stared at Shinsou, eyes wide. “Y-You…you?! What the heck are you doing in our dorms, mind-reader?!”

Shinsou’s face went from confused to angry then to a cool, blank slate that the blonde couldn’t read. He got to his feet as well. “I’m not a mind-reader. My quirk is brainwashing. And for your information, I have friends in these dorms that invited me to stay the night. That’s why I’m here.”

“But why are you here? In the kitchen? At three in the morning?!”

“I was thirsty.” Shinsou nodded to Bakugou’s forgotten water bottle lying on the floor nearby. “As were you, it seems.”

With that, the blonde’s panic dissolved, leaving behind nothing but mortification and anger. He glared at Shinsou. “Listen up, idiot. You can’t tell anyone about this. You hear me?”

“I’m also not an idiot. I won’t be bossed around by the likes of you.” Shinsou glared right back. “I told you all, I’m not here to make friends. I don’t want to make enemies, either, but if going against your highness’ demands constitutes making enemies, then so be it.”

“You really want your friends to know that you got caught by me like this?”

Shinsou leveled him with a cool stare. “I have nothing to lose. But it seems you do.” He moved to step around Bakugou, but the blonde moved right back into his path.

“I can make you keep quiet,” Bakugou said around a growl. “If I have to, I can. Just watch me.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Bakugou opened his mouth to retort, then quickly shut it again. He wasn’t an idiot, either. Responding now would give Shinsou an opening, and no way was he about to let that happen. Without another word, he hooked his fingers into the purple-haired boy’s ribs and started up again.

“Gah! Hehehehey, knohohohock it off!” Shinsou demanded, sounding as angry as he could manage around his giggles. “Gehehehehehet off of me! Hey! Atomic bomb! Lehehehehehet go!”

Bakugou ignored him, expertly fighting off his weak efforts to retaliate while simultaneously pinching a hip and getting a squeal in response. So his hips are a bad spot just like Deku’s, huh? Interesting information. He kept going.

“Stop it! Hehehehehehey! Whahahahatever your name is! Get off!” Shinsou shoved at his shoulders, but his movement was weakened by his own laughter as the blonde focused entirely on his hips and stayed there. Shinsou slapped both palms over his mouth to muffle his shriek, his efforts to escape doubling as he wiggled and squirmed. “StahahahahaHAHAP!! Gehehet off, get ohohohohohoff of me! Hehehehehehey!”

It was obvious he was trying to find an opening, but Bakugou was having none of it. Instead he just smirked at him and kept going.

Shinsou growled around his mirth. “F-Fine, yohohohohohou want to plahahahahay it like that?” Suddenly he thrust out his hands to grab at Bakugou’s ribs, forcing the blonde to go on the defensive.

“HEY!! Dohohohohohon’t--!”

Everything went still. Shinsou gasped for breath as he stared at Bakugou’s unmoving, unblinking figure. Finally, he thought, standing up straight and smoothing out his t-shirt. I thought he’d never respond to me. This guy’s a piece of work. If only I could erase memories with my quirk. That would solve this whole problem. But then again… Shinsou chuckled as he leaned down to retrieve his now-empty cup of water, its contents having spilled in the scuffle. It will be rather nice to have something to keep this hothead in his place.

Calmly, leisurely, Shinsou refilled his cup of water, then shut off the lights and strolled past the still-waiting Bakugou on his way to the elevator. Once the doors were closing, he severed his connection to the blonde’s mind and let him go, taking a sip as the mechanism rose. He grinned to himself. He couldn’t wait to tell Kaminari and Midoriya about this.

Bakugou, meanwhile, blinked in confusion for a few moments before realizing what had happened and cursing himself. Blast that smug extra from Class 1-C! He’d pay for this, no doubt about it. Still, the blonde couldn’t help but cringe, only able to imagine the kind of teasing he’d get from Deku once he found out…

[teddy06writes]

The Phantom Of The Opera AU

requested by this anon: “Okay so I know you’re a musical kid so you have probably listened to/heard of Phantom of the Opera. Picture this: Dream as the Phamtom x Fem!reader as Christine x Sapnap as Raul”

Dream x Fem!reader and Sapnap x fem!reader (with dream as the phantom and sapnap as Raul)

trigger warnings: death, dream being a low key creeper, maybe some swears, my general lack of knowledge of this musical

premise: Phantom AU, not neccicarily the full story, its mainly what I’ve seen/read/listened to that I think is important, and like eight of the songs. Ummm, I feel like the summary above is enough for you to get the general idea.

(y/l/n)- your last name

“blep” regular talking

“Belp” singing

When things are in counterpoint, regular text will be (y/n), (text in parenthesis is sapnap), and {bracketed text is Dream}

if you, like me are unfamilliar with the story, this is the summary that arrived in my inbox last night (thank you so much to the person who sent that by the way, it really helped)  

“So basically phantom of the opera is a love triangle between 3 people, the Phantom (P) x Christine (C) x Raul (R). C and R were childhood friends until R had to move away. C grew up in the Opera house with her dad (deceased) as a music writer. C grows up getting “private” singing lessons from P ( he is literally talking to her through a vent ((Among Us omg)) or something idk). Fast forward into the future to present day. C is a ballerina at the opera and one day, the phantom makes the set malfunction so that the lead female opera singer (she’s a jerk. Forgot her name) can’t preform and C has to preform as the lead instead. Coincidentally, the night Christine sings as the lead is the day R comes to see her show and R is like “ooWooga she be fine now ig”. R and C catch up after the show and R goes away for a minute and then P is like “aight C imma kidnap you for a sec with no purpose whatsoever to the plot except for a cool song” and then C returns to her normal life ig. P them sends stuff to the people in charge of the Opera saying “ayo C be pretty fine, let her be the lead again” the people in charge of the opera were like “nah fam, let’s have the person who was supposed to be the lead be the lead”. Upset by this, during the show, P broke the chandelier and it fell into the audience. C is like “I love you uwu” R is like”let’s get engaged” C is like “let’s keep it a secret so the crazy P guy doesn’t find out” and little did they know during that conversation P was hiding and overheard everything and is now sad boi hours. A masquerade happens and P shows up like “ayo I heard you trynna steal my boo” and R is like “nah she my boo” and they duel or whatever. Idk how it transitions to this but the Opera runs another show and they make C the lead to not upset P. However, during a love song (Past the point of no return, it literally slaps), C realizes that the person singing isn’t the original actor, it is P! And then P straight up kidnaps C after the song, takes her to his lair and is like “boo you gotta marry me or I destroy the opera house with everyone inside it” C is like “fine ig” P takes off his mask and reveals he is hiding burn marks and he kisses C and C kisses back. P is like” my mom never even kissed me” and P let’s C go, telling her to go marry R... or you can just watch this video lmao https://youtu.be/4a5nahw3zi8″

On that note, here we go:

{that only goes for the final scene where its all three, it varies otherwise}

{Things I have learned while preparing this story, 1. the actual phantoms name is Erik, like what a nerd, 2. he’s also not actually a ghost??? He’s literally just some creeper who lives in an opera house screwing with people; also yes Eret is the strict lady who yells at everyone and talks to the phantom, deal with it}

{pls send me more musical au asks I really liked doing this, even if it took me a while}

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The ravenous applause of the audience seemed to echo in your ears, even after you had left the stage. 

You’re debut as the female lead in Hannibal had been a smashing success, and as the rest of the chorus girls backstage were saying, it was all thanks to the Phantom scaring Hannah off.  

Niki practically ran up to you from the rehearsal room, “(y/n) that was incredible!” 

You grinned, “Oh I feel like I’m floating Niki! Thank you for volunteering me for the role.” 

“Don’t thank me, Thank whoever's giving you those lessons,” She bumped her hip against yours, grinning cheekily, “And if what the girls are saying is true you’ll have to thank him for getting Hannah out of here.” 

You chuckled, but before you could say anything else Madame Eret was approaching, knocking the end of their cane of the ground, “Miss Nihachu, you are a dancer are you not?” 

Niki nodded. 

“Then get back to rehearsal,” he waited until Niki hurried off to turn to you, “He is most pleased with your performance, here.”

You took the note from him, reading over it quietly, “Red scarf..... the attic.... little lotte?” 

She simply shrugged, leaving you to turn and head up your dressing room. 

As you changed out of your costume from the show you couldn’t help but hum the song that had earned the most applause, “Think of me, think of me of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye.” 

Reaching around you found your dressing gown, pulling it on and tying up the front, “Remember me, once and a while. Please, promise you’ll try...” 

Your words faded off as your sat down at your vanity, beginning to brush out your hair. 

“Where is your red scarf Miss (y/l/n)? I hope you haven’t lost it. Not after all the trouble I went through to retrieve it for you.” 

You turned to see a tall dark hair man standing in the doorway, a grin spreading across your face as he continued, “I was only 14 and soaked to the bone...” 

“Because you ran into the sea to fetch my red scarf!” You exclaimed, jumping up and flinging your arms around him excietedly, “Sapnap! How I’ve missed you!” 

He chuckled, pulling away, and offering you a single red rose, “(y/n)... Little Lotte let her mind wander...” 

“You remember that too?” You asked with a giggle. 

Sapnap smiled and kept singing, “Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls,” 

“Or of goblins or shoes?” You joined in, “Or of riddles of frocks, or chocolates.” 

“Those picnics n the attic...” He reminisced. 

You closed your eyes, remembering those long ago days, “Father playing the violin.” 

“As we read each other those dark stories of the north.” 

“No what I like best, little Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed,” You sang, “And the angel of music sings songs in my head!” 

“The angel of music sings songs in my head.” He repeated softly. 

You smiled at him, an excited fond feeling forming in your stomach as you sank back into your chair,  “Father said, when I am in heaven child I will send the angel of music to you. Well now father is dead, Sapnap. And I have been visited by the angel of music.” 

“Well that is very evident,” He chuckled, taking your hands, “Your performance was wonderful. And now, we shall go to supper.” 

“Oh- sapnap I can’t, the angle of music is very strict.” 

He didn’t seem to understand the urgency in your voice as he laughed again, “Well I shant keep you up late.”

“No- Sapnap, things have changed-”

“You have to change,” He interrupted, “And I have to grab my hat. Two minutes little lotte.” 

As he went out the door you cried after him, “Sapnap! Thing have changed Sapnap!”

But he was out of earshot, and the voice that had become so familiar to you was booming, “Insolate boy! This Slave of fashion basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing my triumph!”

“Angel I hear you! Speak, I listen! Stay by my side and gude me!” You begged up to the ceiling, “Angel my soul was weak! Forgive me! Enter at last master!”

“Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in the shadow I hide, look at your face in the mirror, I am their inside!” 

The voice sounded closer now, and you couldn’t help but look around, “Angel of music! Hide no longer!” 

You turned again, finding yourself face to face with what seemed like a mask, floating in your mirror, “Come to me, strange angel!”

“I am your angel! Come to me angel of music!” 

A shadowy figure seemed to appear behind the smiling mask, a hand outstretched to you. In a daze you stood, grabbing his hand and allowing him to lead you away down a dark pathway.

“Who’s voice is that?” Sapnap asked, knocking on the now closed door, “(y/n) who’s in there?” 

“Come with me angel of music!” Dream, the Phantoms voice echoed again. 

“(y/n)!” 

~~

“In sleep he came to me, the voice which calls to me and speaks my name!” You moved quietly through the passages, following Dream, “And Do I dream again? for now I find, the phantom of the opera is there, inside my mind!” 

“Sing once again with me our strange duet! My power over you grows stronger yet! And though you turn from me to look behind, the phantom of the opera is there! Inside your mind!” He sang, turning back to make sure you were following once more.

The walls of the tunnel seemed to widen, and you could almost make out an empty candle lit space. 

You reached out, fingers almost brushing the edge of his cloak, “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear! I am the mask you wear..”

“It’s me they hear...” 

As you emerged into a cross roads of the tunnels, you sang in tandem, “Your (my) spirit and your (my) voice in one combined, the phantom of the opera is there, inside your (my) mind!” 

He helped you into the boat that waited in one tunnel, before casting off, propelling the boat down the slow moving current, “In all your fantasies, you always knew the man and mystery...” 

“Were both in you....” You sang softly as the boat came to dock in a wide chamber.

Slowly you climbed out of the boat after him, looking around the dank space, and at the organ in the corner. 

Dream pulled off his cloak, “And in this labyrinth where the night is blind..”

“The Phantom of the opera is there! Inside my mind......” 

~~

As the people downstairs argued, you tried to think over what had happened. Was it a dream? It didn’t seem like it, but still, a man appearing in her looking glass? Taking her away and singing words of praise, words of love, words that made nearly no sense now that it was day, and a haze covered your memory. 

The one thing that remained clear was the monster she had found beyond the mask.

All too soon it seemed you were being rushed into rehearsals, being told you no longer had a speaking role, as Hannah had returned, and was back to her diva ways. 

Rehearsals that would normally drag on seemed to go quicker now, and soon you and the rest of the girls were getting ready for the performance. 

“This is ridiculous,” Niki muttered as she adjusted her costume, “You should be playing the duchess, not Hannab.” 

“Hannah is the featured soprano. She’s always the lead.” You retorted. 

“But how will Sapnap know to look for you in the chorus?” Niki teased.

You elbowed her, laughing lightly, “Shut up. Besides I doubt the phantom would let him see me again.”

The show had gone well, at least until the fifth scene. 

All the music stopped abruptly as a voice boomed, “Did I not instruct that box five was to be left empty?”

“He’s here: The Phantom Of The Opera!” Niki cried from offstage. 

Your head jerked up to turn and look at the audience, “It’s Dream!” 

“Your part is silent, you toad!” Hannah snapped. 

From somewhere up in the audience Dream frowned, “A toad Madame? Perhaps it is you who is the toad...” 

Hanna opened her mouth to continue on her script, but no sound seemed to come out, save for what was close the a croak. 

The men who had bought the opera house, Wilbur and Tommy were coming rushing down from their box, “Ladies and gentlemen we apologize! The performance will continue in ten minutes time, with Miss (y/l/n) as the duchess!”

Tommy nodded as Wilbur finished, “And for now, we will give you the ballet, from act three of tonight's show!” 

The ballet didn’t last long, as when you returned to the wings dressed for the new role you had been given, someone let out a horrified scream.

“What the-” 

You were cut off as you looked up to see Shlatt, the stagehand in charged of the curtains, hanging from the rigging, a noose fully tightened around his neck. 

“Ladies and gentlemen remain calm! It was just an accident- remain calm!” Someone shouted. 

Through the darkness you could make out Dream’s menacing figure, the smiling mask watching you threateningly as you clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the scream that had ripped at your throat. 

“(y/n)? (y/n) are you alright?” Sapnap had run down onto the stage in all the chaos. 

“We- we have to get out of here,” You choked, grabbing his hand, “We aren’t safe here.” 

He didn’t seem to understand the reason behind your panic, but even so he offer you his arm, “Lets leave then.” 

~~

Twenty minutes later you ended up in an empty park, the panic that filled your chest not yet fading as Sapnap asked, “Why have you brought me here?”

“We can’t go back there!” You exclaimed. 

“But we must return.” He gripped your hands, “Darling their bound to be missing you.” 

You shook your head, “Sapnap- He’ll kill you! His eyes will find us there!” 

“(y/n), don’t say that! It’s okay (y/n), it’s okay!” 

You looked up into the darkened sky, “No it’s not- no it’s not- Those eyes that burn!” 

“Don’t even think it!” He cried desperately. 

You couldn’t tell whether you were trembling from fear, or from the cold, as you sang, “And if he has to kill a thousand men....” 

“Forget this waking nightmare!” Sapnap insisted. 

“....The phantom of the opera will kill.” You sang distractedly. 

He gripped your shoulders, “This phantom is a fable, (y/n), believe me!” 

“And kill again....” You shuddered at the idea of Dream doing anything to Sapnap. 

Both of you sang, “God who is this man, who hunts to kill? (this mask of death?)

“I can’t escape him!” You cried. 

He shook his head, “Whose voice is it you hear...”

“...I never will!” 

“With every breath?” 

His grip on your shoulders tightened, pulling you closer to him as you both sang, “And in this labyrinth where light is blind, the phantom of the opera is there, inside my (your) mind!”

“There is no Phantom of the Opera!” 

“Sapnap- I’ve been there, inside his world of never ending light! To a world where daylight dissolves into darkness, darkness! Sapnap I’ve seen him!” You cried. “Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape that face? So distorted, disformed it was hardly a face!  in the darkness, darkness. But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound in that night there was music in my mind And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before!” 

“What you had was a dream and nothing more!” 

You could hardly look up at him, “yet in his eyes was all the sadness in the world! Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore!” 

“(y/n), (y/n)!”  Sapnap exclaimed. 

“.....(y/n)......” A different voice seemed to cry into the night. 

You gasped, pressing yourself against Sapnap, “What was that?” 

He hugged you tightly, before pulling back and singing gently, “No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears. I’m here, and nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you.” 

You relaxed into his grip, listening to his quiet voice, “Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears, I’m here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you.” 

“Say you love me, every waking moment. Turn my head and talk of summer time,” You looked up at him, biting your lip, “Say you need me now and always, promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you.” 

“Let me be your shelter, let me be your light, you are safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.” He assured you, smiling softly. 

 “All I want is freedom, a world with no more night. And you to always be beside me, to hold me and to hide me.” You admitted. 

Sapnap’s smile grew wider, “Then say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too, (y/n), that's all I ask of you.” 

“Say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time,” You repeated, “Say the word, and I’ll follow you.” 

“Share each day with me, each night, each morning.” You sang together as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Say you love me?” 

He smiled, whispering, “You know I do.” 

“Love me- that's all I ask of you.” You both sang, before he leaned in to gently press a kiss to your lips, “Any where you go, let me go too. Love me- thats all I ask of you.” 

Sapnap kissed you again, before pulling away, “We could go anywhere- we could be married! You would marry me, yes?” 

“Oh, yes, Sapnap, yes I would. If you’d have me.” You nodded, eagerly. 

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You couldn’t help but giggle, before turning back toward the direction of the opera house, “I must go back, they’ll wonder where I am. Wait for me Sapnap!” 

“(y/n), I love you!” He exclaimed. 

“Wait for me, Sapnap. Order your finest horses and being waiting by the door.” You could go back, and continue working at the opera house, there was nothing left for you to fear while Sapnap was there.

“And soon you’ll be beside me!” He chuckled.

You grinned, “To guard me and too guide me!” 

Sapnap offered you his arm again, and you headed off out of the park, toward the opera house. 

Slowly, Dream slinked from the shadows where he had watched the proposal, “I gave you my music, made your song take wing. And now your repaid me, denied and betrayed me.” 

He groaned running a hand through his hair, “He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing. (y/n)- oh (y/n)-”

He was cut off by the sounds of your voices drifting down the street, Say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time, Say the word, and I’ll follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

Dream’s hands flew to his ears, desperate to block out the sounds- he had been so sure that you could’ve loved him, but now Sapnap was stealing you away. 

“You will curse the day you did not do, all that the phantom asked of you!” He bellowed. 

~~

The following weeks at the opera house were a blur of panic masked by busyness, Wilbur and Tommy refusing to let the disaster of the chandelier falling from keeping the company from working on their next performance. 

You kept on working, the ring on the chain Sapnap had given you around your neck helping you to feel safe, even as the chorus girls cited the Phantom for the cause of all the distress. 

Now you were back in your dressing room, getting ready for dinner with Sapnap.

“Wander child, so lost, so helpless,” A soft voice seemed to drift down from no where, “Yearning for my guidance.” 

You looked up at the ceiling, “angel or father? Friend or phantom? Who is it their staring?” 

“Have you forgotten your angel?” The voice murmured, Dream appearing once again in your mirror. 

You turned to him, almost in a trance, “angel, oh, speak, what endless longings, echo in this whisper.” 

Sapnap, having arrived to the opera house appeared in the door, watched as you moved toward the phantom. 

“Too long you’ve wandered the winter...” Dream continued to sing, hand outstretched to you. 

“Once again she is his.” Sapnap sang, as you started to cross the room toward the mirror where the phantom stood. 

“...far from my far reaching eyes.” 

“Wildly my mind beats against you....” You sang, transfixed. 

Behind the mask Dream grinned, “You resist. Yet your soul obeys.” 

“Once again she returns, to the arms of her angel. Angel or demon? Still he calls her, luring her back from the grave. Angel or dark seducer? Who are you strange angel?” Sapnap sang, again, more to himself than you or Dream. 

Dream beckoned you forward again,  “I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music!”

“Angel of darkness, cease this torment!” Sapnap exclaimed, moving into the room properly and drawing attention to himself. 

Dream unbothered, continued to sing, “I am your angle of music! Come to me angel of music!” 

“(y/n), (y/n) listen to me! Whatever you may believe- this thing, this man is not your father!”  Sapnap yelled, “(y/n)! Let her go! For gods sake let her go!” 

Jarred by his sudden yell, you turned, the trance broken, “Sapnap...” 

Dream, unimpressed, began to clap, deadpanning, “Bravo monsieur. Such spirited words.” 

“No more tricks monsieur!” Sapnap yelled, stepping forward to put himself between you and Dream. 

“Oh, but that's not any fun. Why don’t you come closer, sir? Keep coming this way.” 

Sapnap, not liking to be challenged, stepped forward, “You cannot win her love by holding her prisoner!” 

“No- Sapnap don’t!” You grabbed his hand, pulling him back. 

He nodded resolutely, gripping your hand as you both moved toward the door, “Lets go then, no more time will be spent with this monster.” 

“Don’t go!” Dream wailed as you hurried away down the hall, “Now let it be war upon you both!” 

~~

Something was going wrong, of course it was, because when was it not?

Your entrance in Don Juan Triumphant had gone according to plan, but the man who had stepped out as Don Juan was not George, as it should have been.

You steeled yourself, trying to come up with a logical reason.

George must have gotten sick, and a stand in had taken his place, yes that must be it.

“Past the point of no return, no backward glances, the games we played till now, are at an end.” The man sang, “Past all thought of ‘if’ or ‘when’, no use resisting, abandon that thought and let the dream descend.”

Your panic seemed to rise, the double meaning in his words filling you with dread.

“What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire locks the door? What sweet seduction lies before is? Past the point of no return, the final thread hold. What unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return.”

You moved carefully to your next mark, trying to work out who it was in George’s place, “You have brought me, to the moment when words run dry, to the moment when speech disappears into silence, silence.

I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why, in my mind I already imagined, our bodies entwined. Defenseless and silent, now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I’ve decided, decided.”

You just barley stopped from trembling as you realized, it was Dream, “Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now, at last, begun. Past all thought of right and wrong. One final question: how long should we two wait, before we’re one?”

“When will the blood being to race? When will the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?” You finished, taking an only slightly shaky breath.

The phantom grabbed your hand as you both sang, “Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn, we’ve past the point of no return!”

Everyone in the audience seemed to hold their breath, they too knew that this was not George. The cloak that had hidden Dreams mask fell, and they gasped upon seeing the plaster smiling face.

He grinned behind the mask, and punctuated, “Say you’ll share with me, one love, one lifetimes lead me, save me from my solitude.”

The words stung even before he pulled out a ring, holding it out to you, “come with me, or this whole place will come down upon us.”

Slowly you looked to the audience, Sapnap was standing in the isle, looking worried.

You couldn’t let him get hurt.

You nodded reluctantly, as he continued, “say you want me by your side anywhere you go let me go too, (y/n) that’s all I ask of-“

Slowly, you reached up, pulling the mask off his face, revealing the terribly scared face to the world.

The gasps turned into horrible screams as a curtain was raised, and Georges body tumbled onto the stage.

Almost immediately Dream flung his cloak around you, disappearing.

Sapnap ran up onto the stage, along with the crew, police officers and other patrons.

“Sapnap! Sapnap you’ve got to come with me!” Eret cried, rushing out onto the stage.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Sapnap!” They yelled again, “I know where they are!”

“But can I trust you?” He demanded.

She nodded, “yes, and remember, keep your hand up at eye level.”

“Why?”

“Punjab lasso.” Was all he offered in explication as he led Sapnap away.

~~

Soon enough Sapnap was creeping through the shadows of the phantoms layer, watching as he tried to place a wedding veil on your head, “Too bad pity comes to late, turn around and face your fate, an entirety of this before your eyes!”

You turn to face him, looking up at the mess of scares that cover his face, “this haunted face holds no horror for me now, it is in your soul that the true distortion lies.”

The phantom turned suddenly, to Sapnaps hiding place, “Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest! Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come And now my wish comes true— you have truly made my night!”

“Free her!” Sapnap yelled, stepping into the light, “do what you want to me but let her go!”

“Your lover makes a passionate plea.” Dream laughed at you.

“Sapnap it’s useless!” You cried.

Sapnap shook his head, “I love her! Does that mean anything To you? I love her! Show some compassion!”

“The world showed no compassion to me!” Dream retorted.

He reached out toward you, “(y/n), (y/n), please let me see her!”

Dream grinned maliciously, “be my guest.”

Sapnap rushed forwards, as Dream contiued to taunt, “Monsuier, i bid you welcome, did you think that I would hurt her? Why should I make her pay, for the sins which are yours?” 

As he finished the last words the Punjab lasso came sailing out, and Sapnap barley had time to fling his arm back up as he was dragged back, the only thing keeping him from hanging being the fingers he’d wrangled between the rope and his neck. 

“No!” You cried, struggling to your feet. 

“Order your fine horses now!” Dream yelled, “Nothing now can save you, except maybe... (y/n).” 

You stood, shaking as he turned to you, “Start a new life with me- buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me now and send your lover to his death! This is the choice, this is the point of no return!” 

“(y/n), forgive me, please forgive me, I did it all for you, and all for nothing.” Sapnap sang, looking at you desperately.  

At the same time you turned toward Dream, “Farewell my fallen idol, and my false friend, one by one my delusions shattered.” 

“Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!” Dream sang.

“{all hope of cries for help, no point in fighting!} (say you love and my life is over, either way you choose, he has to win!) {for ether way you choose, you cannot win! So do you end your days with me or do you send him to his grave?}”

“Why make her lie to you, to save me?” Sapnap yelled. 

You looked between them desperately, “Angel of music..... {past the point of no return!} (For pity’s sake (y/n) say no! Don’t throw your life away for my sake!) Who deserves this? When will you see reason? {The Final threshold! His life is now the prize you must earn! You’ve passed the point of no return....}”

You looked at Dream, no longer trying to hide the fear that coursed through your veins, “Angel of music, you have deceived me, I gave myself blindly to you.” 

“You try my patience! Make your choice!” Dream yelled. 

Looking back at sapnap for a moment you stepped forward, whatever it would take, you would keep him safe, “Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone.” 

Reaching out, you took the mask from his hand, tossing it to the side as he moved closer to you as well. 

Before you could hardly blink he was kissing you, and with little more than a second thought you kissed back. 

Sapnap watched, in partials horror, until the phantom drew back, shaking as he whispered, “No one has ever kissed me- not even my own mother.” 

You nodded, and then suddenly Dream began to move across the room, grabbing a knife from somewhere as he stalked up to Sapnap.

He paused for a beat, and you could feel the terror in the room- until he slashed at the rope, and Sapnap fell the ground. 

You rushed over to him, kneeling beside him, “Sapnap! oh Sapnap!” 

“Take her,” dream wailed, “Take her and forget me, forget all of this! Leave me alone- forget all you’ve seen....”

Sapnap struggled to his feet, holding you close to him as he backed towards the channel. 

“Take the boat, leave me here, go now, please!” 

The sounds of the mob looking for Georges murderer seemed to grow louder as they grew closer.

“Hurry! Now before its too late!” Dream yelled. 

Sapnap hurriedly started to help you into the boat, but you pulled away, moving back to the Phantom, long enough to hand him the ring. 

Then you were off, turning to Sapnap as the current carried the boat away, “I’m sorry Sapnap- I couldn’t let him hurt you- I couldn’t!” 

“Shhh. It’s alright (y/n), it’s alright. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He murmured, pulling you into his arms.

“Say you’ll share with me, one love one lifetime.” You sang shakily.

Sapnap nodded, “Say the word and I’ll follow you.”

“Share each day with me, each night, each morning...” The sounds of your voices traveled back up the tunnel for Dream to hear. 

He sighed, looking resolutly into the distance, “You alone can make my song take flight- It’s over now, the music of the night!”

[artificialqueens]

Drunk in Love (Gottrosenali) - Writworm42

A/N: Mik gets very, very drunk and acts even dumber than usual. His boyfriends come to reign him in. TW for heavy alcohol use/drunkeness. Thank you x1000000 to Holtz for beta-ing <3 title from Drunk in Love by Beyonce.

Rosé had never thought of himself as old, not really. Sure, he jokes about it, especially on days where he sleeps wrong and strains his neck or his back hurts for no reason, or nights where he just can’t keep his eyes open past eleven. But he can still party, still drink, still recovers quickly from even the most stunt-heavy gigs. So he’s not old, or so he used to think.

Then he and Denali started dating Mik.

Mik isn’t unreasonable; he’s happy to spend a quiet night at home now and again. But ninety percent of the time, even when he’s not working, he wants to go out to the club or the bar, some friend’s party or some event he saw on Instagram. And that’s fine; Denali and Rosé will come along, make an appearance and have fun for a few hours.

It’s when it’s the fourth night in a row that Mik expects them to be out until 3 AM that’s the real problem. As young and hip as both of them still claim to be, keeping up with Mik is like trying to play tag with the energizer bunny. The kid can drink them both under the table and still be up the next day with only a mild headache, and he can dance in heels for the entire night without needing to take them off. Hell, Rosé has seen Mik up at 4:30 AM before while looking completely unbothered, and when he wakes up at noon the next day he’s not even so much as a little bit groggy.

So it’s no surprise that sometimes, Denali and Rosé have to bow out to recover from the adventures Mik drags them into, instead staying home to watch the news and head to bed early.

Not that that makes them old. It doesn’t.

Really. It doesn’t.

Unfortunately, his body doesn’t seem to agree with him when he’s snapped out of sleep one night by his phone ringing, his eyes sore from the strain of being kept open as he gropes around in the dark for the source of the blaring noise.

“Wha—Rosie?” Denali stirs beside him, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he sits up and watches Rosé answer the call.

“It’s 2 o’clock in the morning, Kandy, what could you possibly need?” he hisses, too tired and pissed to care if Kandy hears him clearly over the thumping music in the background.

“You need to come get your man!” Kandy practically screams, causing Rosé to jerk back and bring his phone away from his ear. “Like, now!”

Jesus Christ.

Rosé is about to ask what Mik has done, but he’s cut off by screaming in the background, a very familiar one that he instantly recognizes as his boyfriend’s.

“ Whozzat Kandlee whozzit whozzit OH MY GOD IS IT PIZZA? Gagged oh my gag, I want pizza can you call pizza make it extra pep—Pepe—fuck, just make it cheese—“

Rosé pinches the bridge of his nose when the next thing he hears is a series of thuds and then a little WHOO followed by peals of Mik’s drunken laughter.

“We have to go get him, don’t we?” Denali flops back down onto his pillow with a groan, and it almost pains Rosé to nod, poking his partner to get him up again.

“Send me the address, we’ll be there ASAP.”

—

The club is loud and dark, flashes of coloured lights exploding every few seconds but still not quite managing to illuminate much more than the silhouettes of people packed into every square inch of the room, dancing against each other or standing with drinks in hand, yelling over the beat vibrating the floor under Rosé’s feet as he walks. Behind him, Denali’s hand squeezes his shoulder, the other man holding on tightly so as not to get lost as they scan through the chaos to try and find their boyfriend.

Not that they have to look for long; they’re only about halfway through the dancefloor when Mik’s voice catches their ears, loud and hoarse and slurring so much they can hardly understand what he’s screaming.

One look at who he’s screaming at, though, and they already know that whatever’s going on can’t be good.

“Hey, hey, asshole! Hey, I said fight me! Come on, you afraid? Fight me fight me fight me!” Mik is screeching in the face of a man twice his size as he fights against Kandy’s hold, trying to get closer to the guy. To his credit, the stranger doesn’t even bat an eye, just ignores Mik like he’s a fly buzzing around him. Which, size- and muscles-wise, Mik pretty much is.

“Oh, fuck, thank God you guys are here,” Kandy grunts as Rosé and Denali push themselves over to the scene, sighing deeply in tandem as Mik continues to wriggle in his friend’s arms. “I don’t even know what his problem is, he just saw this guy and decided he want to fight him--”

“That’s right, that’s right-- HEY!” Mik catches sight of Denali and Rosé and immediately stills, grinning widely, and for a moment, Rosé thinks it’s over, that just the sight of them has tamed drunk-Mik enough that he won’t antagonize the meathead still miraculously ignoring him any more.

It’s wishful thinking, though, because not even a moment later, Mik is turning back to the guy, eyes narrowing as he hisses, “My boyfriends are here now, they’ll fuck you up, you wait and see--”

Of course, it’s just their luck that it’s that threat that finally wakes the troll, the guy turning to stare at he and Denali and frowning deeply before he puts his drink back down on the bar and stands up from his seat, immediately towering over them.

“Listen, I don’t know what your guys’ problem is--” the man clenches his jaw, fists balling by his sides, and wow , his pecs are huge, like size-of-Mik’s-head huge, and if one of them doesn’t say something fast, Rosé just knows that all four of them are gonna wind up getting thrown through a wall.

So he smiles, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before stepping forward and laying a hand on the guy’s shoulder.

“Listen, mama. I’m gonna level with you, okay?” He locks eyes with the man, who doesn’t look particularly impressed, but who nonetheless listens as Rosé continues, “It’s two-thirty in the morning. I just got here. My back hurts just standing right now, and I’m going to wake up with a splitting migraine tomorrow. My boyfriend is drunk out of his mind, and between you and me, even when he’s not, he’s an absolute idiot. Neither of us came to fight you. We just wanna take him home, put him to bed, and then possibly ground him for the rest of his life after he wakes up and has nothing but Advil for breakfast tomorrow. What do you say, baby, can you let us off scott-free just this once?” he winks, hoping that seals the deal, and either it works or the man just doesn’t care enough, because he rolls his eyes, breaking free of Rosé’s touch and climbing back into his seat with a huff.

“Whatever, man. Just get his drunk ass home.”

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be a satisfactory answer for Mik, who finally breaks free from Kandy, surging forward and pointing towards the man.

“Hey, asshole! This isn’t over, I’m gonna--”

Before he can finish, though, Rosé picks the younger boy up and tosses him over his shoulder without another word, ignoring the kicking and screaming and tossing one last apologetic smile and wink to the man before following Denali back through the crowd and out of the club.

The ride home is tense, Denali having to turn up the radio all the way to keep himself awake at the wheel while Rosé attempts to keep a singing Mik from unbuckling his seatbelt to climb up front. Thank God the club isn’t too far from their apartment; by the time they’ve parked, Mik isn’t even singing the same songs as the radio anymore, and the not-so-dulcet screeches aren’t exactly music to Rosé’s ears, especially not this late, when he’s this annoyed.

“Can you just please, please be quiet?” he growls as he unbuckles the younger man, scooping him up again to carry him towards the building’s door. There’s no real need for the request, though; because the minute they reach the elevator, Rosé realizes with a jolt that Mik has gone completely quiet.

“Is he asleep or dead?” Denali peers over as Rosé looks down at the man in his arms, genuinely wondering the same. But then Mik lets out a quiet snore, and both Rosé and Denali breathe out a sigh of relief.

Good; it means tomorrow they’ll be able to kill him themselves.

—

It’s almost eleven o’clock the next morning when Mik finally trudges out of bed, squinting and frowning against the sunlight that trickles in through the kitchen window.

“Well, if it isn’t sleeping ugly,” Rosé teases, grinning in petty delight when Mik doesn’t respond, only flips him off before collapsing into the seat beside him at the table. “Feeling good after last night?”

“I legitimately feel like I’m going to die.” Mik groans, putting his head down on the table in front of him.

“Here, have some water instead.” Denali suggests kindly, coming around the kitchen counter to put down a large glass full of ice water in front of the younger man, followed by an extra-strength Advil and extra-strength Tylenol tucked in a napkin. Mik takes them both in one big swig, gulping down the water like he’s found a stream in the desert and not stopping until the glass is empty save for the few cubes he hasn’t sucked into his mouth to crunch on.

“Was I really that drunk?” Mik asks, wincing at the tiny thump the glass makes as he sets it back down on the table. “‘Cause honestly, you guys, I don’t remember any of it, but I don’t usually get this hungover--”

“When we came to pick you up, a dude the size of Everest was about to pound your ass into the ground, and not in the good way, so yes, you really were that drunk.” Rosé snorts, and he has to admit, it’s kind of satisfying to see Mik’s eyes bug out of his head when he realizes the trouble he’d caused, the danger he’d put himself--and, by extension, Rosé, Denali, and Kandy--in.

“Holy shit,” he starts, “Guys, I’m—“

“We know,” Denali ruffles Mik’s hair before walking back into the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning its contents, “It’s okay.”

“As long as you’re safe.” Rosé affirms, and as much as he wants to keep being bitter, he means it—he really would take a thousand sleepless nights for the man sitting beside him.

“Thanks for understanding.” Mik sighs out in relief, leaning back in his chair.

In the kitchen, Denali begins to take food out of the fridge, placing coconut oil, flour, and vegan bacon on the counter, and Rosé can’t help but roll his eyes and smile when he sees Mik eye the ingredients hungrily.

“Tell you what, baby, how bout you go back to sleep, and we’ll call you when breakfast is ready, ‘kay?”

Mik just nods, licking his lips, before standing up and beginning to head back towards the bedroom. He stops, though, when he hears Rosé’s voice piping up one more time.

“Oh, and Kade?” Rosé’s petty streak comes back just a little when Mik freezes at hearing his real name, satisfaction tickling at Rosé’s chest when Mik turns around to face him again, swallowing hard.

“Yeah?”

“You ever pull that shit again, Kandy’s stuffing your ass in an Uber and you’re sleeping on the couch.”

[aalissy]

Kittens

Day 21 is done and oh my goodness I can’t believe we’re this far into April :O. I hope you guys like this little chapter though!! I’m definitely going to miss writing these two when April’s over! Anywho, lemme know what you think of this chapter <3

AO3

“Oh my goodness, who is this little guy?!” Marinette practically squealed, feeling all of her previous nerves ebb away as she rushed into Adrien’s room. While before she had felt like she was going to pass out from having to go to his house for a school project, now she felt like she had won the lottery.

There was a small, black kitten perched delicately on Adrien’s couch, licking a paw before it blinked up at her curiously. Cooing quietly at it, she scratched underneath its chin, giggling as it swatted at her hand lightly. 

Adrien laughed softly, leaning against the wall as he watched the two of them. “So, you’re not going to greet me, then?”

Marinette’s mouth fell open before she immediately straightened up from where she was crouching to pet the kitten. Her face turned a bright red as she worried her lower lip. “S-sorry Adrien, I-I might have gotten a bit distracted. Hello!”

The black cat swiped at her hand once again and her attention immediately left him to resume petting the tiny animal. Its bright green eyes looked up at her playfully as she stroked the soft fur. Enraptured by the kitten as she was, Marinette barely noticed Adrien push off from the wall to come join her. It was only when he crouched down next to her and their shoulders brushed lightly that she realized he was there.

Joining her in petting the cat, he murmured, “She must like you, you know. She’s not usually this trusting of strangers.”

Marinette ducked her head shyly, biting her lower lip as his compliment filled her with butterflies. Stuttering slightly, she said, “O-oh, really? What’s her name?”

“Ladynoire,” he said, giving a quiet, almost adoring sigh as the kitten began to purr.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as her head whipped around to face him. He named his cat after her. Trying to quell her racing heart, she gave him a soft giggle, an amused smirk teasing at her lips. “Ladynoire, really? Why not Chaton Noire. I think that’d fit her and she’d be named after the usual black-cat superhero.”

The kitten mewed happily, almost as though she were responding to Marinette’s words. Her smile grew wider as she scratched Ladynoire, cooing sweetly at her. The cat seemed to very much enjoy the attention she was receiving, purring loudly at the two of them. 

“Aw, see? She does like the name.” Marinette laughed as she looked from the kitten to Adrien. Was her mind playing tricks on her or did he really have a light pink flush to his cheeks?

He simply chuckled, shaking his head with a pleased grin on his lips. “I think I’ll stick with Ladynoire, actually, but thanks for the suggestion.”

Marinette nodded lightly. She still filed the name away for future reference though, just in case she and Adrien ever decided to adopt kittens once they got married. Little Chaton Noire and Ladynoire would be the best of friends. Still focused on the small cat as she was, she didn’t notice Adrien stand up until his hand entered her vision. Blinking at it, she slowly lifted her head up to gaze into his amused, green eyes.

He jerked his head over to his desk. “Suppose we had better get started on the project now, though.”

Marinette turned a bright red before hesitantly placing her hand in his. She let him pull her up before following him over to his computers. The kitten gave a tiny, disappointed mewl and she gave the animal one last longing look over her shoulder. Sliding into the extra chair Adrien must have set up for her, she pulled out her notebook which held all of her recent notes. 

Tapping her pencil on the journal, Marinette looked at him curiously. “So, why did your family decide to get a kitten?”

At that, Adrien turned his head to look at her almost desperately. Her eyes widened as it almost seemed as if he was pleading with her. Seriously, he placed a hand over hers before sucking in a deep breath of air. “Marinette, you can’t tell them.”

“What? Why not?” She blinked at him, looking back at the kitten that was watching them curiously.

“Well,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “They don’t actually know about her. Knowing my father, he’d probably take her away from me and I really don’t want to lose her.”

Her brow furrowed before she nodded her head passionately. Marinette’s fist clenched as she gave him a determined look. “Of course I won’t tell anyone, Adrien! You have my word! Besides, I think I’ve gotten attached to little Ladynoire, too.”

Said kitten jumped onto the desk, mewing at the two of them before nudging her head against Marinette’s palm. She giggled, scratching the kitten again as it purred happily.

Adrien laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I think she may be a little attached to you, too.”

“She’s such a pretty little kitty!” Marinette cooed happily before tapping its nose playfully. Ladynoire swatted her hand away after that and she watched in amusement as the cat jumped off of the desk.

Picking her pencil back up, she gave Adrien a sheepish smile before apologizing, “Sorry for getting so distracted. I love animals, especially kittens.” Her thoughts trailed over to her partner, who would probably be delighted to see little Ladynoire. 

“No, you’re fine,” Adrien said, shaking his head, “Besides, I think we both got a little distracted by her.”

Marinette allowed herself to gaze one more time at the small animal who had gone back to lounge on Adrien’s couch before she poured her full attention back on the project. Together, they worked in tandem on their paper. 

For the first time, she actually really enjoyed having a group project. Usually, she and Alya would start laughing and teasing each other when they were partners. With Adrien, though, it was different. Whenever she had a question, he was able to easily answer it and whenever he would struggle with a certain part, she always seemed to find the solution for it. Marinette was surprised by how quickly they finished because she had assumed that it was going to take forever. Because of how well they worked together, though, it didn’t take them that long at all. 

After she had slowly put all of her notes and papers in her backpack, she turned back to Adrien with a grateful smile. “Thanks for letting me come over today, Adrien. I think we have a really great project right now. I’ll probably read it over again tonight just to double-check that there are no errors.”

He stood up with her, walking her over towards the door. “Thank you for coming today, Marinette. I had a great time working with you. Usually, whenever Nino and I are partners, we waste more time listening to music and talking than actually working.”

She giggled lightly, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip shyly. “I’m the same with Alya.”

Adrien opened his mouth to speak again but before he could, Ladynoire gave a small meow. Marinette’s gaze softened as she went over to the small kitten. Petting her one last time, she looked up at Adrien before murmuring, “Do you mind if I bake some treats for her and give them to you at school tomorrow?”

“Or you could always come back over and give them to her yourself?” A small smile played at his lips as he watched the two of them.

Marinette blinked a few times as her lips parted. Eventually, she flushed, speaking softly, “O-oh, are you sure I’d be allowed over again?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head at her as she stood up and walked over to stand beside him again. “I can always just say we haven’t completed the project yet and need another day.”

Giggling shyly, she nibbled on her lower lip. She and Adrien actually had plans to see each other again?! Alya was going to be so proud of her. Giving him a bright beam, she nodded her head. “I’d love to come over again, Adrien.”

“Great!” he perked up. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Marinette gave him a small wave before blowing a small kiss over to the tiny cat, “And I promise to bring you some delicious treats too, little lady.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up at that before he spoke excitedly, “Do you think you could bring me a croissant or two, as well?”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Marinette nodded her head. “Sure, Adrien. I can bring you a couple treats too.”

After giving those last, parting words, she walked out of his room to begin her journey home. She couldn’t stop the wide beam that slowly stretched across her lips, still not able to believe that she basically got another hang-out session with Adrien tomorrow. Pumping her fist in the air once she was safely outside and away from prying eyes, Marinette cheered excitedly. She was going to make certain that the food she made for them was the best ever. Both Ladynoire and Adrien deserved it! Already planning what she was going to bake in her mind, Marinette started walking towards the bakery.

[sirsharp-a]

ALEENA. ❜  ( 3 )

Summary:  Owing a favour on this side of town is never a good thing. Warnings:  N/A, just a bit of fun/fluff. Part:  1  |  2  |  3 |

    “So this is what the famous Aces do in their free time?”

    “Hell yeah,”   Fayze replied, swinging the plastic gun back into its slot.  The  YOU SURVIVED  screen lingered for a few seconds before flitting back to a simple demand for credits.   “Gotta decompress somehow, right?  How better than to kick the shit outta some zombies?”

    “We prefer to play games together,”   Seb chimed in, eyes drawn to the latest addition to their troupe.  He couldn’t say he minded having such a pretty girl following them around.  She came across as somebody he could get along with, tough to truly please but ultimately content to go with the flow.  People who wanted for too much only annoyed him.   “Better not to incite any sort of competition between two collaborative musicians, right?”

    “Right,”   Fayze agreed, slinging an arm around his bandmate’s shoulders.   “No need to keep scores between friends.”

    The first thing immediately noticeable about them, aside from their lavish house and their material wealth, was just how close they were.  Though she’d only been in their lives for a grand total of an hour or so, she could see that their bond went beyond playing music on stage.  They did everything together, as if they were two halves of the same vessel, and they did very little to foster resentment between one another.  Any opportunity for envy or bitterness to arise seemed to be quickly quelled by two young men that had nothing to rely on but each other.  That much, at least, she could respect.

    There are too many fake people in this district.  Too many relationships that aren’t real.  They sell you happiness through a screen, and when you can’t live up to it you wonder what’s wrong with you.  Why you can’t be happy like the people in the movies.

    “What sorta games do you like?”

    “Huh?”   It felt as if the world had slammed into her, distracted mind dragged forcibly back to the present.  For a moment, she felt strangely out of her element, the 8-bit trills and the automated voices accompanying overpriced video games phasing into one monotonous ringing sound.  The jazzy carpet multiplied, neon lights bleaching her skin varying shades of baby pink and blue.  Eventually:   “Uh…  I like the dance machines.”

    “Oh shit.”     “Hold up.”

    Both boys stared at her for a few seconds before Fayze exploded into a giddy series of bounces.  He remained in place, like somebody playing with a pogo-stick, but his excitement was evident--  infectious, even, for Seb soon began to smile.

    “We’re SICK at those!  C’mon, c’mon, we should play a few rounds.”     “Oh, I don’t know…”     “Oh come on!  It’ll be fun.  Plus, you get to see Seb jerk it out to Waka Laka.”     “If you choose that song, I’m out.”

    Before either of them could protest further, Fayze looped an arm with one theirs and dragged them towards the machine.  They were largely unoccupied, people gravitating towards casino machines and shooting games instead.  That suited their purposes just fine.  If nothing else, they wouldn’t have to come off of them until they ran out of credits--  or until they grew tired of it.

    Fayze fed the slot some coins, watching as the screen lit up.  A catchy theme song began to play as a list of playable tracks was displayed, ready for their seasoned perusal.  His arm swept outwards, back bent in the form of an overdramatic bow.   “The floor is yours, Aleena.”

    “W-Wait, I thought…”     “Show me what you can do!”

    Part of her wanted to refuse.  The last thing she needed to do was make a mistake in front of two people that she idolised, but if she couldn’t afford to laugh at herself…  hell, they’d probably dislike her more.  Nobody liked a stick in the mud--  not even if said stick was pretty, or witty, or a prescribed girlfriend. 

    Trying to muster up confidence, Aleena allowed herself to smirk, stepping up onto the panel.   “Fine.  But I’m picking my own tune.”

    There was an obvious hesitation marking the start of her routine, the sort of bashfulness that could only be brought on by a distinct need to not embarrass oneself.  However, by the time the first round was through with, she’d largely forgotten about her prestigious audience, her attention wholly ensnared by the rhythm.  By the time her conclusive score came up on screen, she was basking in the golden light of an impressive 93% accuracy.

    “DAMN!  You’re good,”   offered Seb, genuinely a little surprised.  Most people didn’t get those sorts of scores if they were casual players ( which in and of itself was fine too, not everybody had copious amounts of free time to blow on video games ).  It made him wonder about her history with the game.   “But it’s our turn now.”

    “Waka Laka, Waka Laka, Waka Laka--”     “We’re playing Chrome Vox first, man.”

     Aleena supposed that the least surprising thing about this entire ordeal was the fact that two electronically-based musicians from Vidé were fans of clubstep music.

    “Holy shit!”   she exclaimed as she watched the arrows begin to fall.  Trapped in her thoughts, she hadn’t paid attention to the settings they’d chosen, stunned to see a flurry of directional cues flying past at record speed.  What was more surprising was the streak of constant ‘perfect!’s.  It certainly suited the chaotic nature of the track, but by God was she going dizzy just watching it.  How could they even begin to focus on such blinding movement?

    They moved largely in sync, legs resembling a hurricane when combined.  Their time learning choreography for a life in the spotlight shone through the further into the song they got.  When the notes slowed a little, a build-up to what would no doubt be the ‘drop’ of the song, Aleena yelled out an enthusiastic:   “You guys are killing it!  How do you still have a combo?!”

    “Just wait!”   Fayze called back, voice filling lulls in the rhythm.   “The track goes apeshit in ten!”

    ‘Apeshit’ was an understatement.  She watched with a stupefied fascination, enraptured by the speed at which they could move their feet without falling over.  They even added a couple of extra movements every now and then;  little spins and turns, flourishes that only added to their conjoined performance.  For a moment, she wondered if they shared a brain.  Their coordination would stun even the best of players, she thought to herself.  It’s one thing to be good at it on your own but to have two people in perfect tandem like that?  That’s something else.

    When the chimed  “Perfect!”  left the machine, she watched both men turn around and high-five, panting lightly.

    “Remind me to never go up against either of you,”   Aleena said, a hand tracing one of the railings now that they were both stood upright.   “At least on these.  On a shooting game… eh, I could probably kick your asses.”

    She watched as Seb glanced at Fayze, their eyes meeting in a momentary flash of pride, only to settle back on her a moment later.

    “That a bet, baby?”

    With their lack of competition between one another, she’d failed to see just how confident Fayze could be when he was challenged within his element--  at least when he was kidding around.  She found herself grinning, the tips of her pointed ears twitching somewhat.

     This is nice.      This is making me forget just how fucked up this whole thing is.      This makes me feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.      This makes me feel comfortable.

    “Hah.  If you want it to be, superstar.”

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.5

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 5/20

Previously <- Chapter 4: Fear

Chapter 6: Something about cats and bags -> Next

Chapter 5: Nine-Years-Old

Izuku was tired, had been tired for so long. Being with his alpha partner should have helped, should have put at least a little pep in his step, but their point of contact only seemed to suck at the dregs of his energy.

After his first heat when all of his energy had been sapped, he thought maybe it would return. He thought maybe the first cycle was just the hardest, and he’d feel better after. He didn’t. He’d been able to hide the strain with the promise of something new. With the promise of meeting Katsuki on equal footing, facing him as a rival rather than a partner, of making individual progress. It had been exciting. They’d both been looking forward to that.

And then it had been taken away from them.

With his new partner, it was difficult to hide his discomforts, but it didn’t really matter. He never noticed anyway. ‘Would be bad alpha,’ his newly woken omega whispered to him as they slowly skated in tandem around the rink for warm up, ‘Better alphas than him. Not our alpha.’

‘Not our alpha indeed,’ Izuku replied silently, eyes barely focussed at all.

Izuku didn’t blame Katsuki for breaking off their partnership, it had been the only logical decision after they’d lost. They couldn’t go any further as a pair, and Izuku’s performance had steadily been getting worse with each heat. Better to break it off than shoulder the burden of a failing partner.

Heat burbled beneath his skin, sludgy with suppressants. ‘Need to take my dose soon,’ he thought idly, allowing his partner to guide them through the next warm-up without much thought. He jumped, landed, continued on, all without the same enthusiasm he used to have.

Wind jerked at his curls as they picked up speed, stinging cold against his warm cheeks.

The doctors had started him on suppressants after that, trying to use chemicals to ease his pain. They’d helped, but had also taken something from him. Stolen the love he’d always held for skating, making it a chore that he only did because he didn’t know what he’d be doing otherwise. The drugs made him slower, exhausted, apathetic. Like he was underwater, and only surfaced for a gasp of breath when Katsuki was close enough to catch his scent.

“Ready? Let’s fucking do this,” Izuku’s partner muttered in his ear, “That new throw. Four rotations at least before I catch you.”

‘But we don’t have spotters. We’re not proficient enough to do it alone yet,’ Izuku thought slowly, confusion speeding his pulse. ‘Wait.’

Large hands tightened on his waist, and unable to protest, Izuku readied himself the way he’d been taught. All he needed to do was stay tight, compact, and rotate. His partner had to do the rest. He just needed to trust his partner. He could do that.

There was the familiar drop of his stomach as he went airborne. The lights above smeared into streaks of white as he rotated. Silently, he counted; one, two, three. Four rotations. Five. Six? The arms that were supposed to catch him were absent, and fear set in.

‘He didn’t catch me,’ Izuku thought, but instead of disappointment, there was just the expectation of the failure that he hadn’t realized had been in his chest. He didn’t make a sound as he untucked from his rotation.

‘Untrustworthy alpha!’

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Katsuki’s expression just before his skate connected. Disgust. Horror. His mouth opened, but Izuku didn’t hear what he said.

The pain tore through his body. First his hip, then his ankle, his wrist, his forearm.

Everything narrowed around him. There was the cold of the ice beneath his cheek, the searing heat of pain, his lungs struggling to breath, his throat constricting, and Katsuki’s scent. Allspice and cinnamon with the overwhelming heat of cayenne pepper filling his nose, his mouth, his lungs. The scent of Katsuki’s rage grounded him, kept him present, chased away some of the pain, but never brought him back.

He didn’t drop completely into unconsciousness until Katsuki’s scent disappeared.

…..

October Week 3

With a huff of breath, Izuku wiped the sweat from his brow and glided to a stop along the wall where Uraraka and Iida were huddled close around a phone. He couldn’t see what they were watching, but the music was familiar. Peaking over their shoulder, Izuku could only catch the glimpse of brightly colored costumes. “Hey, guys, what are you watching? Research for your program?” he asked, grabbing his water bottle.

“Deku!” Uraraka cried, the red on her cheeks spreading further as she laughed, “You surprised us.”

Izuku smiled. “I can tell. What’s up? You two seemed really engrossed.”

The pair exchanged a look, and Iida said, “Yes, we were doing research for our program, and came across some videos of you-”

Uraraka didn’t let him finish, whispering, “You didn’t tell us Bakugou used to be your partner!” Excitement visibly thrummed through her, and her softly sweet scent flared brightly.

Izuku swallowed before laughing nervously. “You know, I think someone told me Aizawa wanted to talk to me. I’ll be going.” Anxiety made his movements stiff as he turned to leave. Uraraka grabbed a hold of his wrist, and held on tightly. The sudden need to run as fast as possible flooded his body.

“We’re just surprised is all. I mean, we knew you two had pair skated, but we didn’t know you had pair skated. It’s just really surprising since Bakugou is so adamant not to skate with you. It’s weird, you know, and you two look so happy in these videos!” She turned the phone towards him where the video was still playing, and Izuku saw his nine-year-old self grinning from ear to ear as Katsuki caught him around the waist. “You were so small and always smiling at each other. Even Bakugou! It’s kind of sweet.” She was smiling, but it slowly fell away as she dropped her hand back to her side. “Was Bakugou, you know, the one who caused your injury?”

Irrational anger rolled through Izuku.

“What!” he shouted, voice nearly a screech. With effort, he lowered it, but the urgency to make them understand and the anger that they could ever think that was still there. “Kacchan would never drop me or anyone! He’s very strong and capable, and always has been. Even if something did happen while practicing, he would definitely do everything he could to catch his partner like he’s been doing with Mina. It was someone else. They don’t even skate anymore.”

Iida and Uraraka exchanged another glance, this one wide-eyed.

Iida held out a hand between them. “Pardon, but did you just say that someone else dropped you?”

“As in you had a different partner than Bakugou before your injury?” Uraraka asked.

Tugging at his braid, Izuku considered what he wanted to tell them. Considered if he wanted to tell them anything at all. Even if he decided to stay quiet, they could just go searching. He knew they would, especially if they continued watching his and Katsuki’s competition videos. If he wasn’t the one to tell them, he wasn’t sure what the internet would give up instead.

If he asked them not to dig any further, he was sure they’d listen, but they deserved more than that. They were his friends after all.

After a moment, he sighed and dropped his hand from his hair. “I had a different partner for only about six months. He was a little older than us, another alpha from our hometown team. Kacchan broke off our partnership, but that wasn’t his fault. The year after we presented was really hard. It wasn’t his fault, and I don’t blame him for going to singles. I wanted to follow him, but our coach made me stay on pairs. If he’d had it his way, Kacchan would have stayed too, but you know Kacchan. Our coach decided he’d rather have only one of us in pairs than lose another of his top skaters, especially after Usagiyama left.” Izuku shrugged, reaching for the end of his braid again. “Honestly, it’s not a surprise Kacchan hates me so much. I caused a lot of problems for him.”

Again, Uraraka and Iida looked at each other.

He wished fervently that he could understand their strange silent language. More, he wished he had someone that he could communicate with silently like them.

Pursing her lips, Uraraka released his wrist, but grabbed his shoulder instead. “Honestly, Deku, while I know I’m still missing some of the story here, I think there might be a misunderstanding between the two of you somewhere. Maybe if you talked, things would make more sense.”

Izuku laughed, and shrugged out from under her hand. “I appreciate the advice, Chako, but I don’t think you know how much Kacchan really hates me. I honestly don’t think we’ll ever be able to talk like we used to. It’s fine.”

“Well, maybe-”

Cutting off whatever Iida was about to say, Izuku pointed to the phone at Uraraka’s side. “You were looking for videos, right? I’ll show you a couple channels that I watch. They’re really informative, and the couples have great chemistry. There’s a pair who are about your guys’ height and build, so it should be perfect.”

…..

Frustration made its home in Katsuki’s body, and he was all the more irritated by that simple fact. He was frustrated with his progress with his program, still feeling far more behind than the rest of the team after the week he had to spend away for his rut. He was frustrated because Ashido was a paltry substitute to his actual partner, and with her, he felt like he was actually regressing in his progress instead of moving forward.

The most frustrating thing of all? Everything was his own fault, and he knew that very well. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d made a mistake to anyone though. He had a reputation to uphold, and he’d rather suffer than let his pride take a blow.

His mood only got darker as practice dragged on, and it felt like the last straw when he found the entire team gathered right over his bag at the end. Only Izuku was still out on the ice talking animatedly to Aizawa and Yamada.

Slipping his guards over his blades, he marched toward the clusterfuck of skaters with a snarl. All of the pair skaters were at the center of the group, crowded around the one person with their phone out. “Get out of the way, extras. You’re standing right on top of my bag, and I’ve got shit to do.”

Denki and Hagakure’s heads popped up from where they were leaning over Uraraka’s shoulder, grins pulling at their mouths. “Yo, Kacchan, I knew you skated pairs before, but I didn't know you were good!” Denki crowed, laughing, “You and Deku killed it as kids. We happened, dude?”

Narrowing his eyes, Katsuki looked over the crowd and found the person who should have been standing closest to his bag. “Soy sauce, give me my fucking bag.”

“Don’t be like that, Bakugou!” Hagakure interjected, reaching out a hand with a wide placating smile, “We’re just wondering. Just look at the two of you. You’re so proud of your first place medals!” She plucked the phone from Uraraka’s fingers, turning the paused screen for Katsuki to inspect. “How did you go from those cute squishable faces to hating each other?”

Katsuki recognized the event immediately. It was the last one they’d skated as a pair before they were supposed to go to singles, before presenting, before going official. It was the last competition that had gone well for them as a pair. And they did look happy, ecstatic really all wrapped around each other on the top of a podium. So proud with heavy gold medals too big for their still growing forms hanging around their necks from blue ribbon. Katsuki’s hair had still been wild and untamed, and his smile had been untempered by failure. Izuku’s eyes had still sparkled, the dullness of suppressants and injury still months to come.

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

Shoving her hand out of his face, he snatched his bag from Sero who’s expression had gone sheepish. “Shit happens. People change. We presented,” he snapped, turning to leave.

“Why would presenting change anything?” Uraraka asked, and when he turned, there was concern on her face.

He was actually surprised the nerd hadn’t caught his nerd friends up on everything that had happened when they were kids. Given them someone to blame for his injury. It wasn’t like they would be wrong.

He just stared as her concern seemed to grow with each passing second, then something changed. Understanding dawned on her face, and he turned with a snarled, “I’m leaving. I don’t have time for the past. Go ahead and keep wasting yours.”

He wasn’t far enough away to not hear Iida’s murmured, “Maybe we could find a video of him with his other partner? That could clear some things up.”

Before he could stop himself, Katsuki whirled back around. “That sorry excuse for an alpha wasn’t his goddamn partner! Don’t fucking-” Izuku’s scent wafted towards him across the ice, mint and a thunderstorm rolling in, and he snapped his teeth together. With a quick glance towards the omega’s curious expression as he glided towards them, Katsuki made his escape without another word. What the fuck were they trying to pull by bringing up old shit anyway?

The past didn’t change anything that was happening in the present.

[rockthingsbymeg]

honeymoon

Pairing: Slash / Saul Hudson x reader

Info: Fluff, smut [oral, male and female receiving]; 2192 words;

A/N: Hey, I’m back. It’s been really easy writing for Slash, especially fluff which is weird because I never feel like finishing the fluff’s I begin, and I already have some things fully written that I’ll post while writing even more. Thank you @sodalitefully​ and @onlyaxlrose​ for beta-reading <3

Y/N woke up with bright sunlight pouring through the enormous windows that showed them the beach. The sight, despite the burning in her eyes, took her breath away and brought a grin to her lips. The action made the dull ache on her jaw noticable for the first time that morning, what turned her grin into a half-smirk.

Her eyes left the golden sand and turquoise water and instead turned to the man who slept by her side with the sheets tangled between his legs, head buried in a fluffy pillow and an arm slung over her frame. On his finger rested his wedding ring, the silvery-golden color shining bright under the sunlight.

She could not believe they were actually married, and currently on honeymoon. She can still remember the day Steven had finally convinced her to go to one of their shows and then brought her backstage to meet everyone. To meet Slash. To meet the man that hadn't left her mind for months on end until Steven, high as a kite, let the cat out of the bag and ended up telling Slash she had a crush on him.

The day after Slash invited her to a date -nothing too formal, just a simple dinner and then a walk on the Sunset Strip, shy smiles and fluid conversation through the night- and that's when she found out Steven had told him. She wanted to die out of embarrassment for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, but Slash was quick to put her at ease about it. Like he was quick to put her at ease when she timidly asked if the only reason he had invited her to this date was to see if he could get something out of this.

It wasn't his fault that she thought that way, and she rambled about how she didn't think he was that kind of guy and all that, but people had done that to her in the past and she was not willing to go through it again.

Slash assured her it was not it and confessed he had been planning on asking her out but didn't think it would go that well. It soothed her, and her shyness slowly melted as the night went on.

Since then, they had gone out on infinite dates, giving themselves to one another with each moment spent together, until no secrets or wall existed between them. Until Slash allowed himself to be sappy when he felt like it; until Y/N was not afraid to let herself go and be true to him, in every way possible.

One of the very last dates they went on was in L.A., in the old bar they used to go all the time when they were younger. The night had gone great, without the usual wildness that tended to come along, and it nearly made her cry about how much she loved being with him.

She did cry that night, two separate times. The first was when Slash proposed. His voice soothing and beautiful despite the ruckus happening inside his body, eyes never leaving hers and hair pulled in a loose ponytail so she could properly look at him. She had cried while saying yes multiple times, letting him put the ring on her and then throwing herself on his lap, kissing him with every ounce of love and passion and whatnot inside her.

The second one was, of course, later that night when they decided to celebrate their engagement in the most passionate, most selfless and selfish all together, lustful, sweaty, loudest way they knew. Lord pity their neighbors...

She really could not believe life had been this kind to her. Sure, there was trouble sometimes, to put it nicely, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

Right now, he was laying belly down on the matress his face could not be seen in between his wild curls, but she knew his red, plump lips were slightly parted, letting out the little snores that cut through the silence of the room. She smiled at the mental picture, turning to his side and planting feather-light kisses over his exposed, sun-kissed shoulders and up his neck, pushing his curls out of the way.

Once her lips met his, she found him smiling lazily, his thumb now stroking the skin of her waist. "Morning husband..." She grinned as he opened his eyes.

"Morning wife." He said with a chuckle, turning and laying flat on his back.

Y/N chuckled as well "Sounds too sappy for you..." She moved on the bed, straddling his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Don't mind being sappy for you." He kissed the crown of her head.

She looked up at him with a cheek-hurting smile "Thank you for that, I like it when you're sappy. Not too sappy though." They laughed.

He smiled at her "I know baby." He closed the distance between them, kissing her lazily.

Y/N sighed into the kiss, letting him take the lead and moving her hand to his hair, holding it firmly, pulling a groan out of him. Her hips began to rut against his softly, her wetness gathering and his semi-hard cock stiffening even more.

Slash ended up breaking the kiss with a low moan as her hips began to move more firmly, placing one hand on her waist and another one loosely around her throat.

A faint whimper escaped her lips at that, pupils widening significantly and lips dropping open "Saul..."

"Hm?" He prompted, tightening his grip.

"Fuck me please..." She whispered, lifting her hips so he could push himself inside her.

He did so, moving slowly, allowing both of them to completely feel each other with each thrust. He rolled them on the bed, released her throat and instead pinned both her hands above her head, moving himself faster.

Y/N's eyes closed in ecstasy, moans getting louder, back arching slightly and breasts moving in tandem with Slash's moves. The sight made his moves falter a bit, but he quickly recovered "Open your eyes Y/N..." She moaned at the sound of his voice, tilting her head further against the pillows. "Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you baby..." He groaned, moving faster as her eyes met his again.

After a few minutes, though not nearly as many as usual, her walls were clenching harder around him, her moans growing in pitch and number and small tears were gathering in her eyes.

"I'm gonna cum..." Y/N moaned, lacing her fingers with his.

Slash was surprised she was reaching breaking point this fast with so little effort. Usually, they both could last for a long time (on a occasion when Slash had come home from touring, they had gone at it for three and a half hours, with very little breaks in between) and now he was pretty sure not even fifteen minutes had gone by.

"I'm not close enough baby... Do you wanna stop for a bit?" He slowed down his thrusts, waiting for an answer.

"Make me cum..." She pulled her hands from his grip, moving them to his back, tucked under his arms "I'll make it up to you." She smirked, kissing him on the lips briefly.

Slash smirked back at her, picking up speed, getting the high pitched moans out of her again. He shifted his hips a little, angling them just right so the tip of his cock was hitting her g-spot repeatedly. Her cunt began, once again, to clench around him tightly, and her hands moved down his back to his ass, squeezing the flesh in her fingers -something she did more often than not before she came.

"Stop squeezing my ass." Slash laughed softly, not really understanding her gesture even after years of being together.

"Sorry, but it's too nice to stop." Y/N giggled, squeezing harder.

He laughed again and connected their lips in a kiss, right when she came. Her back arched, breasts pressing against his chest, eyelids dropping but not closing and their kiss breaking, her mouth molding into a perfect o shape, letting out honey-coated moans of his name.

"That's my girl..." Slash groaned, trying hard not to thrust up into her harder than before as she came down from her high.

He held still until her hands wandered back up and tangled into his hair, pulling him down for a slow kiss.

"Lay on the pillows..." She mumbled in between the kiss, letting him break it.

She whined when he pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. She always hated the feeling itself, but rejoiced in the feeling of being used for someone's pleasure that came with it.

Slash had settled by her side on the pillows, making an appreciative sound as she made herself comfortable between his legs. Her head was resting on his hips, mouth extremely close to his slick, hard cock and her hand moved to lazily jerk him off, grip not tight enough to have him coming, but not too loose it would just tease.

Their eyes were connected as long as she moved her hand, with the occasional flick of the wrist at the head and thumb collecting the pre-cum that dribbled out of him. When she felt him shift almost imperceptibly underneath her, a sing of his impatience, she lifted herself up and pulled him in between her lips.

Since the very beginning, Y/N always knew just how to move to have him trembling the second her mouth was on him. Her tongue lapped at him slowly and firmly and he could feel her lips sliding lower and lower until they met the hairs at the base of his cock, that was now tightly sheltered in her throat.

It was not often that Y/N deep-throated him this far, but it was pretty clear she didn't plan on stopping there, he realized, as she began to move shallowly, fucking her own throat.

The action literally punched the air out of him, and his hands soon found place in her hair, holding tightly but not guiding her. Her eyes lifted again and with a pleading look and a whine that reverberated all the way inside his body, he understood was she was trying to get him to do.

He planted his feet on the bed and used them for leverage as he set a pace with his hips. The lewd sounds spilling from Y/N's lips, alongside with a great deal of spit, made the coil in his stomach get tighter and tighter.

In any other occasion, he would be more worried about how little he was lasting. He would try to hold it off, for his own sake, and he maybe should do that today, because it was that often that he got to fuck her throat, especially not as carefree as this. But the little voice inside his head that kept on remembering him that his wife's hot, velvety, fucking perfect mouth is getting stuffed full with his cock, and that her throat keeps closing around his tip; that she's struggling to breath but doesn't stop because she needs him to fuck her hard like he's doing makes it pretty fucking difficult.

He just lets himself go, muttering a few warnings to her in his low, raspy voice, knowing she would swallow it all like the good girl she is.

From her place between his legs, watching him cum is like looking at a miracle. His arms tense and make the sweat shine more under the sunlight; his head drops back and his hair completely falls from his face, allowing her to watch his eyes roll back in his head and eventually fall closed; his lips red with bite marks all over them...

She can't think of any other words except for breath-fucking-taking!

When he let her up again, she was quick to lick her lips and his cock to get the cum that eventually spilled out of her lips, seeing as he tended to cum a lot. She moved back to his side and rested against him, letting one of his arms fall over her shoulders while the other one pulled her leg on top of his waist and stroked her skin.

She looked up at him and smiled as he was already looking down at her "I'm not saying this just because you blew my brains out of my head-" He smiled when she snorted "- but I love you so fucking much." He grinned, moving a few hairs out of her face.

Y/N's throat hurt a lot when she spoke and her voice would have scared the shit out of her, had she not been waiting for it. "I love you too." Slash smirked like an idiot at the sound of it. "You think it's amazing because you're not the one having to talk to people with the same tone of voice as Axl when he tries to sing with his throat fucked up." She rolled her eyes, stretching on top of him like a cat.

Slash laughed loudly at that, the sound making his chest vibrate against her face. Fuck she loved him...

---

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, reblogs, comments and any kind of way you show me you liked this are endlessly appreciated💛

Tagging: @siriuslymooned (if anyone wants to be tagged let me know <3)

[wevegottogetaway]

Whirlwind  Part IV - Khamseen

DAY14

The energy shrouding the air of Godspeed’s is much different from what it was for Induction Rave a couple weeks ago. The place is still one of high spirit but the loud euphoria that permeated each of its nook and cranny in celebratory cheers, is now replaced with liquor-prompted laughters and light conversation melting into a mellow background noise. The music seems to have taken the same cue, its lowered volume simply adding to the mesh of sounds of the bar and no longer pulsing baselines into the heart of its patrons. Even the number of clean tables surpasses that of sticky ones for once; a rather improbable phenomenon for such an establishment.

Sitting in a corner booth as he nurses a bourbon in his hands and a scowl on his face, Harry is the embodiment of sulkiness. Feeling drained despite having the rare day off, his shoulders are stuck in a permanent hunch. They bear the pressures of being in the most competitive Navy pilot program in the world only to be met with disillusion once partnered up with someone who traded trust for contempt wherever he was concerned. Not to forget, he is still grieving the loss of his best friend. The sharp memories of the accident have yet to depart his mind whenever he closes his eyes or sits in a cockpit alongside a certain daredevil lady. A lady who haunts his nights by dragging him out of whatever peaceful place he’s escaped to, her crestfallen face appearing just as Morpheus’ arms reach out to him. And Aella always wins his attention no matter the weariness in his bones or how appealing a good night sleep might be.

Entranced in a meticulous reenactment of their last mission, involving pistachios as makeshift aircrafts, Dazzler and Tigger are seating across their subdued friend. They brushed off Harry’s taciturn disposition as they’ve come to be familiar with it, and instead proceed to do as usually ever since the accident: offer friendly companionship whether he decides to actively partake or silently tag along. He’ll start sharing again when he’s ready, they figure. No use in prying and pocking; any person who’s ever been around Harry would know. A closed book he may not be, but rather, he remains selective as to who can leaf through his essence and more importantly, what they may uncover as well as when they get to do so.

"Need a refill?" Dazzler asks Harry as he comes to a standing position hovering over the table, two beer-less pints in hand. The person of interest looks down at the drink cajoled in his hold, a couple sips away from dryness. A nod and a soft ‘please’ is all he offers his friend before returning his focus on the glass in his hands. 

As Dazzler approaches the bar effectively out of earshot, Tigger turns to the laconic man seating as his table. For once, his instinct tells him to candidly check on his mate, the absence of Dazzler’s overjoyed nature perhaps giving the moment a tone better suited for confidence. "Got a lot on your mind Styles?" He asks as softly as his voice will let him.

Harry’s eyes lift from their aimless target on a crack of the table to finally land on Tigger’s inquisitive face. They remain unwavering for a second too long as if gauging whether now was the time to exteriorize some of his sorrows. Wasn’t the headache throbbing hard enough already? Didn’t he reach his last thread when Aella and him both shot their last chance at a peaceful partnership? Be that as it may, there is so little space left in Harry’s brain for pondering purposes, he’s just desperate to get some sort of leeway.   

"You could say that, yeah" he says to his bourbon with a humorless chuckle.

"Anything involving a certain someone?" Tigger tentatively inquires whilst inconspicuously fiddling with the nutshells scattered across the table. They both know the identity behind the certain someone, and the mere mention is apparently enough for Harry to warrant another mouthful of inebriant. The gesture effectively empties what was left of the liquor, but it’s all the troubled pilot needs to open the floodgates of his censored mind.

"She’s driving me nuts, Tigger. We can barely stand to be in the same room, how are we supposed to fly together?" The piercing green eyes always had this magnetic pool to them. In friendly conversation, they were meant to make the narrator feel like the center of the universe. But right now, under the bar’s dim lights, their glow is shaded by an unhinged quality as if this time their owner was looking at the sun because his world had fallen off its axis and needed fixing.

"Maybe…I don’t know…have you guys tried talking about it?" Tigger doesn’t have much faith in the anticipated answer, but he’s a firm believer that communication can resolve anything. Proper communication, that is.

"Right." Harry looks at his poised friend unimpressed. "All the ‘talks’ we’ve had end in the same way. We scream at each other till we’re blue in the face and we say stuff that leaves us worse off than how we were." His mind takes him back to their last squabble 3 days ago, the way they had completely blown off at each other’s scowling face with crude words escaping their mouth. Like a reflex, he reaches for his drink in a vain attempt to erase the taste of malice still lingering on his lips, only to be met with a teasing drop idling around the rim.

"That doesn’t sound like talking Harry." Tigger retorts with a pointed look. His friend his better than that. Better than the excuse no doubt about to come is way if Dazzler wasn’t making a reappearance with two foamy pints and a bourbon.  

"Oi, what’s the chitchat about?" He asks with a beaming smile at the idea that his tortured soul of a friend is finally coming out of limbo, or - at least - back to his talking self. The grin is enough to reprieve Harry from his tiresome thoughts for a second as he looks up to Dazzler and thanks him for the amber liquid placed in front of him. He’s always thought that Dean earned his callsign because of that particular smile: all around contagious, and well, nothing short of dazzling…

He is quickly brought back to the matter at hand by Tigger though. "Just talking about Harry and Aella’s inability to hold a civil conversation together and their propensity to rip each other’s head off." He says, not beating around the bush whilst watching with a raised brow as the seemingly defeated man across from him promptly indulges in his replenished drink.

"Right Styles, what’s got you so riled up about our lovely Aella anyway?" Dazzler bluntly asks once he’s comfortably back in his seat. The term of endearment is not lost on Harry’s ears, however, and the reminder furrows his brow some more.

"Fuck, I forgot you lot were friends with her." He sighs. How is he supposed to vent to his friends about another friend of theirs without coming off has an asshole? He’s positive that ship has already sailed though, without much to be done about it. "Look I’m not saying she’s a bad person, but you guys don’t have to work with her." He tries to soften the blow with a subtle deflection but in his defense, he says it all genuinely so. 

Harry doesn’t really know Aella. Doesn’t know what kind of friend she is, how caring she might be with those she cares for, or how witty her words become when prodded by the right person. He does know, however, that any compatibility they may have ends at the gate of any Navy base. He knows she’s more daring than she ought to be when she’s high above the clouds and high on adrenaline. And he knows she can be downright contentious, not to say bitchy when she doesn’t get her way. So no, Harry doesn’t consider Aella to be a particularly good pilot, at least not in a tandem set up. She’s too quick to set his nerves on fire like she does everything else, to make him think otherwise.

"Damn straight I don’t work with her! Coz Tigger’s stuck with my annoying ass until the day it’s too flabby to sit in a Tomcat. But I still don’t get it, man. From what I’ve seen, she seems pretty fucking brilliant to me." Dazzler once again shows his luminous colors as he senses the conversation is about to get much somber. 

"Completely reckless you mean. Half the time she’s suggesting moves that’ll send us crashing faster than I can say emergency ejection." Harry has abandoned any cushioning tactic at this point. His resentment has taken control of his speech and his body tightens in accordance: jaw so defined, the contracting motion could be spotted from across the bar, his shoulders stiffen underneath a slightly oversized shirt and his knuckles turn a few shades whiter at the pressure exerted around his already half-empty glass.

The look his two comrades share across the table in silent conversation does nothing to alleviate his frustration. Instead, it makes him feel like a kid about to be given a talk by his parents. And the way Tigger hesitantly speaks up next, voice as easeful as he can muster, makes Harry think he’s not so far off the truth. 

"Harry, do you think you might still be processing what happened with Fox?"

The mention of his deceased best friend sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, an indescribable coldness seizing his body that no alcohol could shake off. On the defensive, his guard soars up and the same chilling tone is now clouding his words. 

"And what’s your point exactly?"

Dazzler is quick to elaborate on his friend’s suggestion as tactfully as one Dean Marshall  is capable of. Subtlety was never his strong suit. "Come on, mate. It’s kinda common knowledge that Fox was a bit of a stuntman himself. But that’s what made him such a great pilot, Harry."

"It’s what got him killed." The retort comes harsh, triggered by an array of emotions still festering in every far enough corner of his being, because he can’t quite fathom how to face them yet. It’s an out-of-body experience in a way, a disconnection between body and mind, that makes him a mere bystander of his knee-jerk reactions. Surely the words are not his. Surely some kind of demon is hijacking the headquarters of his mind and turning him into a sourpuss who can’t reign in his spreading misery. Pretty ironic for someone who used to spread kindness every time he was given the chance.

"Now, you know that’s not the whole truth." Dazzler tries to reason, admittedly slightly shocked by his friend’s outburst. The things grief can do to one’s temper…

"Whatever. She’s still impulsive and she doesn’t know how to fly with a partner." Harry’s quick to dismiss the subject of Fox, he’d rather have a slumber party with his new nemesis before reminiscing the circumstances of his friend’s premature death.

"That’s probably because she’s used to flying solo." Tigger rightfully points out. "See, you’d know that if you two talked like decent human beings."

"Well, she doesn’t have to be a bitch about it." Somewhere, a muted part his brain is considering Tigger’s statement, but it’s not enough to sweeten his bitter thoughts. It’s not pride getting in the way; Harry’s not a prideful person, or at least not in the ways that would blind him from admitting any wrongdoings. His mind is just too fuzzy to reason from both exhaustion and the booze he’s been continuously sipping on this evening. The mockery seems to be the last straw for Dazzler, however, and for once the wrinkles on the usually chirpy lad’s forehead are not caused by laughter.

"Jesus Harry! I love you mate, you know that. But stop acting like a prick, it doesn’t suit you." Green eyes immediately widen at the admonition, and before he can even think of defending himself, he’s being told off some more. "And before you say anything, no I’m not on her side. I just want to help you. Both of you. And believe me, she’s been given the same speech a handful of times, but I’ll be damned if one of you listened for once." 

"Daz, you’re getting carried away." Tigger says, once again acting as his partner’s counterbalancing act. He also doesn’t want to end the night with a fall-out. Losing another friend is the last thing Harry needs.

"Damn right I am." Dazzler quips back, his index finger pressing on the table. "I’m tired of your childish antics. Fuck! Since when am I the most grown up of the bunch?" He asks in disbelief, not able to resist throwing humor in an otherwise tense conversation. "I’m your friend Harry, and sometimes friends are here to kick your butt when you’re acting like one." He gets up from his seat before opening his arms wide in a taunting gesture. "So watch me Styles. This is me kicking your goddamn butt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re out of pistachios." And just like that, he’s off on his new quest for a fresh bowl of snacks. They all know it was more so a way of withdrawing from the conversation before it got too heated. And perhaps to prevent Harry from having a chance at a comeback, but he wouldn’t admit that anyway…

"He’s right you know." Tigger softly breaks the silence that had filled the space. "You two need to sort your shit out because we’ve still got 3 weeks left and I know for a fact you’re not a quitter. Besides, TopGun is not the kind of program you can just give up on. You can still make it, Harry." 

He can’t quite figure out if his hopefulness has reached the moping man on his left, especially when all he gets in a response is one more bourbon sent down the drain, followed by a "fuck, need anothe’." 

DAY 15

Leonie Forbs was born to teach a group of overzealous navy pilots about the riveting matter of astrophysics; or so is Aella convinced. She is poised, calmer than the sea before the storm, yet when a bunch of bullheaded students does storm in her class, her collected and no-taking-shit nature still prevails. Quite the paradox for such a frail looking woman, but she’s made it clear since their first session that her place at TopGun was not to be questioned and that she could not only handle herself but also the 16 adrenaline-driven aerialists sitting in front of her. Aella admires that a lot; she can only dream of receiving the same kind of respect around base these days. 

Even more baffling to her, is how Leonie still inspires kindness and confidence within her students. Mastering the rules of the universe in no cakewalk, but with every explanation and encouraging word she provides, Dr Forbs has managed to make it that little bit easier on them. Come to think of it, she somewhat reminds Aella of Berks and his fatherly yet firm lead. The way they both seem hellbent on making her feel welcomed without giving her any free pass either, is enough of a sliver of hope to outweigh all the anguish Rex’s clique has been giving her since she joined the program. 

She doesn’t know if it can counterbalance her own partner’s though. 

"Last point we need to discuss before your test today comes from the Pentagon itself," Leonie declares as she leans back against her desk, arms casually crossed around her middle.  "Intelligence services have discerned a flaw in the Russians’ new MIG 22 flight tanks system. Their negative G push overs are out, so they operate zero to one G only." She scans the room, watching as they all process the new information.

"What happens if they don’t?" One of the students Mason Homes - or Ace, as commonly called around base - bluntly asks.

A pregnant pause ensues before Aella promptly answers her fellow comrade in a bored tone. "They risk flaming out."

"That is correct." Leonie interjects with a quick glance toward her star pupil, before turning her face back to Ace. "Even below one G, the internal fuel tanks are placed too far off ahead the plane’s center of gravity to keep it stable." The explanation immediately falls out of her lips, concise and simple to comprehend, before her attention extends to the whole class. "Now that this precious intel has been handed to us, we need to exploit it. So what’s your take on it?"

Harry is the first one to speak up as everybody seems to mull over the enigma formulated by their professor. His voice is poised, the answer definite and confident. "Concentrate on low altitude, push boosters to +3.5Gs and negative Gs alternatively."

"Very good." Dr Forbs praises in a smile, uncrossing her arms for her hands to hold onto the desk behind her. "Much like their predecessor, MIG 22 have excellent fast-climbing interceptors, so keeping it low will put their tanks at high pressure. Their endurance is very limited, so you would also be right to keep them on their toes and make them really work for it. Chances are they won’t be able to pace up or they’ll run out of fuel."

"What about using after-burning turbojets in inverted thrusts?" Aella challenges. While she doesn’t deny Harry’s tactic would prove adequate, she thought of a different way around the puzzle. Once again, the conventional route didn’t cut it in her opinion. It was too predictable, something she makes sure to always stay clear of.

"I guess it could work on paper, but your range and scope would be infinitesimal." Leonie responds truthfully after giving the proposition a thought. In the past couple weeks she has come to understand and appreciate Aella’s unorthodox thinking. She knows it comes from a knowledgeable place as opposed to one of attention-seeking. Aella doesn’t defy the MOs of traditional naval aviation to drop jaws or get a round of applause. She’s simply driven by her own curiosity and in all straightforwardness, it’s just the way her brain operates. Conjures up the unexpected first like some kind of survival instinct, but in her book, predictability is the first step towards failure. And in her profession, failure usually means death.  

"Not if you push the compression to 50%, then their scope is smaller than yours, and that’s enough to put you on their six." Once again, Aella made the laws of science her greatest ally. The plan may be venturesome but her calculations make it also airtight.  

"Very avant-garde of you, Lieutenant Lonethorne, I shouldn’t be surprised." The professor admits with a knowing smile and glowing eyes. "If well-executed then yes, the maneuver would prove successful. However, Lieutenant Styles’ approach is just as valid and much less risky." She adds for good measure. Even though she values Aella’s mind dexterity, her purpose is not to bring this groundbreaking side out of her students. Harry’s answer is the one she had expected all things considered. 

"But more time-consuming." Aella retorts to drive her point home. She doesn’t think outside the box for the hell of it. There’s always a reason, a worthy advantage that her partner always seems to overpass because of the riskiness of it all.

"I won’t deny that. Both tactics are absolutely potent in their own way; what matters is the situation in which they come to play. And that’s your job to determine." Dr Forbs reminds her fervent student that being a navy pilot can be a long list of pros and cons at times. What maneuver will result in what outcome and for what gamble. Knowing all the possibilities at any given moment is a great skill to have, one that Aella seems to have down to a T. But the real excellence of a pilot shows in the way they can make the right choice out of those possibilities.

"Alright, I’m gonna pass these exam sheets around. Once you’ve been handed yours, you have  two hours to complete them. Please don’t forget to provide explanations to your calculations, this is not a math test." Leonie explains with a pointed look before sharing an encouraging smile. "Good luck to you all." 

The next two hours are then filled with the sound of pencils scratching paper and frustrated sighs that only increase in volume as the clock ticks closer to the impending time allotment. As there is only two remaining questions waiting to be completed on his exam paper, Harry breathes deeply and takes a look around the room. Most of his fellow classmates are immersed in deep reflection, various level of frowns hardening their face depending on their advancement on the test. His green eyes then settle upon his co-pilot. She’s scribbling furiously on her paper as though her fingers are straining to put her racing thoughts to ink. Whirlwind on paper, is what he thinks.

His musings are further strayed away from applied physics as Harry recalls his conversation with Dazzler and Tigger the night prior. He certainly did a lot of thinking since then, but his mind is still fuzzy when it comes to Aella. He’s been juggling with the thought of giving her a chance, talking things out as Tigger suggested, but for some reason the idea has him terrified. Certainly a repeat of history would crush him for good, but at the same time he knows he’ll never be the pilot he longs to be again if he keeps being the person he is with Aella. They decidedly need to find a way to be at their best together, because this bringing-out-the-worst-of-the-other business is not doing them any favor. 

Harry is about to refocus on the problem at hand when Aella suddenly stands up, all 6 papers of her exam gathered in her hands in a neat pile. She cooly makes her way to Dr Forbs as quietly as she can, as to not disturbed her class, before handing her work to the teacher. Their exchange remains silent but Harry doesn’t miss Leonie’s small head gesture and yet another smile she addresses his partner. It’s not the first time he’s noticed one of his superiors showing that kind of recognition for her work. Time is running against him though, so he shoves the note in a far corner of his mind and goes back to the task at hand. Partner differences is a can of worms that will have to wait to be opened. 

The ocean has almost entirely enveloped the setting sun as Harry wanders along San Diego’s Crystal pier. Few people decided to roam the promenade, probably too busy on this brisk and not to mention, week night. Harry is just glad the urge to come here wasn’t sprung on him on a Saturday evening. The experience would have included much more elbowing and people dodging than tolerated for reflective purposes. But as his feet tread the wooden structure, gaze glowing over the breath-taking view, his mind feels clearer than it has been in weeks. 

He’s let it go too far. The angst, the animosity, this bottomless gap edged between Aella and him, as well as between his truthful self and the bad-tempered doppelgänger that seems to have replaced him. He’s become almost desensitized to it, too riddled with grief to really care, but the way Dazzler put him in his place the night before served as a good wake-up call. This petulant and dismissive person isn’t him, or as his friend no-so-gently worded it, he is better than that. 

He can’t ignore the pit forming in his stomach though. Can’t blindly hand over his trust, forget about his doubts, and relinquish the reins to the woman that put said doubts in his mind in the first place. And that leaves him one only option really: talk to her about it. But while Harry’s never been one to shy from divulging his feelings, usually the person at the receiving end of his disclosures is already part of his trusted cycle.

Just as a runner passes him on the side, he lets out a long sigh at the prospect of such a heavy conversation. How is one meant to deliver the most vulnerable parcels of their character on a silver platter to the person they are the most scared of? Harry can’t help to see it as yet another test the universe is kindly throwing his way. The only thing stopping him for cowering away is the fact that she might have to shared equally vulnerable parts of her in the process. Perhaps it’s the only way they may align to finally be a working team: weaknesses and susceptibilities all out in the open.

The end of the pier is slowly coming to view, a couple of benches providing the perfect front row seat to the Pacific’s show. The sun has now completely gone MIA, faint lanterns scattered along the path dispersing small beacons of light that pale in comparison to their predecessor, but it’s enough for Harry to notice a silhouette standing ahead. Based on their movements, they seem to be caught up in a yoga or stretching session, one foot placed upon the wood railing as their upper body folds over the extended limb. Harry distractingly takes note of their suppleness but as he finally reaches the end of the dock and the mysterious athlete stands back up, he quickly realizes the soul he’s sharing the pier with tonight, is not so mysterious.

The uniform has been traded for a light hoodie, combat boots for a pair of neon trainers and long legs usually hidden under protective layers are now bare to any curious eyes as the only piece of cloth ‘covering' them up is a pair of light running shorts. Harry comes to a sudden halt as he realizes the very reason of his torments and spontaneous walk is now standing a few feet away from him. He finds himself at a bit of a crossroad: he can either stay and get on with what feels more and more like the only option he has, or turn around and delay the inevitable for one extra night. The choice is stripped from him anyway when Aella turns around as though guided by a sixth sense and her eyes cross his in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" She can’t help but ask.

Harry is at lost as to what to say, he didn’t expect to confront her so soon after deciding confrontation was their only saving grace. All he can do, is look at her questioning eyes that for once, are void of any hurt or resentment. He’d like to keep it that way if possible, no matter how unlikely it might be. 

"Just walkin’, enjoyin’ the sights I guess," it almost comes out as a question. 

"Oh. Well, I was just gonna go so…bye" She has trouble meeting his eyes as she nervously readjust her running attire and prepares for a quick escape. 

"Wait!" She’s interrupted by Harry’s voice and her whole attention is brought to his tall figure awkwardly standing in front of her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. She raises a brow when he takes too much time elaborating on his request for her presence. "I just…thought we could…talk, you know? Like, we kinda need it, don’t we?" His stance is not the only thing manifesting awkwardly it seems.

"Um, right now?" Aella suspiciously inquires, her eyes swiftly bouncing to the sea on her right and back to Harry.  

"’S good time as any, innit?" Is all Harry says in response.

Aella seems to gauge him for a second as if becoming aware of the meaning of this upcoming conversation. She knows it might be a tipping point in their partnership; if they want to make it work, that is. And the moment took her by surprise sure, but will there ever be a right time? There usually isn’t, after all. "Right then" she agrees with a quick tilt of her head towards the benches as an invitation to sit. For a minute or so they remain silent while they try to figure out a way to start the conversation.

"I’m not the sexist prick you think I am." Harry eventually says, looking at his hand on his lap.

"Right." She answers not convinced. He certainly didn’t go out of his way to make her think otherwise.

"I’m not, I swear." He briefly looks at her before settling back on the lathes paving the pier. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to think so, but I don’t have anything against you as a woman." 

"Ah my bad. You just think I’m a worthless co-pilot then." Aella spits out as she stands up, ready to run back to the safe space of her home. This was a terrible idea…

"You remind me of him." The words immediately bring her to a halt, half because she’s intrigued by their meaning, and half because of Harry’s searing pain obviously laced through their utterance. She turns around and looks at his hunched body, elbows now resting on his knees, glossy eyes still fixed on the ground. "You remind me of them both."

Aella swallows the lump in her throat before hesitantly asking "and who would they be?"

At that, Harry looks up and painfully answers,"my dad and Fox." 

Taking her time with the new information Aella takes a deep breath, drawing strength from the two blue immensities surrounding her. Slowly, she goes back to her seat next to Harry, though she leaves a decent space between the two of them. "How come?" She encourages.

"Fox was my partner before you came into the picture. But he was also my best friend." He starts explaining without losing an inch of his composure much to his surprise. 

"I know about Jonathan." Aella softly answers and Harry momentarily looks sideways at her from his bent position.

"You know of him, but you don’t know what kind of person he was." He argues with a shake of his head, short curls fluttering on top. "Fox was passionate. He was the strongest force to be reckoned with and he was fearless. And he was my best friend, but one day he took it too far and we got into an accident." Pause. "I survived, he didn’t." It surely is a condensed version of the whole story but that’s all she needs to know at the moment. 

Aella is slightly taken aback by the confession. She knows lieutenant Evans lost his life as a pilot, but she didn’t think Harry had been part of the equation, picking himself up as he watched his best friend stay down. She can’t really fathom the trauma that comes with such an incident, having flown in tandem for a very short period of time and with someone she isn’t particularly sympathetic with. Until tonight maybe. 

"Harry, I’m sorry about what happened…but I’m not him." She tries to reason.

"I know, I know." He is quick to acknowledge, taking his face in his hands before brushing them through is hair. "But the way you fly, or want me to fly is just…" He struggles to find the right words. "Look, I let him take all the risks when we were partners and he died for it. I’m not about to let that happen again. To you, me or anyone that sits in the same airplane I do," is what he settles for.

Aella doesn’t know what to say. Her brain is the one running now, faster than she ever has, as it pieces together the puzzle that is Harry Styles. She doesn’t necessarily approve of his conduct but she understands it better now. Understands the moody attitude and the resentment at her expend. Most of all, she is relieved that his supposed hatred for her has nothing to do with her gender nor her person and everything to do with his troubled past. It makes it somehow easier to stomach though she’s not about to mold herself up to his safety-appreciative standards. 

"What about your dad?" She asks instead, redirecting the subject at hand. Once again, the inquiry has Harry looking back at her. Except this time, he unfolds his torso to let it lean against the backrest of the bench, crossing his arms instead. Aella tries to overlook the way his biceps seem to pop out underneath the sun kissed flesh. She’s positively compelled away when he lets out a long sigh and dives back into the night’s confidences.

"I actually don’t know much about my dad," he starts with a humorless chuckle. "He was a Navy pilot too, gone most of the time, but he was a hero at home. He died a hero too. Left for a mission one day and never came back. I was 12." He pauses, needing a break and when he turns back to assess the weight of his words on her face, he’s only met with compassion and her undivided attention. "And all I’ve ever from anyone the wiser, is that he went into an ambush, knowingly, because he thought he could save a comrade. See the pattern?" He asks bitterly before he can help himself, but Aella knows it’s not really aimed at her. 

"I get it Harry. You’ve been through some trauma, and I’m just a breathing reminder of it. But I know what I’m doing." She says its conviction as her eyes cling onto his emerald versions. "I would never suggest something that would put you in danger; not matter how much I want to kill you most of the time." That earns them both a chuckle, and the weight on Aella’s heart is alleviated some, upon the realization that this is it, this is their turning point. The moment that can break or make their duo, seal their fate and pave their path. And by the sound of it, the future looks promising finally. "I know it looks like I’m crossing the line at times, but I spent the last 10 years of my life up to my neck in books. I never got to do the fun stuff during Navy School. The parties, the raves, the bonding… I was just the girl deluding herself into thinking she could make it, stealing a perfect spot from a more adequate man to take. And since it was just me, I studied all I could, and then when I run out of books to read I studied some more anyway." It’s now her turn to gaze at the ground while Harry listens carefully. "My choices up there, they’re not a way for me to prove myself. They’re just the possibilities I got from all the things I’ve missed out on since I enlisted because of who I am. And that’s fine. I’ve always been fine with that. But now, I have a partner and I can’t do my job properly if he doesn’t accept the possibilities he doesn’t see yet."

They both look at each other then, letting the words resonated into the night, in tune with the sounds of the crashing waves. The cards have changed, weakest ones at last laid out on the table whilst they still hold onto their kings and aces. But their fate is yet to be determined. Letting go of their blatantly mutual distaste might bring them one step closer to being a unit but they’re still ways from flying as one. 

Rome wasn’t built in a day though, and Aella still has half a run to complete. She figures it’s best not to push whatever progress they made that night, so she calmly stands up, about to resume her training when Harry softly calls out to her.

"See you tomorrow partner." It’s faint and simple, but Aella understand every ounce of its meaning. 

It’s a peace offering, an olive branch shyly extended from the tip of his fingers; a vow to try and figure this all thing out not as co-pilots but as equals. And that’s all the promises Aella needs to mutter back a ‘goodnight Harry’ and run back to her place in record-breaking time with a smile etched upon her face. 

Tomorrows have finally regained their wonder.

[intheticklecloset]

Dimples (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

This was the cutest idea ever, oh my gosh! I loved writing this one! So much cute, wholesome fluff! Enjoy! <3

~

“Dude!” Kaminari snatched something off of Deku’s dresser in his bedroom. The green-haired hero turned to look at him. “Bakugou had dimples as a kid?”

Deku smiled. “Oh, yeah.” He glanced over the blonde’s shoulder to see the picture taken of him and Kacchan when they were in elementary school and still kind of friends. It was right after Bakugou had gotten his quirk but before he started being a real bully. It was one of the last pictures they’d taken together where Kacchan was actually smiling. “I forgot about that.”

“Does he still have them?”

“Uh, well…” Deku shrugged, going back to searching for his history notes, which he’d promised to let Kaminari copy. “You’d probably know better than me.”

“I would?” Kami put the framed photo back on Deku’s dresser, frowning. “Why?”

“Because…you know. You guys are better friends than we are nowadays.”

“That doesn’t mean I see him smile any more than you do.”

Deku shrugged again. “You’d have a better time of it.”

Kami smirked. “You could just tickle him, you know.”

“He’s not comfortable enough with me for me to do that.” Deku found the notes, thrust them at Kami, and started ushering him back to the door. “Here you go. Good luck with your studying.”

“Wait, hold up,” Kami said, trying to look at him as he stumbled forward. “He’s not comfortable with you? But you guys have known each other—”

“It doesn’t matter to him. We haven’t really been friends in a long time.” Deku pushed him out into the hall, perhaps harder than he meant to. “It’s okay. At least he has you guys. Night!”

Kami blinked at the suddenly closed door in front of him.

All of a sudden, history homework was the last thing on his mind.

A minute later, he was bursting open the door of Kirishima’s room. “Kiri! Bakugou has dimples!”

Kiri jumped out of his seat, startled. He put a hand to his racing heart when he realized it was only Denki. “Jeez, man, you gave me a heart attack. What’s this about dimples?”

“Bakugou!” Denki insisted. “He had dimples as a kid. We gotta figure out if he still has them!”

Kiri chuckled. “Let me guess. You want to tickle him to see for yourself? Don’t you think between the four of us we would have noticed if he still had dimples by now? All of us have tickled him at least once already. Dimples are kind of obvious.”

“Not to me.” Denki pouted. “I haven’t been looking for them. I want to know! Come on, Kiri!”

“I’m not sure tickling is going to really help you out this time, Denki,” Kiri replied, sitting back down at his desk. “But I’m not going to stop you from trying, so go for it.”

Still pouting about the fact that Kiri didn’t seem willing to join him in this adventure, Denki left his room and went to visit Sero. As it happened, he and Mina were studying together already.

“Hey, Denki!” Mina greeted. “Want to join us? We’re covering history.”

He really should have, but right now he had other things on his mind.

“Guys,” he said, “did you know that Bakugou used to have dimples?”

*

The next morning, Bakugou opened his bedroom door with the intention of traveling down to the shared bathroom on his floor when all of a sudden there was a flash of yellow hair and he found himself giggling uncontrollably, being pushed right back into his room with his door closing once again. It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.

“Kaminari!” He yelled, pushing roughly at the electric hero. “Dahahahang it, whahahat are you dohohohohoing? It’s too ehehehehearly for this crahahahahap! Stop it!”

Denki seemed to be watching him intently, holding his ground enough that Bakugou actually started to fall to his knees from the sensations.

“Frick – stahahahahahahap!” He tried punching him. “Kaminari, cut it ohohohohout!”

“Aw, man,” Denki said at last, finally stopping his attack and looking upset. “I wanted to see if you still had dimples.”

“Dimples?” Bakugou practically spat the word, trying to regain some composure. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“I saw a picture of you and Midoriya when you were kids, and you had dimples in the photo,” Denki explained. “I really hoped you still had them.”

“Ugh, that stupid nerd.”

“Hey, Midoriya didn’t volunteer the picture or anything. It just happened to be sitting out where I could see it.” Denki felt the need to defend his friend, especially considering what he’d heard yesterday. “It’s not like he went out of his way to tell me about it.”

“Whatever, you idiot.” Bakugou grabbed his arm and hauled him to the door, opening it and shoving him out of his personal space. “I don’t have them anymore, so you can stop obsessing about it now. Jeez.” He huffed as he resumed his path to his original destination, but in the back of his mind something was nagging at him. The photo was just…out for him to see? Does he have it on his desk or something? Why would Deku do that?

*

Later that same day, as they were walking back to the dorms after school, Bakugou once again found himself being spontaneously attacked – this time by Mina and Sero in tandem. They both grabbed an arm, lifted it above his head, and went straight for his ribs.

“GAH!!” Bakugou shouted, struggling to remain upright as laughter spilled past him without control or permission. “NO!! Kahahahahahaminari already trihihihihied this! I d-dohohohohohon’t have dihihihihihimples anymohohohore!” He tried kicking them. “Stohohohohohohop!”

“Well, he didn’t tell us anything about it,” Mina shot back with a smile. “So we’re finding out for ourselves.”

“Yeah!” Sero found the sweet spot, making Bakugou shriek. “So far it looks like he’s right, though. I don’t see any dimples, do you?”

“No.” Mina sounded disappointed.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Bakugou yelled, struggling wildly.

They both let him go, and the blonde shot his arms back down to his sides, his face flushed from the sudden tickle attack. He growled. “You idiots all need to communicate better! I don’t have dimples anymore, and you know how I feel about being tickled in public. Back off!”

Mina grinned and nudged him. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so grumpy about it. We just thought it would be cute if you did still have them, that’s all.”

“Cute?” Bakugou gagged. “Give me a break.”

*

That evening, there was a knock on his door. Bakugou had had just about enough of this. “What?” he snapped, groaning when he saw a head of red hair enter his room. “Come on, not you, too.”

Kirishima laughed, closing the door behind him. “They all tried to jump you today, didn’t they? I had a feeling.”

“You knew about this?” Bakugou got to his feet. “Why didn’t you stop them? Or at the very least, why didn’t you warn me?!”

“Because we like tickling you, duh.” Kiri grinned. “I wasn’t going to stop them from having their fun. Besides, it’s not like they tickled you for more than a minute each time, right?”

Bakugou growled. “That’s not the point.”

“Uh-huh.” Kirishima titled his head, still grinning mischievously. “So none of them figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“How to make your dimples show up.”

“I don’t have dimples anymore!” Bakugou snapped, then paused when he saw the glint in his friend’s eyes. “I…hold on, what are you…?” He took a step back. “No, I’ve already been tickled enough today!”

“Oh, come on.” Kirishima lunged for him before he could make a break for it, going for his sides rather than his ribs to keep him giggling and weakened but not completely helpless yet. “Everyone else got their minute. Why can’t I have mine?”

“S-Stohohohohohop!” Bakugou yelped when Kiri managed to push him down onto his mattress. “Dohohohohohon’t! Yohohohohou’ll go for lohohohohonger than a mihihihihinute!”

“I’ll go as long as I need to for your dimples to show up, buddy.”

Bakugou tried to kick Kiri, but the redhead pinned his legs down with his hardening quirk and moved up to his lower ribs, making the blonde squeal and curl in on himself with uncontrollable giggles. “I dohohohohohon’t hahahahahave--!”

“Yes, you do.” Kiri grinned, reaching for his phone while Bakugou was distracted. Once he was certain his friend wouldn’t try anything again, he moved back down to his sides and scribbled lightly, just enough to make the explosive teen smile wide and let out a few giggles but not enough to really torture him. He snapped his picture, then finally let Bakugou go.

“Y-You…jerk,” he huffed, still smiling a little. “I hate you.”

Kirishima pushed a few buttons on his phone. “Uh-huh. Oh, and by the way…” He held up the screen for his friend to see, enjoying the look of shocked embarrassment that came over the blonde. “Dimples.”

“Kirishima!” Bakugou roared, lunging for the phone. “Delete that! Delete it now!”

Kirishima laughed. “Okay, okay! I’ll delete it! Chill out!”

*

Deku’s phone buzzed on the desk beside him, startling him out of his reverie. He opened up the text message and gasped aloud. It was from Kirishima, but had been forwarded to him by Kaminari. He couldn’t help grinning at the picture of Bakugou with messy hair, flushed cheeks, a wide smile…and dimples. Just as cute today as when they were kids.

[princessniquane]

My Pleasure

Chapter 3

Office Party

"I see you brought your boyfriend."

"Of course I did. I have to show these men who I belong to. Plus John is eating it up showing me off," Nikki replies.

"Well his ego isn't the only thing that's going to be eaten tonight," you wink at her.

Nikki hits you on the arm her mouth open in mock shock.

"I can't believe you just said that...but you just might be right," she says as she drags you out the women's restroom.

Left and right people were drunk, slur-talking (I made that up...?) and hitting on other people. Women trying to one up each other by showing off their expensive outfits. And the men seeing who can out drink the other or drink more than each other while everyone else are mingling and enjoying the party. You spot the owners, Rollins and Ambrose, talking to John when a couple of drunks try to make a pass them. As politely as possible they decline and walk away.

"See he only has eyes for you," Nikki says.

You roll your eyes as she nudges you towards Seth. We make our way over and three sets of eyes look our way as if sensing us near. John immediately rushes over to Nikki and kisses her cheek. Rollins and Ambrose both look at you as you look at between the two with a blush on your cheeks. The way they were looking at you had you starting to drip between your legs. Both had lust, which you couldn't blame them with your long blue dress with a slit on the side and black stilettos, in their eyes.

"You look...gorgeous (y/n)," Seth says the same time Dean says "You look beautiful." You compliment them on their suits, even though you see Seth in one everyday but you've never seen Dean in one.

Discreetly as possible you eye Dean up and down licking your lips. You look back to Nikki but her and John are on the dance floor already. Turning around you find yourself surrounded by both Rollins and Ambrose. They have you pressed up against them, Dean behind you and Seth in the front. One of Seth's hands are gripping an ass cheek and the other on a hip while Dean has one of his hands are on your thigh while the other is on your neck. Dean slowly moves his hand to your covered clit.

You let out a squeak, Seth chuckles as he whispers in your ear. "You didn't think you could hide from us all night did ya?" Seth says.

You bite your lip and shake your head but stop mid-nod and look into his chocolate brown eyes with confusion. Then turn to look at Dean's blue ones. They smirk at each other and pulls her into an empty conference room. Seth closes and locks the door behind him. You turn to him as you hear the door lock.

"We wouldn't want someone interrupting now would we?" Seth says.

"No not for what we got for Darlin'," Den chuckles.

"How about we play a game Dean-o."

"Don't call me that asshole," Dean growls.

"Let's see who can get (y/n) to cum first. Your tongue or my fingers or vice versa," Seth proposes.

"Woah woah woah, hold on wait," You say. "Not that I'm not up for a threesome or whatever...but why?"

"Because we want you," Dean says as he leans down to nibble on your neck keeping you from thinking too much.

Dean pushes you up against the long table until you're laying down. He pushes up your dress and is surprised to see that you're not wearing anything under it. You blush and say that it was Nikki's idea in case you got lucky tonight. They wear matching smirks as Seth spreads your legs so that he can have accommodating room for both of them.

Seth slides a finger through your moistened lips and shivers at how wet you are. "Fuuuck you're wet baby. We haven't even started yet and you're already dripping," Seth says as he lifts the finger to the light seeing it glistens with your juices.

"My my my it seems we have a very naughty girl on our hands Seth," Dean replies as he he slowly enters a finger all the way in not wasting time. Your arch up suddenly at the intrusion but dim it back down before they notice unfortunately for you they do notice.

"Why do you get to finger her." Seth leans down and flick your clit back and forth with his tongue anyways.

"Its not my fault you doubt your own skills," Dean remarks as he adds a second finger. You bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning as Dean fingers you faster. Seth makes a quick glance at you and sucks hard your clit making you arch your back.

"Oh fuck off Dean. I know how to please a woman." Seth begins to rub at your clit with his tongue.

Both sensations getting to you as you pant, wither and moan softly as you rub your nipples through your dress. You start getting louder as they not only change pace and switching tasks. Dean furiously rubbing, licking, and pinching your clit while Seth is alternating between fingering you with three fingers and pushes his tongue in your heat.

It isn't long before you come undone. They hold you down working you through your orgasm not letting up until you're on the verge of cumming again. Dean and Seth stop before you cum, you whine your disappointment at the lost.

Dean pushes Seth out the way and lick up your your heat getting a taste of you himself. Seth kisses you moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue not paying attention to do who is taking his suit pants off. You and Seth break apart as you hear Dean moaning you see him stroking his cock leisurely.

"Move it dork."

"Blow me asshole," Seth retorts back. "I had her first so I get first dips."

Dean hold out his hands, one open while the other is in a fist. "Play you for it."

"Seriously?"

Dean lifts an eyebrow, Seth takes a deep breath but complies and wins.

"Best two out of three." Dean still loses. "Damn it," he mutters.

"Always with the scissors Dean."

You shake your head wondering how you were about to get fucked to playing rock paper scissors. "Are you guys gonna fuck or what? Cause if not I got a vibrator at home that'll do the job just fine," you say exasperated.

That seem to grasp their attention and they are not to happy with the outburst.

"Oh?" Dean says as the smile on his face doesn't reach his eyes. You look to Seth only to see the same expression.

"You want to get fucked huh?" Seth says as he turns back to you smooth and unzips his pants revealing his cock stroking it. You try to back try a little but Seth isn't having it and pulls you on the edge of the table by your thighs. You feel the heat radiating from him and can't help but shiver with lust.

Dean comes up behind Seth and whispers in his ear. "Do it, fuck her good and hard. Make that pussy stretch real good on your cock and get her ready for mine." Seth shivers and scrunch up his face at Dean as he chuckles at him.

"I hate you so much," Seth says as he pushes into you til you are flush against him moaning. Seth swirls his hips as you wrap your legs around his waist pushing him in deeper. "Shit." Seth doesn't hesitate and starts fucking you deep and fast.

Dean sits in a chair watching as he strokes his cock slowly trying not to cum yet. You meet Seth with each thrusts pushing you more and more close to the edge. He pushes you back to lay down on the table and covers you with his body as he moves your legs to his shoulders thrusting harder.

Reaching forward you grab at his ass lightly scratching, his hips stutter a little he growls down at you and fuck you harder until you're cumming. You can hear Dean's breath start to quicken, looking over at him you see him taking deep breaths as he holds the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming.

Seth pulls out and pulls you on your knees so he can cum in your mouth. You take him deep in your mouth two three pumps later you swallow down his load. "Fuck baby...so good...damn it..."

Seth moves and takes a seat while you try and catch your breath. Dean finally gets in between your legs and works a finger in your pussy as you whimper. Instead of taking you on the table he picks you up and sit back down in his chair mouthing at your neck. You grab at his shoulders and rub up and down his chest.

Dean takes your dress off revealing your black lace bra. He licks his lips and unhooks your bra letting your breasts free and tweaking your nipples and flicking them with his tongue making you gasp. Grinding down on his cock hearing him moan in your ear having you shivering.

"Can't wait anymore...gotta have you," he groans. He grabs one hip and the other at his cock pushing you gently down his length having you feel every inch of him. You were a panting mess as he finally was sheathed inside you, Dean was breathing heavily between your neck and shoulder.

Rocking your hips a little throwing your head back moaning. Dean's groan, as he grabs at your body rocking slowly into you, sounds strained. "Come on Dean. You don't have to hold back for me. I want it...give it to me."

Dean grabs the back of your neck and kisses you deep before thrusting up and pulling you down on him. You hold on to his shoulders as he grabs your hips moving in tandem with each other. You ride him slowly as he moans in your ear. "That's right baby...come on ride me...ah yea like that...ride me like you want it baby."

Speeding up you ride him hard opening you eyes you see Seth stroking his cock to the same speed as you ride Dean. He meets your eyes and moans biting his lip. Dean pulls you back to him kissing you standing up pushing you against the wall. Moving your hands from his neck and puts it above your head holding it with one hand while he uses the other to pull you against him.

Moaning loudly because no one can hear you with the party going on. Moaning, swearing, skin against skin sounding throughout the room. You and Dean against the wall and Seth in the chair jerking off to the sight of Dean fucking into you.

Dean then moves you from the wall having your arms wrapped around his neck he starts bouncing you on his dick mercilessly. Moaning higher and higher no one can hear you anyway so why not scream out. He bounces you all the way to the table and pulls out and puts you face down. He enter back in one thrust and continues to pound into you as you feel yourself start to cum again scratching the table as you push back into Dean's thrusts.

Dean fucking you hard gripping and smacking your ass as he gets closer and closer to the edge. Soon you cum hard around Dean making him pull out and cumming on your ass with Seth right with him cumming on his hand. Dean lays his head on your shoulder blade catching his breath, Seth is the first to recover so he cleans himself up and moves Dean out the way to clean you up.

Dean huffs but takes the offered tissues and does the same for himself and pulls you back on his lap. Seth rolls his eyes but smirks. "Didn't know you were a cuddled Dean."

Dean flicks him off and looks at you.

"Sooo... you wanna go steady?"

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. viii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt viii: the space between us

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.9k (????)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Some more PTSD symptoms/descriptions, though mild.

Notes: This chapter is like, nearly 2k longer than most others and folks, we got it all: identity crisis, PTSD symptoms, the irritability of being surrounded by Seed brothers, the irritability of perhaps not having eaten or had any real water for like two days, Jacob being a shithead, the "sees love interest in x state of undress" trope, YOU NAME IT. When does the fun stop?? We'll never know. tl;dr Elliot pops off like 6 times and honestly, who’s surprised anymore.

I hope you guys enjoy, it feels a bit like this chapter got away from me and not a lot of exciting stuff happens but it did feel important to have this lull of a chapter between all the action and drama. Thank you, as always, to my angel @starcrier the best proof-reader a girl could ask for an also a remarkably thoughtful and sweet friend who for some reasons decides to bless me with her presence to this day.

Thank you so much to everyone who comments, reads, reblogs, likes--all of it is always cherished by me, and it really does inspire me to keep going. <3

tagging my lover my life my shawty my wife @empirics bc she still wanna go here even when i babble at her nonstop

John had hoped that Elliot would go to sleep, but he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none and he wasn’t surprised when, out of what he could only assume was pure spite and anger, she stayed awake the entire drive to the compound. She stayed awake through John recounting what they had experienced of the cult already, what they knew about Faith; Elliot stayed oddly silent, in the way that swelled with the knowledge that she probably knew more than what she was letting on, but John didn’t push.

Jacob stuck to the side roads, the back roads, keeping them as far from the most populated areas as possible: and John could see that it drove Elliot batty, knowing they could just stop at Fall’s End. The radio’s gospel songs echoed eerily in the cab of the truck. After about five minutes of it playing—and, coincidentally, about two minutes after Elliot had smoked down the entirety of her first cigarette—she blurted out, “Can you turn that shit off?”

“Why?” Jacob asked evenly, and John passed a hand over his face tiredly as he heard Elliot take in a huge breath, as though she needed to make sure she properly had enough oxygen to spit her venom out.

As John began tiredly, “Deputy, mind yourself and close your mouth,” Elliot bulldozed him to say, “Because I’ve got a head wound that seems to get exacerbated by idiotic cultists,” their voices once again overlapping until their words strangled each other, Elliot glaring at John. He really wished she would stop looking so betrayed when he took the side of one of his brothers; it wasn’t as though she and him had ever really felt like a team , anyway.

Except for the ranch, dispatching of those Swedes in tandem. And except for when they’d been driving, and Elliot had actually looked happy for a second, even with their hands cuffed together. And except for—

Knock that shit off, John thought to himself, just in time for Joseph to say, “It seems as though your time together has made an improvement on your temperament, Deputy Honeysett.”

“What gave you that impression?” Elliot prompted, despite John’s not-so-subtle pleading look.

“Well,” Joseph continued, “we always do try to have faith , you know, especially in our brother. But considering the animalistic state you were delivered to him in, I would have expected much more poor behavior out of you.” A gentle smile tugged at his lips, an expression John could see reflected in the rearview mirror. “I like to see the impact he’s had on you.”

John couldn’t quite sort out how he felt about his brother’s words. He wanted to be proud; he wanted to think, yes, see? I’ve tamed her, the hellcat, look at her keeping her hands to herself. He wanted to, but there was a complicated feeling wound up in it, because he saw the way Joseph’s words struck Elliot, the way they collapsed the iron-clad battlements of her expression, the way they folded her up and crushed them in his proverbial fist. It was exactly what Joseph did; disarmed, unwound, pulled each tangling thread until they were so knotted all you could do was cut it out.

So yes, John felt an immediate burst of pride in his chest at Joseph’s words, and that pride was almost instantly wiped away at the look on Elliot’s face. It was as though she couldn’t stand the idea that he had made an impression on her, in any way. Disgust, he thought, fending off the insult of her abhorrence of his influence, hatred. She has always been spiteful and venomous, underneath it all.

“Just wait until you outgrow your usefulness, Seed,” Elliot managed out, her voice crackling with something violent. “You’re the only one I want to see dead before I hand you over to the government.”

Joseph rolled his window down. “I see that your manners still need some polishing, though.”

Elliot looked at John. Her gaze was hard, but he returned it nonetheless, expectantly. She asked, “Proud of yourself, are you?”

“Elliot,” John began, moderating his voice so that he didn’t sound as pleased as he felt (and of course he didn’t know why he was doing that; there was no reason he should work so hard to preserve Elliot’s feelings, and yet… ) so that she wouldn’t be right about him, “it doesn’t…”

“Shut up,” the blonde snapped. Her voice rattled, with anger and with the sick inside of her. She pressed herself back into the corner of the bench seat in the back; she looked like she wanted to melt into the truck’s frame. “I’m fucking tired of your voice.”

“Watch your mouth,” Jacob said from the front seat.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” John interjected tartly, feeling himself scramble for something—anything—that felt like normal between them again; the normal that had happened with being forced into each other’s company. “Not until you get better. You still sound sick.”

“ You got those cigarettes for me,” Elliot quipped, vitriolic, “and what the fuck isn’t clear about shut up?” 

As soon as the words left her mouth Jacob pushed on the brakes, hard, the movement slamming the back of her head against the window in the back of the truck. The blonde let out a volley of swears, her hand flying to the back of her head instantly.

Jacob said, his voice prickling with hostility, “I told you to watch your mouth.”

“Jacob—” John began, having braced himself against the driver’s seat, but he could already feel Elliot seething. 

“You fuckhead ,” Elliot bit out, spiteful as ever, her fingers coming away sticky and crimson. “You absolute piece of—”

“Jacob,” Joseph murmured, “let’s not waste time on the road.”

“Elliot, stop squirming,” John insisted, his voice more urgent now. “You’re going to get blood everywhere.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it inconvenient for you that your brother reopened my fucking head wound ?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” John growled. “Stop squirming.”

His voice came out more authoritative than he had intended, wound up-tight and hard by the antagonizing nature of Elliot and Jacob’s exchange. The blonde’s jaw clenched, but she stilled; his hands went to her face, tilting her head so that he could take a look at the wound. Reopened, yes, but only just.

“Don’t move,” John said firmly. He could feel Joseph’s eyes on him, and he thought he knew what he was thinking—that once again, he had reaffirmed Joseph’s words, that he had made some kind of an impression on her, that had he told Elliot two days ago to stand still so he could look at a wound that she probably would have sunk her teeth into his arm like a wild animal.

“Didn’t grab any bandages when we were at the ranch, huh?” John asked, trying at something closer to civil.

“I wasn’t thinking particularly beyond bare necessities,” Elliot replied dryly, her voice muffled by her chin tucked against her chest. John made a noise of agreement—he hadn’t thought to grab any, either, having anticipated they’d get the fuck out and be at the compound by now—and sighed a little.

“Well, let’s rip your shirt.”

“Why aren’t we ripping your shirt?” Elliot prompted, and John blinked at her incredulously.

“Do you have any idea how much this shirt costs?”

“Oh, you pretentious little manchild —”

“Fine!”

John didn’t rip his shirt. Instead, he peeled the shirt off, shrugging out of it and folding it to press the gathering of fabric to the wound. Elliot straightened back up into a sitting position, reaching up; her fingers fluttered over John’s, almost shyly, replacing the pressure of his hand with her own so that he could pull away and let her hold it herself.

“You should have just ripped it,” Elliot said, her eyes flickering over him before she caught herself and looked away. Were John not convinced she was running a fever, he might have thought he saw her blushing. All the same, he felt the corners of his mouth tick in something close to a smile.

“It’s easier to scrub blood out than it is to stitch it back together.”

“That’s our John,” Joseph acquiesced from the front sagely. “Ever-giving.” He paused, tilting his head to peer at Elliot and John in the back, “All we ask for is a little civility, deputy. After all, it is our sister that’s been kidnapped.”

Elliot replied, “You seem very concerned about that.” And then, “By the way, they have Joey too, which wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t pass her off to this idiot,” and she jerked her thumb at John.

“If they wanted to kill Faith, they would have already,” Jacob replied, hitting the bridge to the island and flipping the cruise control on as he blithely ignored her comment about Hudson. “Since she was alive when the two of you saw her. Isn’t that right?”

Elliot muttered something of an agreement, as though Jacob were not saying the things she had already said, as though she so desperately did not want to agree with him about something that she would rather choke on her own words than say it out loud.

“We have some search parties sent out,” Jacob continued, his steely gaze sweeping across the road as he flicked the turn signal on—certainly, pure habit at this point. “To pin them down. Once we have them located, we can work on getting Faith back and wiping them out.”

The blonde beside him was quiet, now. As Jacob pulled the truck into the compound—which looked nothing short of a ghost town, now—John glanced over at her again, nursing the wound with his shirt. She looked only tired, as though she’d spent all of her energy in just this car ride alone.

Jacob put the truck into park and turned it off; as they filed out of the car, John swept his gaze over the compound; everything seemed peaceful, as if nothing were happening, a low breeze drifting over the houses and church while the early afternoon sun drenched it in a harsh, unforgiving light. Though it was quiet, the stillness of the compound unsettled him, and the knowledge that many of their followers had been tucked away in the bunkers for safekeeping made his skin crawl.

“John.” Joseph’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. “Why don’t you take our dear deputy to one of the guesthouses to get settled in? There’s no reason why she can’t rest while we’re getting the radios set up to contact her...” His voice trailed off as he seemed to search for a word, and then eventually mustered up, “Friends.

“I’m not your dear anything,” Elliot said slamming the truck door behind her. Joseph’s lips quirked in a small, muted smile, his eyes beneath the yellow lenses of his glasses nearly unreadable.

“Not yet,” Joseph relented.

John's hand reached Elliot’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said, shaking the way Joseph’s pinning gaze unsettled him, just a little, like there was nothing that was happening that his brother wasn’t cataloging for later.

“Don’t touch me,” she muttered, shrugging his hand off of her but following him nonetheless. John could hear his brothers exchanging words in low voices on their way into the church, and that little sting in his chest lingered, more firmly: the idea that Joseph was pawning off responsibility to him to make him feel like he was doing something important remained.

Elliot pushed the door to a guest house open. “You really just took your whole shirt off instead of ripping a little piece, huh?” she said. It might have been her attempt at casual conversation, but John couldn’t say for sure. It was always so hard to tell what was going to trip that hairpin trigger into enemy territory again.

“It’s Versace, Elliot.”

“Oh, boo .” She pulled it away from her head. “I think you just wanted a reason to be shirtless in front of me.”

John blinked. He didn’t know what to say to that, the most friendly, nearly flirty thing Elliot Honeysett had said to him in many years—which was saying a lot, considering the last time they had spoken in a friendly manner, she’d hardly said more than a stammer of a sentence to him before Joey Hudson swept her away.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” he managed out after a moment, taking the shirt back from her as he got his mental footing back. “I saw you looking. No need to be shy about it, though—we’ve already established you find me handsome.”

Elliot scoffed, but he saw her face flood with red just before she turned away, pacing to the bathroom at the back of the house. “Found, once, years ago,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t let it inflate your ego, Seed.”

He called after her, “Too late,” and she slammed the bathroom door; the very definitive sound of the shower running echoed in the empty house, and John exhaled a small breath in relief.

As he inspected the bloodstain that had gathered on the front of the shirt, he felt a pleasant little thrill in his chest; a stain was a small price to pay for having made Elliot squirm her way out of that conversation, he supposed, and he remembered the way Joseph had said, I like to see the impact he’s had on you. 

Not so wild now, John thought, are you, hellcat?  

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The benefits of a hot shower were never to be underestimated.

Though Elliot had gone into her shower feeling bedraggled, worn down, furious, and more than unseated—both by Joseph’s assertion that there was a yet to be had with the friendliness of their relations, but also by John’s casual confidence in her attraction to him.

She wasn’t attracted to him. John had held her under like he was going to drown her, really drown her. He’d wanted to tattoo wrath right on her chest.  

Elliot’s fingers fluttered over the spot where John’s had dragged, just a day or so ago now, as he said, I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you think? Maybe just over her heart. The same place dream-John had touched, the same place her skin had been burning when flower-eyed John, spilling petals from his mouth, had gripped her face in his hands.

They were getting mixed up in her head now, all of these Johns: the John she had spooned for warmth with in the forest, the John that hadn’t complained when she anchored her fingers into his arm for steadiness, the John that held each side of her face while her body and mind split, somewhere in the middle, bringing her back down before she slipped away permanently; they all wove and intermingled themselves with the others that she knew, the Johns that kidnapped her friends or kidnapped her or held her under or leered at her in a bar when she was young.

It was almost— almost —romantic, the kind of ferocious dichotomy she would have read in a book somewhere, sometime, in a place where she still had the leisure to do something like that: read a book, take a nap, browse television channels. 

Almost, but not quite, because there was and could never be something romantic about John Seed.

Elliot startled out of her thoughts when someone knocked on the bathroom door, the sound echoing in the small bathroom much louder than she thought the knocks would have actually been.

“You’re not climbing through the window right now, are you?” John’s voice came through the door. Elliot quickly wiped the amusement she felt creeping into her face and ducked her head under the water, the heat of it stinging her wound in a sort of catharsis.

“If I was,” Elliot called back, “what would you do?”

“Very funny, Elliot.” And then: “I’d probably kick this door down.”

“How very caveman.”

“Well, you know—desperate times. Plus, I hear women like that kind of thing.”

She rubbed her face with both hands to stop the smile tugging at her mouth. She had to keep focused: she had to remember the way John had practically glowed, radioactive with pride at Joseph’s praise that he’d made an impact on her, that he was changing her. For the better, they thought. For them. Elliot had hardly seen John around his brothers, but the short amount of time that she had (and wasn’t drugged out of her mind) it had become very clear to her that the relationship between them wasn’t as easy to swallow as she would have thought.

But it was easy, when she was given the luxury of a hot shower that molded all of her muscles into relaxation, to feel like they were on a team. It was easy—especially when John had handled her so carefully, like his hands hadn’t inflicted pain on numerous other people, like he hadn’t carved sin after sin into flesh as a macabre brand. Easy, Elliot thought, willing herself to turn off the hot water, because she couldn’t stay in a shower forever. Easy to forget. I can’t forget what’s happened.

“Any chance you’ve got some jeans out there?” Elliot said, stepping out of the shower and finding a clean (clean?) towel hanging; she didn’t have much time to be picky, so she wrapped it around herself and squeezed some of the water out of her hair. Outside, she could hear John stomping around, fumbling through things, and once she’d gotten mostly dried off she opened the door.

“Oh,” John said, like he hadn’t been expecting her, standing just a foot away from the door and holding a collection of clothes in his arms. Jeans, it looked like, and a few shirts. His own shirt was back on, the dark bloodstain turning the navy blue nearly black on the front.

“Oh?” Elliot prompted. She held her hand out for the clothes while the other kept the towel in place.

“It’s just that you look...” He paused, and then handed her the clothes, regarding her almost warily. “You look—”

And he stopped again, and Elliot thought, well go on, spit it out, then, her eyebrows arching upward expectantly.

“Nice,” he said after a moment. As though catching himself, he amended, “Normal, I mean.”

Elliot’s expression deadpanned. “I am normal, John. You’re the one that’s part of a cult, remember?”

He squinted his eyes at her. The spell was broken; the clock had struck midnight; he was no longer enchanted with her, numerous days of grime scrubbed off of her body.

Rather than argue the logistics of his family’s venture being a cult or not, John said, “Change quick, it shouldn’t take long for them to get the radio ready.”

“Yes, boss,” Elliot replied demurely, mimicking the words he’d used when she’d told him to shut up and be a good blanket. John’s eyes flashed to her face and then away, but she didn’t spend too long trying to parse out what his expression was; she closed the door and busied herself with shimmying into the clothes, leftovers from Eden’s Gate members, it seemed. Relatively clean, too, considering she usually saw peggies in various states of disarray and neglect.

After she’d pulled the rest of her clothes on, the white shirt—clearly meant for a man—nearly swallowing her up, she kicked the old, dirty clothes out of the way and opened the door.

“Would you have really kicked the door down if I was climbing through the window?” Elliot asked, scrunching her hair. The back of her head throbbed, but in a pleasant way; the wound had been thoroughly rinsed, and though it still ached from Jacob’s foot slamming the brakes, she didn’t think it was concussive. Yet.

John leaned against the door, regarded her with a dry expression. “Why?” he asked. She opened the door from the “guest house”—it was really more a bunkhouse than anything—and shrugged.

“I hear women like that kind of thing.”

A swift, easy breeze drifted through the doorway as Elliot stepped outside, taking one moment—just one moment—to close her eyes, and breathe, and think, I’m so close, Joey, to rescuing you. I’m so close, I swear I’m on my way to you. Please, just hold out for a little longer.

“—than woman.” John’s voice rattled around in her head, and she opened her eyes looking at him over her shoulder.

“What was that?” she asked.

He sidled up behind her, his hands in his pockets, and bent just a little at the waist so he could say into her ear, “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman,” and against the wishes of her mind, the skin of her neck prickled with goosebumps.

She scrunched her shoulder up to her ear to fend him off. “That’s right, John,” she replied evenly, “I am a devil, and don’t you forget it.”

Elliot saw movement out of the corner of her eye, her body stiffening a little before she turned her gaze and saw that it was Joseph, standing at the steps of the church.

“Children,” he called, his voice welling with some kind of emotion that Elliot couldn’t quite pin down—perhaps amusement, or something else. “Are you done? The radio is ready for you, deputy.”

“Born done with this one,” Elliot replied, feeling the small smile that had been fighting its way onto her face slip from her features. There was just something about Joseph that put her on edge; every second she spent in her presence reminded her of the way he’d looked at her, that night in the church, when he’d said, God will not let you take me.

Like she was the only person in the room. Like she was the only person that had mattered.

Elliot liked to think that she was not the kind of person that would be so easily won over by a cult—but she also knew that they looked for people like her, people with a history of trauma, people who had fewer parents than a child ought to have, people whose one functioning parent was only barely functioning and only crested the standard when they had a few drinks in them. She was exactly the kind of person that Joseph nurtured, cradled, forgave, and she thought that for a second in that church, that night, she had thought about how nice it would be to feel that. Once.

But she had a family, and people who cared about her and relied on her and would miss her. Like Joey.

With long strides, she crossed the small courtyard to the church and stopped in front of Joseph, waiting for him to move aside so that she could go in.

“Feeling better?” Joseph asked her mildly, and when he didn’t move aside she shouldered past him. “You look like one of us.”

“Peachy,” Elliot replied flatly; she purposefully ignored his last words, rinsing them away by focusing on the task at hand. The inside of the church was dim, with only the Eden’s Gate window at the back. Her stomach dropped unpleasantly; a surge of panic washed through her, and she was suddenly reminded of the feeling of Eden’s Gate members shoving past her, watching her through fringes of dark, dirty hair, and Joseph, hands outstretched, waiting.

And John, prowling in the background, ever a predator waiting for his prey.

Joseph brushed past her, walking down between the rows of seating to where Jacob had set up a table, the radio crackling as he adjusted some settings on it. Elliot pushed her way down as well, hating that her steps faltered, that Jacob’s piercing eyes caught every step that didn’t quite hit the way that she wanted it to. Behind her, she heard the easy, confident cadence of John’s steps, the door to the outside shutting.

For the first time since getting in the truck, Elliot felt like she was in the belly of the beast. If only, a voice inside of her said, if only you had known this then, instead of now.

“Well,” Jacob said, “are you going to call them or not?”

She snatched the radio out of his outstretched hand, her heart hammering in her chest. So close; she was so close. If she wanted to, she could tell Jerome and the others where she was, flush the Seeds out well and good once and for all.

But she couldn’t, because she still needed them. At least, she needed one of them, to get Joey back.

Elliot adjusted the settings on the radio to the proper channels, swallowing thickly, and hit the button on the side. Joseph lingered under the window, a few feet away, his back to her; behind her, she heard John’s steps pacing closer to her.

The radio clicked, static buzzing patiently on the end. Her mouth felt dry. “Jerome?” she asked, tentatively into the static. “Jerome, do you—read? It’s me.” And then, quickly and feeling like an idiot, “Elliot, I mean. It’s me, Elliot.”

Silence stretched on the other side for just a moment. Then, the static crackled, and a familiar voice broke over the radio, “Elliot? It’s so good to hear your voice again. Thank God, we were—” Jerome’s voice broke up a little, and then picked up, “—about you. Where are you? Did you get away from John?”

Relief immediately flooded her system, the sensation almost painful; her heart thudded painfully against her chest, and she gripped the table with her free hand to keep herself steady.

“I—” Elliot paused. Her gaze flickered to John, who now lingered to the right of her; Jacob loomed to the left, and Joseph, ever the pinnacle, ever the point of the pyramid, just in front of her. The closest to heaven.

John’s gaze weighed down on her, pinning her, so that instinctively she wanted to squirm right out of it.

“—I’m okay, don't worry about me," she said after a moment. "I'm on my way to get Joey. Jerome, I need you to listen to me."

“Tell me where you are,” Jerome insisted, his voice crackling through the radio with urgency. “We’ll help you get Hudson back. It’s been quiet, here.”

John rolled his eyes, barely veiling his contempt. Elliot shot him a look and cleared her throat, trying to ignore the way that the pastor’s words clutched and pulled at her heart. Jerome’s voice was like a balm to her nerves; she realized, quite suddenly, how much she actually missed being around people who weren’t the Seeds, or members of Eden’s Gate—someone who actually cared about her.

“Please listen to me,” she tried again. “There’s someone else here. A different group, a new—cult. They’re here and I think they’re going to wipe everyone out. I don’t have a lot of time to explain, but you need to take everyone out of Fall’s End and get them out of here, okay? Everyone, and just evacuate as fast as you can.”

“What? Elliot, what are you talking about? ” Jerome’s voice faltered for a moment, and then he said, “Please don’t try and Atlas this thing, deputy.”

Elliot pressed her hand to her forehead. When she lifted her head, Jacob’s eyes were fixed on her, and he said, “Two minutes, deputy.”

Of course, she thought, both exhausted and infuriated. This fucking Darwinian psycho wouldn’t want to give them a fighting chance.  "There wasn't a fucking time limit on this radio call before."

"You're calling the people that want us dead," Jacob deadpanned. "One minute."

Elliot wanted to say that not even a full minute had passed, but she knew better. She bit down on her cheek until she tasted cooper, trying to refocus her attention.

“There’s no time, Jerome,” she insisted, talking faster now as the proverbial clock ticked down. “Take everyone from Fall’s End and leave, okay? I’m getting Joey and we’ll meet up with you a town over, or further way—just don’t stop driving. I can’t explain anymore. I have to go. Jerome?”

There was no answer on the other end for a minute; she could picture Jerome and Mary May arguing back and forth about what they needed to do for this, for her, and her heart ached a little in her chest. Finally, his voice crackled through: “I hear you, but Elliot—let one of us come and help. We’ll get you and Joey out of here.”

“Give Mary May a hug for me, okay? And get Dutch, and everyone, and get the fuck out of here.”

“Elliot.” Jerome’s voice had changed. Her hand had gone to turn the radio off, but it stilled. “Tell me you’re alright and mean it.”

It wasn’t his Resistance Business voice, anymore, and nor was it his pastor voice. It was his dad voice, firm and unrelenting, but not unkind. It welled with gentle affection.

Elliot felt her vision wobble a little. It was embarrassing, that Jerome could disarm her this far away, without seeing her or knowing what the last two days had been. She swallowed thickly and ducked her head against her chest a little when her breath shuddered in her chest.

“We’re worried about you, kid. All of us.”

“Deputy,” Jacob said, impatient, and Jerome continued, “You can tell me if it’s not okay.”

“I’m alright,” she managed out into the radio, willing the tears back away, back from where they had come from. “I’m alright, Jerome, I promise. Please get everyone out of here.”

She put the radio back down on the table and switched it off; she exhaled sharply, once, through her nose. Her chest felt tight, and her body ached, every muscle and tendon and joint in her body feeling deeply bruised. She thought, for one awful, terrible moment, that she might actually start crying right here in front of all of the men she least wanted to do that in front of.

“I guess we’ll see if they make it out,” Jacob said, his voice painstakingly casual and clipped all at once. Elliot felt something hot and sticky flare in her chest, like all of the oxygen had been sucked right out of the air around her. "And if they don't, well—probably means they weren't ever meant to."

She didn’t want to think about the Resistance not making it out; she didn’t want to think about the slow, oozing creep of the cult sidling up on them, of Ase’s fingers on their faces, lovingly planting their gutted corpses with fresh, vibrant blooms.

“Shut the fuck up,” she managed out, her voice wobbling. Jacob’s mouth curved at the corner into something like a wicked smile; he might have been infuriated by her petulance, she thought, if her voice wasn’t thick and wet with unshed tears. She straightened up, digging her nails into her palms, thinking, I could kill him right now, wrap my hands right around that big neanderthal neck and strangle the life right out of him.

But she couldn’t, even if at that moment she really wanted to, because talking to Jerome for even that short time had reminded her about what it felt like to have people around her that cared about her; it had reminded her about being around people that she trusted, that trusted her, that shared the same beliefs. That wanted to take care of her.

She had almost forgotten that, being handcuffed to John Seed for almost two days straight.

“We’ll pray for their safe departure, of course,” Joseph said. His words echoed, tinny and hollow, in her head. She blinked furiously. Elliot was only vaguely aware of John pacing back across the room and saying something to her, but she couldn’t hear what it was; not really.

I am so tired, she thought, over the sound of John talking to her. I am so tired, and I want to go home.

“When will your peggies be back?” she asked, interrupting the sound of Jacob and John blustering back and forth. Joseph paused, and then cocked his head at Jacob expectantly. She waited for one more beat and then said, louder and with more fervent impatience, “I said, when will your little cockroaches be back from finding Joey and Faith?”

Jacob replied, bitingly, “Within the next few hours. They’re going to pin down a location and get back to us.”

“Great.” Elliot turned on her heel, marching herself down the same hallway that just a little over a week ago, she had been walking down with Burke and Whitehorse. “Fuck off until then, you piece of shit.”

It felt like her lungs might burst, or her heart might beat right out of her chest, before she made it out of the stifling darkness of the church. She pushed the door open and hurried outside to take a lungful of fresh air, air unpopulated and unshared with Seed boys.

I’m just one girl. The thought was a desperate one, one that turned over and over again in her mind. That these things were just happening to her, that she had no agency in her life, that it might always be like this. Forever. I’m just one girl.

Elliot walked to the bunkhouse, pushing each step into the dirt in the hopes of feeling more grounded, each breath of air slowly bringing her back to the earth. When she made it inside, she closed the door quickly behind her and paced, rubbing her face. The bunkhouse no longer felt surprisingly clean. It only served as a reminder of where she was, where she wasn’t, where she might never go again.

She pushed her hands against her face until spiderwebs crawled behind her eyelids. They blistered, red fractals of light swimming in her non-vision. She was only a girl, and she was alone—no family and no friends nearby to help, and that was supposed to be good; if Jerome listened to her, they'd be out of Hope County within a few hours.

There was no more room for error. Fall's End evacuating meant there was no rescue party coming, in spite of her words. It meant that she was really only going to get one shot at getting in and getting out, for good. Get Joey, get Boomer, get out. Period.

The door clicked open. Footsteps echoed against the hollow wooden flooring. It was John; she could tell by the way he walked. “Elliot.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, not a how are you, but something else, something that Elliot didn’t know what he meant and or what he was saying or what he thought to gain from it. Did he ever do anything that didn't have any personal gain for him?

“John,” Elliot said, her hands pressed into her face, “can you just leave? I am so tired of hearing your voice.”

“Elliot,” John said again, “take a breath.”

“I am breathing, you fuckhead,” she snapped viciously, turning to face him—John, in his stupid fucking designer shirt, his head cocked to the side as he watched her, the venom in her voice landing but not hitting the way it should have. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be alone? Really, truly alone? Like, for fucking good, unless by some godforsaken miracle your insane brothers don’t kill me as soon as I’ve served the purpose of fetching Faith back.”

“I do," John replied angrily, "and they don’t want to—”

“Oh fuck off, John.” She raked her fingers through her hair. There was a nasty, wicked monster, crawling up from through her, fingers sliding between the slats of her ribs to get a good grip. “You should see yourself whenever Joseph says anything. You practically fall over to kiss the ground he fucking walks on, and for what? For him to give you a little pat on the head? You’d do absolutely anything he asked you to. You’re fucking pathetic.”

That hit the way she wanted to. She saw the hurt slide across John’s face, and then the anger, a power-point presentation on How To Make One Man Hate You. 

“You have a lot of nerve, deputy,” John bit out (and she didn’t miss the way he no longer was using her name, like he wanted to distance himself from her), “to talk to me like that, given that you would probably be lying dead in a field with flowers coming out of your eyes without me. Not to mention that you need us to get your little friend Hudson back—”

“It’s your fucking fault!”

She felt the rasp in her throat, the claws of sickness shredding her delicate insides as her voice flexed painfully in volume. John was staring at her, and she thought, I have to stop yelling, I have to stop, this is just what they want, for me to lose control, but she couldn’t, the words welling up inside of her, wrecked and vicious, and she felt like all of the blood had fled from her hands and feet; she was ice, now, frigid and unyielding.

John’s mouth twisted, like he was shaping the words he wanted to say before he said them. He started, less heated this time, “Elliot—”

“It’s your fault,” she interrupted, clenching her fists at her sides until her hands itched and burned with the intense need for circulation. “It’s your fault—I should—I should be leaving with Fall’s End and leaving this absolute fucking nightmare behind, or—or maybe that shouldn’t be happening at all because this is my fucking home and you and your stupid family took that from me, and I fucking hate you, John Seed, John Duncan, whatever the fuck your name is, whoever the fuck you are, I don’t care and I hate you!”

He stepped forward, his hands lifted, like he was going to touch her; perhaps rest his hands on her shoulders, take her face the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing when her breathing shallowed and her eyes unfocused. But she pushed his arms out of her immediate vision, and while infuriatingly he didn’t get out of her space she still bit out, crushing the words on their way past her teeth, “Don’t fucking touch me, John,” and his hands dropped back to his sides. 

She tried to ignore the strange, fleeting disappointment: as though she had been anticipating his grounding touch, as though she had wanted it, her body betraying her words and her head.

No more, she thought through the haze in her mind, no more of that.

He shifted on his feet. “You’re tired,” he said after a moment, which sounded not like the thing that he wanted to say but instead the thing that he decided was safe. “You should rest. The search parties will be back soon, and you’ll need to be at full capacity.”

Elliot stared at the bloodstain on his shirt. It felt like all of her insides had been scooped out, emptying her; her stomach twisted, both with anxiety and hunger.

“Yeah,” she replied numbly. “Alright, John.”

He turned on his heel, walking through the door to the bunkhouse and letting it swing shut behind him. The room felt colder without another human body in there; emptier, lonelier. Elliot sat herself down on the wooden floor and pushed her face into her knees.

This wasn’t supposed to be me. Her ears rang, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, a black stone falling over and over until her ribs bruised and cracked. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She closed her eyes tight, arms looped around her knees, pressed against the wall of the bunkhouse, and willed herself to sleep.

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 5

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 5 - Tatooine

Sinead turned the memory bank over and over, the metal warming up between her hands. Most of her life she'd found herself in close proximity to a mechanic, so learning proper droid maintenance had never been a priority, something she regretted now, looking down at the lifeless box.

A pleasant and familiar hum surrounded her as the ship hurtled through the dark void, lulling her into a sense of calm she hadn’t felt since leaving the ruins. Even now, hours later, she felt the presence of it lurking in the back of her mind.

Suddenly, the world tilted, and Sinead crashed to the floor. The memory bank few out of her hands and skipped across the floor. She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, when the ship rocked violently, making her cling to the bunk to keep from being thrown clean across the ship.

Two alarms started wailing in tandem.

She gritted her teeth and grabbed hold of a rung on the ladder, climbing into the cockpit before the ship shook and tipped wildly.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s seat, his hands flying across the dashboard, flicking switches and trying to stabilize the ship. The kid was strapped into his seat, his head swirling around to look at all the light coming to life.

Sinead sat down and pulled the safety harness over her shoulders.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Company."

The Mandalorian jerked the steering handles and the ship spun away, a volley of blaster bolts whizzing past the window.

According to a screen on the console, a small starfighter flew directly behind them, firing every time the Razor Crest was still for long enough. They'd never be able to outrun or outmaneuver it.

Cold dread expanded from the base of her spine, making her muscles twitch and tense. Every sound seemed dull, like she was hearing it from inside a vacuum.

The starboard turbine was hit, showering the cockpit in sparks as the shock traveled into the main engine. A third alarm joined the cacophony.

Sinead swallowed hard and found her voice. "Doesn't this hunk of metal have any shields?" She grabbed the armrests so hard her knuckles turned white.

The stars turned into streaks as the ship careened to the side, another round of lasers streaking past the window.

It had to be pirates, not many were brazen enough to attack a gunship, even out in the Outer Rim. Maybe this time she’d die instead of-

A shadowy figure flickered to life above the dashboard. "Give us the child, Mando," it said, its voice clipping in and out. "I might let you live."

Sinead looked at the child, who gurgling nervously to himself. She wanted to reach over and reassure him, but the harness was too tight. Why would anyone want the kid badly enough to attack them for it?

And explosion rocked through the ship, and underneath there was a sound of metal groaning.

Flashing lights danced on the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Hold on.” Mando sent them into a wild spin, the stars turning into white streaks as all sense of direction spun away as quickly as the ship.

It felt like Sinead had been dropped down a bottomless well.

The hologram warped as power redirected. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” it said before cutting out completely.

There was no way the other ship wouldn’t blast them to smithereens the first chance it got.

Mando hit the brakes, and the ship hung unmoving in the air, before the starfighter screamed past it, scraping against the Crest with a sound like an old hovercart in a trash compactor.

Mando fired once, and the laser ripped through the small vessel before it had a chance to spin around and attack. The ship exploded, leaving glittering debris like stardust in its wake.

Sinead sat back in her seat. Her entire midsection felt bruised from the harness, but the alternative was being a smear on the window so she couldn’t complain.

“Nice flying.” She didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so sarcastic, but fear and adrenaline still coursed through her veins, making the blood rush in her ears.

The Mandalorian either didn’t hear or ignored her, as he checked the status of the ship.

“Losing fuel,” he mumbled mostly to himself.

Sinead undid her safety harness and reached over to the child. “Are you okay there?”

The kid laughed as the power went out and they found themselves in complete darkness.

“I think he’s okay,” Sinead said, gently booping him on the nose. “Please say we’re not stranded out here.”

“I think I can redirect the power,” the Mandalorian said, getting up and flicking a switch at the back of the cockpit.

The ship came to life, a sad, sputtering one that wouldn’t last long, but enough so that Mando could propel it towards the nearest planet, an orange dust ball hanging in the void.

“Are you gonna tell me who’s after the kid?”

Mando glanced at her over his shoulder.

“You know, this whole silence thing is getting old. At least come up with a lie like the rest of us.”

Mando glared at her, and Sinead offered him a sharp smile.

The planet was getting closer and closer when Sinead leaned forward. “What is this place even? Or are you not going to answer that either?”

“Tatooine.”

“Oh, that’s just great.”

The Mandalorian adjusted their course toward a small smidge on the planet’s surface. “The Hutt’s been dead for years, and he hasn’t been replaced yet.”

Sinead made an uncertain sound. “Yet, but I’m sure the clan’s just waiting until the region is stable again. They’re not exactly the type to give up a planet without a fight.”

“You been here before?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s a desolate hellhole.”

Gold-orange crags and sand dunes took form as they cruised over the surface, the ship groaning with the effort it took to keep them in one piece.

Sand. She really hated sand.

The comm came to life and a scratchy voice filled the cockpit.

“This is Mos Eisley tower, we’re tracking you. Head for bay 3-5. Over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for 3-5.”

Mos Eisley was nearly impossible to see, a sandstone city poking up through the sand which piled up at the walls making the squat houses look like igloos in the desert. A communication tower rose from the center of the city, its blinking lights the only reason most travelers spotted the city from the air.

The ship wobbled as it made ready for landing, and new alarm blared. The Mandalorian turned it off with an irritated slap on the console.

The kid had fallen asleep sometime after the excitement of the dogfight died down, and the Mandalorian left him sleeping on the bunk, while Sinead retrieved the memory bank, which had ended up on the other side of the ship and stowing it away in the nearest compartment.

Mando looked at her. “Maybe you should stay in the ship.”

Sinead blew out a deep breath. “As you said, the Hutt’s long dead. I can take a look around his old palace, see if there’s something we can use.”

“Just be careful.”

Sinead snuck a glance at the Mandalorian. He wasn’t looking at her.

“Sure.”

Even before the ramp was down, Sinead felt the hot, unyielding fingers of the desert close around her throat. Dry heat snuck under her clothes, making her mouth feel as dry as the surroundings. Cold, unwanted memories pushed to the forefront and she took a second to put them back where they belonged, a dark and unused corner of her mind where they wouldn’t get in the way.

Three pit droids hurried toward the ship the second the ramp touch down, their rusty bodies bouncing over dusty ground like springs.

The Mandalorian pulled his blaster and shot once at the ground in front of the droids, who screeched and collapsed into small heaps, cowering in f-ear.

Sinead yelped and pressed a hand to her racing heart. “Fuck, Mando! What is it with you and droids?”

“Hey!” A shout rang out from inside a cluttered garage, and a short human woman wearing greasy overalls stormed out from behind a safety barrier. Her short stature was almost made up by her rather gravity defying hair. “You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!” The way she was brandishing a heavy wrench left exactly how he’d pay for it up to interpretation.

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Mando ground out, shooting a look at the droids who scurried away.

The mechanic gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? Do you think that’s a good idea, do ya? Let’s take a look at your ship.”

She walked around it, noting every dent and scratch on her datapad. “Look at that,” she said, holding a scanner up to the ship. “You gotta lotta carbon scorching building up top. If I didn’t know better, think you were in a shootout.”

Sinead stepped forward before the Mandalorian had a chance to reply. “We ran into a meteor shower out by the Torq. Barely made it planet-side, to tell you the truth.”

“Uh-huh,” the mechanic lifted an eyebrow, but she stopped asking questions, turning around to continue her inspection. “… a special tool for that one. Oh yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that.”

The Mandalorian rolled his shoulders, and Sinead bit the inside of her cheek. That all sounded very expensive.

“You got a fuel leak! Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

“Like I said, just barely.” Sinead shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “How much for it?”

“The repairs you need ain’t exactly cheap-”

“I’ve got five hundred Imperial credits,” the Mandalorian said.

The mechanic grabbed the credits and have them a good look. “That’s all you got?” When the Mandalorian didn’t magically procure more money, she looked at the droids. “Well, what do you guys think?”

The droids tittered in unison, and the mechanic shrugged. “That should at least cover the hangar.”

“We’ll get you your money.”

“Mm, I’ve heard that before.” She gave both Sinead and the Mandalorian a skeptical look.

“Just remember- “

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya’. You don’t have to say it twice.”

Sinead looked back at the ship as they left the hangar, a thin pillar of smoke was rising from the turbine and the mechanic had already started banging around underneath it.

The second she stepped out into the blaring sunlight, her face stung with sand being blasted through the street. If she never had to step foot in the desert again, she'd die a happy woman.

"So, what's the plan?" She asked the Mandalorian, who didn't look bothered in the heat. Of course, since she couldn't see his face he might be dying underneath the helmet. The T-visor seemed completely black in the sunlight.

"I’ll head to the cantina, see if I can find work. Don't get too close to the palace, the Hutt's guards might still be around."

Sinead gritted her teeth. "Right, I have been in these kinds of situations before you know: I'm not helpless."

"That's not-" the Mandalorian blew out a sharp breath and shook his head. "Never mind."

Sinead made her way to the Hutt's palace alone, reminding herself to breathe regularly, not too deep and not too shallow. She was just a tourist walking alone, not a runaway slave from the very clan that until recently had an iron grip on the planet. The people walking past her weren't staring, they didn't recognize her at all.

She clenched her hands so they'd stop fidgeting. It felt like someone was watching her, a burning spike to the back of her head.

A market had been raised in a big square, rows and rows of hastily put together stalls crisscrossed in a confusing jumble. Shouts from the many vendors mingled in the air into an incomprehensible wall of sound. A Besalisk was grilling sweet meats over an open fire, holding a skewer in each of his four hands. The meat sizzled as Sinead walked past.

Two Jawas screamed in unison at everyone who came close enough to their stall, doing little to entice anyone to stop. Piles of scrap spilled into the street, and the Jawas screeched in indignation whenever anyone accidentally stepped on it.

Sinead ambled down the rows, trying to look like she was browsing the goods without attracting so much attention that anyone would talk to her. Most of the wares being sold were practical, tools and dried food, spare parts for droids. Under a moth-eaten pavilion that offered little in the way of shade, she found a small booth filled with trinkets that looked like they had been ripped straight out of the bowels of a ship. There were brooches made of twisted metal and rings that doubled as lug nuts.

An old woman sat on the other side of the stall. She wore ragged clothes that at first glance made her look like a scarecrow left out in the sun for too long, and it wasn't until she moved that Sinead noticed her. Her face was disproportionately small for her body, resembling a walnut someone left on top of a pile of old laundry.

"See anything you like?" Her voice sounded like a trash compacter filled with rocks. "I make 'em myself."

That wasn't hard to believe. Sinead hummed politely and picked up a brooch made from cogs and a rubber binding. "I’m afraid jewelry isn't that high of a priority right now."

Her wrinkles deepened as she pursed her lips. "Meh, people don't even know what they need until it's right in front of ‘em. Tell ya’ what, I'll give you a good deal, okay? The earrings for fifty creds."

Sinead couldn’t help but snort. The earrings in question were made from old circuitry, the hooks so rusty that wearing them was a surefire way of getting a nasty infection. "Fifty is a bit steep, don't you think?"

The old woman grinned, showing her one snaggletooth poking over her lower lip. “Low price to pay for beauty, innit?”

Tapping on the table Sinead though for a second before saying, "tell you what, I'll buy one of your-" she gestured to the assorted jewelry- "wares … if you can give me some information in return."

The old lady grinned again, her tooth a terrible distraction, looking like a broken roof shingle. "Let's hear it then. What'ya want?"

"Oh no, information first, then the sale."

A shadow fell across the woman's face as she glared Sinead, her watery eyes studying her face. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn’t trust me."

Sinead kept her face carefully neutral. "Past experiences have taught me to hold payment until after I get what I want. I’m sure you understand, right?"

There was a cruel glint in the old woman's eyes. "You bet I do. Ask away, dear."

For one long moment, Sinead blanked on what to ask her. She wanted to talk about the Hutt, but the old crone had done nothing to inspire trust.

"The entire galaxy was turned upside down when the Empire fell. How was it here?"

The old woman cackled and folded her wizened hands over her stomach. "You haven't seen our little art project out by the wall, have ya’? A little parting gift from us to the Empire."

"Who controls the planet now? The New Republic-"

The old woman spat on the sand.

"... right."

"We control ourselves, dearie." Sinead had never heard a term of endearment used with so much venom. "We ain't need anyone come here and tell us how to run our own damn home. After they got the message, most of the bucketheads left. The ones who didn't, well, they make a good decoration, don't they?"

"A place outside the grip of the Empire and the Republic sounds nice."

"Sounds like you have something to hide."

Sinead shrugged. "I don't like tyrants or bureaucracy."

"We got rid of our old tyrant years ago, ain't ever looked back since," the old woman sneered,

There we go.

Sinead shifted her weight and leaned closer. "Heard about that on the subspace, that's nasty business. Any chance the Hutt's head is hanging with the others? I'd like to go give my goodbyes in person."

The old woman peered at Sinead. "Sounds personal."

"As far as I'm concerned, hating the Hutt clan is everyone's business, and those who don't are either terminally stupid or, well, part of the Hutt clan.”

"That kriffin' piece of blubber is probably still out in the Dune Sea somewhere. I doubt even the bloatflies'll touch his stinking corpse."

"He was killed in his palace? I heard that place is a fortress."

"My boy went out with some of the others, just to have a little lookie-loo at the place, but the slaves didn't wanna let nobody in. Said they’ve taken over. Been coming in from all over the galaxy, the buggers."

"They still out there?"

The old woman seemed to remember herself. "You ask an awful lot of question, dearie. Maybe it's time you hold up your end of the bargain, hmm?"

Sinead opened her mouth to protest. If Tatooine had managed to rid themselves completely of Hutt control, then maybe other systems would follow suit. The dangerous look in the old woman's eyes told her, however, that pressing on would be a bad idea.

"Sure," she said, looking earnestly at the merchandise. "Uh, yeah … how much for the necklace?" It was the only thing that, if you squinted and stood five meters away on a foggy day might resemble jewelry. It looked like an old optic unit ripped from a droid and attached to a leather string.

"Hundred creds."

"You're joking."

"My information doesn't come cheap, girl. I can always call the guards, say you robbed me of my hard-earned knowledge."

For once, Sinead was momentarily lost for words. "That doesn't-"

"Since the Empire left, we've had to handle justice ourselves, you see, and sometimes the new guards can be a little rough."

Sinead bared her teeth in a smile. "I'll give you twenty."

"Eighty."

"Thirty."

"Seventy-five."

"Thirty-five."

"Seventy-five."

Sinead tossed some credits on the table. "Forty. That's literally the last credits I own."

The old woman snatched the credits with remarkable speed, squirreling them away in her dirty cowl.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Sinead said, stuffing the necklace into her pocket before moving on from the stall.

When she got back to the hangar, the suns had reached the top of the sky and it had impossibly gotten even hotter.

Mando came walking from the other side, his gleaming armor standing out between the bedraggled denizens of Tatooine. He sped up when he saw Sinead.

"You should stay in the ship," he said, when they reached the door to the hangar at the same time.

"You know, people usually greet each other before starting to bark commands, you should really try it."

The Mandalorian shook his head, grumbling under his breath.

“Did you manage to find work, or do we have to go back empty handed? I have a feeling that won’t go over too well with the mechanic.”

“I did, but look … does the name Fennec Shand mean anything to you?”

The color drained from Sinead's face.

"She's hiding out in the Dune Sea with a bounty on her head. I have to bring her back."

"Alive?"

"Yes."

"What a shame."

Fennec Shand’s name brought with it a very special kind of dread. Every Hutt slave had heard stories of Shard bringing back runaway slaves in a condition where they wished they were dead.

“I’ll stay in the ship.” Sinead looked around, like she expected Shand to jump out from behind the nearest hover-cart. “How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. I’m bringing this kid … it doesn’t matter.”

Sinead bit her lips. “Just make sure you get her. I don’t want her coming to Mos Eisley in a murderous rage.”

The Mandalorian moved towards the entrance to the hangar, and when the door opened, the smell of oil and metal hit them.

She wanted to get off this planet, doubly so now she knew that a vicious killer for hire had made this her home. There was nothing to do but wait.

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[vannahfanfics]

Live Like You Were Dying

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Oboro Shirakumo, Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Nemuri Kayama

Oboro scrunched up his face happily as he sipped at his juice box, enjoying the sweet taste of apple juice bursting on his tongue. It was the perfect thing to wash down the rice and beef he’d just inhaled for lunch. He popped his lips off the straw with a satiated hum, wobbling his head in tandem with clicking his heels. His shoes scraped against the concrete roof— a sound grating enough to awaken the napping boy beside him. 

“You’re awfully chipper ,” Shota grunted from within the confines of his yellow sleeping bag. Before Oboro could answer, Hizashi perked up from Shota’s other side, emerald eyes gleaming behind his shades. 

“Why not be? It’s a beaaaaaaautiful day!” As Hizashi stretched out the word with a delighted trill, Shota scowled dourly and burrowed further into his sleeping bag. The plastic-like fabric crinkled with each of his irritated movements. Hizashi only laughed good-naturedly as the boy zipped up the sleeping bag from the inside, clearly displaying his opinion on the “beaaaaaaautiful day.” 

Unlike his grumpy compatriot, Oboro was very inclined to agree that the weather was dandy indeed. He basked in the warm sun streaming down from the cloudless sky above, rolling his shoulders as it heated the fabric of his school uniform. Birdsong drifted up from the trees and bushes flanking the school building, and occasionally the breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with a pleasant symphony. Oboro could never understand how Shota could snooze away such a balmy afternoon, but sure enough, his snores joined the melody wafting over the rooftop. 

The snores turned into a startled “snooork?!” as the door to the roof violently flung open. The metallic clang resounded through the air, prompting Shota to open the sleeping bag up part of the way to glare out. Nemuri came flouncing over, skirt swishing around her supple thighs with every sashay of her hips. A confident smirk decorated his lipstick-coated lips as she struck a saucy pose before them. 

“Hey, boys <3” 

Shota grunted disinterestedly and tunneled back into the depths of his sleeping bag. Nemuri’s millionaire smile vanished into a surly pout. She turned to Oboro expectantly, who did not disappoint. 

“Hey, Nemuri. What’s up?” 

“I am glad you asked!” Nemuri beamed, the white flash of her teeth returning with vigor. She flipped her midnight-blue hair over her shoulder as her eyes grew lidded with paramountcy. “I want to formally invite you all to attend a meteor shower viewing this evening.” 

“Pass,” came the dispassionate groan from the sleeping bag. Scowling, Hizashi whapped the shiny yellow surface. Shota popped his head out with an indignant glower, to which the blond just raised his eyebrows admonishingly. Shota’s eyes slowly drifted to Nemuri, who had put on her best pleading expression. She even batted her eyes and pressed the tip of her index finger to her slightly parted lip in a look of pure demure. 

“Please, Sho~?” 

“Come on, Shota!” Oboro pressed. He tucked his legs criss-cross and gripped his shins, beaming brightly at his friend. “It’ll be fun. What else do you have to do— sleep?” 

Shota gave him a look saying that was exactly what he had in mind for the evening. However, he silently deliberated Nemuri’s invitation and finally released a long sigh of relent. 

“Fine.” 

“Yay!” Nemuri squealed, throwing her hands into the air excitedly. Hizashi and Nemuri soon became involved in an avid conversation about meteor showers’ romantic aspects, with Shota grumbling within his sleeping bag over his soured nap. Oboro resumed sipping at his apple juice, blue eyes beholding the azure sky and envisioning it instead as an inky black canvas studded with glittering stars. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Oboro released a small “hup!” as he hopped down from his cloud. Nemuri had decided that the school roof was the optimal place to view the meteor shower, so he had used his Quirk to float them over the chain-link fence that ringed the area. As his feet met the solid ground, he turned to offer a hand to Nemuri, who flashed him a sultry smile. 

“Oh, what a gentleman,” she cooed lasciviously. Much used to Nemuri’s flirtations, he only winked at her and helped her slip down from the fluffy cloud. Shota and Hizashi dropped down on either side of her, blinking to adjust to the gloom shrouding them. The light from the nearby lampposts only dimly illuminated the rooftop, casting them in grey shadow. 

Nemuri skipped over to their favorite roosting spot, untying her jacket from around her waist to drape it over the concrete before primly sitting down. Shota shambled over to slide down the wall, legs stuck out and his hands buried into his hoodie pockets. Hizashi opted to stand, leaning against the wall with an earbud stuck in his ear; Oboro could hear the muted tones of his rock music emanating from the one dangling down by his collarbone. Oboro squatted down near the chain-link fence, head craned to behold the indigo-black sky gleaming brilliantly above the campus. 

The stars twinkled like diamonds, splashed across the sky like a thick streak of white paint. A few wisps of gray clouds drifted lazily like canoes across a mirror-smooth lake. In a stroke of luck, the meteor shower fell on the night of the new moon. Thus, the stars were relegated to a solo performance— and they didn’t fall short, bathing the world in a soft white glow. However, they didn’t have to perform alone for very long. 

“There it is!” Oboro gasped as a single streak of light slashed across the sky. It looked like someone scored a pencil across the heavens, etching it into white radiance. After the first once fizzled into nothingness, the sky illuminated with several more, and within seconds, dozens of meteors were raining to earth. The small meteors gave their last breath as they burned away in the atmosphere, crying their death in a burst of luminescence. 

Oboro found it both captivating and haunting. As he watched the meteors shoot across the sky, he marveled at how easily something could just blip out of existence. A flash of light, one final chance to make your imprint on the earth, and then— nothing. You fade into oblivion, a passing memory slowly dwindling with time. 

How sobering. 

He peered over his shoulder to his three friends. Nemuri’s sky blue eyes reflected the showering lights, making them twinkle like galaxies of their own; her face was drawn in reverence that he’d never seen before as she beheld the natural phenomena. Shota suppressed his awe better, but Oboro could see his appreciation by the way his jaw set and the gleam in his eyes. Hizashi was even stunned into silence, a thoughtful look on his face and one hand still held up from where he had taken out his other earbud. 

Oboro could tell just by the atmosphere that an intense rumination had pervaded their usually animated group. Maybe they were all thinking the same thing, or perhaps they were all thinking different things. Oboro wasn’t a mind-reader. Nor did it matter— some things were better left unspoken. 

He didn’t want to fade into nothingness like those meteors. Sure, he hoped he’d live a long, fulfilling life— but sometimes things don’t work out how you think it will. If the worst became him, he didn’t want to fade into obscurity, relegating to the dark parts of his friends’ minds that they only looked upon in melancholy. 

Luckily, oddly-beget optimism was Oboro’s specialty. 

“Let’s make a wish!” he grinned suddenly. His friends jerked, startled out of their quiet contemplation by his loud cry. Nemuri’s eyes fluttered as she regarded him curiously, and then she smiled broadly. 

“Oh, what a nice idea! Me first, me first!” she cried, holding out her hand as if flagging down a teacher. She cleared her throat professionally before declaring purposefully, “I want to dominate the hero world with my ultimate sexy style! I will bring both men and women on their knees before me! Mwahahaha!” 

Shota looked like he wanted to die. Hizashi appeared elated, and Oboro gave Nemuri a smile somewhere between supportive and concerned. 

“That’s… a nice way to put it, Nemuri,” the blue-haired boy offered placatingly. Nemuri seemed quite pleased with herself, tucking her chin into the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. “What about you, ‘Zashi?” 

“I wanna bring my tunes to the whole world, baby! Spread the love through the power of music, yeeaaaaaah!” he crowed, striking a flashy pose. He yelped when Shota punched him in the calf, making his leg buckle a bit. “Oww! Whydja do that, huh?” 

“You’re too loud. You’ll get us caught; we’re not supposed to be up here,” Shota sniffed matter-of-factly. Hizashi stuck out his tongue mockingly before peevishly crossing his arms. When Nemuri prompted him, his eyes widened slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “A good nap would be nice.” 

“Be serious, Shota!” Hizashi whined. The grouchy boy huffed and tipped his head to the side to give his wish some actual thought. 

“I guess becoming an underground hero would be nice,” he shrugged after a moment. 

“Now that’s more like it!” Hizashi praised with a pump of his fist. Oboro smirked at the teeny little smile that appeared on Shota’s lips. “All right, Oboro? What do you wish for?” 

Oboro smiled, looking back up at the splendorous display illuminating the heavens above. 

“Me? Well… I just wish that we all remember times like this forever.” 

A silence descended between them. When Oboro looked back over his shoulder, they were all gawking at him. 

“Whoa, dude. That’s heavy,” Hizashi whistled. Oboro laughed and threaded his fingers through his cotton candy-blue hair, feeling a little self-conscious at how surprised they were. He blushed a little and gave them a sheepish smile. 

“What? A guy can’t get a little sentimental every now and then?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood he’d inadvertently heavied. He smiled lopsidedly, scratching his cheek. “I was just thinking…. You never know which day is your last, right? We gotta make the most out of life, ya know?” 

“Hmm… I see what you mean,” Nemuri hummed appraisingly. Oboro relaxed, glad the heat was off him a little. He glanced up at the sky; the meteor shower was dwindling, fewer streaks lighting the sky with each passing second. “Yeah,” Nemuri said brightly after a second. “A wish to live every day to its fullest… I love it!” 

“Me too, me too!” Hizashi agreed energetically and punched the air a few times. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Shota shrugged with a wry smirk. Oboro preened a little, his smile widening as he watched the last of the falling meteors proclaim their final moments to all those watching. 

Oboro made a promise that night to live like those meteors— screaming his presence to the world for as long as he was there, imprinting his being on all those who would listen, and bring joy and smiles to as many people as he could. If he lived like that, enjoying each and every day, then maybe even if the worst befell him, he would leave some kind of mark in people’s memories. 

Live like you were dying, and then, could you really have any regrets?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!