#the pacing is bizarre but I’m into it

[s-leary]

Good lord, The Hands of the Emperor needs to come with a warning label for people who have a praise kink. This book is, in print, something like 940 pages long, and the entire last third of it consists of the previously self-effacing, underappreciated protagonist giving righteous monologues and receiving accolades.

Chapter 51: Two years have passed. Here’s a committee meeting.

Chapters 59-76: Here are twelve hours between coffee and after-dinner drinks, during which time Kip’s entire adult life is reviewed, dissected, and praised by everyone he has ever met, and numerous people who are meeting him for the first time gradually realize that he is a stealth badass who runs their entire world.

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

Johnny doodle

[buffyannesummrs]

love and light to all who are enjoying but the problems I felt like were latent within TLOU adaptation have really started to come to a head and it’s such a bummer!

[foldingfittedsheets]

My beloved requested we get pizza tonight from the place I got fired. It’s been long enough that I’m not salty, it’s good pizza.

It was packed which wasn’t too unusual for a Friday night but the line was crawling at a super slow pace which was unusual. As we got closer we realized there was a massive table full of uncooked pizzas waiting to go in the oven. Which like, how?

We also saw they didn’t have dough pressed and ready and were frantically doing that while restocking the line with pepperoni and mushrooms.

A harried man shouted it would be at least a 30 minute wait. After a moment he added that they were hiring. It took every ounce of willpower not to shout that that I’d been fired once already but I’d go for twice.

I kept looking for a reason for this predicament. What had happened to set them so far behind? Why hadn’t they had a ton of dough pressed and ready for a Friday night? It seemed absurd that they couldn’t handle a Friday crowd.

After waiting for thirty minutes in line, we got up to order. The girl misspelled my name in the most bizarre way I’ve ever seen in the manner of someone who’s brain has moved passed stress into madness.

She didn’t have dough to make our pizzas but was gamely pressing on with taking our order when the fire alarm got pulled.

The whole restaurant had to empty and the staff looked like they were at the end of their ropes. We got outside and my beloved was ravenous. They had sat in traffic for an hour to get here from work. I kissed their face and told them I’d go pick up pizza at another location and meet them at home. They thanked me effusively and we parted. I saw the fire truck arrive as I pulled away.

When I arrived the other location was *dead*. There were only three customers. But I immediately recognized one of them as the girl who had been behind us in line at the last place. “Are you…?” I asked

“Yes. What do you want to bet they pulled that alarm themselves?”

We laughed and finally got our pizzas, drifting our separate ways after our shared unreasonably long quest for dinner.

[wintaerbaer]

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

��I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[blueberrycig]

patrick in the bratverse losing it over the panties you have on - thank u charli for the most patrick zweig coded song in the world 18+ !!!!!! you wanna guess the colour of my underwear you wanna know what i got going on down there is it pretty in pink or all see through? is it showing off my brand new lower back tattoo?

his breath is quivering, begging for release with each painful exhale. you can’t help but smile to yourself, envisioning his expression; eyes all screwed up, laugh lines visible and mouth slightly agape for only the walls to see. 

“lacy?” he manages to just breathe out. 

your finger is toying with the waistband of the dreadfully tiny panties, “in places, yes.” 

teasing yourself like this doesn’t feel as good as when patrick is in the same room as you. right now he’s over 150 miles away in some dingy hotel room, pleasuring himself into the phone for your unbridled joy. he won the challenger earlier today, but this is the prize no one could even come close to. 

his voice drips in desire, “black and lacy?” 

“and very, very sheer.” 

a long exhale, “fuck.” god, you wish you could be with him, smothering his face with these same panties as you lower yourself onto his face. you ached to feel the heat of his breath on your pussy before he gives it his all for his favourite girl. 

“who in college is getting to enjoy that dirty little pair while i’m not drilling into you?” ah, patrick being patrick. his voyeuristic attitude lights a burning flare to your cheeks, a reason he loved to tease you so much. always deriving pleasure from watching you squirm under his words and jabs.

“i’ve noticed art sneaking a little look while i’m stretching on the court,” admitting this to patrick activates a ripple through your body. your hairs stand, anticipating his reaction. 

a part of you knows that sick fuck will enjoy the idea of his best friend drooling over his girlfriend. you know him too well. patrick propels his hand up and down faster and faster at the image of art stealing moments to himself in the stanford showers. he imagines art releasing ropes of cum in shame over the thought of his girlfriend’s hot underwear and what sweetness it hides.

patrick’s words are slow. swallowing back a moan, he echoes, “art likes to look up my girlfriend’s skirt, huh?” 

“mhm,” you smile, your fingers finding their way home to your pulsing heat. you begin to swirl in sync with each of patrick’s beautiful subdued moans. “he misses serves.” 

“fucking snake,” his words are jagged, completely falling apart and world spinning. he’s feeling a bizarre cocktail of possessiveness, jealousy and craving. he wouldn’t want it any other way.  “you like him watching you?” 

“mmm,” you moan in response. “i guess i hold the stretch longer than i should.” 

“you dirty girl.” 

god, the hunger you feel for him right now is unimaginable. you’re hot to the touch, body parts aching for him to return into your vicinity and sink right into you, fuck you till the birds sing, “how else can i keep myself entertained? i miss you, patrick.” 

“two weeks, baby,” he reassures you. “that’s all.”

you whimper in agreement, quickening your pace with him. 

“now are you gonna send me a picture of you in art’s favourite underwear or what?” 

read part two

[neiptune]

to hell with the stars, keep shooting for the moon

cw: 3k wc, female reader, established relationship, suggestive if you squint, reader is a gymnast, my entry for the super fun summer olympics collab by @tetzoro! hope you'll enjoy the little surprise i squeezed in hehe

“For the last time, I’m not having sex with you on one of those cardboard beds”.

Atsumu isn’t the least bit discouraged by your exasperated scowl, which is met with a pout.

“But babe-”

“I don’t care how many times Tobio’s done it, ‘Tsumu” you click your tongue.

“It’s just so fucking bizarre that he gets so much action, the guy doesn’t even do anything! Shoyo agrees, we discussed it and still couldn’t find a reason” the blond, excessively petulant Miya who makes it a point to be the bane of your existence, keeps listing all the reasons why he believes his teammate shouldn’t be getting laid in the olympic village. Or anywhere else ever, for the matter.

The heated arguments float through a distant hemisphere of your brain, where they dissolve before you can quite catch their meaning and soon enough become simple sounds you’re passively absorbing, thoughts too preoccupied with something entirely different.

The choreographies you put together with your trainer have been playing in the back of your mind ever since last night, after the all-around individual qualification round. You are part of the 10 gymnasts with the highest scores, four performances with each apparatus earning a fairly decent ranking and good enough points. Well, they’re certainly good enough, given that you get to represent Japan at the individual final. But you just know they could be better. Your feet should’ve been firmer, hands less sweaty around the clubs, you should’ve stretched for at least 50 minutes prior to the routine instead of the usual 40 ones.

Pulse picks up in pace, heart thrumming faster against your ribcage, dizziness clouds your mind for a moment as different moves chase each other in rapid succession: the penché comes first, then follows the elbow stand, front walkover, one forward roll, a chest stand-

Gentle, calloused fingers grasp your chin and tilt your head upwards in silent demand. Look at me.

“Get out of there and talk to me, sugar” the fondness in his chocolate gaze is a balm that instantly soothes the churning sensation sabotaging your stomach.

“I won’t make it” it’s blunt, raw in its honesty “I’m too scared”.

“Ya worked your ass off the past four years. Your entire life actually”.

“I know”.

“And whatever happens, you’re one of the best ten gymnasts in the world”.

“I know”.

Atsumu gets closer as his hands hold your face now, gentle but firm, an all too familiar flame starts dancing in feverish eyes.

“But?”.

You recognize that gaze, the raging, febrile determination taking over. He gets it on his side of the net, where he gets to run the show. And oh, isn’t that always a sight for sore eyes? It certainly was at the olympics too, when the entire world got to witness what Japan is already used to. The game against Argentina was nothing short of glorious, the way Atsumu coordinated his team’s offense, established the entire tempo and overall built the confidence in his passers had the crowds chanting his name over and over again. By the evening, you’re positive at least a hundred new Miya Atsumu fan accounts had started following you on instagram.

And yet he doesn’t take any of it for granted. Atsumu always gives his very best, at the olympics or during regular training with his friends. Whether Tobio is going to play or not. That passion simply sets his soul ablaze at all times, with no exception. He’s the man you love and the only one who can truly understand how you feel, the one person who is ignited with the same delirious resolve currently burning in the pit of your stomach.

“But I really want that fucking medal” you whisper. Not to prove him that you have it in you just like he does: truth is you’re the only person who needs additional convincing.

Sharp canines make their appearance when Atsumu smiles widely.

“Then go get it. The hell are you scared of? That medal belongs to you”.

Your eyelids flutter as they fall shut, a deep breath filling your lungs with fresh air. When you open your eyes again, you feel your heart filling up with something else too.

“I love you”.

His eyes soften at that, affection pools within crinkles by the eyes as a confident grin morphs into a warm smile.

“Love ya more, champion” Atsumu kisses your forehead with tenderness, lingers for a moment too long with lips pressing to your skin with intention. Then he lets go of your face but not before searching for any remnants of self-doubt. His chest swells with pride when all he can find in your eyes is that determination he adores.

“Will you be there?” you ask because you can’t help it. It’s perfectly understandable that he might not be able to, his schedule is just as busy as yours and Japan’s final game is just two days away. It’s not entirely fair to ask and someone else might’ve rolled their eyes with a sigh, reminded you that they don’t get to decide that. But not Atsumu. He takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips to kiss each knuckle.

“I’ll do everything I can to be there”.

“Thank you” you lightly pinch his nose with an infatuated smile and he fakes a groan “see you later”.

“I love you!” he shouts as you run away, loud and obnoxious and passionate, just like his affection always is. Once again, Atsumu’s love is thrown over your shoulders like a comforting blanket that weighs just right.

Back at the beginning of your relationship, you had to unlearn a very specific thought process that posed the risk of ending something that still hadn’t had the chance to fully start. It was your first time dating another pro athlete, a very talented and quite renowned one no less. You were first introduced to him at a party, he had no idea who you were but of course you were all too familiar with his name and accomplishments.

Miya Atsumu was a pro volleyball player, known for his exceptional flair and fierce passion ever since high school. His reputation made you believe that, as an athlete yourself, you had to prove him that you were just as good in your own sport. Wasn’t that all he’d be interested in? Dating someone who wouldn’t embarrass him with their mediocrity, someone who wouldn’t stain his polished reputation?

Turns out, by no means Atsumu was interested in all that. He asked if it was okay for him to come watch one of your competitions, coincidentally one of your worst ones. You were all too aware of how badly you had competed, nerves and a recent flu contributing to a terrible performance, yet at the end of it Atsumu greeted you with stars in his eyes. He couldn’t stop talking about how elegant yet strong you looked, going as far as describing your choreographies as breathtaking. With a nervous chuckle, he half-jokingly said he couldn’t believe you’d let him date you. 

That’s when you kissed him for the first time, fiery and feverish in a way that would’ve probably scared anyone else off. Not Atsumu, though. He wrapped his arms around you without so much as an ounce of hesitation, kissed you back like it was the last action he was allowed to perform on this earth. And you knew: he didn’t need you to be a winner, to be shiny at all times, to feel proud. To love you. Whether you end up bringing the medal home or not, he will still be your biggest fan and loudest supporter.

The intensity of the crowd doesn’t bother you at all: given your anxious nature, Chisaka-san has been adamant about training you with headphones and loud tapes for years. Music, cheers, booing, clapping, national anthems, you’re used to it all by now.

You observe the ukrainian gymnast, the way she moves so elegantly with her colorful ribbon. It looks like she’s flying, hopping on invisible steps made of air, sparkly leotard catching the light just right. Yours cost a fortune: handmade, sewn in Italy, a triumph of colorful stretch mesh, thermal crystals and sew-on rhinestones in various sizes and shapes.

As Chisaka-san helps you practice the usual deep breaths with a hand pressed to your chest, your eyes are still glued to your opponent. The podium is yours, unless you fuck up so badly even the bronze slips away. Daryna currently has the highest score and it’s certain she will protect the lead at the end of her final routine. Then follows Bulgaria’s Katerina, but you’re hardly worried about her: she finished her last exercise without catching the ribbon, a penalty you can easily overcome if luck and nerves are on your side.

When after an impeccable Daryna your name is announced at last, your trainer gives your butt a friendly, encouraging pat. She believed in you more than anyone else, more than yourself. She knew you’d qualify for the olympics and would be flying to Paris before you could even dream of such an achievement. And now you get to honor her trust, you get to prove that Paris is where you belong. The podium is yours because like hell you’re allowing it to slip away. But you want more, you want that gold.

The crowd seems louder now, flags raised in flashes of white and red in your peripheral as you smile radiantly and position yourself to start the routine. You don’t check if Atsumu was able to make it, don’t allow yourself to think of anything but the way your feet and legs and arms and hands are supposed to move.

The longest 85 seconds of your life begin along with the music, Piazzolla’s libertango but with a modern, energetic arrangement. The ribbon is not as scary as the hoop, it moves with you like an old friend, seamless and reliable. You throw the handle into the air and perform two forward rolls before catching it again in one fluid motion, lips perpetually stretched into a confident smile. The crowd erupts in deafening cheers at your backscale pivot, the more you keep cutting through the air with precision, control and passion, the more your smile grows. Yes, this is where you belong, this is what you love and were made to do.

There’s your signature move, difficult and risky and one Chisaka-san always attempts to talk you out of: a technical element, Bessonova’s swan, while simultaneously kicking the ribbon into the air with your foot once more. You catch it one last time, perform an aerial cartwheel and then a perfectly balanced backward somersault, wrap yourself in the colorful shades of your apparatus and gracefully conclude the routine on the floor.

The crowd is ear-splitting in their support and you don’t have to wait for the score to know: it was perfect. It’s the best you ever did and the tension finally melts into hot tears as you wave and smile and foolishly attempt to wipe the wetness from your cheeks at the same time. Chisaka-san wraps you up in her comforting embrace and you hide your face in her white uniform, ears ringing, blood scorching in veins throbbing with adrenaline.

“I can’t look” you whisper into her shoulder and she gently guides you to the bench, all emotional murmurs and soft touches. She sits next to you, holds your hand as you force a quivering smile to the camera, peace sign held high. And then you can barely catch a glimpse of your scores before Chisaka-san forces you into her arms and against her chest again, right as fresh tears stain your cheeks. She lets you have this moment, shields your first reaction from the world and the prying eyes of cameras that are on you once more because holy shit, Daryna has a 140.60 but you have a 142.850. They gave you a difficulty score of 19.300 and an execution one of 8.550.

“I knew it!” Chisaka-san is the only thing keeping you grounded because it truly feels as if you’re floating. It doesn’t matter how badly you wanted it, how much you fought for it, the moment doesn’t feel real. Not even as the other gymnasts come to hug you and you congratulate them in turn, it’s a whirlwind of all-encompassing love and support and mutual happiness. Moments like this make your sport truly special, they remind you that fierce competition only feels right when balanced by appreciation for your opponents’ efforts and individual journeys.

The crowd erupts in new, loud cheering and you catch a glimpse of the different face the cameras are now focusing on. A handsome face with suspicious dampness glistening on cheeks and a smile so warm, beaming with pride. You can’t help but smile back as your legs move on autopilot, a bottle of water dropped to the floor as you sprint towards the bleachers. Atsumu is in the front row and he easily catches you right as you jump onto him, arms wrapped around his neck.

“Told ya. It belongs to you” he whispers in your ear and you almost start crying again at the trembling in his voice, so many overwhelming emotions swarming in your chest at once.

“Thank you for believing in me” you mutter and pull back to look at him, because even in a venue packed with people and cameras and journalists he still manages to be the brightest, the one thing you could look at forever without ever growing tired of it.

“Always” Atsumu grins, eyes glazed with defiant tears “you did so well. Look at ya, my girl’s an olympic medalist!”.

And because you know he won’t do it, god forbid he takes the most special moment of your life away from you, you kiss him. It’s brief, two pecks that linger just enough before he lets you go, urges you to go back out there and celebrate. You don’t care that videos of this moment are probably going to be flooding every social media platform in a matter of minutes, similarly to how Atsumu hardly gives a damn about all the phones and cameras he has in his face when he runs to you after a game, whether his team wins or not.

It’s hard not to tear up again as the japanese national anthem echoes through the building, so many people singing along as you stand on the podium you have dreamed of every single day of your life. You smile, proud and big, take selfies with the other two medalists and make sure you hug every single gymnast you come across goodbye before walking out of the venue, a promise to catch up with your trainer in the evening.

Atsumu waits for you outside, he doesn’t have any additional training left for the day and you want nothing more than to walk back to the village with him, lovesick smile growing in size when you spot him underneath the afternoon sun, golden light caught beautifully in that honey blond hair.

“There she comes, the girl of my dreams” he coos and you roll your eyes with affection “I hear she’s now the greatest gymnast in the world, too!”.

“Corny” you murmur against his lips as he pulls you in for a real kiss, one of those you’re never willing to give him in front of the cameras.

“About those cardboard beds…” it’s a faint whisper into his mouth but it’s enough for Atsumu to pick you up and twirl until you’re both laughing between kisses, until someone clearing their throat prompts you to abruptly pull back and force your feet onto the ground again.

When you turn around, the embarrassed smile quickly grows into a surprised grin. The stranger is looking back at you with the faintest hint of a smirk and Atsumu isn’t entirely sure he loves the way you take a tentative step toward him.

“Congrats. It was a good routine, not your best though”.

“Oh my god” you chuckle, astonished, and Atsumu is now certain he doesn’t enjoy watching you run to hug this weird, 6’1 stranger with dark hair and teal eyes. He definitely doesn’t enjoy the way the stranger wraps his arms around you with a sigh.

“I should’ve known you’d be here! How long has it been? Look at you, all grown up!” you let him go, still smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Too long” he concedes and if the stranger wasn’t still all caught up in old, familiar patterns of stubborn coldness, maybe he would be able to utter the truth about how much he’s missed one of his oldest friends.

“I missed you” as usual, you take it upon yourself to fill the spaces left empty by his obstinacy with warmth. His eyes soften and you smile again as you turn to look at your boyfriend.

“’Tsumu, c’mere!” you’re holding out a hand, an impatient invitation “come meet Rin!”

Atsumu is openly wary of your friend, one you’re obviously close enough to address by his first name. As he shakes his hand with a fake megawatt smile, Rin seems to be equally skeptical and does nothing to hide it.

“He’s your boyfriend?” he asks, briefly scanning Atsumu from head to toe with an openly dubious gaze “came all the way here just to support you?”

“Atsumu is a pro volleyball player, he’s in the national team just like you!”

“Volleyball, huh?” Rin cocks his head “doesn’t really interest me. I find it to be overrated”.

“I mean…”.

“And what would your sport be, Itoshi?” Atsumu can feel a vein throb on his forehead as he politely interrupts you.

“Soccer”.

“Oh!” a seemingly friendly laugh bubbles up from his throat but you recognize the petulant vibration to it “soccer! I think there’s only so long you can watch a player throw himself on the ground because he stubbed his toe on the grass or, I don’t know, try the same failed corner kick for the millionth time”.

You uncomfortably clear your throat and Rin directs his attention to you once more. Isn’t that what being a mature adult is all about? Ignoring pretentious assholes he doesn’t even know?

“I mean it, by the way. You deserve that gold more than anyone else I know”.

“C’mon, say it” you chuckle “I know you noticed”.

He mirrors your smile, pleased that the familiarity strengthened by years of friendship is still here.

“Barely catched that ribbon in the end, could’ve made that front walkover less stiff. Good job overall, though”.

Atsumu wants to punch him in the goddamn face, especially as you laugh once more.

“How come he’s so familiar with gymnastics?” he asks instead.

“Rin used to come watch my training sessions back in high school, although it’s insane to me that he still remembers!”.

“She never missed any of my trainings either” Rin smirks once more, gaze locked to the man in front of him.

“Speaking of!” you lightly smack his arm “when are you guys playing?”.

“Tomorrow. I can arrange special seats if you want”.

“Oh, I’d love to come! We should totally go, ‘Tsumu!”.

“Yeah, totally” Atsumu forces another smile onto his lips.

That night, as you’re cuddled against his chest on that infuriatingly uncomfortable cardboard bed, he believes it’s of the utmost importance to share the picture of you with an adorable smile and the medal around your neck as you stand proudly on that podium, followed by the two of you kissing right after your win.

miyatsumu the most hardworking person I know. my golden girl, now an olympic champion ❤️🥇

He thinks it’s a good caption and, as you softly snore in the quiet of the dark room, Atsumu also believes he’s in a mood good enough to decide not to block Shoyo on the spot after receiving his stupidly enthusiastic text about befriending some super nice dude on the national soccer team.

Whoever the hell Isagi Yoichi is anyway.

[certainlynotasimp]

Our Love

(Miguel O’Hara x Female Reader)

A/N: Hey everyone~✨ I’m writing this request thingy after I um had kind of a bad day. Not to get too personal, um parents can suck. Like they can hurt your feelings and not care. So I wanted to write this because I kinda wish that I had parents like Sunny and Miggy tbh. Anyway enough with that~✨

A/N: TikTok spoiled some of the movie for me so I’m kinda mad but I got to think up some more Sunny lore for you guys. This is part 2 of Our Girl and forgive the ending because I ran out of ideas. If you like my work please check out my master list and if you wanna stay up to date with the series, then comment on this Taglist and you’ll be added. To see what’s coming up next then check out my upload schedule.✨

If you are someone who has struggled with Postpartum, Child loss, anxiety with pregnancy, or any trauma related to child birth and child bearing, feel free to skip this if you don’t think you can handle it. Your well being is more important, so go read some fluff, drink some water, and if you don’t have anyone giving you kisses then here: *platonic kisses*

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female Reader/Female pronouns, Barely use of (Y/N) ((Sunny is their nickname, not their name)), angst, trauma, mentions of child loss, anxiety around pregnancy, and Google Translated Spanish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bouncing fear blooms as the repeating drumming of her pacing feet in the confined walls of the bathroom stall. The constant nagging of her god mother comes back to haunt her like the remains of her muffin tries to climb it’s way back up.

The three minute timer on her phone felt like an eternity as the white piece of plastic continues to load up the bullet that will end everything she’s built up for herself so far.

She was head of the undergraduate at her biology department at NYU and she had stupidly decided to go out to some party with her friends to celebrate the end of the school year. An embarrassing hook-up occurred with her having to sneak out without even getting a good look at the guy. Of course she assumed that her drunken self would have used protection, but unfortunately, alcohol doesn’t always encourage good decisions.

She thought that the sudden spouts of tossing her lunch up was simply due to nerves as she was applying for a work study program with Alchnemax, but the sudden repulsion to her god mother’s cooking is what really set the dread into motion. A dread she swallowed down with a big smile as she pretended her whole life wasn’t changing in an instant. She held onto the hope that maybe it was just nerves bothering her until today.

Her interview with Alchnemax went exceptionally well. The woman was aware that her chances of being accepted were low despite her high academic achievements due to A) she’s a scholarship student, B) she’s some poor kid from Brooklyn, and C) she was an orphan without any cushy family legacy behind her.

Two of the three department leaders of the Genetics department already decided her fate as they had those noses turned up at her, but one just looked at her with kindness. He gave her a chance. And if it wasn’t for that the others wouldn’t have heard her creditials and wouldn’t have looked at her completely impressed. The man who looked at her so proudly gave her a wink as a way of showing he was sure I was gonna get it. Not in the creepy sexually charged man way. But like how a father would their child.

Her first friend here. Dr..

The beeping from the phone alarm catches her attention as she turns to look at the white stick of destiny. Her whole life is forever changing today one way or another….

~~~~~~~~~

“I’m what?” She gasps as she looks up at the red and blue man in a lab coat in shock.

She had just awoken hours after she had experienced the most bizarre incident that landed her in the infirmary. She had met a girl from an alternate dimension where she and Miguel were normal people who had a family together, and their daughter was that universe’s Spider-Woman.

Their Daughter…their baby…

“You’re pregnant, Miss. (L/N).” Spider-Doc says cheerfully as he places a cold device on her stomach. A monitor appears from the small device with a familiar picture of a small little bean inside the black vast of her womb. A baby…

“It looks like you’re about 6 weeks along based on the size of the fetus and it’s a good thing we found out when we did. Mr. O’Hara would have had our throats if he….”

The doctor’s words fell on deaf ears as the woman’s eyes focused intently on the image in front of her. The sounds of their pounding heart beat challenges the drumming of her own as her fingers lightly trace the image. She was so small…so defenseless.

Just like he was…

“D-does Miguel know?”

~~~~~~~

Positive.

The test mocked her as she watched her Godmother hold onto the plastic piece with an unreadable expression. The twist of her dark mauve painted lips causes her glowy skin to crack under her dark eyes. A hand pushes back the freshly installed knotless braids as the clinking of the golden charms twisted her stomach more.

April was the one person the girl could always rely on the most in the world, having raised her since she was eight years old. She was the only real mother figure she’s ever known and always pushed her to her hardest. April always made sure that the two were always fed, clothed, and pampered, and the only thing she ever asked for was for her godchild to bring home all A’s and to have a smile.

April taught her to value education both in and out of school. She made sure she could solve any math problems as best as she could without a calculator and how to make sure to know which doors she can knock on if someone was following her at night. April made sure she knew her Spanish well so she can have bigger opportunities in the workforce and to know respect for the Parra’s down the hallway.

April had a baby the same time as her best friend Maria and promised each other to be each other’s godmothers so their daughters can always be best friends just like their moms.

But, Maria lost her life while April lost her baby.

“How far along are you?” The older woman asks with her dark warm eyes misting over as she looks at her god child.

“I don’t know, maybe a month and a half…” The own girl’s body shaking as sobs built up in her chest as she looks at her now smiling godmother.

“Do you want to keep it?…”

The question hung in the air as the women’s combined shaking forms as the woman honestly didn’t think about it before.

~~~~~~~~~

When the spider got released from the infirmary, she immediately turned off her gizmo as she turned invisible. She shakily avoided everyone she could so she could go to her room without seeing anyone.

She couldn’t bring herself to see anyone. Not with this. She knew if Miguel wasn’t on a mission right now then he would have already been at the infirmary waiting on her, but she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fair.

One of her hands rests on her stomach as she navigates the hallways before finally reaching her room. She waited until no one was paying attention to slip in and turn back to normal with a painful sigh. She forgot how painful it was to do that without her suit helping her. Miguel specifically made it so her powers wouldn’t put as much strain on her heart than it already did.

Her back hits the door as she finally collapses with a shaker breath. The reality of the situation was finally kicking in as she placed both hands on her stomach. She was pregnant with Miguel’s child.

Something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Sure, she can argue that if the anomalous event hadn’t have occurred and destroyed her dimension , she would have never known about the Spider Verse or even met Miguel…

But she’s accepted that whatever relationship they were in wasn’t going to be able to manifest more than what it was. Two broken people who fell in love and were trying to make the best of their circumstances.

Due to her being from an alternate dimension, there isn’t a canon event that could possibly let her be able to live with Miguel and start a family…it would just destroy every thing…

‘Would Miguel even want this baby?…’ She though as she runs one of her shaking hands over her cheek as anxious tears rolled down her face. ‘What if she has powers like us? What if they aren’t healthy? Would he want to get rid of it because she’s an anomaly….’

She didn’t have the same support system as she did when she had her son, Ben. She didn’t have April who would sooth her anxieties of motherhood and made sure that Ben had diapers at home. She didn’t have the Parra’s who would bring her supper some evenings in exchange for letting the infertile Valeria babysit her boy when her and April were busy. She didn’t have the corner stores where they always hid back some cans of formula for her and gave her son lollipops.

Her son…her baby boy that she failed…

The image of his lifeless little body appears in her vision as she remembers the way his body was limp in her hold. The way his little face was so frozen in fear when he used to always have the biggest smile on his face…

“What if I fail this one too?”

Her thoughts cause sobs to rip from her body as she curls her knees up to her chest as she thought about all of the possibilities that this baby would ruin it…

Then Maria’s face came to mind. The young spider girl that was only a few years younger than she was when she found out she was gonna have Ben.

With the girl’s face burning in her mind, the woman stands up and immediately storms out of her room. Her blurry eyes burned as she made her way to the one place that she knew would have answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ba dump ba dump

The pounding sound fills the room as the pair of women stared in awe at the monitor. A little squirming being about the size of her hands shined against the black background of the screen as the OB-GYN wiggles around the cold wand over her stomach.

“Oh my…” A teary smile appears on the older woman’s face as April clenches onto her astonished Goddaughter’s hand. The 14 week old fetus was facing the camera as his little legs wiggled around enough to barely turn him over.

His mother stares at him with such wonder as to how she could have made that.

She knew the whole biological process of how it’s down and what to expect at each step, but just seeing him there, barely even big enough to see him, was her baby.

“There he is. A perfectly healthy baby boy.” The OB smiles at the mother and gently traces his little face on the monitor. “Do you have any ideas for names yet?”

April smiles at the girl lost in wonder and decides to let her have the moment she remembers so well from her own pregnancy. April runs her thumb over her child’s knuckles as she answers.

“She wants to name the baby after her parents. They died in a car accident when she was young. If it was a girl, her name would be Maria and if it was a boy, his name would be…”

“Ben.” The mesmerized girl finishes her sentence as she looks back at the doctor with a bright teary smile. “His name is gonna be Ben.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey boss.” Lyla cautiously calls the man who was frantically trying to find his missing love.

After he returned from stopping a Prowler anomaly, Miguel immediately went to the infirmary to find that she had left hours ago and no one else has seen her since the young SpiderWoman was sent back home.

He thought she was fine when he last checked on her when they shared a happy tear feast over how wonderful their daughter was before she had fallen asleep from crying.

“Not now Lyla. I’m trying to find (Y/N).” He grumbles as his nerves twist his stomach around.

It wasn’t like her to go off the grid like this, not without at least telling Miguel that she wanted some quiet time. He clenched his fist as he feared that meeting Maria may have caused his Sunny to fall into a bad spell of depression since…

“She’s in the observation room looking at the Web.” Lyla answers like she was annoyed that Miguel was listening to her. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. There’s something strange happening to your-“

Lyla is cut off by Miguel turning her off as he speed walks towards the observation room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tiny wail broke the chaotic tension in the room as tears of joy flood out of the exhausted woman. The squealing babe was placed on her chest as the doctors returned back between her legs to remove the placenta. Her trembling hands came up to soothe the baby boy as his slimy body trembled in the new environment. His dark hair matted to his soft head as his mother placed a delicate kiss on her baby boy’s forehead.

“Hello, Ben.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Miguel storms into the observation room as the target of his search stared silently at the glowing red spiral of webs. The images of the Maria of Earth 1784-B played out on a holographic image as she looks like she was tussling with the two boys he recognized as Maria’s brothers. An image of that world’s Miguel comes up and playfully picks up the three with a stumble before throwing them on the couch with a laugh as his wife comes up and laughs behind him.

The family that Miguel dreamed about every night. The one he tried to achieve twice in different ways before it was stolen from him. The one he can’t help but crave with his beloved but knows it probably won’t happen.

“Cariño?….” His voice barely as whisper as he approaches his lover as she jumps in surprise.

Her teary eyes stared at him in alarm as a protective hand was placed on her stomach.

Miguel ignores that detail, believing that she was just mourning her lost baby boy, and gently placed his hand on her cheek, softly wiping away her tears.

Her eyes shine with untold anxiety as her choked sob caused Miguel to pull her into his chest. “Estoy aquí mi amor. Háblame....” He whispers softly into her hair as he wraps his arms tightly around her.

Her own grip traps him against her shaking body as she cries into his chest. Her worries slowly spilling out as she sobs, “ It’s not fair…”

“I know. “ Miguel mumbles as he rubs the base of her skull softly to provide some relief from the pain. “The universe is cruel…”

“It is…” she agrees as her breathing eventually evens out enough for her to pull away slightly to look up into his concern burgany gaze. “Miggy…Tengo algo que decirte... pero tengo miedo de que te enfades conmigo…” She admits with an unstable edge in her voice.

Miguel frowns at this as he cups her face. His concerned love filled eyes closes as he pulls her towards his lips. He kisses her forehead before resting his own forehead against hers. His eyes opening as an encouraging smile shines at him.

“No, mi sol, nunca me enfadaría contigo. Especialmente si te está causando tanto estrés.” He mutters as he feels his beloved’s hands wrap around his thick wrist, using his pulse to stablize her.

“Really?” She looks for reassurance as her swollen eyes searched his for any doubt.

“Yes. I’m sure…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, beautiful!” A voice cheers as she enters the hospital room.

The new mother was propped up on a the hospital bed with her newborn son swaddled up in a soft blue blanket. She stops admiring the sleeping babe to smile up as April walks over with a bright smile and a beautiful bouquet of Carnations. Their petals were a soft pink with a baby blue ribbon wrapped around the glass vase. April places the arrangement down as she sits beside the bed.

“So that’s my grandchild?” She asks as she reaches over and gently caresses the bundle. Ben stirs for a moment before settling back down. The young mother nods and slowly moves the baby into her god mother’s arms.

The new grandmother accepts the baby happily as she leans back and gently coos at the sleeping Ben.

“You’re gonna have him spoiled.” She jokes as she admires watching how the older woman’s eyes light up as the baby’s face twitches.

“Grandbabies are for spoiling while children are made for scolding.” April quips back playfully as she giggles at her Goddaughter. “Oh, your boss brought those by the apartment. He said he hopes you’ll bring the little guy by the lab when he’s big enough.”

A confused frown takes over her face before she realizes that her mentor must have been the one she met. Working at Alchemax during her work study and pregnancy allowed her to get close to the board member that gave her the chance to work here. Him being a father himself, he took the pupil under his wing and helped her a lot during this time, even easing her worries with embarrassing tales of his own parenting blunders . He was more of a friend now than her mentor.

As April entertains herself with the infant, the mother reaches over and plucks the card placed on the top of the flower arrangement. She holds the card gently as she read the note, a soft smile.

‘Congratulations, kiddo. You made it to parenthood. You better bring that boy here to hang out with us because I need something more interesting to do than listen to Osborne’s voice all day. Signed, Dr. …. ‘

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Excuse me!!” A visual of Lyla appears beside the couple with an annoyed expression. Her irritability can be heard as she stares at the startled pair before glaring at Miguel.

“If you’re done being a couple of cry babies, I have some urgent news!” She snaps before pulling up a familiar red webbing with an odd addition wrapping around its nodes.

Miguel frowns in concern as he sees a blue web intertwining with the red nodes of his canon while his sunshine looked shocked.

This was not a normal anomaly…

“What is that?” Miguel asks while Lyla scoffs.

“Your canon is changing, but not from an anomaly.” She explains. “Your universe is fixing itself.”

“Fixing itself from what?” Miguel growls as he’s growing frustrated at the rude behavior the AI was expressing.

“From the bun in your sunshine’s oven.”

And with a quiet what, the big bad Miguel O’Hara falls over and passes out.

~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Estoy aquí mi amor. Háblame….—-I'm here, my love. Talk to me....

Tengo algo que decirte... pero tengo miedo de que te enfades conmigo…—I have something to tell you...,but I'm scared you are going to be upset with me…

No, mi sol, nunca me enfadaría contigo. Especialmente si te está causando tanto estrés.—-No, my sun, I would never be upset with you. Especially if its causing you this much stress.

~~~~~~~~~

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[hysteria-things]

can you do a smut with dom!nate x sturniolo triplets sister where they're at a restaurant with the triplets and nate starts fingering her idc abt anything else but like please im begging you 🙏🙏

FORGIVE ME

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x sls!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: being friends with benefits with your triplet brothers’ best friend isn’t the smartest idea. especially when nate teases you at a restaurant with your siblings there, there’s only one way to forgive him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, mentions underage drinking, fingering, public, oral (female/male receiving), p in v

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,277

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first sturniolo’s little sister fic😯 i find this trope fun LOL

i miss why don’t we they were MY one direction.

hope you like it anon!

a burger sounds so good right now. you think to yourself before being rudely interrupted when a foot taps your shin from under the table. your annoyed eyes are met with chris’. “what are you getting?” he asks.

you shrug, continuing to scan the menu in front of you. “probably a bacon cheeseburger.”

your triplet brothers invited you out to dinner at the finest establishment around: texas roadhouse.

they picked up nathan along the way, who’s sitting silently next to you as the other three are squished in the booth across from you. the four of you are close and know everything about each other, which is the best kind of sibling relationship.

well, they think they know everything about you.

what they don’t — and will never know — is your friends with benefits with nate.

it started randomly at a high school party, where the two of you got drunk and made out which led to you guys fucking in the bathroom. it’s bizarre but true.

turns out, the two of you enjoyed it and this whole thing went on from there. that was months ago, by the way.

while taking a sip of your shirley temple, a hand is placed on your thigh. you look over to the culprit, who is talking casually to your siblings.

his hand teasingly moves up and down, each time getting closer to your waistband. your breath hitches as the waitress comes over. “are you guys ready?” she asks in her customer service voice, smiling as she clicks her pen.

“you go first, y/n.” nate says innocently, taking his fingers and now putting them in your pants to rub hard on your clit. he knows you love getting penetration there.

little shithead.

you clear your throat. “c-can i have a bacon cheeseburger, please?”

the waitress nods, writing on her notepad. “with what side?”

you feel two fingers going inside your wetness, moving at a medium pace. “mmm— fries!” you say loud and quickly. you clear your throat again. “please.”

the three across from you give the same weird look, as if silently saying ‘what the fuck is the matter with you?’

soon, the others put their orders in and go into their conversations. nate keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, a low whimper leaving your mouth.

when he knows your brothers aren’t listening because they’re arguing about whatever the fuck, he scoots closer to you and leans to your ear. “you’re so wet, baby. is it all for me?”

you grip his wrists, trying to pull him away when you feel your orgasm approaching. it’ll be embarrassing to cum in your pants. “nate—”

“you’re coming back to our house, right?” nick asks, causing nate to pull out his fingers and readjust in his seat.

“yup,” he replies, giving your thigh a tight squeeze.

you storm into your bedroom, nate following closely behind. you shut the door and lock it, putting your hands on your hips and tapping your foot like an angry parent. “are you trying to get us caught? what were you thinking?!”

he chuckles. “cut me some slack, will ya?”

he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to where your chests touch. you try your best to give him your best mad face, but to him, you look adorable. “i’m sorry.” he fake pouts.

he tugs at your shirt and slowly lifts it over your head, throwing it somewhere on the ground. his lips are mere centimeters from yours. “forgive me?”

“we don’t have time. they’ll get suspicious,” you whisper.

he shakes his head, now taking off his shirt. “they think the texas roadhouse got to the best of me. i’ll be in the bathroom for a while.” he winks, pecking your lips.

you bite your lip, not losing eye contact when you start to unbuckle his jeans. “i don’t think i forgive you.” you say sweetly, getting on your knees and simultaneously pulling his pants down.

“guess i’ll have to see.” you continue, eyeballing his hard-on through his boxer. you start to rub your hand over the fabric, a groan leaving nate’s mouth.

you give the tip a little kiss before pulling down his underwear, his dick aching for attention. you wrap your mouth around him, going as much as you can down his base.

moistening his lips, he throws his head back. he always loved the feeling of your warm mouth around him.

you start to bob your head, the gulping noises intensifying the faster you go. “shit.” nate exhales, taking his finger and lifting your chin so you can look at him.

he starts to thrust his hips to match your bobs, gagging in the process.

he pulls out of your mouth and in the blink of an eye, he flips you so you lay on your back. despite your bed being quite literally a foot away from you guys, he’s now on the ground with you between your legs. “forgive me yet?”

“n—” you don’t finish the word when he starts to dig into you without warning. even better, he takes his thumb and plays with your clit like how he did at the restaurant.

you moan too loudly, covering your mouth with your palm. the last thing you want is for your brothers to hear you. your other hand travels to nate’s head, grasping onto his hair tightly. “i’m close.” you mumble, making him pull away.

“what the hell?” you sigh annoyingly.

“shush.” he says, flipping you over once again to where you are now straddling his lap. “ride me.”

you smirk, kissing on his neck down to his chest. he grows impatient, lifting your hips and playing yourself on his cock. you whine, leaning back up straight and grinding your hips to feel him rub the right way on your walls.

“fuck.” you whimper. he grabs your hips and starts to bounce you, a squeal coming out of you. “nathan, fuck!”

“best be quiet, baby.” he smirks. “don’t want them to hear their little sister on their best friend’s dick.”

you whine lowly, biting your lip to quiet your moans. he sits up and you grab both sides of his neck, looking deep into each other’s eyes. he’s smiling smugly, but your face is contorting with pleasure.

he groans when he twitches inside of you.

“did nate fall asleep on the toilet?” matt’s voice echoes down the hallway, three pairs of footsteps along with it.

“the ribs probably gave him food poisoning or some shit.” chris replies.

nate moves you faster on him, panting lowly in the process. there’s no way he can stop now. he’s way too close.

the doorknob shakes, startling the both of you, but you guys keep going. “what the fuck? why is your door locked?” nick asks.

“fuck y/n, i’m cum—” you swallow his words by giving him an opened-mouthed kiss. you moan softly into his mouth, making sure you cum first before lifting yourself off of him.

he groans into your mouth when his cum makes a mess on his abs. “hello? earth to y/n?”

you pull away, staying in position to quietly catch your breath. “s-sorry, what?” you stammer.

“why is your door locked?” this time, the question is asked by matt.

“changing,” you answer, nate giggling silently.

there’s an awkward silence for a few beats before it's broken. “okay…” nick says in a hesitant manner, and their footsteps eventually recede.

“holy shit.” nate throws his head back to laugh, and you smack him on the chest.

“be quiet,” you mumble, getting off from the floor.

thank god you locked the door, or things could’ve ended terribly.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld

[gfmima]

c. 東京卍リベンジャーズ | tokyo revengers + f!reader t. you’re WAY out of his leagues and he knows

sano dojo, it reads.

an hour before to your arrival, mikey decided to text you his home address, inviting you to meet him prior to your date at the beach.

it was weird to say the least.

you two already had a habit of meeting at the location itself to save time thanks to his busy schedule and whatnot. your mind overflows with different thoughts all at once — some whisper it was bad news, others reassure it was nothing for you to worry over.

the very last thing you need to do is freak out on such a nice day… or was it? maybe you should’ve brought an umbrella? is it too late to go back? maybe you can ask mikey to bring one just in c—

“can i help you, miss?”

your body tenses up.

a man stands opposite you with an equally clueless look. he holds the door open on stand-by to hear your response until a wave of recognition washes over his face.

“you must be mikey’s girl! hold up… y-you’re mikey’s girl!?” he opens the door wider and welcomes you inside his home with an expression of disbelief. he then introduces himself as your boyfriend’s eldest brother before guiding you to the kitchen where he stayed.

you try to ignore the bizarre looks he sent you and walk two steps behind him. was there something on your face? your hand reaches to grab your pocket mirror.

“oh, mikey~! look who’s here to see you~!” shinichiro says in a sing-song manner, forcing all eyes to be on you now.

you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel the least but self-conscious by their reaction. it wavers from surprise to stupor like they’ve seen a real-life ghost and you can feel your nerves prickle from their intense stares.

with his unruly blond hair obscuring his face and dried drool on his cheek, you would’ve chided him for wasting precious time if his siblings weren’t studying you like a new organism under a microscope.

“i’m not interrupting something, am i, ‘jiro?” you scurry over to his side, holding his forearm like a frightened child.

mikey shakes his head and reached to rest his arm over you immediately, his expression visibly brightening at the sight of you here. he looks at izana, who scoffs at him, and sticks his tongue out as if he wasn’t a full-fledged adult.

“ha! i told you she’s real!”

you tilt your head. huh?

shinichiro offers an apologetic smile for his brother’s idiocy, whereas emma and izana continue to gawk. the pair glance at you, then at mikey, then back at you.

“you’re lying. no way a woman like her would date someone like you. back me up, em!”

“uh, i’m staying out of this.” she raises her hands and backs away. “you two handle whatever this is on your own.”

your boyfriend purses his lips in a serious pout. he turns his back on his older brother, scoffing, “well… you’re just being jealous!”

his comment spurs them to continue arguing like little kids. you stand in the middle of the crossfire as it ensues, greatly confused by the entire ordeal. should you step in?

“i’m super, duper sorry about them. boys are boys, y’know? they’re dumb.” emma’s sheepish tone pulls your focus from the chaos. “so… you must be mikey’s girlfriend! you’re very pretty. i can see why he always talks about you!”

then there was izana… who cuts the conversation short just to look at you closely and demands, “quick! blink twice if he intimidated you to be his girlfriend!”

“is he really not paying you to do this?” is the last thing you bank on to be the first thing your boyfriend’s older brother would say to you.

your mouth opens to give him piece of your mind, though, it promptly closes, not sure of what to tell him. you must have look like a fish out of water as your mind wrestles to process what he said to you.

your foots taps along in an uneven pace, counting down the seconds in your head until rindō came home from his short trip to your go-to restaurant for dinner take-outs.

“what do you mean?” you settle on asking him, as you try to keep your tone neutral as possible.

ran picks a piece of lint off his sleeve and looks at you in the eyes. “what i mean is, he isn’t the most popular with women because of attitude. breaking news, right? and, well, you’re very easy on the eyes. it’s weird to think my own little brother was able to convince a pretty little thing such as you to be his.”

he didn’t mean it to sound as harsh as it did.

he just impressed by how long rindō was able to keep silent about your relationship. he didn’t even realize anything was amiss until he returned one day with you clinging to his arm like a high-strung puppy.

the fact his baby brother — a twenty-one-year-old man — was no longer, a baby, albeit endearing, was baffling.

“i’m not interested in hearing about his dating history. rindō treats me right and that’s all i care about.” the blunt edge in your tone piques his interest.

huh, you weren’t paid to play pretend girlfriend after all. you appear genuinely upset with what he said. still, he can never be too sure. he lived with rindō long enough to know he was just as stubborn to prove him wrong.

“there’s no need for the attitude, sweetheart. i’m just…” ran chooses his next words carefully. “expressing how shocked i am. that’s all. you understand, right? you’re the first girl he brought home and introduced to me — the only one without a three-week expiration. he’s like a changed man.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. what on earth is he trying to imply?

“i’ve got no clue what you did to him but he’s been happier lately.” if you strain your ears, you can hear him offer a tiny, “thank you,” under his breath.

“trust me, the feelings mutual.”

ran shows you a silver of a grin.

despite your cumbersome start, it was obvious he cares for rindō like any other older brother would, putting in the extra effort to embarrass him any way he can. you suppose going here wasn’t a bad idea after all.

delighted with your answer, he offers to show off every baby photo of your boyfriend, especially the unflattering ones. he even lets you take a few pictures with your phone.

“he was so pale then, plump too… he kinda resembles those daifuku mochi, no?”

[anna-the-undertaker]

The living room of the House of Lamentation was unusually quiet, which was never a good sign. MC stood in the center, their expression twisted in frustration as they paced back and forth like a caged animal. The brothers watched from a safe distance, sensing the impending explosion. This wasn’t the usual kind of annoyance, like when Levi hogged the Wi-Fi or Mammon tried to steal their snacks—no, this was something else entirely.

MC suddenly stopped pacing and threw their hands in the air, letting out a dramatic groan that echoed through the room. “You know what? I’ve figured it out! I know what God really wants, dammit!”

The brothers blinked in unison, caught off guard. Satan arched an eyebrow, while Mammon looked around nervously, as if expecting lightning to strike at any moment. Asmo, always the drama enthusiast, leaned in slightly, eager to hear what was coming next.

MC’s voice grew louder, filled with exasperation. “He wants me to kill my motherfucking self!”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Beelzebub paused mid-chew on a sandwich, while Leviathan’s game controller slipped from his hands. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, waiting to see where this outburst was headed.

“But the joke’s on him!” MC continued, their voice rising to a near-shout as they jabbed a finger toward the ceiling, as if personally challenging the heavens. “I ain’t gone give that motherfucker the satisfaction!”

A beat, and then…

“Wait, what?” Mammon blurted out, his confusion clear as day. “Did ya just—what? MC, what the hell are ya talkin’ about?”

MC threw their hands up in mock exasperation. “You heard me! If there’s some grand cosmic plan to mess with my life, well, guess what? I’m not playing along! God can take that idea and shove it right up his ass!”

Belphegor, who had been dozing on the couch, cracked one eye open and mumbled, “Pretty sure if anyone’s getting a rise out of this, it’s you.”

MC shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of getting kicked around by fate, or destiny, or whatever cosmic nonsense is at work here. I mean, what’s next? A divine memo telling me I need to take up knitting to ‘fulfill my true purpose’?”

Leviathan finally recovered from his shock, picking up his controller again. “If God’s out here trying to troll you, then maybe you should just… uninstall?” he suggested weakly, half-joking.

MC’s laugh was more of a snort. “Right! And where’s the ‘leave game’ button, huh? You see it anywhere? Because I sure don’t!”

Asmodeus sidled closer, a playful smile on his lips. “Darling, if the universe really is conspiring against you, it’s doing a pretty terrible job. I mean, look at you—you’re still here, still fabulous, and still driving us all crazy in the best possible way.”

MC couldn’t help but grin at that. “Damn right. I’m not going anywhere. God’s got another thing coming if He thinks I’m checking out early.”

Lucifer, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, finally spoke, his tone dry. “While I appreciate your… spirited determination, perhaps it’s best not to challenge divine entities so casually.”

MC crossed their arms, smirking. “Let them try me, Luci. I’ve got an army of demons, an endless supply of sarcasm, and enough stubbornness to outlast eternity.”

Beel shrugged and resumed eating. “I’m just glad you’re not planning on going anywhere. We’d miss your cooking too much.”

There was a collective groan from the others, but it was clear that the tension had broken. MC’s outburst, as wild and over-the-top as it was, had become just another bizarre moment in their chaotic life with the brothers. And honestly? That was just fine with them.

With a final huff, MC plopped down on the couch beside Belphie, grabbing a pillow to squeeze. “You know what? Forget divine drama. I’m just gonna focus on what’s important—like how to get Mammon to finally pay back that money he owes me.”

“Hey, what the hell!” Mammon yelped, his face turning red. “I said I’m good for it!”

MC’s laughter echoed through the house, and the brothers joined in, the earlier tension now nothing but a distant memory. After all, when you’re living in the Devildom, sometimes the only way to deal with cosmic absurdity is with a good sense of humor—and a lot of sass.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Lucky Break Chapter 3

Yandere Straw Hats x fem!Reader

4.5k words

Beginning / Previous / Next

I was really hoping to get Orange Town Arc wrapped up in this chapter, but it appears that writing for One Piece has given me Oda’s pacing.

How could this even be possible? How did a disembodied arm stab Zoro? You clung onto the cage Luffy was in, feeling nauseated at the sight. Unlike when he had cut Buggy, blood was immediately flowing from the wound. Zoro stumbled from the attack and reached behind him to try and remove the dagger, but the arm ripped it out and flew away.

You could only watch in abject horror as Buggy’s body floated until he was in an upright position. He laughed loudly at the confusion on your faces, “The Chop-Chop fruit is the name of the devil fruit I ate, so now I’m a person who can never be cut!” His body readily attached itself back together (and his clothes too somehow), all while he continued to cackle.

Another one of those weird fruit things? Are all of them this disturbing to witness? You hope you never have to see another person with these cursed abilities ever again. 

“A chop-chop person? Is he some kind of monster?” Luffy was, as per usual, not reacting to the given situation with anywhere near the severity required. 

You reached through the bars to swat at him, “You’re all rubbery! Are you a monster too?”

“No, I’m a rubber person, it’s different,” he says like you’re dumb and simply didn’t understand. Well, to be fair though, you didn’t understand a damn thing going on right now. Was your life always filled with such bizarre events? Surely this wouldn’t be so shocking if you had been used to such things.

Wait, there is way too much going on right now for you to be getting distracted like this, you look up only to see Zoro lifting the cannon, flipping it so that it’s aimed towards the other pirates. How he was able to casually lift that is beyond you, especially when taking his wound into account.

Nami rushed over and lit the already very short fuse. Buggy and co immediately panic at this, and are apparently so terrified that they forgot how to move because they just let it fire at them. The explosion was deafening from this short distance, and the wave of heat felt like it was burning your lungs. All you could do was try and shield your face with your arms, but it really didn’t help much.

“Come on, we need to get out of here,” Zoro shoved past you and grabbed the cage, putting all his strength into dragging it away. You can’t let him do this by himself when he’s so injured, he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, so you push it from the other side. It’s so heavy, you can’t imagine you’re really helping him all that much, but you don’t give up. 

Zoro is either in shock and can’t feel anything, or is a glutton for punishment because he continues to drag the cage further than you thought necessary. You’re not sure why, it’s not like those other guys are going to come after you. If there was anyone that survived the blast, there’s no way they’d be in any shape to give chase.

He finally called it quits in front of some abandoned pet store, immediately collapsing onto the ground upon letting go of the cage.

“Zoro!” You rushed over and knelt next to him. Instinctively, you reach into your bag for the first aid kit, but then freeze. What are you supposed to do with it? Slap some bandaids on the gaping wound? For all you know some of his organs were pierced, too. At the very least, he would need stitches, and you didn’t know how to do that.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about this. I’ll sleep it off,” Zoro placed his hand over yours, forcing you to put the kit back in your bag.

You looked at him incredulously, “Sleep it off?! You didn’t sprain an ankle or something, you got stabbed! You can’t sleep off a stab wound!” He must be delirious from blood loss, that’s the only explanation for how he’s this nonchalant.

“Quit worrying so much, I’ve slept off worse.”

“You’ve what?”

“Just quiet down so I can sleep,” he yawned and stretched out on the ground as if he were on a bed. His eyes flickered open again and back on you, “Can I have that back now if you’re done using it?”

“Have what?” Your hand reaches up to follow where his gaze is focused, landing on the fabric of the bandana, “Oh!” So you were right, it was his. You’re quick to untie it and return the bandana to its rightful owner.

“What’s with this weird dog? Why isn’t it moving?” Luffy was currently in a staring contest with a tiny white dog sitting in front of the store. The poor thing looked filthy. A stray, probably.

“That’s what you’re focused on right now? Seriously?!” You scolded him while gesturing at Zoro. What’s with this guy? How is he this laid back about everything going on around you? Were you the weird one here?

Luffy just tilted his head at you, further making you question if you were the odd one out, “What? He said he’ll be fine after he gets some sleep.” Zoro wordlessly nodded along with this sentiment from his (bloodied) spot on the ground, giving you an ‘I told you so’ look. 

It’s official. They’re both insane. Was it too late to listen to what Nami said and go your separate way? You hazard a glance back at Luffy, only to see the dog biting his hand and him screaming while trying to shake it off.

You… Would probably be better off on your own.

“So that’s where you three ran off to,” you whip around to see the sanest person you’ve met so far, Nami, watching you all with an amused grin. She strolled closer and dropped a large key onto the ground, “I figured you guys might want this.”

“The key!” You and Luffy shouted in unison. You pray it’s the correct one this time, but at least it won’t be your fault if it isn’t. Luffy goes to grab it, but can’t. Not because he can’t reach it or anything, but because the dog leapt forward and snatched it up first. He didn’t just pick it up, no. The damn thing swallowed it, much to everyone’s shock and horror. 

Luffy was the first to snap out of it. Surprise turned to anger as he grabbed the dog, yelling at him to spit it out, even though it was too late for that. 

Ah. Of course. This might as well happen.

Crestfallen over the realization of how strange the company you’re keeping really is, you look at Nami with what must have been an extremely exasperated expression. All she does is smirk, visibly taking joy in your palpable regret towards your life decisions. 

“Are you having fun helping your friends here?” Her tone was saccharin and her smile was conniving. 

Suddenly, your resolve hardens and spite bubbles to the surface. If she’s going to be like this, then you don’t want to let her in on how you’re really feeling. You won’t give her the satisfaction of being right. “Yes. I’m loving every second of it, thank you very much,” you huffed and looked away from her, hoping she didn’t see right through you. Nami snorted at your effort.

“Hey! You kids leave Chouchou alone!”

Everyone turns their attention to the new voice. It belongs to an old man wearing some crude attempt at armor. Who’s Chouchou? The dog?

“Who are you?”

“I’m Boodle, the mayor of this town,” he stated very matter of factly. You couldn’t help but take a look at your surroundings. He’s mayor of this town? A ghost town? You suppose that would make getting elected easier.

He stomped his way closer, sizing up all of you before his eyes settled on Zoro. His eyes shot wide open, “That’s a terrible wound you’ve got there, we need to get you to a doctor immediately! I take you young’uns had a run in with Buggy and his crew?” The old man knelt down and began to try and lift Zoro onto his feet. 

You pitched in and hooked his other arm over your shoulder. You’re not sure where you’re headed, but you assume it’s to wherever the doctor is. It’s surprising that there’s still a doctor here, but you suppose it’s not that much of a reach if the mayor is still lurking around.

He enters a nearby building, but it looks more like someone’s personal home than a doctor’s office. There also isn’t anyone in here. You follow the mayor’s lead into a bedroom and let Zoro lay down on one of the beds in there. You glance around and strain your ears, but you don’t see or hear anyone. You decide to ask, “So where’s the doctor at?”

“Oh, he’s not here,” Boodle didn’t pay you much mind, leaving the room to grab some supplies. He came back with a first aid kit and a glass of water. 

Zoro in the meantime had shuffled himself under the covers and waved his hand dismissively at Boodle, “I don’t need any of that, just let me get some sleep.” Within seconds of finishing the sentence he was out cold.

“When is the doctor coming back?” You pried.

“Not anytime soon, I imagine. Not while Buggy is still ‘round these parts.”

“Then why did we bring him here???” Talk about pointless, this was like going shopping in a store that’s out of stock.

“It’s better than leaving him on the street, young lady,” he explained. His eyes focused on the haphazardly placed bandages on your forehead, “Oh dear, it looks like you could stand to see a doctor, too.”

“What? The doctor that isn’t here?”

Boodle scowled at your response, muttering under his breath, “Kids these days and their sass.” He huffs and turns to the door, “I’m going to go talk to the others, you’re welcome to stay here and rest if you want.”

The mayor is quick to leave after that, so you focus your attention back on Zoro. He’s sound asleep, looking surprisingly peaceful despite the circumstances. Despite his insistence that all he needs is sleep, you’re not so convinced. You shake Zoro’s shoulder, but he doesn’t even flinch. The blood loss must have him in a very deep sleep right about now. Maybe you could treat him now? There’s probably no harm in that.

You pull the covers back and roll up his shirt to assess the wound. If you remember right, he got stabbed from behind, so you decide to roll him onto his side to look at that part of the injury, too. There’s blood everywhere, and also some dirt and debris around it. You’ll need to get this cleaned up so it doesn’t become infected. 

The bathroom should have what you need for that. You leave the room and try a couple of doors in the hallway before getting the right one. There’s a wash bin on the counter that you fill with warm water, and you snag a couple of rags on your way out of the room.

Zoro is exactly as you left him a moment ago, so you set to work on washing away the blood and dirt. His abdominal muscles twitch involuntarily from the action, but he didn’t wake. It was somewhat difficult to clean the wound due to the fact that it was still bleeding, but you got it good enough to move on to disinfecting it. 

Cracking open the kit, you rifle through it to find what you need. Your hand closes around a bottle and you pull it out to see what it is. Painkillers! You can’t help the relieved grin that spreads across your face. Finally, some relief for your splitting headache! Popping open the bottle, you shake out a couple of pills and use the water on the bedside table to take them. Zoro probably wouldn’t mind. You set a couple more on the table for Zoro to take, too. 

Next, you find a disinfectant and set to work on applying it. The sting of it was enough to rouse Zoro from his slumber. His arm shot out to try and shoo you away and he hissed, “Leave me alone, I’m trying to sleep.”

“I will when I’m done. We need to get this taken care of before it gets any worse. Here, I set out some painkillers for you,” you reached over and grabbed the pills and water cup, holding them out for him.

Zoro made no move to grab them, “I don’t need them, I feel fine.” 

“There’s no way that doesn’t hurt like hell. Quit acting like a tough guy and take the damn things!” You try to push them past his lips, but he wrenches his face away from you like a toddler avoiding taking medicine.

“Knock it off, woman! I’m fine! Just finish what you’re doing and leave me alone!” He grabbed the wrist of the hand that had the pills in it to stop you from trying. 

You scowled at his stubborn antics, but ultimately relented. If he was willing to let you dress the wound without a fight, you’ll take it, “Okay fine, sit up for me.”

This kind of a cut definitely called for stitches at the very least, but you weren’t qualified to do that. The best you could do was bandage it so it stays clean and doesn’t get any worse. You wad up a couple pieces of gauze to put on each side of his stab wound and wind some bandages around his waist to hold them in place.

“Is this too tight?”

Zoro rolled his eyes and grumbled, “It’s not, you worry too damn much.”

“Well excuse me for trying to help you and return the favor,” my god this guy was argumentative. 

“Return what favor?” He looked genuinely confused. It’s not entirely unbelievable that he’d forgotten about helping you before given everything that’s happened in such a short window of time.

“You’re the one that cleaned up this, remember?” You pointed at your head with your free hand. Granted, rinsing it with sea water was hardly an ideal treatment, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Oh, that,” Zoro averted his gaze. “It’s not a big deal, I didn’t do that much. Definitely didn’t harp on you as much as you’re harping on me.” The man apparently couldn’t go two seconds without complaining.

It was your turn to roll your eyes, “Still, I appreciate the effort and wanted to give you the same courtesy, even if you’re being a cranky bastard about it.” His protests of being called ‘a cranky bastard’ was cut off by you tying the bandages in a knot to keep them in place, “There, I’m done. Now you can go back to sleep.”

“Finally,” Zoro falls back onto the pillow dramatically and immediately goes back to snoring. You pull up the covers since he didn’t bother to before passing out again. He must be exhausted to be able to go to sleep so quickly.

There’s another bed in the room and you contemplate laying down in it, but then you hear a terribly loud roar outside. You spare a glance to Zoro, who is unresponsive, then rushed out of the room to see what was going on. That sounded an awful lot like the lion, Richie.

Throwing open the front door, you look around and see Luffy by himself. Nami and Boodle are nowhere in sight, but neither is Richie at least.

Luffy is frantically rocking the cage back and forth in what you think is an attempt to scootch away. When he sees you running towards him, he perks up, “Lucky! Help me out and move the cage!”

There’s no way in hell you can move that cage far enough to get him out of danger, but you think you have an idea, “I can’t do that, but there might be another way.”

He tilts his head curiously, “Another way? What do you- Hey! What are you doing?” He yelps as you reach through the bars to grab his ankle and pull it out.

“You’re made of rubber, so you can squeeze through these bars, right?” If he can stretch, he can squish too. At least, that’s what you’re guessing.

“That’s not how this works! I would’ve gotten out of here by now if I could do that!” Luffy was flailing indignantly, trying to get you to let go.

“Maybe you just needed some help? Work with me here, suck it in!” You grunted from the effort of trying to pull some wriggly rubber boy out of a cage. He wasn’t making this easy on you. His leg was stretching, but he wasn’t any closer to being out of the cage.

“Suck what in? You don’t make any sense!” Luffy was straight up whining at this point.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

You shrieked and in your panic, let go of Luffy’s leg. You were so focused on helping Luffy that you hadn’t realized that Richie was now right here. So was that guy with the weird hair. When you let go of Luffy’s leg, it slingshotted back and over the cage, nailing the guy in the chest and sending him flying off of Richie.

“Oh! Good thinking Lucky! You got him good!” Luffy wasn’t even acknowledging the massive lion.

The other guy was coughing and gasping from the impact. Richie was paying him no mind and instead came over to you and licked your face. This successfully distracted you from the situation at hand. You cooed at the overgrown feline and gave him chin scritches.

The dog, Chouchou, was growling like mad. You hadn’t even noticed the small dog was still here before, having assumed it left with the others. 

The weird haired guy staggered onto his feet, visibly furious, “Richie! Quit cuddling up to that liar!”

Richie grumbled, but did listen. He meandered back in no particular hurry, looking unenthused about the whole ordeal.

The man cleared his throat, “I’ll make you all pay for what you did! I am Beast Tamer Mohji, and there isn’t a creature that I can’t tame! Observe!” To prove his point, he approached Chouchou, whose growling got louder with each step. Mohji crouched down and held out his hand to the dog, smirking confidently. 

As soon as he was close enough, the dog lunged forward and bit down hard on him. Mohji screamed and flailed his arm, trying to dislodge the angry dog. You, Luffy, and Richie watched this, all sharing an unimpressed look at the display.

When he did manage to free himself, Mohji took a minute to catch his breath before turning to face you guys again. “Anyways! We have unfinished business here! I’m not about to let anyone get away with disrespecting Captain Buggy!”

Oh, so he’s just gonna sweep that under the rug, huh?

He sicced Richie on you two. You screeched and leapt behind the cage. Why did he have to start acting like a proper lion now?! Richie put all his weight onto the cage, and it crumbled almost immediately.

Luffy cheered and jumped out of the way, dragging you along with him. He stretched and jumped up and down, thoroughly enjoying his newfound freedom. “Finally, now I can actually do something!” He charged at Richie and Mohji, winding up his arm to deliver a blow, but Richie reacts faster. He swipes at Luffy, and the hit quite literally sends him flying. Not just flying a few feet, no, it sent him hurtling through several buildings.

Your mouth was agape. Sure, he’s made of rubber, but how can anyone be okay after something like that?! Praying that Richie likes you enough to not give chase, you sprint towards the rubble, hoping that he’ll be okay.

Much to your relief, you aren’t pursued. Much to your horror, however, you find several buildings toppled from Luffy being thrown into them. When you finally reach the last destroyed house, you catch sight of Nami and Boodle gawking at it.

“What are you doing? Help me dig him out!” Not waiting for them to pitch in, you start pulling off fallen beams and tossing shingles behind you. You can see one of his feet poking out of the rubble.

“Lucky, I don’t think you need to, there isn’t a chance that he survived that,” Nami put her hand on your shoulder and gently tried to pull you away, but you just shrugged her off and continued to dig. You had to at least try!

Suddenly, the fallen building shifted on its own. Then Luffy sprung out of it, looking perfectly fine, if a bit dirty.

“What?! How can you still be standing after that?!” Boodle stepped back in shock from the sight and you could hear Nami gasping behind you. 

“I’m a rubber person! It’s gonna take a lot more than that to stop me,” Luffy declared proudly. He hopped down onto the ground and sprinted back towards where Richie and Mohji were. He sure is fast for someone who just went through what he did. All three of you followed after him, wanting to see where this was going. 

It wasn’t until just now that it dawned on you how strange it was that Mohji and Richie were even here. Didn’t they get hit by that cannon? If they’re okay, then does that mean the others are, too? Damn, how weak was that cannon? Maybe letting it hit Luffy wouldn’t have been that dangerous afterall. 

Up ahead, you catch sight of a rematch between Richie and Luffy. This time, Luffy was more prepared and dodged his attacks with ease. He then twisted his arms around several times over and grabbed the lion. As if Richie weighed nothing, Luffy flung him overhead and drove him into the ground. You couldn’t help but wince at the sight, pitying the lion even if he had previously attacked Luffy.

Mohji was also appalled at the treatment of his lion, but didn’t have time to do much since Luffy knocked him out in one hit.

Nami was horrified at the display. It seems she was as disturbed by Luffy’s powers as you were. “Pirates are insane, why would anyone ever want to associate with these freaks?” She mumbled more to herself than anyone. 

If Luffy heard her, he didn’t react to it. All he did was pick up a box of dog food that was laying on the ground and make his way back to where you guys were initially. 

Curious about what he was doing, you tagged along and could hear the other two not far behind. As you rounded the corner, you finally took notice of the active fire that was going on. That pet store you guys were by before had been set aflame since you’d last seen it. Did Mohji do this? Why? 

Chouchou was howling pitifully in front of it. He looked like he’d been roughed up, with claw marks all over him. You suddenly felt a lot less bad for Richie.

Luffy slowly approached the dog and set the dog food next to him, “That store was your treasure, right? It’s not much, but I was able to save this for you.” He reached out and patted the dog on the head, which Chouchou surprisingly tolerated this time around.

You aren’t completely sure what Luffy is talking about here, you feel like you’re missing an important piece of information. Still, you can’t help but be moved. Did he go out of his way to help the dog even after his previous issues with him? That’s oddly sweet.

Maybe these guys aren’t so bad afterall. Unhinged, yes, but at the very least they’re decent people. Perhaps you will stick around a while longer. 

It would appear that you weren’t the only one moved by the display. Boodle clutched the spear he was carrying tighter, looking like he was on the verge of tears, “I can’t believe I’ve let this get so out of hand. I’ve been a part of this town since it was founded forty years ago. I helped build it. Me and the townsfolk poured so much into this town only for some lowlife pirate to come by and try and take it all for himself.” He cleared his throat and looked off into the distance with a burning resolve, “I’m done letting this continue, this is ending here and now! I’m going to bring an end to his reign even if it kills me!”

Mayor Boodle raised his spear in the air and charged towards where Buggy and his crew were stationed. Nami called out after him, warning that this was a bad idea, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Should we stop him?” You can’t imagine this is going to end well for him. This feels like watching someone’s grandpa go to war.

Neither of them were given a chance to answer. The deafening boom of a cannon going off cut through the air as several buildings toppled in its wake. Horrifyingly, one of them was the house Zoro was in. 

All of you were in a stunned silence. How many times were you going to see people get crushed in collapsing buildings today? What was this? A superhero movie?

… What’s a superhero movie? 

The remains of the building shuddered, then lifted, and you saw a green head of hair pop out. “Can’t get any damn sleep around here,” Zoro looked annoyed more than anything, as if you’d simply woken him up again and not like he’d just survived numerous events that should have been fatal

Luffy cackled, “Let’s go Zoro, we’re gonna kick that big nosed clown’s ass!”

“I don’t think Zoro’s in any shape to be ‘kicking ass’ right now.” Did Luffy forget about Zoro being stabbed?

Zoro, who was still working on climbing out of the rubble, groaned at this, “Didn’t I tell you that you worry too much? Quit fussing. I got some sleep, I’m fine.”

Does he think sleep is a cure-all? He must be able to tell that you’re going to argue with him, because as soon as he steps down, he takes off with Luffy in the same direction Boodle went. You called out after them, but they distinctly ignored you. 

“They’re a bunch of lunatics,” you muttered, staring at their rapidly retreating forms. 

Nami laughed, “Yeah, well they’re your lunatics, right?” 

“I guess so,” you admit. Even if they are insane, you can feel yourself becoming fond of them.

Both of you follow behind them at a light jog. They’re out of sight, but you’re sure you’ll be able to hear them soon enough. You’re not sure what you’re going to do when you get there, but you’ll just have to figure it out as you go along. 

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 10) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter 10

The feeling of hollowness doesn’t wear off. Not through the rest of your shift at work. Not through the class on the assessment and treatment of major trauma you’re taking, although you managed to take notes that will hopefully be legible later. It doesn’t feel even slightly better until you’re home, out of sight from everyone, where you can let the mask drop. It’s hard to wear it all the time. You’re getting tired.

Inside your apartment, you look around for Tenko, but he’s not in the kitchen, the living room, or the bathroom. Maybe he changed his mind about coming back. You head to your bedroom, stripping off your work clothes and throwing them into your laundry basket as you go. You did laundry a few days ago. The basket shouldn’t have much in it. But something catches your eye, and when you peer in for a look, you see a set of black clothes that looks a little too familiar for the fact that it’s not yours.

You realize whose it is in the same second as you hear a strangled sound from behind you, and the question bursts out of you at a volume that’s probably too high. “Tenko?”

“I’m not looking,” Tenko snaps. You glance over your shoulder and find him without the model hand and with both gloved hands covering his face. “Do you just start taking your clothes off the second you get home?”

“Usually there’s nobody in my apartment!”

“I told you I’d be back. Did you not believe me?” Tenko’s still averting his eyes, but he’s lowered his hands for the purpose of crossing his arms over his chest, which draws your attention to what he’s wearing. “Why are you staring?”

You can’t stop yourself. “Those are my clothes.”

“So? They fit. I have to wash mine and I don’t have anything else.”

You do buy your sleeping clothes oversized, and the difference between your height and Tenko’s isn’t enormous, but it’s still weird to see him sitting on your side of the bed, wearing a pair of your grey sweatpants that have seen better days and a tie-dyed shirt you made in high school. It’s undeniably bizarre, but – “You look cute.”

“I’m not cute. Don’t say weird things.” Tenko’s turning red. “Are you going to put on clothes or what? I want to talk to you.”

“Just a second.” You were going to put on your pajamas, but Tenko’s wearing them. You pick out another pair, change quickly, and come back, sitting down on the other side of your bed. “What did you want to talk –”

Tenko kisses you, cutting you off. In no time at all he’s rolled you beneath him, pinning you back against the pillows while his mouth opens against yours. His kisses are messy, his hands eager as they alight briefly on your shoulder, against your cheek, molding to the curve of your jaw or gripping hard at your hip. Tenko’s breathing is uneven, almost hyperventilating. He needs to slow down.

But you remember what he said the night the League stayed over: I don’t know how to do this. You’re going to have to show me. So in spite of the fact that he’s got you pressed to the pillows and his hands are all over you, you raise your hands to cradle his face, giving you more control over the kiss. Something about it seems to agree with him. He matches your pace, the sloppiness evening out, then deepening into longer, more involved kisses. His lips split again, but in fewer places than before, you think. The taste of blood in your mouth is lighter this time.

One of Tenko’s hands slides beneath your shirt and you draw back slightly. “I thought you wanted me to put clothes on.”

“I’m not saying take them off,” Tenko insists. “I just want – come on, please –”

You’re not sure what he’s asking for. He’s not even trying to do anything. Then it clicks. “You’re touch-starved.”

“What? No.” Tenko objects instantly, but he’s not a good liar. He can’t make eye contact, and his face, flushed before, is turning darker – and as if that wasn’t enough evidence, his hands are still in motion, seeking points of contact, places to hold on. “I need to touch my girlfriend. That’s not weird.”

You try to figure out if girlfriend is a step up or a step down from sidekick. “So I’m not your sidekick anymore?”

“Of course you are.” Tenko gives you an exasperated look. “Saying I need to touch my sidekick is weird.”

Your brain supplies you with the image of any of the top ten heroes telling the world that they need to touch their sidekicks, and you start laughing. Your laughter’s a little wheezier than usual, courtesy of Tenko’s weight on you, but it feels good to laugh. It’s not like you haven’t laughed at all since Kamino, but laughing with others is different. When you laugh with Tenko, your guilt doesn’t matter. He’s guilty, too. And if it doesn’t bother him, then it shouldn’t bother you.

Tenko watches you suspiciously. “What are you laughing about?”

“What would happen if Endeavor started his next interview talking about how much he needs to touch his sidekicks.”

“That’s disgusting.” Tenko’s expression twists, but he’s laughing, too. “Don’t bring up heroes. It kills the mood.”

“Does it?” You’re still cradling his face in your hands. You leave one hand where it is, cupping his cheek, and lower the other, tracing your fingers over the lines of his throat and running along his shoulder. Your touch is light as your fingers run down the back of his arm, avoiding anywhere ticklish until you’re touching the bare skin of his forearm. He’s thin enough that you can feel his muscles tense at your touch. “I don’t think so.”

“It does,” Tenko says. You kiss his birthmark, then his jaw, and feel him swallow hard. “It does. They ruin everything.”

Even as he complains, he’s tilting his head, exposing more of his neck for you to kiss. “It doesn’t feel like they’re ruining everything,” you say. You lift your other hand away from his forearm and slip it beneath his shirt, and he makes a sound through clenched teeth when you drag your fingers along his bare skin, just above his waistband. “You can admit it. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tenko’s body tenses, stiffens. “Admit what?”

“That making out with me is so good that even heroes can’t ruin it.”

Tenko laughs, a raspy, startled sound that trails off into a rough gasp as your teeth scrape over his neck. “I’ll admit that,” he says. His hips roll forward and you shift your legs apart so he can fit between them. “You can tell everybody. They’ll be jealous that I’m the only one who gets to –”

His hips jerk sharply. The sweatpants don’t leave anything to the imagination as far as his erection goes, and you startle at the pressure between your legs and the flood of heat that accompanies it. You pull away from kissing his neck, conscious that you’ve already left a mark, and kiss his mouth again.

His kisses devolve into messiness almost immediately, but this time you’re with him, as your priority shifts to finding a way to improve the sensation of grinding against him through your clothes. You’ve had some experience, made out with twice as many people as you’ve slept with, but you’ve never had a makeout quite as hot as this one. Tenko’s gloved hands clutch desperately at you, the needy sounds he makes muffled by your lips. You drag your fingernails the length of his spine and lift your hips up against his. Tenko whimpers, shudders. Then he pulls away.

Not just partially away, either. He’s all the way out of your grip, curled in on himself, every visible inch of his skin red. “Tenko,” you say, and he shakes his head. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to stop. Or I’ll –” Tenko makes a sharp, uncomfortable gesture. “Like some kind of –”

“Virgin?” You fill in the blank, and Tenko nods. “That’s not a bad thing, Ten.”

“You have experience.”

“Like, two condoms’ worth of experience,” you say, and Tenko snorts. He’s still too far away from you, but he’s not quite so folded up. “We can stop and do something else. Or I can make you come.”

Tenko stares at you for a second. Then he starts nodding – but just as quickly, he’s adding a caveat. “Don’t look. At my face. I don’t want –”

He’s embarrassed about his O face. You wonder if he actually knows what it looks like, or if he’s just assuming it’s weird. You can’t imagine him jerking off in front of a mirror to check. But this is workable. You part your legs further. “Sit here. Lean back against me.”

Tenko does it, and you situate yourself around him. You can’t see his expression, but you can kiss his cheek and his jaw and his neck, and your hands have free rein over his body. The urge to take your time getting to know him, to run your hands slowly over every inch of him until you know exactly how to make him squirm, is almost overpowering. But if you do that, he might come before you even touch his cock.

Speaking of that – you tug lightly at his waistband, and Tenko pulls the borrowed sweatpants partway down with shaking hands, along with the pair of clean but very old underwear he’s wearing. The first thing you note, inconsequential as it is, is that while the hair on his head is that odd blue-grey shade, his pubic hair is dark, like all his hair was when you were children. The second thing that captures your attention is his cock, hard and already leaking slightly at the tip.

You fight the urge to take him in hand immediately. You slide one hand down to his exposed hip, rubbing your thumb idly over the sharp crest of bone while making it clear where your objective really is. “Can I touch you?”

“Uh – yeah.” Tenko coughs, his voice already strained. “Yeah. Go ahead. Please.”

“I want to do this. You don’t have to say please.” You’re surprised by just how badly you want to touch him, how much you want him to fall apart in your hands, just for you, only for you. “Do you want to show me how to touch you? Or should I learn as I go?”

“You didn’t give me a tutorial about kissing. You don’t get one, either.”

“Fair enough.” You gently press your lips against the side of Tenko’s neck, then move the hand that was on his hip to fit around his cock instead.

Tenko jumps, shudders at your touch, and you move your hand cautiously, stroking the length of his shaft, swiping your thumb over the head the same as you’d do with your tongue. Tenko moans, a low desperate sound that drives a spike of heat through your abdomen, and you repeat the motion again. You kiss the side of his neck, lightly at first, then longer, lingering on the texture of the scar tissue under your lips.

Tenko’s back arches, his head falling back against your shoulder. “Faster,” he says, and you increase your pace. “Like that. More –”

He’s shaking. You feel it at every point where your bodies are pressed together. One of his hands grasps your thigh, hanging on for dear life, and you feel a sharp surge of pain, but your attention’s caught by Tenko’s other hand, still gloved, covering his mouth. You can’t let that happen. Not when he makes such pretty sounds. You peel his hand away from his mouth, press it to yours instead. Tenko gasps, shudders. His hips thrust unevenly into your hand, and he comes.

You slow down – the first time you gave a handjob, the guy snapped at you for not easing up fast enough – but Tenko shakes his head, almost frantically. “Not yet. Don’t stop –”

You keep touching him, as requested, drawing out smaller spurts of cum than the first, as he squirms and twitches and makes increasingly pained sounds. It worries you. “Tenko –”

“Stop.” Tenko’s voice breaks. He slumps back against you, his grip on your thigh loosening. “You – sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. “Overstimulation – is that something you’re into?”

“No. I just – you’re never going to do that again, so I wanted it to last.”

“Tenko –” You struggle to wrap your head around what he just said. It doesn’t make any sense. “Of course I’m going to do it again.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’d do it again right now.”

“You wouldn’t. I thought it would be okay if you didn’t look at me but then I made all those stupid sounds –”

“I thought those were really hot.”

Tenko coughs. “What?”

“I like them. I like everything about what we just did.” You’re not sure if it’s possible to overstate this, and you’re not sure how to convince him, except – “If you want to touch me, too, I can prove it.”

You’ve barely finished the sentence before Tenko’s twisting to face you, pulling up his sweatpants one-handed. You get a look at his expression before he leans in to kiss you, just enough to confirm that there’s nothing weird about it at all. He pulls at the waistband of your pants. “Take them off.”

You pull them down, leaving them hooked around one ankle. Tenko studies the pair of underwear you’re wearing. They aren’t anything special. You wonder if he’s going to comment on that, or on how visibly damp they are, but instead he reaches out, touches you through them. A second later his eyes light up. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did.” Your fingers are still sticky with his cum. You think about wiping them off on your shirt, then change your mind and suck your fingers clean, swallowing in a hurry and noting the way Tenko’s jaw drops. “I told you. It was – hot –”

Tenko sits forward to kiss you, his mouth sealed to yours as his hand presses flat against your stomach and slides beneath the waistband of your underwear. The texture of his exposed fingertips is rough enough to make you startle as they slide past your clit, but that’s not on his radar at the moment – he’s too busy probing around in the wetness between your legs, fingers brushing maddeningly close to your entrance before finally pushing inside. He starts with two fingers, not one, which is a stretch, but not quite more than you can handle. You gasp, and his lips curve into that too-wide smile against yours.

Tenko’s overenthusiastic at first, just like he was with kissing the first time, and you catch his wrist. “Slower,” you say. He nods. “Curl your fingers a little bit.”

“Like that?”

Your legs are starting to shake. You nod, and Tenko does it again, and again. His other hand yanks the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down and out of the way. With more room to maneuver, the angle of his fingers changes, increasing the pressure against the most sensitive place inside you and bringing the heel of his hand into contact with your clit every time he works his fingers forward. You’re so wet that there’s next to no resistance. His gloves are going to be ruined.

You feel hot all over. Your nipples are hard, visible through your shirt, and Tenko’s free hand is under your shirt within seconds of noticing it. He circles one of them with his thumb, then rolls it between thumb and forefinger, and the roughness of his fingertips makes even the gentlest motions all too intense. “Tenko –”

“What else?” Tenko’s eyes are intent on your face in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. “I can do more. Tell me what else.”

“Kiss me.” It’s all you can think of, all you want, and Tenko’s mouth crashes down against yours as soon as the words have left it. You wrap your arms around his neck, take a loose grip in his hair, and stop fighting the wave of pleasure sweeping through you. Every muscle in your body clenches, tight and straining, through thrust after thrust of his fingers – and then the heel of Tenko’s hand presses against your clit for a second too long, and you fall apart, head spinning. You clutch Tenko closer, kissing him until you have to pull away to breathe.

Tenko’s fingers slip out of you, and even though you’re oversensitive to an almost painful degree, you whimper at the loss. Tenko notices, smirks – no, smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m definitely doing that again.”

It makes you laugh. “So you’re convinced?”

“Yeah.” Tenko raises his fingers to his mouth and sniffs them, then tastes them. He’s grinning when he lowers his hand again. “I’d say we leveled up.”

Your face flushes, and worse when you see how much moisture is still clinging to his fingers. “Sorry about your gloves.”

“I’ll just wash my hands.” Tenko looks like he’s never been less concerned about anything in his life. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You’re not sure your legs would hold you up, and Tenko looks a little shaky himself as he slides off the bed and heads to your bathroom. You think about putting your underwear back on, but they’re way too wet, and you throw them into your laundry basket without getting up. You still feel too warm to put your sweatpants back on, so you pull the hem of your shirt down and stretch out on the bed anyway. Tenko comes back a moment later. He looks pleased to see that you haven’t left – but then his expression sharpens. “What is that?”

You don’t know what he’s referring to. You give him a puzzled look, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, yanking your leg roughly into his lap. “These. Where did these come from?”

These – the three raw marks in your thigh, not scratches, more like burns or sores. They’re not so much bleeding as oozing. You remember the sharp pain in your leg when Tenko grabbed it, something you’d written off in the moment. “I think you. You were holding on.”

“That’s not how my quirk works,” Tenko says sharply. “It takes all five. And I can’t stop it when – it can’t have been. You’d be dead.”

“No. You’ve used your quirk on me before and I’m still here.”

“I didn’t,” Tenko snaps. “You wouldn’t be. You’d –”

He breaks off, because you’ve pulled up your sleeve. The injury to your wrist on the night you saw Tenko for the first time was healed before the sun came up, but the scar is still visible – jagged furrows in your skin, extending around your wrist from five points of contact. Tenko stares, jaw clenched, eyes wide, and you think through what you know about his quirk. It’s called Decay. It only activates when all five of his fingers make contact with something, or it’s supposed to. And based on what he’s saying now, it’s supposed to function as a chain reaction, something that can’t be stopped once it’s triggered. Except it can be stopped. He has stopped it, both of the times he’s used it on you.

Tenko’s expression twists in a way that looks agonizing. Both his hands lift from his sides, clawing hard at his neck, but only one of them stays there. The other comes up to scratch at his face instead, to yank hard at his own hair, to tear into the skin above his right eye, in the same spot as his scar. You’ve seen him melt down before, when you were kids, when he got too stressed or too upset or when something had gone wrong at home and someone had asked him about what happened. But never anything like this. It’s horrifying. You can’t just sit here and watch.

“Tenko, stop. Please.” You keep your voice calm, even as it shakes. You catch his wrist with both hands, ignoring the hand scratching his neck in favor of dealing with the one that’s tearing at his face. “You don’t need to do that. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Tenko doesn’t answer. His eyes are glazed, and he’s fighting you, stronger than you. His neck is bleeding. Soon his face will be, too, unless you keep his hand away. You keep talking, senselessly. “You don’t have to hurt yourself. Please don’t, Tenko –”

One of his nails bites deep into the side of his neck. Too deep. A spurt of blood comes up, and something in your mind snaps. You let go of his wrist with one hand and cover the marks on his neck, taking his scratches on the back of your hand instead. His blood is hot against your palm, and you fight down a surge of panic. You can’t stop him. He can hurt himself badly, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You don’t even know why he’s this upset. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Whatever it is, it’s not worth –”

Tenko lurches away from you, tearing completely out of your grip, and stumbles to the bathroom. A moment later, you hear him retching. You don’t waste time thinking about what to do next. You get up and chase after him.

The last time you followed him when he was trying to get away from you, he hurt you. This time he’s in no condition to hurt anyone. He’s on his hands and knees vomiting on the bathmat, blood staining the collar of his shirt. The instant the vomiting stops, Tenko slumps forward, and you barely manage to pull him back in time to stop him from going face-first into the mess. He’s almost completely limp when he falls against you. You keep his head and shoulders elevated in case he throws up again and struggle to come up with a plan.

If a patient at the clinic melted down like this, you’d stabilize them and maybe call an ambulance. Stabilizing Tenko is well within your abilities, but you have no idea where this reaction came from, whether it’s within the range of possibilities for him or it came completely out of nowhere. Does that even matter as far as treating him goes? No, you decide. It doesn’t.

You were just learning about treatment for major trauma tonight. You start by checking Tenko’s breathing and heart rate. He’s hyperventilating and his pulse is fast, his skin pale. His eyes are open and his pupils are dilated. The biggest injury to deal with is the claw mark on his neck. You yank a towel off the bathroom counter with one hand and press it against the side of his neck, trying to contain the bleeding, then reach up again and turn the sink on cold. Once it’s as cold as it’ll go, you cup your hand, fill it with water, and splash it into Tenko’s face.

He startles in your arms, tries to lurch upright. “What –”

“It’s just water. Your heart rate’s really high, and I’m trying to bring it down. Cold water activates the diving reflex. That’s all.” You do a better job keeping your voice calm this time. Tenko doesn’t need a quirkless sidekick or a terrified girlfriend right now. He needs a medic. “Your neck is bleeding. I want to fix that before we do anything else. Is that okay?”

Tenko doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to get away from you, so you take that as a yes and drag your first-aid kit out from under the sink. Bandaging the wound effectively without letting go of him is difficult, and you’re still watching his heart rate. It’s higher than you want it to be, but not as bad as before. You keep talking, explaining everything you’re doing, not asking  for or expecting any response. You don’t know what triggered this. You need to keep him stable.

By the time you’ve got the wound on Tenko’s neck bandaged, he’s shivering. You’d get him to bed immediately, but his clothes are a mess, and soaked with cold sweat in the bargain. “Let’s get up and get changed, okay? It’ll just take a second.”

Tenko gets to his feet ahead of you, then offers you a hand up. You take it but get up under your own power, and as you do, you see that the gloves are a total loss. You’ll have to figure out something else. You lead Tenko over to your closet, switching out everything he’s wearing for your largest, most comfortable clothes. The only thing you can’t replace is the underwear, and the gloves. Tenko stands there, eyes blank, unmoving but for the shivers, while you try to think of a solution. His quirk is in his fingers, right? Only his fingers. What if you cover them?

Bandaids and medical tape. You cover Tenko’s ring finger and little finger, first on his right hand, then on his left. Tenko doesn’t protest, warn you against his quirk, or offer to help. He just stands there, lifeless, until you link your little finger with his and lead him over to the bed. He gets in on your side without being prompted, then looks up at you. “Are you coming?”

His voice sounds awful, but at least he’s talking again. “In a second,” you promise. “I just need to clean up.”

Part of you is hoping he’ll be asleep when you get back, but the rest of you knows better than to hope for that. You rinse the bathmat out in the shower, then carry it to the washing machine, along with all the clothes in the laundry basket, including everything Tenko just took off. Then it’s your clothes, and while you’re starting the washing machine, you notice the scratches on the back of your hand.

Those need cleaning, too, along with the marks on your thigh. You give up on putting on pants, change into a clean shirt and underwear, and detour to the hall closet for your pocket first-aid kit. The big one is too much for this.

Tenko’s voice follows you. “You’re leaving.”

“No,” you say. On second thought, you need to bring other things, too. You fill a glass with water from the sink and set it down on the bedside table. Then you sit down on the other side of the bed, over the covers. “I’m right here.”

Tenko doesn’t answer, but when you open the first-aid kit, he turns toward the sound. “What are you doing?”

“I just need a band-aid or two.” You regret the words instantly when Tenko sits up. “No, I’m fine. Just rest.”

“I did it.” Tenko’s voice is dull. “I’ll fix it.”

You shouldn’t let him do it. He needs to rest. But if he wants to do things, if he’s doing things under his own power, maybe you shouldn’t stop him. You lift your hands away from the first-aid kit and let him poke through it on his own, working awkwardly around the band-aids covering the tips of his fingers. Tenko starts with the marks on your leg, cleaning them clumsily. When he speaks up, he says the last thing you were expecting to hear. “I should have killed you.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“My quirk doesn’t stop. I can control what I touch, but once it activates, I can’t stop it. When I touched you then, I should have killed you. I should have killed you tonight. Just like I killed them.”

Tenko’s voice is flat, emotionless. Are you in danger? You don’t think so, but there are two questions running through your mind, and you ask the more immediate one, not the more important one. “Did you want to kill me? Tonight or then?”

He threatened to kill you the night you met him again, and it would have been easy for him to follow through, but he didn’t. Tenko shakes his head mechanically. “I never wanted to,” he says, and the relief you feel shames you into silence. “I didn’t want to kill Mon, either.”

You remember Mon. You loved Mon, just like Tenko did – less than Tenko did, because Mon was his dog. You can’t imagine Tenko hurting Mon. But you found what was left of Mon in the wreckage of Tenko’s house. And although you’ve seen the effects of Tenko’s quirk before, you’ve never seen, start to finish, what happens when he uses it on a living being. A terrible thought builds in the back of your mind, gaining speed and power. “Tenko, what do you mean?”

“I wondered if you’d guessed. You never said it, so I thought maybe you had.” Tenko smears Neosporin over the first rotted fingerprint in your thigh – too much Neosporin, just like before. “What happened to my family – I did it. It wasn’t some villain. I’m the one who killed them.”

You didn’t know. Not consciously. But even though the thought’s just occurring to you, it doesn’t feel like a surprise. If a villain had killed Tenko’s family, the Tenko you knew would have wanted to avenge them. But he’s been focused on All Might, on society, not on some other villain. The only way that makes sense is if he knew who it was already, if he’d dealt with them already – or if the person who did it was him.

It’s silent in your apartment. You’ve been silent for too long. “You didn’t know,” Tenko concludes, and you shake your head. “You know how to say things right. Tell me what it means.”

It’s not that you know how to say things right, it’s that you know him. You know how his mind works, know where the connections break, know how to piece it back together. “Your quirk doesn’t stop once it’s activated, but it stopped with me,” you say hesitantly, and Tenko nods. “You didn’t want to hurt me. But you didn’t want to hurt Mon, or – or Hana –”

Hana was your friend, too. Tenko’s loss crushed you so badly that you barely mourned her. “And you couldn’t stop your quirk with them,” you say. Tenko nods again. He’s been trying to open the same band-aid for the last thirty seconds. “You were five years old, Tenko. Nobody can control their quirk that young.”

“Try again.” Tenko doesn’t look up from the band-aid. “If I didn’t kill you and I killed them, then – say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“No.” You’re not going to do this. You’re not going to buy into this idea someone planted in Tenko’s head that he killed his entire family on purpose when he was five years old. You can picture what happened that night in your mind’s eye – how he would have reached out to someone for help, how he wouldn’t have realized until it was too late, how quickly things would have spiraled out of control. “I know what you want me to say. And I know you. So I won’t.”

“Sensei said –”

“He didn’t know you.” The words leave your mouth with more venom than they should. “Not yet. Not that day. I did.”

You remember it so well – not because it was different than any other day with your best friend, but because it was the last day, because you went over every detail of it in your head until it was etched into your memory forever. You’d swapped lunches – he liked the awful onigiri your mom made, and you were always after the expensive snacks his grandma bought. You’d played heroes at recess and kept the game going on your way home from school while Hana walked ahead. Tenko was All Might, again, and that day you were Sir Nighteye, All Might’s sidekick who could see the future.

Nobody knows how Sir Nighteye’s quirk actually works, so you had to make it up, and you made up so that you had to touch the person to see how their future would play out. No matter how many times Tenko tried to get you close to the villain, it never worked, and on the way home, you came up with the perfect solution. “All Might,” you called out, and Tenko turned to look at you, deadly serious. “Give me your hand!”

He held it out, and you seized it in both of yours. “I can’t see his future, but I can see yours,” you said, and the brightest, widest grin crossed Tenko’s face. “You’re going to win.”

“We’re going to win. I can’t do it without you,” Tenko said, in his awful All Might impression that always made you laugh. You let go of his hand, but he didn’t let go of yours. “Tell me how we do it.”

You didn’t mean to, but you held his hand the rest of the way home, while you described the battle with the arch-villain, how it was going to be close but how Tenko would win. You needed to hold on, or you’d lose sight of his future. The two of you were just getting to the good part of the fight when you reached your street, your houses. You were disappointed, and so was Tenko. “Can’t you come over? You have to finish telling me so we can play for real tomorrow.”

You wanted to. You always wanted to, and that day more than ever, because you were holding Tenko’s hand and he hadn’t let go yet, even when you tried to. Even if it was just for the game, you didn’t want it to end. “I could ask –”

But you couldn’t even get the sentence out of your mouth before your mother shouted from across the street. Your name, followed by a brisk order. “You had all day to play around! Get in here and help me!”

Your throat closed up, but you didn’t want to cry. Tenko’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll play tomorrow,” he promised. He smiled. Not the All Might smile – the real one, the one that the people he saved were going to see someday and believe in, the one that said everything would be okay. “Keep looking at my future. Tell me how we win.”

“I will,” you said. Your mother shouted again. You squeezed Tenko’s hand and let go. And then you turned, looked both ways, and ran back across the street to your mother.

That was the last time you saw him for fifteen years, and everything might have changed between then and the first time you saw him again, but it can’t change the truth – Tenko’s master didn’t know him then. You did. So you know for sure now.

Tenko can’t hold your gaze. “You’re not right about this. He chose me. He knows.”

“Then we disagree. Nobody ever said we have to agree on everything.” You can’t push too hard. Not tonight. “Maybe you’ll win and convince me one of these days. Or I’ll win and convince you.”

Tenko’s mouth twists, turns down at the corners. He turns his back. “Don’t look.”

You move the first-aid kit out of the way and scoot closer to him, pressing yourself against his back as you wrap your arms around him. “I’m not looking.”

You hold him like that for a long time, not flinching when his hand grips your wrist again, when his palm flattens against the back of your hand to pin it to his chest just over his heart – and when he turns back in your arms, his eyes are clearer than they’ve been since he saw the marks on your leg. He looks exhausted. “Get some sleep,” you tell him. “I’ll be right there. I just have to finish this.”

The marks on your leg still need to be bandaged, and the scratches on the back of your hand are deep enough that you should cover them, too. Tenko shakes his head. “I did it. I’ll fix it. Aftercare, right?”

You smile in spite of yourself. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

He’s faster at it this time around. He covers the fingerprints on your leg with too much Neosporin and a giant band-aid, then slaps a sterile pad down on the back of your hand and secures it messily with gauze. “Don’t do this again. If I want to tear my own skin up –”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you get hurt. Even if you’re doing it to yourself.” That’s not up for negotiation, at least not tonight. “Come on. If you want to cuddle, we’ll be more comfortable lying down.”

Appealing to Tenko’s touch-starvation seems to be a winning strategy. As soon as you’re both under the covers, he crawls into your arms, halfway on top of you with his face buried in your shoulder. You hang onto him tightly. Not so tightly that you can’t free one hand to play with his hair, and Tenko makes a sound. You wouldn’t call it contented, but he’s not as tense as before. What he says is muffled by your shoulder, and it comes completely out of left field. “I’m not going to do that every time we hook up.”

You almost laugh. “I know.”

Like he did last night, he falls asleep quickly. You don’t, or can’t. Half of you is scared that if you fall asleep, you’ll wake up to Tenko gone, snatched out of your grip again by All For One. It’s a stupid thought. All For One is in Tartarus, under twenty-four-hour guard – but Kurogiri follows his orders over Tenko’s, and if Kurogiri came for Tenko, there would be nothing you could do. Nothing except hold on tight, and make sure that you and Tenko went wherever he was going together.

Part of what’s keeping you up is fear. The rest is fury, the kind you can barely contain, aimed at a single target. You don’t have a clue about most of what All For One did to try to erase Tenko and replace him with Tomura, but you know the first thing – convincing him that he killed his family on purpose. Tenko’s pursuing the vision of someone who’s tried to destroy him, who’s thrown him into a battle he can’t win. And you’re supposed to help him do it.

You can’t stomach that, but maybe you don’t have to. You don’t have to be loyal to All For One’s vision or to Tenko’s efforts to follow in his footsteps. You just have to be loyal to Tenko, and that’s easy the way breathing is, as unconscious as blinking. After all, you’ve been doing it your whole life.

[lifeontoast]

Yule Ball

Cedric Diggory x reader

A Harry Potter Advent special for you! Enjoy! Also this is really cliché and cheesy but oh well! (by the way both Cedric and reader are 7th years)

…

The Yule Ball. Quite possibly the most hotly anticipated date in the school calendar. And you had nobody to go with.

All your friends had been asked, as they told you excitedly in late-night dorm room gossip sessions. You couldn't help but sigh with jealousy, even though you smiled and said you were happy for them. You never got any attention from anybody, and you kind of liked it that way, until this whole Yule Ball business got started. The announcement at the start of the year had got everybody excited, yourself included, but as time went on you grew rather fed up of hearing about it every five minutes. After half-term it got unbearable. Everybody talked about what dresses they were wearing, what shoes they had bought, accessories… it went on and on and on.

If you had to pick somebody to go with, it would be Cedric Diggory. But he’d already be going with someone, there was no way someone like him didn't have a date already.

You’d liked him ever since first year, since that time that your hands accidentally touched in potions, over some sliced Dragon skin. You’d never forgotten it, but you assumed that he had. But… recently, you’ve been catching him looking at you as you pass him in the corridor, more than what would be normal for such an interaction. It was like he was looking for you, actively seeking you out. It was so bizarre that you just couldn't fathom it. Hogwarts’ golden boy was looking at you? (not that it wasn’t warranted, you’re absolutely gorgeous) You shared a DADA class, and it was so weird… you could’ve sworn he spent more time trying to stare at you discreetly than listening to the professor. He was distracting you by doing absolutely nothing at all, and it finally came to a head when the professor asked you a question you couldn’t answer. He just blushed and said you didn’t know, earning you a, frankly, withering look.

You tripped through the rest of the day, confused, until you felt a hand on your shoulder after the end of school, when you were just about to head to your common room. You looked around, and it was Cedric.

‘Y/N… I have something to ask you.’ he said softly, looking into your eyes. He was displaying a rare moment of vulnerability! You stared back at him, too shocked to say anything. He took it as a sign to continue.

‘Listen… I know this is probably a long shot, but would you like to… come to the ball with me?’

Your heart started beating at an alarming pace. You felt sure that he could hear it. Did he really just ask you that? To go to the ball with him? You almost fainted. Before you could do anything silly, you nodded emphatically, a huge grin plastered on your face. He reciprocated it, making your already-madly-beating heart melt.

So that was it. You did have someone to go with after all! Now all of your friend’s boasting made total sense. You wanted to go and scream it out from the Astronomy tower:

I’M GOING TO THE BALL WITH CEDRIC DIGGORY!

But you didn’t. Obviously.

TIMESKIP: THE EVENING OF THE YULE BALL

Tonight’s the night! You had bought your outfit, your shoes, and all the various detritus that comes with an evening out. The weeks following Cedric’s asking you out were nothing like you had ever experienced before. You found him asking you every day how you were, how school was, what your workload was like, etcetera. But he was asking you to actually spend time with him, something you’d never been asked to do before. It was like a dream. Being with Cedric was just so easy - you found out who he really was, outside of his golden-boy persona. He was so lovely, and charming too, and it wasn’t hard to start catching feelings for him. Not that that was any bad thing, of course.

Nobody did much work at school that day, all were too busy dreaming about the night ahead of them. You would not be ashamed to admit that you were among them. The teachers gave you all knowing looks and didn’t set any homework, knowing what you’d all be up to the instant school was finished for the day. It turned out that they were correct: straight after potions, you shot to the common room at lightning speed, opening the door of your dorm to all your giggling friends, already drunk on the party atmosphere of the party that wouldn’t start for hours.

It continued as the hours passed and you all got ready, laughing and smiling. You were genuinely really looking forward to it, more than you thought you would. Most of all, you were excited to see Cedric and spend the night with him. Hair done, outfit on, shoes on, you looked an absolute picture. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t really believe it was you. All your friends looked similarly stunning, and marvelled at your ethereal beauty. After that, well, it was time. Descending your dorm room stairs like a host of heavenly angels, everyone in the common room turned their gaze to you. Some of the girls paired off with their dates in the same house, and some of them walked off to meet theirs elsewhere.

Cedric was nowhere to be found, and you grew anxious. Your friends reassured you and told you that he was probably waiting for you at the ball. You nodded, took a deep breath, and headed towards the Great Hall. it wasn’t an easy task in your shoes, but you managed well enough, until you saw the stairs. You decided to stand regally at the top of the staircase for a moment, like royalty surveying their kingdom, to delay your descent. You glanced around worriedly, looking for your date. The hall was decorated immaculately; stars twinkling where the ceiling would be, snow on the white floor, glittering silver tinsel and baubles everywhere the eye could see.

Like a charm, Cedric was standing at the bottom of the large staircase, just staring at you, open-mouthed. He himself looked striking in a black tuxedo and dress robes, his white bow tie tied perfectly. His stunned face gave you the encouragement you needed to start descending the stairs, almost gliding, in fact. You reached him, and he finally recovered.

‘Y/N… I can’t believe this. You look absolutely stunning.’ he said, taking your hand and placing a kiss upon it.

‘Well, Cecric, it has to be said, you do clean up pretty well.’ you quipped back. ‘But seriously, you look fantastic. Really handsome.’ you added quietly, blushing a little. It was true! He really did look amazing, like your very own Prince Charming.

He offered you his arm, smiling, and led you into the hall. He chatted to you whilst you got drinks, and you stood together at the side of the room, sipping on wonderfully fruity mocktails. After a while, he threw you a smirk and held out his hand. You knew what came next. Dancing with Cedric Diggory! You never thought you’d see the day.

Just as you made your way to the dance floor, the up-tempo tune changed to a slow waltz. You’d been dreading a situation like this; luckily, Cedric knew what to do. He held you close, arms around you, and gently pulled you along with him. Eventually, you found the beat and your feet just moved themselves. Once you didn’t have to put all your focus on not tripping over, this dancing business was actually rather enjoyable! You looked up at him for the first time, your eyes locking instantly. He was a much better view than your shoes. You held his gaze throughout the whole rest of the song, and even when it finished, you just stood there, looking at each other.

You finally broke your trance, noticing that the waltz had been replaced with a fast-paced number. The change was almost painful. Once again, Cedric knew exactly what to do; it was like he’d been practising (he probably had been, just to impress you). He held your hands and you jumped around together, attracting the most scathing looks, but for once in your life not caring in the slightest.

And so it carried on that way, hour after precious hour, changing how you danced with each new song. From crazy jigging to Viennese waltzing, you did it all.

Finally, at the end of the evening, he tucked your arm in his and walked you back to your common room, leaving you with a soft kiss on the cheek to remember the night by. You couldn’t sleep that night; your head was filled with the technicolour whirlwind of an evening. Of course, you’d see him tomorrow, and probably every day after that until the end of time, but you would remember that night for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t wait.

…

Thanks so much for reading! You rock!

[pimosworld]

The ties that bind

Pairing- Dave York x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Series Summary-Dave is a private investigator who tracks down soulmates. He's tasked to find Frankie's, but what happens when he finds you and wants you all to himself?

CW-18+,MDNI, NSFW, Smut,Fluff, shameless flirting, sexual tension, MMF dynamics, MM flirting, oral (f) receiving, unprotected piv, cream pie, aftercare

WC-5.9k

A/N- I’m sorry I made you guys wait so long for this but I promise it was worth it. We just have a few chapters left before I say goodbye to these three and I’m glad they finally figured it out.

[Main Masterlist][Series Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter VI

“I know you’ve explained it already but repeat it back to me.” You bite your fingernails as you pace in front of the couch. 

  “Honey I can explain it to you a thousand times, you’re still going to have to hear it from them.” Alicia says after her attempt at calming you down. The story Santi told her sounded so far-fetched you didn’t believe it at first and then you needed to hear it again to be sure.  

  “I just find it hard to believe they would go through such great lengths for me.” You narrowly miss the pillow she throws at your head from her spot on the couch. 

  “I told you about talking down on yourself.” She points a finger at you. “You’re a fucking catch and you have the upper hand so talk to them and see where it goes.” 

  ****

  It sounds easy enough but you weren’t even sure where to begin. You’re just glad your current predicament didn’t seem to be affecting Alicia and Santiago’s relationship. You loved seeing her so happy and told her not to worry about you. You had plenty of time to think since you spent most nights alone while he whisked her off on dates. 

  You were taking your sweet time responding to Dave and Frankie wanting them to squirm a little after what they put you through. You did appreciate their persistence. The daily good morning texts even with no response from you. Flowers overflowing your apartment and the record store. Your boss had stopped by on a rare occasion and raved about how you’d been decorating the place. You wanted to turn down the money he left knowing how expensive flowers were and you didn’t have it in you to even begin to explain where they all came from. 

  After a week and a half they were slowly wearing you down. Frankie sent you his attempt at a selfie while he was in the helicopter in his aviators. He cut off half his face but it still had you weak in the knees. 

  Frankie: image 

  Frankie: just in case you forgot what i look like 

  You wanted to respond so badly but you opted to just like the photo. 

  Dave:image 

  Dave: thinking of you 

  The extreme close up of the hummingbird practically brought tears to your eyes, but that could also be your hormones. You can see the vibrant colors on its back and the blur of its wings as it feeds from a petunia in the park. 

  It was inevitable that you were going to cave, but you wanted it to be on your terms. Over the course of the next week you spoke to both of them separately. You called them and heard both of their stories…the truth this time. As bizarre as the whole thing sounded you were relieved when their explanation matched up and you could tell they were being genuine. You’ve never heard two men apologize so much in your life. 

  Dave had to return home for a few days and Frankie was busy with work so you decided to meet at the end of the week to all talk in person about what you were going to do going forward. 

  ****

  “You’re gonna be late if you keep fussing with it.” Alicia says perched on your dresser as you fidget with the little black dress she let you borrow. As uncomfortable as it was in the beginning, wearing her clothes always brought out another side of you. 

  “I’m just taking a page out of your book.” You point at her in the mirror. “Fashionably late…plus I want them to squirm a little.” 

  She stares at you with an incredulous look on her face. “What have I done to you?” 

  In all honesty she’s given you a boost of confidence that you sorely needed over the years of your friendship. You’ve learned to ask for the things you want and not take no for an answer. You’d spent years being told you weren’t good enough or didn’t fit the part by your step mom and your ex and ultimately the rejection from your dad had you really believing those things were true. 

  Anyone else may have grown tired of constantly reminding you that you deserve to take up space. She never did and would be there every step of the way to prove it to you time and time again. 

  You suppose that’s why she’s such a good fit for Santi. He needed someone to be his match, to challenge him when no one else would. To show him what it was like to laugh again and enjoy the little things. 

  You put the finishing touches on your makeup as she hops down from the dresser. “You call me either way.”

  “Of course.” You wave your phone in front of her face as she crosses her arms. 

  “Just know I’m extremely jealous of you right now.” She trails behind you as you make your way to the front door a little wobbly in your heels. 

  “Nothing to be jealous of…this could all crash and burn in my face.” A sudden wave of fear waves over you at the prospect but you shove that down. 

  “I highly doubt that hon.” She spins you once and places a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She’s leaning precariously in the doorway as you step out into the hallway. 

  “Would you do this?” You ask sheepishly. 

  “In a heartbeat.” The door shuts in your face and you’re left in the quiet. Only the sound of your heels clicking on the ground echo as you head to the elevator. 

  ****

  “If you’re gonna keep fussing with your tie you might as well not wear one.” Dave says as Frankie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his dress shirt. 

  They’re sitting in the lounge where you all agreed to meet to discuss things and Frankie hasn’t been this nervous since his pilots exam. Dave is the picture of calm as he relaxes back in the blue crushed velvet seat. 

  “Where am I gonna put it?” Frankie aggressively rips the tie from his neck. 

  “Put it in your pocket or something.” Dave bites out as he leans forward to take a sip of his drink. 

  The two of them probably look ridiculous sitting here bickering. It’s been an uncomfortable few minutes since they finished their conversation about how the night could go. 

  Frankie was preparing for you to tell him that you would need to think things over for awhile since they lied to you initially and he didn’t come to you genuinely and say who he was from the beginning. 

  Dave was prepared for you to tell him that you were obviously going to choose your soulmate and that he was a creep for leading you on and basically stalking you in the process. He seems calm on the outside but inside he’s cursing the thought of returning to his lonely life of helping others find what he so desperately missed. 

  Frankie leans forward as he glances at his watch. “We said seven right? It’s been a little while.” He wrings his hands together nervously. “What if she doesn’t show?” 

  Dave swirls the glass in his hand as he looks over at Frankie. “Relax…she’ll be here.” 

  They both turn their heads as the sound of heels on marble floors sound in the room. 

  ****

  It’s serendipitous walking into the hotel lounge where weeks ago you and Alicia tried and failed at finding love. The very same lounge where you both decided that this was it and you were probably going to end up marrying each other and riding off into the sunset. 

  You see them before they see you. 

  Dave is sitting back in the chair, legs spread wide with a glass of amber liquid twirling in his hand. He’s wearing a fitted black suit with his hair combed back. Frankie looks about as nervous as you feel as he leans forward muttering something to Dave. You can’t hear his reply but he looks unbothered. He’s ditched his signature cap and his loose brown curls are styled somewhat to frame his face. He’s got on black slacks and his white dress shirt is unbuttoned a little so you can see a sliver of his tan chest peeking out. If you were a weaker woman you’d forgo any conversation and ask for Dave’s room key right now. 

  It’s the click.click.click of your heels that brings their attention to you as you approach the table. 

  ****

  “Holy shit.” Dave speaks first and for all his practiced effort to keep it cool his resolve quickly crumbles as he sees you approach wearing  something entirely not you but such a welcome surprise. 

  He would tell Frankie to close his mouth if his wasn’t hanging agape at the short silk, black dress. The barely there straps that he could break with his teeth and the front plunging low enough to see your sternum. 

  You’re standing there expectantly and he quickly realizes neither have them have spoken a word since you waltzed up to them. 

  Just as Frankie is about to speak a waiter appears at your side. “Excuse me miss, would you like something to drink?” His eyes linger over you a second too long Dave’s nostrils flare in annoyance. 

  “Gin and tonic with lime please.” You say politely as you sit in the open seat in front of them. Doing your best to cross your ankles to not give them a view you’re not ready for. The dress rides up your thighs as you sit on the soft velvet seat and Frankie’s eyes flit briefly to them as he clears his throat and adjusts in his seat. 

  You’ve barely said a word and you’ve got both men wrapped around your finger. You’re completely unaware of the predicament you’ve been in since your little stunt at the country bar and this is only making it worse. 

  “So I suppose you both have some things to say before I tell you my thoughts.” There’s a slight air of confidence to your tone as you survey both men. 

  Frankie glances at Dave before clearing his throat. “Listen, I'm sure you’re sick of hearing our apologies.” You nod once before letting him continue. “I still have to say I’m sorry for lying to you. I wrongly assumed you would just toss Dave aside.” 

  “Thanks.” Dave responds dryly and you have to suppress your laugh. It’s obvious they’ve formed some sort of connection that hopefully plays into your favor. 

  The waiter returns with your drink trying to gauge whatever interaction is playing out in front of him. You all awkwardly wait until he’s out of ear shot to continue. 

  “Anyways…everything else I told you was the truth. Including the fact that I think I’m falling in love with you.” The last part is rushed out as your eyes go wide. A small part of you thought you might be moving too fast, but the feelings you were developing for both of them were hard to deny. 

  Frankie wishes the floor would swallow him up whole right now. His practiced speech went out the window when he saw you walk in the room. 

  You take a sip of your drink and direct your attention to Dave. 

  “I don’t regret what I did.” Dave states matter of factly as Frankie brings his head up from staring at the floor. Of all the things you expected him to say it certainly wasn’t that. “If I could do it all over again the only thing I would do differently is tell you who I was as soon as Frankie met you.” His voice is low as he leans in a little closer. “Even if you never want to speak to me again, I’m glad I did all those things for you and I never lied when I said I care about you a lot. So much that it scares me.” 

  You finish the rest of your drink and sit back in your seat. This is really starting to feel like an episode of the bachelor and if they don’t accept your proposal you suppose more than one person is going to get hurt. 

  “Well…” You fidget with your hands momentarily as your voice shakes a little. “I appreciate your honesty…even if it’s a little late. I’m relieved to know that you feel the same way about me that I feel about you.” 

  Frankie feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief that he didn’t just make a complete fool of himself. 

  “I’m not choosing.” You say with finality and Dave raises an eyebrow at you from across the table. “I don’t think I should have to after what you two put me through. So if you want out, now is your chance.” 

  ****

  You’re all three or four drinks deep, now the only ones in the hotel lounge. You’ve been swapping horrible dating stories and they’ve been swapping some more classified stories that you don’t care to remember for fear of your personal safety. These two unassuming and charming men have seen some things in their lifetime that you would never have imagined. It’s thrilling in a way to know how dangerous they are but when it comes to you they’re inculpable. 

  Neither one budged when you told them you weren’t going to choose and now that you’re sitting here a little more comfortable sharing the loveseat with Frankie as Dave relaxes back in the chair next to you it almost seems like this is how it was supposed to be. 

  Frankie’s strong hands rub small circles along the exposed part of your thigh. “So he calls you hummingbird?” 

  “That was our secret.” You say playfully to Dave as he brushes his fingers along your knuckles. 

  “Well, you share the tattoo with Francisco so I figured I should tell him.” He turns your hand over in his tracing the lines of the tattoo on your wrist. 

  “You don’t have to call me Francisco.” Frankie’s breath is hot on your neck as he’s moved a little closer to you. 

  “What if I want to?” Dave’s voice is anything but innocent as you watch a moment pass between him and Frankie. 

  This could work. 

  Frankie leans in whispering something as his lips brush your ear. He has to resist biting it as he sees the goosebumps raise on your skin at the close contact. Something in the air has shifted throughout the night and he’s done trying to overthink it. 

  “Who’s telling secrets now.” Dave grabs your foot that was trailing up his leg, your heels have been long discarded. His hands start to kneed and rub and you have to stifle a moan at how good it feels. 

  “I was just telling her what hummingbird means in Spanish…so we can have our own little name.” Frankie’s feeling bold as he kisses your neck. “Isn’t that right?” 

  You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the sensation of both of their hands on you but a pleasant buzz is running through your body. 

  A throat clears behind you and you lean your head back against Frankie as you lock eyes with the waiter. He looks a little annoyed but straightens up Dave and Frankie put their attention on him. 

  “The lounge is closing for the night so-“

  “Charge it to my room please. Dave York, Capri Penthouse suite.” Dave cuts him off and he’s gone before he could finish his sentence. 

  It’s quiet for a moment as you wait to see who’s going to speak first. You definitely don’t want the night to end yet but you have no idea where their heads are at. You exhale and look them dead in the eyes before you lose the courage to say what you’ve been wanting since they both walked into your lives. 

“I want you both.” They nod at each other but you’re certain they don’t interpret your true meaning. 

“We’re yours.” Dave says genuinely as he looks at Frankie. 

“Tonight.” It’s not a question, more of a statement as they both look at you wide eyed. Frankie tenses behind you and Dave’s shocked expression has you a little worried. It’s bold and so unlike you, you’re sick of doing the predictable thing. You want them and they clearly want you so these are your terms. 

Dave slides forward in his chair. “You’ve been drinking…” he whispers as if you’re not the only ones left in the lounge. “We don’t want to take advantage.” He emphasizes we….assuming Frankie feels the same and he nods at him. 

“We’ve all been drinking… and I made up my mind last night.” You gather your purse in your hand and start to stand. “Unless you don’t want to and we can discuss this at a later…”

“No.” “No.” You have to chuckle at their sudden enthusiasm. 

Frankie’s mind already starts to wander to all the things they could do to you. Things they could show you. All the ways he could make you come apart. Two hands are better than one and four hands….

It’s a little shocking to Dave that this scenario had never crossed his mind but it’s clear neither of them were about to let this opportunity pass them by, if even for one night. 

“I’ll give you two a moment to talk, I need to make a phone call.” You walk just out of ear shot to call Alicia who is no doubt picking up on the first ring.

****

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.” You can hear her sigh and probably shaking her head on the other end of the line. 

“Clothes!…that’s what you’re worried about right now? I will bring you a change of clothes in the morning if you manage to pull this off.” 

You’re standing at the edge of the lounge door, not wanting to turn around and see whatever heated conversation could be going on behind you. 

“I’m mostly stalling, and mentally preparing myself to call a ride home in case they think this is crazy.” This is crazy right, how was this the next logical step in your brain. It all sounded right bouncing around in your head throughout the week and now your nerves seem to be getting the best of you. 

“Deep breaths…I doubt anyone with two eyes would turn down and offer like this.” Alicia mumbles something incoherent on the other end but you can take a guess as to what she may have said. 

You duck your head as some loud guests enter the lobby heading back to their room after a night on the town. You don’t know why you’re shying away, it’s not as if they could possibly know what’s going on behind you. 

****

“You said this would go one of two ways.” Frankie says as he fidgets with the label on his empty beer. 

“I know what I said…it’s just of course I didn’t expect…do you not want-“ Dave’s brief moment of clarity cuts through the sexual tension. Not even realizing what he’s asking of Frankie who’s already given up so much. 

“No, of course I want this.” His voice is sure and it’s the first time he actually says out loud the thing he’s been thinking since that first day in the coffee shop when he met Dave. Nothing in his wildest dreams would’ve imagined him here in this exact scenario. 

They’re both quiet for a moment, a little hesitant after admitting something that most men wouldn’t be brave enough to counter. It feels like that moment when you’re lucid and you don’t want to wake up because the dream is just too good. The lights in the lounge are perfectly dim casting a shadow along the walls. You’re standing there against the doorway, looking adorable and exposed in your shirt black dress and your heels haphazardly buckled because you didn’t want to walk barefoot away from the proposition you just dropped in their waiting laps. 

“Have you ever?” Dave asks timidly no ridicule evident in his tone. 

“Yes, but I didn’t care about them this way.” Once or twice when he was stationed overseas because Pope wrangled him into it, long before he was married. “I doubt she ever has.” 

Dave surveys you for a moment as you chance a look over your shoulder. “There’s no need to rush this, if this isn’t going to be the only time. I think it’s fair if you take the lead.” 

Frankie should be nervous or anxious at the prospect of your first time together being watched by Dave. There’s something else drumming below the surface as his voyeuristic tendencies start to rear  their head. Frankie adjusts himself trying to hide his excitement as Dave’s eyes linger too long on him. 

****

You’re glad you walked away to give you and them a moment to collect yourselves. You didn’t want to be present for any uncomfortable conversation if either of them decided this was just too much.

You can see it in their eyes as you approach, it’s clear what decision they’ve made. 

“So boys…are we doing this?” 

Frankie stands and takes your hand in his as Dave slides the room key out of his pocket. “Baby…we’re all yours.”

****

“You wore this to talk?” Dave’s fingers lift the strap of your lace bra as he slides down, brushing his thumb across your nipple through the soft fabric. 

“What can I say? I like to be prepared.” You bite your lip as small goosebumps raise across your skin. 

Frankie has to shake his head at the sentiment. The act you put on is not as innocent as he previously thought. Maybe your friend gave you a little push in the right direction. 

He’ll have to thank her later when she doesn’t want to kill him. 

Both of them standing in front of you, patiently waiting for your next move has you feeling a little exposed. 

Dave can sense some hesitation from you, you’re staring anywhere but at them as your hand covers your stomach. 

His hand cups your face, as he brushes his thumb across your jaw. “We don’t have to do this hummingbird.” You can see it in his eyes, how deeply he cares for you in that moment. 

“No, I want to…it’s just. I’ve never done this before.” You gesture between the two men and laugh a little. 

They both hold such serious faces then, not wanting to make a joke of your vulnerability. You are opening this part of yourself to both of them. 

Dave leans in, his lips brushing yours as you melt into the kiss. He turns your jaw slightly and Frankie is at your side, his large palm replacing yours across your stomach and then caressing your hip. 

His forehead meets yours for a moment, just breathing you in before he dives in for a kiss.  It’s like shockwaves whenever you touch him, the feeling skates down your spine into your toes and you’re leaning into his touch. 

Dave presses you impossibly closer, the growing bulge in his pants pressed against your back and the added pressure of his hand kneading your breast. You reach your hand back, reveling in the way Dave moans into your ear as you palm his cock through his jeans. The other hand tangled in Frankie’s hair as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“We’re gonna take real good care of you baby, aren’t we Dave?” His breath ghosts over your lips in a whisper. 

Dave just hums in response, he’s letting Frankie take the control. He wants him to have this with you. He’s already been given the world, now's not the time to get greedy. 

“Lay down on the bed.” Frankie hooks his finger around you, making quick work of your bra before he lets you go. 

You haven’t been this exposed for anyone since your ex and he used to look at you in disgust, all the tattoos that weren’t his. 

They’re staring at you now like a painting in a museum. It almost takes your breath away at the thought of him finally seeing his artwork adorned on the body meant solely for him. 

“Jesus…you’re beautiful.” Frankie half whispers to himself as you sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing to their clothes. 

They almost mirror each other as they strip their dress shirts and slacks. You’re practically salivating at the two of them stripped down to their matching black boxers and tan bodies. Dave looks over to Frankie and whistles and you can see the red flush creep up his neck. It’s a relief to know you weren’t the only one this nervous. 

Frankie nods his head and Dave takes the spot behind you against the pillows. He crooks a finger at you to join him and you crawl over settling in the spot between his legs. You lay your body back against him and you can feel his hard cock through his boxers as he adjusts to get you more comfortable. 

“We’ll go slow…this time.” Frankie says as he crawls on the bed, fitting his broad shoulders between your legs. His fingers hook into the lace of your panties as he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes are dark as he sets them on his prize and you swear you see him lick his lips. 

Your ex would go down on you occasionally but you could tell he was unsure of himself and so you never really could enjoy it. 

Frankie takes his time as he kisses at your stomach and nips at your thigh. Dave’s strong hands knead your breast and you giggle a little as he whispers in your ear that he knows you’re ticklish. The laughter dies in your throat as Frankie licks a stripe through your slit. His groan reverberates through you as you let out a soft whimper. Your senses are on overdrive as Dave’s hands work your body and Frankie’s mouth devours you whole. 

Frankie doesn’t care that he has to share with the way you’re looking at him and the sweet noises you’re making he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. You cry out his name as your hands tug on his curls. He’ll do anything to have you say his name a thousand times over while his face is buried between your thighs. “Fuck…Frankie I’m gonna come.” You pant out between breaths. 

“Come for me hermosa, I want to hear you.” He dips two fingers into your pussy as his tongue works circles around your clit. 

Dave’s not sure how he thought tonight would go. He hoped you would forgive them both and maybe find a way for everyone to get what they want. He didn’t expect to have you splayed out in front of him while Frankie takes you apart. 

He’s always thought himself confident in the bedroom but he may have to ask Frankie what exactly he’s doing to elicit these noises. His cock twitches at every moan and whimper as you squirm against him. 

You arch your back into him and whine, he can tell you’re close the way your whole body shakes. 

“I’ve got you baby, you can let go.”

It has to be Dave in your ear because Frankie hasn’t come up for air. You can feel the coil tighten inside as your fingers grip his hair. He growls as you pull him closer. 

He’s missed this feeling, the craving for someone so bad you can feel it in your gut. 

He can taste it on his tongue, the moment you break and cry out his name. Your voice is hoarse and he’s barely had his fill of you. 

He looks up from between your thighs and locks eyes with Dave. Your chest is heaving as he holds you close trying to calm your breathing. there isn’t an ounce of regret in the way he’s looking at you both. Like this is exactly what’s been missing from his life. 

Frankie rubs his hands down your body, slowly bringing you back to him. He kisses that crease of soft skin before he raises up and captures your lips in his, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Don’t you taste so good?” He rasps against your lips. 

“Mhm.” Is all you can manage as Frankie squeezes your thigh, dimpling your skin between his fingers. 

“I think Dave wants a taste.” Frankie nudges you back as Dave moves down beside you. 

You can feel Frankie take the spot on the other side as Dave takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Gently holding you there while you catch your breath. When he presses his lips to yours it’s softer than you would imagine. The hard set line of his jaw and his intense stare don’t let on to the tender touch of his hand. 

His hand drifts from your chin to cup the back of your head further deepening the kiss as you both moan at the sensation. He’s achingly hard against your stomach as he rolls his hips into you, pulling you impossibly closer. 

You reach down and palm him through his boxers but he carefully grabs your hand pulling it up to his lips, placing a kiss to your palm. “Not tonight hummingbird.” You tense up at the slight rejection but he’s quick to assure you. “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive, I can be patient and wait my turn.” He looks over your shoulder to Frankie with some unspoken words as they effortlessly roll you to face him. 

Frankie’s hair is a wild mess as you reach over and run your fingers through it. “Sorry about this.” 

Dave laughs as he presses his lips to your shoulder. “I don’t know, I kinda like it.” 

If there was a competition on who could make Frankie blush, Dave would be winning by a landslide. 

Frankie suddenly looks a little shy. “We can stop now, if you want too.” 

“No Frankie…I need you.” You surge forward and kiss him as you feel two fingers dip into your entrance. A small gasp leaves your lips as Dave works your open. Frankie’s pulling his boxers down in one swift movement as you try not to balk at the sheer size of him. 

“I’m gonna go slow okay?” His breath fans across your face as you nod. Dave groans behind you as he pulls his fingers out dragging them slowly up and circling your clit. You whine and drop your head back on his shoulder as he lifts your leg over Frankie’s hip. 

You only let the two of them talk briefly about tonight and yet it’s like they’ve mapped it out for weeks. They have the blueprint to your body’s every need and they work together like they’ve studied you for years. You’re not afraid to call it what it is anymore…it feels even more than love to you the way you all fit within each other. Dave at your back and Frankie at your front, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. 

Frankie reaches between you to grip his cock, sliding the tip between your lips as you shudder. He pushes in slowly, experimentally rolling his hips as you grip his shoulders. Dave is nearly silent behind you as he places his hand along your abdomen, feeling the way you breathe. You grit your teeth at the slight pain that gives way to pleasure as he buries himself to the hilt. You wait there a moment, your foreheads pressed together as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Frankie please…” A stray tear rolls down your face as the sensation takes over your body. The feeling of Frankie’s cock inside you has you clenching around him.

“Fuck me…” Frankie hisses and Dave has to chuckle at the sentiment of you fucking him. “You’re so tight baby.” 

Frankie starts a slow agonizing pace and you can feel every ridge and vein as he drags his cock in and out, his eyes flit down to where you’re connected so he can watch the way your pussy takes him so well. He’s not going to last the way you feel right now and the way Dave’s looking at him. You bury your head into his neck, crying out his name as he picks up the pace, his grip tightens on your hips as Dave squeezes your stomach making Frankie jerk his head up to him. 

He can feel him and he knows it, your legs pull him in further as you match his thrusts and he finally locks eyes with Dave. He can see it in his eyes and he hopes he’s not wrong as Frankie leans in kissing him feverishly. He’s dizzy with the scent of you and Dave on his tongue. 

“Oh fuck Frankie.” You’re shaking as you whine into his neck. 

“You gonna come for me?” Dave’s voice cuts through the moans and sharp breaths and Frankie doesn’t know who he means but he’s dangerously close. 

Dave’s hand trails down from your stomach to rub your clit, his hand is pressed between your bodies and Frankie bites down on his lip to keep from coming right then, he wants to wait for you. He has too. 

It’s delirium having them all over you, inside you. You open your mouth as a silent scream leaves it, Frankie’s lips are on yours breathing it in as you come apart in his arms. You can feel his hips stuttering as Dave grips his arm. “Mierda, díme.” 

“English Francisco.” Dave grits out behind you. 

“Come inside me please…” Frankie groans as he pulses hot ropes of cum inside your pussy as you flutter with the aftershocks. You can feel a warm wet spot on your back as you cling to Frankie, his cock still pulsing inside you as you whimper at the overstimulation. 

It takes you all a minute to come down from your high and Dave rolls out of the king size bed to the en-suite bathroom. Frankie’s kissing your sweat soaked forehead as you rub circles on his back, still tangled up in him. 

“Okay lovebirds, I need to clean you up.” Dave says as he dips onto the side of the bed, wiping your back carefully with a warm washcloth. You glance at him over your shoulder as he blushes. “Not a word.” You laugh and mock zipping your lips. 

There’s a moment after he’s done where you’re unsure where to go from here. You can tell Frankie feels the same as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

Dave clears his throat as he takes his spot on the other side of you. “Generally speaking people sleep under the covers.” He pulls them back as you and Frankie deflate, his relieved smile etched across his face. It feels right between them, maybe a little hot at the moment but you know it’s where you’re supposed to be. 

You nestle in between the two of them as your eyes start to drift off to sleep. 

“Hermosa?” Frankie’s sleepy voice sounds from behind you. “You speak Spanish?” 

“In a pinch.” 

Dave snorts into the pillow as you both burst out into laughter. Ya this feels right

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[ponds-of-ink]

The Certified Pond Analysis of Scraptrap Voicelines

Because I haven’t talked about this rabbit’s voice lines as much as I should.

Buckle up. This is gonna get wordy.

-

So, going in the order of this video, we have:

“I always come back!”

The most quoted Afton line. And understandably so. This is the man at his most triumphant, even with his.. questionable suit-repair choices. The emphasis on “always” as well as the moderately louder volume really sells that confident air Springtrap continues to have in FNAF AR. Though, as we’ll soon see, this is not the only emotion he feels as Scraptrap.

(Also, before we continue: This gives me the first point on the “I can hear the smile in his voice” scoreboard. It’s a surprise tool that should help us later.)

”Bittersweet, but fitting”

…And by “later”, I apparently mean now.

There may be a smirk at the end, but it’s not a strong one. The overall line read is much more reserved here. Maybe even somber, if I’m inferring correctly. The choice of words is interesting here too. Whoever’s the owner of the Pizza Sim building, he may not be as fond of jumpscaring them as one would think…

”What a deceptive calling! I knew it was a lie the moment I heard it— Obviously, but it is intriguing nonetheless…”

Ah, yes. The big monologue post-Salvage. Couple of things I noticed here that aren’t debatable lore implications:

(1) Man’s rushing through that second half for some reason. Don’t know if that was an editing error, an intentional line read, or Scraptrap trying to.. reason with himself? Sound smarter than he thinks he is? I dunno, something about the pacing is off here.

(2) Oh, hey, first line with a “snake hiss”! This isn’t a consistent trait with his lines, but it’s a key feature that I use to differentiate Springtrap and Scraptrap during voice impressions.

(3) This man puts so much emphasis on words sometimes. So much so that I can not only hear the smile near the end, but I can also feel the eye roll during “deceptive”. And PJ Heywood never voice acted before FNAF apparently? H u h.

Anyway, moving on before I start implying that Scrap-Trap might’ve been lured in by a newspaper or something…

“Fascinating! What they have become…”

Another point to the “I can hear the smile” board. We’re on three points now; three and a half if you count “Bittersweet”.

This one I’ve already brought up before, but the abridged analysis is: This guy (unlike Glitch-Trap in that one Security Breach trailer) actually compliments his.. uh.. teammates? Workmates? ..Just realized that the relationship dynamic between the Salvage Gang doesn’t have an official term. Bummer.

That aside, it’s genuinely interesting that he doesn’t diss them at all. You think he would given his reputation, but no. He just has this twisted sense of “oh wow they’re so cool”.

…Come to think of it, has he directly dissed somebody in the games specifically? I’m not even sure if the “Deceptive Calling” monologue or the AR Springtrap lines count. AR Springtrap tends to boast about himself more than put the player down and Scraptrap was having an ‘I’m smarter than that lol” moment.

If I’m right, then I think I may have found a proper difference between a pretend Mimic Afton and the real one. Huh.

“How can I resist a promise such as this?”

Getting back to the main topic, we’ve got a return for the snake hiss and the emphasis on certain words. Also, add another point to “I can hear the smile”— Except it’s more of a smug grin than a bizarre, wide-eyed look of wonder.

Not sure what that promise is post-jumpscare, but I do know that this has a chance to play during the office sections. So the promise is either Henry’s lure or seeing his son Mike one last time. I dunno, dude, it’s all vague to me.

”That was easier than I thought it would be…”

AKA The line that makes me wonder “Dude, you good?”

No seriously. The quick halt in-between the second and third word. The sudden choke that happens at the end. Like his voice just properly broke for the first time in ages. The overall somberness of it all. There is literally no smile here and I’ve checked. There may even be tears starting to well up, but I obviously can’t be sure.

It’s even implied that he thought he’d had a tougher time fighting the owner! He actually assumed he wouldn’t win this easily!

Something about this feels.. unnerving. He’s not supposed to sound this upset. At least, not usually. So what, pray tell, is going on with this voice line?? Why was this the take Scott used??

“You may not recognize me at first, but I assure you: It’s still me”

Well, that’s one more point for the “I can hear the smile” board. Also, I believe this is confirmation of that ‘Springtrap switched suits after FNAF 3’ theory? That’s what it sounds like, at least?

But, hey, at least Scrap-Trap is canonically aware of the sudden shift in appearance. Let’s hope his potential FNAF World 2 version isn’t as nervous about it as I assume FNAF 6 him would be… If he had access to the internet, of course.

Also, for the one person who may or may not care about this: He’s using contractions here. I think it’s been established that he only uses these at certain times, but I can’t remember where exactly I read that analysis. Anyway, he’s unafraid about “slipping up” at this point.

One more thing…

Compared to AR Springtrap, Scraptrap is much more.. casual in tone, if that’s the best way to put it. Much more low energy, though his antics are anything but.

Like, yes, he’s still coming for you if you keep letting ads play on your computer. But maybe he’ll let you live for a few seconds longer just so you could turn the ad off? He’s not in a rush, as far as I can tell.

Maybe that’s another reason why my brain jumps to Scraptrap more than Springtrap. If he wasn’t tied to this “attacking the guard” business, he could probably chill for a second and give advice on paperwork. Wouldn’t last for long, of course, but at least one could potentially die knowing that you drank coffee with a much more business-savvy Spring Bonnie… Grungy though he looks. Springtrap, on the other hand, wouldn’t give you the time of day.

TL;DR:

PJ Heywood put more nuance into this guy than even I was expecting. Big round of applause, genuinely.