#Someone saying to give up drawing made me so furious I had to reply to this right away lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beccascribbles · 3 years

Note

can you please do an omegaverse fic with inarizaki having an omega manager that goes into heat during a game and she tries to leave but some guys from another team stop her and harass her but the bois pull up and protect her <3

a/n - right, just a warning, i’m a big atsumu simp and this became abundantly clear to me when i was writing this... it’s less inarizaki and more miya twins (with the addition of kita). whoops

warnings - harassment (unwanted touching, sexual implications)

In hindsight, leaving the house without packing heat suppressants, or at least being aware of your own condition, was reckless of you. It wasn't your fault you had woken up late and had to rush to ensure you looked presentable by the time the twins came by to collect you. Though you would have loved to make the twins late (considering it was their fault - they didn’t have to get you hooked on a new TV show and leave the call midway through the season finale), you weren’t so keen on having any of Kita’s disappointment directed towards you. Therefore, when the twins arrived, Atsumu with a wide smirk at your slightly dishevelled self, you settled on directing a swift punch to their stomachs as revenge.

“Ouch,” whined Atsumu, rubbing his stomach with a pout. “What was that for, stupid?”

“Obviously she’s pissed off that we let her stay up late,” Osamu grumbled, also rubbing his stomach, though, instead of a pout, his lips were tugged downwards in a frown. “Although I don’t see how her terrible sleep schedule is our problem.”

“Don’t get me hooked on a new show next time,” you muttered, looping an arm through Osamu’s and beginning to pull him down the road. In your other hand, you held a cool bag with some snacks for the team. The only reason you had grabbed Osamu with your free arm was to prevent him from peeking into the bag. If he had hands free to look, he had hands free to eat the food within. Atsumu was less likely to eat the food, though that didn’t stop him from unzipping the bag and peeking inside.

“Oh, tasty!” he exclaimed, zipping up the bag and making eye contact with Osamu, whose head had turned in his direction once the words left his mouth. He was clearly pleading with his twin to reveal what was in the bag. Atsumu simply stuck his tongue out. “Why don’t ya use your nose to figure it out? You always boast about having a better sense of smell than me anyway.”

“Because I do,” snapped back Osamu, quickly becoming irritated, muscles tensing as he prepared himself to leap towards his twin. Your arm tightened around his, and you shot him a look, eyes holding a warning. With care, you let your scent wind through the air around the three of you, the twin alphas calming at the subtle shift in the air.

Atsumu looped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, the bag you were carrying bumping awkwardly against his legs in the process. This action almost caused your arm to slip from Osamu’s, but he quickly tightened his hold. Atsumu was not going to pull you away from him. Almost in sync, they both turned towards you, noses nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You let out a slightly frustrated sigh, but let them continue scenting you. After all, when they were able to do this, they were at their calmest, and you still had a long bus journey ahead of you where keeping arguments to a minimum was preferable.

When you began to approach the school gates, you pulled out of their grasp, walking ahead of them. You began to walk faster, shooting a look over your shoulder to see the pair of them watching you with confused expressions. It was when you finally broke into a sprint, hefting the bag holding the food at a weird angle, that they realised what you had in mind. Letting out a laugh, Atsumu took off after you; Osamu quickly followed. If you had managed to get a bigger head start, you might have won. However, on this occasion, both twins pulled ahead of you, darting around a bewildered Kita and launching forward to touch the bus with their fingers.

“I won!” they declared in unison, an argument breaking out between them that you tuned out in favour of focusing your attention on Kita. Aran had already walked over to the twins, grabbing them by the backs of their jackets and hauling them away. It was this sudden movement that jerked them from their argument.

“Hey,” you greeted, giving Kita a weary smile as he reached forward to take the food from you. Together, you walked towards the bus. Kita, having arrived ridiculously early, had already packed away everything that the team would need. The only thing not within the bus was most of the team, their individual athletic bags, and whatever you had brought with you. You climbed in, reaching up to place the bag on the overhang above you. Once you had finished, you turned to face Kita. “I think we’re going to win for sure. I did some research on this team and they’ve put forward a series of underwhelming performances in official games, as well as practice matches. They’re no match for Inarizaki, especially with our captain ready to step in if the second years on court get too excited or lazy.”

The latter comment was directed towards Suna, whose head poked up from behind a seat near the back of the bus. He raised his middle finger up in response before refocusing on the phone he was holding in his other hand. You yelled over at him, “Good morning to you too.”

“Whatever, y/n,” he sighed, looking up at you once again. “Just sit down somewhere, preferably a place where the two idiots can argue over who gets to sit next to you.”

You just rolled your eyes, taking the seat you were planning on claiming originally. Kita stood in the aisle, giving you a small smile. “I’m glad you’re confident we’re going to win, especially with all the practice everybody has been putting in.”

“I know,” you grinned. While continuing with the conversation, you motioned towards the seat beside you, indicating for Kita to take it. You’d rather sit next to Kita than have to deal with the twins for the journey anyway. “Everybody has been putting in so much more effort. I swear I’ve had to physically drag Atsumu out of the gym most days.”

“He just doesn’t listen,” sighed Kita, resting his head against the headrest. “I keep telling him practicing too much is bad for his health. He even got a fever because he was practicing too hard.”

“He’s stupid like that,” you shrugged, a yawn cutting through whatever you were about to say next.

“You better be talkin’ about Samu,” interrupted Atsumu, taking the seat in front of you and turning around to face you. Osamu collapsed into the seat beside him, flicking him in the forehead.

“She was obviously talking about you, dumbass,” he quipped.

Osamu turned to you for confirmation, only to see your head resting against the captain’s shoulder. He questioned, “y/n?”

“Of course she’s asleep,” laughed Atsumu, nudging Osamu with his shoulder, previous comment forgotten in favour of teasing you. “She can’t take the late nights.”

“Keep it down,” Kita said, adjusting your head so that it was rested against him more comfortably. In response, you moved closer to him, an arm sliding around his waist to hug him as you mumbled something incoherent in your sleep. A furious blush spread along his cheeks, and he ducked his head to hide from the twins. Luckily, their attention was fixed elsewhere, on a video Suna had sent to Osamu, too lazy to get up to walk down the coach to show him. Kita let out a sigh, dropping his head to rest atop of yours. He chided, not that you could hear him in your slumber, “You should really try to sleep earlier.”

It was fortunate for you that you slept for most of the journey. You missed Osamu moaning about being hungry, and then proceeding to search up pictures of food to drool over. Consequently, you also missed Atsumu hitting his twin and being scolded by Kita, something that always made you laugh. However, Suna had got up to draw on your face, which would have been an unfortunate consequence. Luckily, it was only to shuffle back to his seat sheepishly, the sight of Kita beside you a deterrent.

“You had to fall asleep on Kita,” grumbled Suna, walking along beside you as you entered the gymnasium. You trailed behind the rest of the team, your footsteps unusually sluggish. You blamed it on your late night. “Why couldn’t you have fallen asleep on Atsumu? He would’ve let me draw on your face.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t,” you responded, transferring the food bag to your other hand. The weight, though it wasn’t abnormally heavy, was beginning to make your arm ache. In fact, your whole body ached. Eyebrows furrowed, you continued switching the bag from hand to hand. It made no difference. You still ached.

“You look constipated,” observed Suna, though he took the food from your grip. You gave him a thankful smile, which he waved off. “I’m not being nice. I just don’t like walking beside someone with such a stupid expression on their face.”

“I didn’t ask you to walk beside me,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. They still ached, even without the bag. All you wanted to do was collapse on the bench at the sidelines.

“It’s not my fault you decided to walk so slowly today,” replied Suna, glancing over at you briefly. Something about you was off, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was probably a consequence of your late night, but even when you had stayed up late before, you were never this sluggish. Usually, you walked at the front beside Kita, or with the coaches. It was rare for you to be at the back unless you wanted to annoy him, which evidently was not the case this time. “I didn’t voluntarily choose to accompany you.”

“Leave me then,” you snapped, eyes narrowing in a glare, your scent suddenly spiking. He let out a grumble, releasing some of his pheromones in the air to soothe you. Suna hated being on omega duty, one of the reasons why he was glad you usually opted to walk at the front.

“You know I can’t just leave you,” he sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back to urge you forward. “The sooner we get to the gym, the sooner you can leave me and sit on the bench.”

That caused you to perk up somewhat, which also had the effect of pulling your scent back to its’ ordinary level. Your scent may have regulated, but the ache in your body persisted, each movement making you fight back a wince. It was with gritted teeth that you sat on the bench, and pulled your clipboard towards you. Suna gave you one last assessing look before beginning to warm up.

Your gaze was unfocused as you stared down at the words you had written on the page. They swam in front of your gaze, coming apart and then joining again in dizzying confusion. As you stared, you found your mind wandering, nose twitching as you found yourself seeking out any scent that felt comforting, felt familiar. Your head snapped up from the clipboard, falling on a pile of discarded jackets. From the pile, and wafting towards you in the air, was Atsumu’s rich scent that made you recall moments where you were held in his arms and shielded from the rain, Osamu’s that brought forward memories of laughing in the kitchen and collaborating on random food creations, and Kita’s that filled you with comfort, reminding you of his quite support.

Before you could process what you were doing, you were moving towards the pile, hand clutching the first jacket you found. You buried your nose into the material, breathing in Atsumu’s scent, a soft whine escaping your lips. Your own team, too engrossed in warming up, missed the sound. It did, however, attract the attention of the team on the other side of the net.

You were unaware of the sudden, and unwanted, attention, shrugging off your jacket and pulling on Atsumu’s. You turned your head into the collar, taking in a deep breath. Though the scent satisfied you emotionally, the joy at being wrapped in Atsumu’s scent, caused you to release your own pheromones, made you feel slightly dizzy. A sudden spiking heat rushed through you, and a quiet ‘shit’ slipped from your lips. Hurriedly, you began to head towards the exit, keeping your head ducked and trying desperately to stop sending pulse after pulse of pheromones into the gym. You figured that, once you were safely in the confines of the bus, you could send a message to one of the coaches, apologising for having to leave and explaining that your heat had suddenly started.

A large hand wrapped around your wrist, causing you to come to a jolting stop. The owner of the hand yanked you back into his chest and you let out a surprised squeak. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him as he let out a pleased hum. His nose ran along the scent gland at your neck, making you stiffen suddenly. Fear made you kick out, knocking against one of his teammates who was standing beside him.

“Get off me,” you panted, weakly thrashing in his grip, a sharp and bitter scent escaping from you. Across the gym, Atsumu and Osamu’s heads snapped in your direction. “Just want to leave. Need to leave.”

Twin growls ripped through the gym, sending shivers down the spines of many people in attendance, including the male currently holding you. All you could feel was relief. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the furious twins. Their fury had caught the attention of the rest of Inarizaki, who all suddenly stood to attention.

“No need to be aggressive,” chuckled the male, though he made no move to release you. “I was just going to take care of this omega.”

“Like fuck ya are,” spat Atsumu, lunging forward and grabbing the male by the back of his shirt. His eyes were dark, expression twisted as another growl ripped from his throat.

“Get the fuck away from her,” growled Osamu, who had taken the distraction Atsumu provided to step in front of the male. The rest of his teammates had wisely backed off. One who had been about to pull Atsumu away had been stopped by Kita, his grip tight as he had pulled the man away by his shoulder. Despite the warning, the male’s arm remained around you. Despite Atsumu at his back and Osmau at his front, he had the nerve to push his nose against your scent gland and breathe you in deeply. A nervous whimper escaped your mouth, all Osamu and Atsumu needed for any last bit of restraint they had to evaporate. He muttered darkly, “I gave you a warning.”

Osamu’s hand curled around the male’s wrist, yanking it upwards harshly and twisting. His other arm went to catch you, pulling you away as Atsumu finally snapped. His arm wrapped around the male’s throat, his muscles prominent as he tightened his grip, crushing his windpipe. It was clear Osamu was frustrated too, eager to leap at the male. Yet, you were beside him, looking up at him with fear, and his first instinct was to protect you. He pulled his gaze away from the scene in front of him, scanning the gym until he finally found Kita. Kita was already walking towards you, anger prominent in the lines of his body. He took you from Osamu, letting you wrap your legs around his waist and snuggle your head into the crook of his neck as he held you. Kita left Osamu with a nod, giving permission the other man had not needed, but appreciated, to attack the male who had harassed you. He would let the coaches break it apart. Right now, you were his concern.

Kita walked from the gym, heading towards the bus. It was fortunate he was always prepared. Though he was certain you would be responsible enough to bring your own, he had packed heat suppressors in the buses emergency kit just in case. You let out a soft whine, hands curling into the material of his shirt.

“Atsumu… Osamu… Are they okay?” you questioned, needing to know. Kita let out a comforting purr, coupled with a release of soothing pheromones. The scent wafted around you, easing your racing heart, though it did little to cut through the haze of your heat.

“They’re fine,” he reassured, hand rubbing a soothing circle into your back before he placed you gently on a seat in the bus. You wrapped your arms around yourself, nose immediately pressing against the inside collar of the jacket, breathing in Atsumu’s scent deeply.

“Want the twins,” you whimpered. It was normal for you to want to be close to them. You had been with them since you were born, the three of you inseparable as soon as you were able to toddle. It was their scents that made up the majority of your nest, with the occasional addition of something Kita or Suna or another member of the team had scented.

Kita ignored your comment in favour of grabbing the heat suppressants from the bag. He turned towards you, grabbing a water bottle from where the spares were kept. Deciding it might be better for you, more peaceful and less painful, he also decided to include a sleeping pill. Kita handed them to you. “Have these. It’s heat suppressants and a sleeping pill.”

He watched as you took the medicine, carding his fingers through your hair affectionately. He gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze, “I’ll be back, along with the twins, when the match is finished.”

You nodded, barely registering his words as you let sleep overtake you.

When you woke up, strong arms were wrapped around you, holding you against a chest. You snuggled into the warmth, letting the distinct scent of Atsumu wash over you. Fingers stroked your hand softly, tracing its shape before sliding between your own. Your hand was lifted up, soft lips pressed against it before a face nuzzled into your palm. Sleepily, you looked up, blinking up at the twins. Even in your half-awake state, you could see the slight bruising that peppered their skin. Despite it being two-against-one, the male had landed a few solid hits before the coaches got involved.

“You’re awake,” cheered Atsumu, brushing a kiss to the top of your head as his fingers ran up and down your back, sliding beneath his jacket and your t-shirt to rest against your bare skin. Osamu gave a small cheer as well, a warm smile overtaking his features as he gazed down at you. That warm smile didn’t stop him from scolding you, something you were expecting from Kita and not him.

“And an idiot for not realising you were starting your heat,” he said, reaching over to give your hair an affection ruffle.

“We always know when our ruts are so you should know when your heats are,” chimed in Atsumu, ignoring the weak punch to his chest that you gave him with the hand not being held in Osamu’s.

“That’s because I always remind you,” you grumbled in response, though your anger was short-lived. The pheromones they were pumping out were so distracting any emotion but bliss was hard to feel, let alone hold onto.

“Considering how long you’ve known each other,” said Suna, deciding to add his two pence to the conversation, “I would’ve thought you two dumbasses would know what her pre-heat symptoms are.”

“You’re her friend too,” protested Atsumu, the only thing stopping him from engaging in a fall-blown argument was you in his lap. “Maybe you should have realised.”

“I did realise,” smirked Suna. In a quieter voice, he continued, “I just thought she was tired.”

“Can you all shut up?” snapped Aran, to which Kita was quick to agree, explaining that you would appreciate the peace and quiet.

That put a stop to any argument that could have broken out, both of the twins refocusing on you. Osamu resumed lazily playing with your fingers, while Atsumu nuzzled into your neck, rubbing his face against your scent gland. You let out a content sigh, finding comfort in their touch and the scents of the team wafting around you.

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keysmashingfantasies · 3 years

Text

Bloody Comfort

pre borderlands!Niragi x fem!reader / Niragi x fem!reader

A/N: i feel like i only post Marvel on this blog and i missed my show so here it is, finally an AiB fic! :D also, minigame: how many alice in wonderland references can you spot? also also, bloody comfort is an awesome name for a band and if you do name your band that, i want my money. enjoy the fic! also also also i didn’t proofread SHIT so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

trigger warning: bullying, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic, i think but beware nonetheless), death (graphic. i mean, i’m not that good of a writer but still, beware), very slight mentions of nsfw, especially torwards the end, niragi (HE’S A WARNING OK), niragi having disturbing thoughts (what else is new. but fr, ok), sliiiiiight yandere niragi torwards the end. (also I tried not to describe in too much detail the bullying that niragi and the reader suffer in the fic so it wouldn’t be too sad).

@dreamingofanisland here it is bestie!

Niragi couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped being sad and when he started getting angry. From a suffocating hopelessness came a desperation he could only describe as feral. He often fantasized about just jumping over his desk and strangling each one of them to death but his thoughts quickly ended with Niragi envisioning himself being overpowered and beaten. He started to not only get angry at his bullies, but people in general. Things. Life.

How could so many people turn a blind eye? How could life be so unfair to give people like this the upperhand and not him? Not him that clearly deserved it? This world was backwards.

He knew he was fucked when he saw the bat, and although he braced for the impact he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and wince at the sickening sound that the baseball did in contact with his nose.

He just sat there and while all he wanted to do was to rip their throats with his teeth all he did was to endure a few more punches before they left with a promise that there would be more. He sat there trying not to cry with sheer frustration. His papers were scattered around, the left arm of his glasses was broken and his pristine black outfit was now covered in dust from the gravel, his hands scratched. He could taste blood on his tongue and he felt a sick satisfaction, pretending for one moment that it was another person’s blood he was tasting.

“Do you need help?”, a voice woke him from his violent daydreams. Suddenly everything boiled over and he felt an overwhelming anger rise inside of him. In a blink of an eye he was standing up, yelling at a somewhat blurry image of a girl who he towered over, even more as she shrunk under his anger. If he wouldn’t be so busy screaming profanities, he would be madly aroused.

“WHAT, HUH? CAME TO SEE THE SHOW? TO LAUGH AT ME?”, he was furious, and as he approached her, she proceeded to walk back.

“No. I just wanted to help”, she said. It seemed another flash and suddenly he could see a bit clearer. Although startled, she didn’t seem afraid of him, and was extending him a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding”, she said, and Niragi wanted to scoff at her for stating the obvious. But she was being kind. And as angry as he was, kindness wasn’t something that he could say no to. He tried his best to control his shaky hands as he took the tissue from her hands and carefully dabbed his nose, as she ducked to collect his papers, and tuck them back into his bag.

“Saw what they did to you. ‘m sorry”, she mumbled. Niragi wanted to strangle her out of sheer embarrassment.

“And you just took some popcorn and enjoyed the spectacle?”, he spat.

“I wanted to help but I wasn’t sure what to do. Would you rather if I had called someone?”, she asked. He breathed once, twice. She wasn’t mocking him, but was unnervingly calm. Something about her being calm while he was practically foaming at the mouth had him seeing red and suddenly he regret having wiped the blood off of his lips.

“No”, he said, calmly. “No, I wouldn’t. Sorry. I have to go”, he said, ripping his bag from her hands with such force that he tugged her arm with it.

“Wait! I mean what I said! I want to help!”

“You, help me? What are you going to do, huh? Be my bodyguard?”, he mocked her one more time. He couldn’t help himself, his brain got used to this. Fight or flight. His adrenaline was pumping and everytime he was around school grounds he looked over his shoulder.

“Hmmm, sorta? Not exactly but I could show you a place. A safe place”, she said. He just looked at her.

“If we get there and it’s a prank of some sort I’ll let you punch me. Square in the face”, she said.

“Are you insane? You just go around letting people punch you in the face?”, his mouth was quicker than his brains and suddenly he felt his face grow hot at the irony of what he had said. But if she noticed it, she didn’t mention.

“Let me help you”, she said.

And he did.

He followed her through a wooded area near the school grounds after walking through a hole in a fence.

He was getting ready to beat you to the punch and hit you so hard that you’d bleed as hard as he did, until you stopped until you reached a very underwhelming toolshed with a padlock.

“We’re here”, you said, and he realized that she sounded different. All this time she was on edge. ‘Of course, Suguru, you threatened the girl like, 3 times’, said the voice in the back of his head. She pulled a key from her bag and the padlock opened easily and they heavy chains fell to the ground and she pushed open the door, going inside. He hesitantly followed.

The inside is nothing as he thought it would be. For starters, it was surprisingly clean and it didn’t smell bad. And instead of tools and brooms and leafblowers, it had bean bags, blankets, a table with a radio full of knickknacks in the corner and a chair that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable none the less. The girl walked to a corner of the room and his eyes followed her as she closed the door, which had small sharpie drawings on it. She reached for a white box and settled it on the floor between the two bean bags, and reached inside a very small thermos to pull out an artificially blue isotonic drink and settled it down too. Then from the plastic bag he previously assumed was trash, she pulled a bag of chips.

She then patted the bean bag next to hers. “Welcome to my clinic”, she said, placing the white box on her lap.

After an entire afternoon of bonding over unhealthy food and an impromptu first aid rescue, Niragi learned that her name was Y/N, she was a year below and that this little world she created was her refuge from the girls in her class that picked on her.

“I found this and decided that it would be nice. No one’s using it, it’s far from everything. It’s on the Beheaded Woman’s territory”.

Niragi heard the rumors through his bullies. “One day we’ll drag you to the Beheaded Woman’s woods and fucking kill you”. After further investigation, he learned that allegedly a girl was dragged through the woods and beheaded with a blunt axe.

“I made the rumors up. I had to make sure no one would find my safe haven”, she explained. “And once you write something in the girls’ bathroom stall, there’s no turning back. It’s out there and it’s truth”, she sighed. “I would know”.

He wasn’t the most up to date in all the gossip but she told him her story. The rumors they spread, the things they did to her. She almost seemed amused. He in turn told her his story. By the end of it, he could kill someone. She then offered him the other key to her safe haven.

“You can decorate it too. Don’t tell anyone else and make sure to lock it after you use it. Use it as much as you want, just make sure they don’t follow you, okay?”

He took the keys with shakey hands, a knot on his throat. Another type of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. When a few moments ago there were a fast white heat, coursing through him like an electric current, this was slow and almost overwhelmingly warm, like molten lava.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me?”, he whispered as if it was a secret, as if this moment was another fantasy, a deer that’s easily spooked. He had fantasized about this too. A safe haven, an ally. A friend.

“Because we’re the same, you and I”.

You hated him. You hated him with a burning passion. What was at first an act of pity, born from the empathy you felt by seeing someone go through what you did, quickly became a friendship and like a disease, it spread to beyond your safe haven. You would spend your free time together, walk home together. You became friends. And what did he do? Exactly what he told you he would.

“Sometimes don’t you wish to disappear?”, he whispered to you once.

“Yeah. Like, run away? Yeah, I do”, you replied agreeing with him.

‘You’re the only one that understands me. We really are the same’, he would say. What at the beginning of your budding crush on him gave you butterflies on the stomach now made you want to throw up.

You lost your only friend. You despised the sound of music now, because every single song you heard, you shared with him. For the same reason, you didn’t enjoy your favorite movies anymore. Your bullies banded together to target you. And the worst part of all, is that you couldn’t even care. There was no silver lining anymore.

“Don’t you get furious?! Don’t you want to hurt them, make them pay?”, he said as he watched you apply concealer to a bruised cheek.

“I mean, I get angry but I try my best to not let it get to me. It’s what they want. I despise those people, I can’t get in a funk because of them”, you said nonchalantly.

But you had loved him. And now you felt like even moving around was an herculean task, like you were almost dead trying to get to safety. But there was no safety anymore.

Ironically, you started to understand him more and more after he disappeared. The anger, the hatred. How could anyone just follow their lives? When there’s people like you just suffering through yours?

Suguru Niragi was an illness, a parasite. He carved his way under your skin and into your heart, laid eggs of his hate on your veins and sucked you dry of your life’s essence. Then, after you were a shell of a human, he disappeared out of thin air, leaving you alone. Leaving you with those people. Leaving you to die.

And you were still in love with him.

You thought you were finally insane when it happened.

The streets were empty. Absolutely no one. You wondered for a moment if you felt so alone that your mind convinced itself that that’s exactly what had happened, if any moment now you would be locked in an insane asylum for running around and screaming until you throat got raw.

It took you two games to understand what was going on. You made sure to change clothes. Running shoes, leggings and a warm hoodie that you never let the hood down. You decided to significantly shorten your hair after you saw a man pull a young girl by the ponytail in a spades game. You loaded a backpack with food and bottles of water, anything you could find. And an axe that you took from an emergency box from the building you slept in.

It was on your 5th game that it happened. You saw people die in these games, but none of it was hands on for you. You just watched your back and hoped to win and let whoever was running this show take care of the rest. Honestly, you didn’t even wait to know if anyone even survived. You were done doing that.

When you got there, there were five people already. They banded together and whispered amongst themselves as you passed them by and grabbed a phone. Probably just a group of friends that got stranded at the same time and decided to stay together. You clutched you axe harder.

You didn’t even realize that you had zoned out until you heard hollering and four guys heavily armed walked you by. Where the fuck did they get guns? One of them let out a boisterous laugh that reminded you of someone that you wanted desperately to forget. You couldn’t even get over him during fucking Saw? That sound made your skin crawl.

Registration closed, said the mechanic voice. Difficulty: 8 of clubs. The first 5 players will be the first team and the last 5 players will be the second. One team must eliminate the others without losing any players. Both teams will be identified by the color of your screen, and will have one minute to hide.

You saw the armed guys’ screens light up red. You sighed in relief as yours did too. You made sure to keep your head down and thank whoever that not killing teammates was a part of the rules. They seemed amused and absolutely calm, and the guy with the rifle laughed again. You were shaking by now.

When the minute started, everyone bolted in different directions. You didn’t even look back to see if your teammates had accompanied you but by the sound of your footsteps crushing leaves, you were alone. You decided to go back after a while, looking around. A lamppost. Huh, lamppost it is. You leaned against the cool metal and focused on the silence. The minute had ended but they were still hunting. You didn’t come across anyone, which was good. After a while, all you could hear were distant gunshots.

You looked to the floor, only to see a shadow approaching you quick. You barely had time to dodge before a man hit you behind the head with a rock. You reacting made him lose his balance, falling to the floor and letting go of the rock. You looked at him. It was one of the boys from the other team. He had on a white button up blouse and a black hoodie. His hair had fallen over his brown eyes and he looked so scared and so alone.

This will have to do.

You didn’t stop, suddenly lifting the axe and bringing it down was like an automatic thing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A MINUTE, LEFT ME ALONE IN THAT HELL!”

You didn’t stop when he started praying and then screaming. You didn’t stop when he started bleeding profusely or when the strength of your movements made your hood slide down from your head. You didn’t stop when his head got detached from his body and if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve listened tfootsteps. You didn’t stop until you had made mincemeat out of his face. Just for the sheer audacity of reminding you of him.

He looked at you from afar while you looked at the body of the boy whose skull you just had destroyed, a maniac, victorious smile on your face. You were pretending the boy was him. You really thought he had abandoned you? He would be absolutely heartbroken if he wasn’t so aroused. That’s what he always wanted to see, the instincts that you tried to push down. You were right, you were both the same. He wanted to lick that blood off of you, use it as lube to take you right there. When he first arrived at the Borderlands, when he first killed someone and liked it, he thought you would be disgusted by him. But look at you now. You were here, perfect for him, soaked in blood, feral. He’s never been so hard.

“Y/N”, he said.

“Niragi?,” you said. He ran to you, held you even when you fought back, even when you screamed bloody murder that you were going insane, begging to die already, even when you passed out on his arms. He licked a drop of blood from your neck.

“Let me take you to our safe haven”, he whispered against your skin.

#niragi loving hours in this mf house #niragi x reader #niragi fic #niragi suguru #suguru niragi #niragi imagine #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland fic #niragi suguru x reader #suguru niragi x reader

590 notes · View notes

tsukishumai · 3 years

Text

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky.

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out.

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace.

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously.

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift.

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly.

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head.

Semi Nude.

You blinked once. Then twice.

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe.

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway.

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant.

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro.

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way.

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes.

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream.

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs.

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin.

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing.

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind.

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden.

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home.

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out.

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you.

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.”

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!”

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you.

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture.

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose.

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles.

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear.

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves.

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.”

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you.

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest.

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip.

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb.

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze.

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought.

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you.

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him.

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing.

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani.

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t.

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year.

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected.

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush.

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs.

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning.

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.”

“No, I definitely know you —“

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto.

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door.

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?”

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder.

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out.

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket.

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder.

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.”

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door.

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in.

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare.

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen.

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door.

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?”

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.”

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door.

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift.

#bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto kotaro x y/n #bokuto fluff #bokuto kotaro headcanon #bokuto koutaro scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #haikyuu!! fic

297 notes · View notes

proserpina-magnus · 3 years

Note

Could you do a fluff Regulus x fem!reader where it’s snowing and they jump into the black lake with their cloths/uniform on and yk ✨main character vibes✨ and then afterwards they both have a cold

Sorry this took so long! thank you so much for this request, I think I made regulus a bit more softer than usual. 🌻

Meant To Be [ Regulus Black ]

word count: 2148

[ warning: fem reader, a little bit of soft Regulus, description of pain caused by temperature, clothes sharing, kissing, hand holding, nicknames such as “love” “princess”, description of sick/colds, medicine taking ]

Hogwarts wasn't as fun with only a small percent of the students left. Most Students were home with their family's, making memories and building snowmen.

You, however, had stayed for the Christmas break. All your roommates had gone home, even some teachers. It felt so quiet walking down the hallways, no gossip or news being shared. Snow had fallen from the sky, coating the Hogwarts grounds with sparkling white.

Luckily, your boyfriend Regulus had convinced his mother to let him stay for the break. You almost squealed at the news. Finally, you could get your boyfriend all to yourself, he was always covered in girls.

You weren't the only one who hated the encounters, Regulus was furious every time a girl would come up to him and completely push you aside.

So here you were, Hands laced together as you run down the empty hallway. You giggled as you heard Regulus ask for you both to slow down, he was curious about where you were taking him.

You flipped back, slowing your speed as you walked backwards. You smiled bright, eyes sparkling like the snow as you tighten the grip on his hand.

"I heard from a 7th year that if a couple jumps in the black lake together, they will stay together forever!" You explained, pushing him further along as you made it to the outside. You looked up at the warm sun, feet crunching against the snow as you basked in the glow.

"I'm sorry what? That's completely insane, you do realize that right?" Regulus said, eyes slightly wider as he thought about jumping in a cold lake.

"Oh Regulus, if we believe it to be true then it is!" You told him, smiling up at him as you pulled him closer to you. The wind pricked at your exposed skin, your hair getting tossed in every direction.

"Yeah, if you believe in fairies. But I'm not jumping in a frozen lake for you to proclaim some bogus myth" Regulus said while planting his feet, drawing you closer to him as he cupped your jaw.

"I'm not letting you jump in a frozen lake, I already know I'm gonna spend the rest of my life with you," Regulus told you, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You smiled with closed eyes, pushing into his kiss as you held onto his forearm.

"I know our love is forever, but we might as well make it official" you whispered, slipping from his hands as you dashed towards the doc.

You heard Regulus call out for you, immediately running after you as you reached the wooden steps. You almost slipped on the ice, sliding down the doc as your arms sprawled out around you.

"Hey! Be careful!" Regulus yelled, now on the doc as well as he couldn't help but laugh at your attempt to stay upright.

"I love you," you told him, letting your feet slip off the edge of the icy wood as you fell back into the cold lake.

Water engulfed your body, the temperature sending stabs to your body as you swam up to the surface.

You broke free just as soon as another splash ruffled the water, Regulus had jumped in after you. You giggled, watching as his head popped up over the waves, his hair flat against his face.

"You jumped in with me!" You yelled, he didn't reply instead he went under the water. His arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you into his arms.

His face came next to yours, his face pales from the cold as he held onto you tighter.

"You little menace," Regulus said while letting out a laugh. You hardly ever got to hear Regulus's laugh, he was always so quiet and shy. It was nice to finally get loose with him, it felt like you truly were going to live forever with him.

His lips met yours, kissing you with his cold thin lips. You smiled, letting your eyes shut as you leaned closer to the kiss. He pulled away quickly, leading you towards the doc.

"Okay, we must get out now. I don't want you catching a cold" Regulus tried to sound persistent and firm, but when he saw you laugh he couldn't help but take a moment to laugh with you. This moment with like a dream, it all happened so fast that you couldn't even process the cold nipping at your wet clothes.

"Regulus it's freezing!" You yelled out when your adrenaline ran out, your arms wrapped around yourself as you try and find warmth.

"I told you! Your so demanding," Regulus muttered, looking around for your shoes before he saw them wash away down the lake.

"Oh you love it," you teased, kissing his cheek with your shivering lips as you look for your shoes as well. When you saw them halfway past the water, you shivered on impact.

"Come on, I'll get you new shoes," Regulus said, leading you to the castle as you crept along with the snow. Your feet froze, pale and raw as you make it to stone.

Regulus looked over you, sighing before shaking out his hair and picking you up quickly. You wrapped your arms around him instantly, afraid you'd fall.

"Regulus, this is unnecessary," you told him, but you secretly loved it. Regulus rarely ever went out of his way to do affectionate things in public, and though there were no people around to witness, it still made you feel loved.

"No, it's my responsibility as your boyfriend," he proclaimed, striding down the hall until he made his way to the entrance of the Slytherin common room.

"Future Husband," you corrected, your head leaning against his chest as you felt the bumps every time he took a step.

Regulus grinned to himself, opening the door with his foot as he plopped you on the nearest chair.

"What jumper do you want to wear?" He asked, peeling off his wettened tie and shirt as he slipped on a clean white long-sleeve. He went off to the bathroom quickly to grab you a towel.

"The green one," you say, ringing your hair out with the towel as you shiver. Regulus glanced over at you and gave you a look, his lips in a thin line.

"Well, that's real specific isn't it," Regulus said, holding up 3 different jumpers, all in green. You laughed, pointing to the one in his left hand.

He tossed you his jumper, turning around so you could undress without staring eyes. Later on, he tossed you his sweat pants, which were way too big for you.

Both of you had gotten dressed in warm clothes, Regulus had insisted you wear 2 pairs of socks to make sure your feet won't freeze. He looked at you, his clothes were abnormally large on you, he absolutely loved it.

Regulus led you to his bed, helping you under the covers as his hands wrapped around your waist. He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead. You smiled at the feeling, relaxing back into his chest. You felt warmth wash over you, you interlocked your fingers with his before falling fast asleep in comfort.

—

The morning after you woke up to the sun shining through his window, Regulus pressed against your side. His head buried into your neck as he pulled you ever so closer.

"Morning," you mumbled out, your eyes opening slightly. His room was dark, it usually smelt like burning wood and men's cologne. Your nose was clogged, making you twitch it as realized how sore your body felt.

"Morning, princess," he muttered tiredly, his voice was raw. You heard him clear his throat, realizing that you both had been sick from the lake jump.

"We're sick," you declared, rolling over to face Regulus. His nose was slightly red, his eyes looked tired. You brought your hand up to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his smooth features.

"I don't get sick," Regulus said while his hand rubbed the small of your back in a comfortable manner. You giggled, your head resting on his shoulder.

"Why are you all stuffy then?" You asked, closing your eyes as you adjusted to the feeling of being awake. You had to force yourself to open your eyes, blinking back sleepiness.

"I'm not, your hallucinating because you're sick," his words were almost convincing, but you heard him hold back a sneeze. You pulled out of his grasp, sliding to the edge of the bed.

"Where are you going?" He asked, sitting up as he rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand.

"Getting supplies to heal you," you explain, going into his bathroom. Regulus flopped back down on his bed, closing his eyes with a flustered expression. He felt silly having someone care for him.

You grabbed a cloth, running it in warm water as you squeezed the excess out. You did the same to another cloth, dipping it in cold water. You left the bathroom after a few moments, going back to Regulus.

You climbed atop of his bed, your fingers coming to comb through his hair. He grew it out over the school year, much like his brother. His hair was jet black, waves spinning out everywhere.

"Hi," you whispered, placing the warm cloth against his pale skin. You pressed it firmly against his forehead then moved to press it against his cheek. The cloth left red imprints, you smiled as you dabbed his face.

"This is silly," Regulus commented as you switched to the cold cloth, pressing it against his warm skin. You let the cloth rest against his forehead, smiling down at him.

"Taking care of you isn't silly," you replied blankly, moving the cloth to his cheeks. You walked to the bathroom again, grabbing some cold medicine.

Regulus groaned as he saw you leave the bathroom with the medicine in your hand, you rolled your eyes. Pouring the liquid into the small measuring cup, you pass him the cup. He eyed it, giving you a long frown.

"Drink," you told him, walking over to the jug of water that sat by the window. Ice cubes swam in it, never melting. You poured him a generous glass as he drank the medicine.

He made a small face, making you giggle. Passing him the water, he held you out the medicine cup.

"You're sick too," Regulus said, placing the glass down on his nightstand. You made a small face at the thought, pouring yourself some medicine. You downed it quickly, gagging at the bitter taste.

You reached for his glass, taking a sip as you washed down the remaining taste. You took the cold cloth from his face, pressing it against your own. You flopped down beside him, exhaling in relief from the cold compress.

"My mother never did this for me," Regulus whispered in a small voice, you opened your eyes, casting your vision to where he laid.

"Well now you have me, I'll always take care of you Reggie," you told him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. You placed the cold compress back against his forehead.

"I'm so lucky to have you," Regulus looked like he was about to cry, his voice was strained and his eyes were red. You stroked his cheek, a gentle smile forming.

"You deserve me Regulus, it's not luck. I'm meant to be with you," you avowed, leaning down to capture his lips against yours. Every time you kiss him, it feels like the first time again.

Slowly pulling away, your eyes squinted slightly as you stare into his dark ones. His hand found yours, overlapping his fingers over yours.

"You're my soulmate, every life I'm given I promise I'll find you," Regulus promised and he meant it. He rose on his elbows, tossing the cloth to his bedside table. His empty hand coming to hold your face. He pulled you into a heart-stopping kiss, every ounce of love he offered you poured into this kiss.

"Not if I find you first," you exhaled, resting your forehead against his. Regulus stared lovingly into your eyes, a small smile embedded on his face.

"Come on, I wanna sleep for a little longer," he said, relaxing back onto the bed. He brought you down with him, holding you close. His chin propped up against yours, you lean into his shoulder. He smelt like home, your hands still encased with his.

"You promise you'll find me in our next life," you asked, sleep slowly starting to take over your body. You stayed awake long enough to hear his answer.

"Always," Regulus claimed, hearing your breath even as you slept. He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead. He let his eyes close, contempt with having you in his arms. Regulus fell asleep shortly after you did, finally happy about having someone that he cared so deeply for.

#sirius black #regulus black #regulus black x you #regulus black x reader #regulus black x reader headcanons #regulus black oneshot #marauder x reader #marauder x you #regulus black x reader oneshot

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separatist-apologist · 3 years

Note

Hey ! Could you write a little one-shot (or Multiple if you are feeling it) of Elain being super jealous that Lucien is getting attention from other females? I feel like she would be super territorial and I really think you could run with it!

I'M SO EXCITED! I've always wanted someone to send me a prompt! Tell me what you think!!!!

You wanted to keep this a secret, Elain reminded herself, sipping the too-sweet drink in front of her. It was her mantra; she’d live and die by those words. You wanted to keep this a secret. Everything was too new with Lucien, too fragile and Elain didn’t want a million eyes watching her every step while they very carefully courted. She didn’t need any extra opinions, especially after the heated evening they’d spent kissing in his apartment. Lucien was so rarely in Velaris to begin with that no one batted an eye when he did arrive and she just so happened to have errands to run.

You wanted to keep this a secret, she thought a third time as Mor dropped beside her, sweaty from dancing. They’d all gone to Rita’s and though both Elain and Lucien had tried to make their excuses, Feyre was not taking no for an answer, and Rhysand and Cassian had somehow convinced Lucien to join them. She could see Lucien across the room, leaned up against the mahogany bar holding a glass between two fingers. She’d noticed how well fitted his dark pants were, giving the whole bar a perfect view of his thighs, his ass, his everything if she was being honest. He’d removed his cream-colored jacket to drape it over the back of a nearby chair, revealing a hunter green shirt that was just as well-fitted, tucked neatly into his pants and buttoned politely up to his neck. The color off-set his thick, red hair that fell down his back, framing lovely, golden skin and a too wide smile.

A smile not directed at her, but a blonde woman who was standing just a little too close. She was laughing at whatever Lucien said, head tipped back. Elain bit back her scowl. He wasn’t that funny, she grumbled.

“Want to dance?” Mor interrupted Elain’s musing, unaware of her thoughts. “You look lonely.” Elain tore her eyes from Lucien to look down at the pink drink in her hand. “This isn’t my kind of dancing,” she admitted.

Feyre joined Mor, wiping her sweaty hair off her flushed face. “Have you seen Rhys?” She asked, swaying slightly despite being seated. “I lost him on the dance floor.”

“He’s right there,” Mor replied, gesturing in Lucien’s direction. Elain turned again, irritated to see a brunette had joined the laughing blonde and was touching Lucien’s arm. Elain’s vision went red for a moment. Touching, her brain screamed, demanding retribution. Elain looked back at the wood grain table, allowing the thrumming music to wash over her. To calm her.

You wanted to keep this a secret.

“Lucien’s popular tonight,” Feyre giggled, drawing Elain’s attention back to the bar. A third woman, another blonde, was at his side, her finger practically in his drink. Lucien seemed utterly oblivious to the attention. What was he talking about?

Mor waved a hand dismissively. “Rita’s is always a little too excited when Lucien comes in.”

Feyre giggled wildly. “Because he’s Autumn Court?”

“You hush right now,” Mor warned, her brown eyes flashing. “But yeah, I think so.”

Elain blinked. “Why would it matter if he’s Autumn Court?”

Feyre burst out laughing while Mor choked on her drink. Elain didn’t dare look back over at Lucien even as embarrassment flooded through her. She was obviously missing something, some kind of insider knowledge about Autumn Court or Lucien that everyone else knew.

“Rita’s doesn’t see a lot of Autumn Court, that’s all,” Mor told Elain kindly even as her red lips twitched with amusement. Feyre was laughing so hard she slid from her chair, drink sloshing all over her tight, black dress. Mor sighed, exasperated, and hauled Feyre back into her seat.

“What’s got her in such a good mood?” Cassian grinned, sitting beside Elain, one muscular arm draped over the back of her wooden chair.

“Lucien,” Mor replied, nodding her head in Lucien’s direction. Cassian looked over Elain’s head, his grin widening.

“Good for him.”

Elain bit back her scowl, practically double-taking when she caught the fourth woman resting her forearm on Lucien’s shoulder. All of them were laughing like they were in a comedy club. She clenched her hands so hard her nails bit into her palm.

“We were explaining to Elain that Lucien is always popular at Rita’s, right, Cassian?” Mor asked, though Elain barely heard her over the roaring of blood in her ears.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I think it’s the—”

“The fire in his blood?” Feyre interrupted, choking on her laughter. Elain looked up at Cassian just in time to catch him roll hazel eyes.

“He’s hot, no fire needed,” Mor swept in quickly, cutting off whatever Cassian planned to say. “Which is why there are five females—” “Five?!” Elain screeched, furious at the red head touching his hair.She stood abruptly, nearly knocking her chair into the people sitting behind them. Cassian caught the furniture smoothly with one broad hand.

“Pay up,” Cassian demanded from behind her. Elain didn’t stick around long enough to see what, exactly, Cassian was collecting on. She was seething as she stomped up to Lucien, dripping in women.

“He has a mate,” she informed the group, waving her hands around as though to shoo away birds. Lucien turned, surprise etched into his features, mouth parted to ask her what, exactly, was her problem.

You wanted to keep this a secret. Not anymore, she decided, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him, both to illustrate her point and stake a claim. Lucien wrapped an arm around her waist, his other hand still holding his drink, his kiss enthusiastic if not a tad confused. Elain didn’t care; for a moment she forgot they were in Rita’s at all. Something about him always melted the world around them, made her surroundings an afterthought.

“What happened to keeping this a secret?” He asked, mouth inches from her own.

“I changed my mind,” she told him primly. Lucien arched a brow, both russet and metal eyes roaming down her body slowly before coming back to her face. The women were gone, intimidated by Elain’s possessive show. Good, she thought with satisfaction. She was tempted to stomp towards the front of the dance floor, cut the music, and announce to everyone that Lucien Vanserra had a mate, and the bar needed to stay away from him. Perhaps she’d hang flyers just in case anyone forgot or became too tempted. He was handsome, too handsome for shabby Ritas, she thought smugly.

Mine, she declared, kissing him again.

Lucien peered over her head, a smile dancing on his lips. “I don’t think we were ever a secret, Elain.”

“What? Why do you say that?” She demanded, whirling on her heel when Lucien gestured behind her with his head. Standing beside a card table was Rhysand, grinning like the devil as he handed five women little bags of coins. When he caught her gaping, he smiled, too, holding up his hand to indicate it had taken five women to crack her. Elain narrowed her eyes.

It is so on, she thought loudly, well aware he was listening. Rhysand tipped his head back to laugh.

“Want to get out of here?” Lucien murmured, his lips pressed into her hair. A shiver of anticipation slithered up her spine.

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly.

Lucien brought his glass to his lips, intending to swallow what remained when Elain asked, “Why did Feyre say you were so popular because you were Autumn Court and had fire in your blood?”

Lucien choked, holding his glass away from his chest as he turned to face her younger sister.

“She said what?” He wheezed, hair falling in his face. Elain thumped him on the back.

“She said you were popular with women because—”

He held his hand up to stop her, gulping down air. “Let’s get out of here…I’ll show you what she meant.”

Elain looked up, surprised by how dark his expression had become. Realization dawned. “She meant—”

“Yes. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fic #elucien one shot #prompt #yay #if anyone asks why I am not writing IKPWWBF this little snippet is exactly why #also #i tried so hard to edit this better than usual #for you anon #you know thats my weakness #so my effort makes us best friends

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firein-thesky · 3 years

Text

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki x you #tomura x y/n #shigaraki x y/n #tomura shigaraki x female reader #tomura shigaraki fanfic #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #tenko shimura #tenko shimura x reader #bnha

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

Note

If you're still taking prompts, how about WWX becoming a god after he dies in the siege? It's hard to slander someone when you have a proof of their benevolence like this. I always loved the concept. He's strong and good enough to ascend, especially since in his last actions he chose to spare those who wronged him and destroy the seal. And now LZ needs to catch up ;)

(we'll need to hand wave some of the genre constants here. apologies!)

It happens in Qinghe. The Nie Clan hosts a Martial Arts conference and Lan Wangji accompanies Lan Xichen even though he's not inclined to. He has just come out of seclusion and socialization is the last thing on his mind.

But his brother insists and Wangji is hesitant to deny. The Unclean Realm is bustling with activity and Wangji feels the strain of it keenly. There's something off in the air.

It isn't until he meets Nie Mingjue that he realizes just what is off.

The man looks furious instead of stern and commanding. Nie Mingjue has always had a temper but Wangji has never seen him quite this unsettled. His eyes seem blood-shot and his expression is almost cruel. There's an odd, dissonant energy around him that alarms Wangji.

Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue seem to be arguing in some fashion, Wangji was too far away to understand their conversation but Nie Mingjue's voice was loud and enraged.

"Da-ge," Nie Huaisang's worried voice catches his attention and he turns to look in his direction. His expression conveys his anxiety for his brother clearly. Nie Huaisang is studying the scene before him with furrowed brows and uncharacteristically shrewd eyes, "Wangji-xiong, what do you think of this?"

At first, Wangji is hesitant to comment. This isn't his concern and he is certain Xichen will help if help is needed.

But something in Nie Huaisang's tone makes him hesitate. He is obviously seeking comfort.

Wangji studies the scene once again, noting with concern that even his brother is looking disturbed by Nie Mingjue's rage, "He is dangerously unstable. Xiongzhang's Song of Clarity isn't working?"

Nie Huaisang purses his lips and shakes his head, "San-ge plays it regularly but it doesn't seem to help." He waves his fan in agitation, "Nothing seems to help."

Wangji has nothing else to say. He's not good with casual conversations or comforting words. It is usually his brother who knows how to say the right thing at the right time.

"I wish Wei-xiong was here." Wangji stills at the soft whisper, "He would know what to do- no one knows Resentful Energy like he did."

Wangji takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the middle distance. "Mentioning him is forbidden." He has kept Wei Ying's name close to his heart, untainted and loved instead of being tossed around and slandered.

His Wei Ying.

"You don't need to pretend to dislike him," Nie Huaisang says, eyes fixed on his brother, "Unlike everyone else, I knew his true self well enough. Almost as well as you did."

Wangji feels a curl of bitter amusement, "I did not know him."

Nie Huaisang waves his fan and remains silent for a long moment before speaking, "Believe me, Wangji-xiong, you were the only one who knew him."

Wangji has no reply.

Unfortunately, the situation does escalate beyond their control. Nie Mingjue has clearly lost control and is on the verge of qi deviation. He swings his sword aimlessly. Neither Wangji's guqin nor Xichen's flute do much to help.

Nie Huaisang is screaming, struggling against Jin Guangyao, trying to reach his increasingly volatile brother.

Nothing is helping. Wangji fears he may be forced to watch his brother's closest friend die.

Later, when questioned, he would say his prayer had been instinctive, coming deep from within him. He would say that he hadn't even thought when he spoke those words. That it hadn't even registered when he opened his mouth and said them out loud.

But in that moment, feeling something very close to panic at the sight of Nie Mingjue teetering close to the edge, he breaths out,

"Wei Ying, help."

The air around them stills the moment the last syllable slips past his lips. Nothing moves, no one speaks, the absence of sound was almost deafening.

Wangji feels the hair on his body stand on end the sound of swishing fabric fills the frozen atmosphere. He turns a little to see a swirl of black robes; rich, intricate, moving over the ground like smoke.

There's a fragrance of freshly dug earth and petrichor in the air, refreshing and earthy, but also strange. He's in the Unclean Realm and it hasn't rained in weeks.

Wangji takes a deep breath as the swish of fabric comes closer and then something as shockingly cold as snowmelt sweeps past him.

He already knows what he's about to see when he looks up.

Everything about him is pitch black. His hair is dark as ebony, falling down to the back of his knees. His robes seem to be made of shadows that suck in light. There are intricate lace and gold patterns on the sleeves. They look like talismans but Wangji cannot tell.

"Wei Ying," He calls softly.

Because Wangji knew it was him even before he saw him.

The air unfreezes and everyone comes to life once again, dazed and bewildered. Wangji hears Nie Huaisang draw in a sharp, shocked breath. He is the first to notice Wei Ying but others follow quickly. There are loud exclamations of surprise and many unsheathe their swords.

Wei Ying doesn't react. He lifts his hand, crooks a pale finger, and a mass of dark energy extracts itself from Nie Mingjue.

It is so quick, so unceremonious, that everyone is stunned.

Wei Ying studies it, condenses it into a small ball, and without pause, crushes it in his fist.

Nie Mingjue stumbles to his feet, clutching onto Baxia and staring at Wei Ying with wide eyes, "Wei Wuxian."

"You were destined to die today," Wei Ying says in a calm, dismissive tone, "The Nie Sect was destined to fade into obscurity." His voice is soft but there are layers to it, like a thousand individuals speaking in perfect harmony.

Nothing about Wei Ying is human. His voice is sonorous, entirely intimidating. His skin is as fair as white jade. His silver eyes are as bright as the moon. He looks regal, with an intricate hair piece holding the sweeping mass of ebony hair in place.

"You..." Xichen begins, looking just as hesitant as Wangji feels. Fortunately, his brother regains his composure quickly and bows, "Wei Wuxian, thank you for saving Nie Mingjue."

"I hold dominion over Justice." Wei Ying declares and Wangji carefully tucks his trembling hands behind his back, "Of course, I will answer the wishes of the most righteous man in Cultivation." He taps his chin with a smirk, an echo of a Wei Ying Wangji knows, loves, misses, "My affections for Lan Zhan play a part too, I suppose."

"Justice?" Nie Huaisang asks, "Because you died for a just cause?"

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder and Wangji meets that enchanting silver gaze with a racing heart.

"Perhaps," Wei Ying says teasingly, "I may be a deity, but even I am subject to the whims of fate."

He speaks as thought dominion over something like justice is an easy feat, like it doesn't imply immeasurable power.

"You were killed-" Nie Mingjue growls out, "For your unjust actions."

"Da-ge!" Xichen warns, glancing at Wei Ying warily.

"Don't remind me," Wei Ying says pleasantly, "For that call for justice still weighs heavy. You will all have to pay your dues, even you, Lan Zhan."

Wangji nods briefly, "I understand."

"Forgive me," Jin Guangyao interrupts, "Surely, you must understand our concern and puzzlement. Wei-gongzi, forgive me, you were-"

"You're not forgiven." Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, "I wonder, Jin Guangyao, if you think I am so easy to charm and deceive." Jin Guangyao stills, going worryingly pale, "You cannot kill me, slander me, manipulate others against me, or force me into a corner. I am Justice." Silver eyes sweep over all of them.

Wei Ying's eyes linger over Jin Guangyao's shaken expression before flickering over Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

"No one may escape me."

There's a sweeping wave of energy and everything freezes again.

Wangji remains stiff and silent as Wei Ying appears suddenly before him, leaning close enough that their breaths to mingle. Those eyes look even more otherworldly now, sparkling with the light of a thousand stars.

"Hanguang-jun," Wei Ying croons, "Don't keep your Wei Ying waiting for too long, hm?"

Wangji clenches his shaking hands, the proximity making his heart ache, "My Wei Ying?" He asks because he still remembers 'get lost' spoken in a hysterical, frenetic voice.

Wei Ying's expression softens a little, "Death gives clarity, my dear Lan Zhan. And ascension gives insight into fate and destiny. Wei Ying," He says and spins around cheekily, taking a few dancing steps away from him, "Wei Ying is always destined to be by Hanguang-jun's side." He winks, "Better hurry up! But not too soon! After our a-Yuan is old enough to stand on his own."

"Wei Ying - wait-"

The air starts moving again.

Wangji swallows and spins around, walking towards the gates of the Unclean Realm.

"Wangji-?"

"I must go ahead, xoingzhang, pray excuse me." He has no patience for Sect politics and formalities.

Wei Ying is waiting.

#short prompts #deity wwx #wei wuixan #lan wangji

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

for obikin, maybe pretending to hate each other au? (sth where their ages are a little closer, perhaps, so obi-wan can be intensely petty and not feel the need to Set an Example)

45. (Pretending To) Hate Each Other (raised as Sith!Anakin, salty!Padawan Obi-Wan)(1.6k)

Obi-Wan turns away from the training stalles with a barely suppressed sneer. Anakin, as he is to be called, has defeated his opponents. His fellow Padawans. Darth Vader has become a Padawan and everyone is just fine with it.

Obi-Wan marches out into the halls, not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he must get away from the smirk on Anakin’s face as he had lowered his training saber to his opponent’s neck. Does no one but Obi-Wan remember how just months ago Vader’s saber had been pressed against his neck and it hadn’t been a training exercise? Does no one remember the atrocities Anakin had committed, the sentients Anakin had killed?

And yet Obi-Wan’s master seems infinitely fascinated by the boy. And yet Obi-Wan, it seems, cannot step out of his own room without finding this Anakin underfoot, either taking tea with his Master, or dolefully skulking around the doorway of Obi-Wan’s quarters. What draws the boy, he has no lasting idea.

They’re approximately the same age, he supposes, although Obi-Wan has a few years at least on Anakin--it’s clearer to see now that Anakin has stopped wearing his helmet and armor into battle, now that the lines of his face are not hardened by scowls and snarls. Really, he’s a boy. His medical chart puts him at eighteen, making him four years Obi-Wan’s junior.

And, he supposes, Qui-Gon was the one to find Anakin wounded on the battlefield, the one to insist they treat the Sith, heal him, and give him shelter. But Obi-Wan was the one who had found the slave chip embedded between his ribcage, the one who had alerted the Council to its presence, so it could be used to find the boy’s master, to capture him or kill him, to end the war.

But surely, whatever small part Obi-Wan had played in the war’s conclusion, the Force should have known better than to repay him by gifting him with the care and keeping of a Sith Lord, Chosen One or not.

Although Obi-Wan can admit, even if only to himself, that it’s worse when Vader latches onto anyone else in the Temple. His master is too starry-eyed by his ideas of Vader’s midichlorians, his destiny as the Chosen One, to see the boy in front of him now.

And anyone younger than Vader is too easily swayed by his looks, his charm, his disgustingly transparent eagerness to know about the Temple, about the Jedi way of life.

Obi-Wan knows this. He’s fought a Sith at 20, fended it off after it dealt a nearly fatal blow to his Master. They cannot be reasoned with. Vader cannot be reasoned with.

Anakin exists only as a figment of their imaginations, their desire to have the Chosen One fly under the Jedi colors. He is not real, not anymore.

Gradually, Obi-Wan finds himself making his way up the stairs of the Jedi Temple. Of all the spots to hide--to sulk, as his Master would say--the rooftop is the one least likely to be checked. It is one of Obi-Wan’s favorite areas in the entire building.

But he had not thought to check for stragglers before arriving at his destination, had thought the thunderstorms of his own Force presence would keep others at bay. He hadn’t yet figured Vader into his calculations, hadn’t remembered the propensity Vader had for showing up right when Obi-Wan least wanted him to.

“You left,” Vader--Anakin--whoever accuses, as Obi-Wan sits down on the rooftop. The wind howls around them. Obi-Wan has the distinct thought that they’ve lived through this before, that last time Vader had cornered him on a rooftop, he had threatened to take a piece of his body home to his Master. Now, Vader is standing in his home.

Obi-Wan takes a very deep breath and banishes those sorts of thoughts. Anakin, he reminds himself. Anakin.

And just as importantly, the chip. There had been a chip. Not controlling Va--Anakin’s thoughts, but certainly controlling his actions. What he would do to survive is no different from what Obi-Wan had done to survive; they had just been on opposite sides of the war.

Is Obi-Wan weak for not being able to move past that? For not being able to greet the boy--the man--Anakin with open arms into the folds of his family?

“I did,” Obi-Wan replies, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the city skyline.

Anakin steps closer. “Why?”

He turns to face him, takes in his sweaty appearance and messy tunics. He must have been looking for Obi-Wan’s reaction. He must have seen the exact moment Obi-Wan had turned, must have scrambled to cloth himself as he followed after.

“Why does it matter?” He asks instead of answering, always instead of answering.

“Because I wanted you to watch,” Vader says.

“I’ve seen you kill Padawans before,” Obi-Wan turns away and stands up until he can lean against the high protective walls of the roof. “I wasn’t impressed.”

Vader feels frustrated in the Force. No. Anakin.

Anakin. “It was a training exercise.”

“Now,” Obi-Wan points out. “Or do you mean then?”

“Would you hate me if I said both?” “I hate you now, Vader.” The other boy’s Force signature withdraws, flinching away from Obi-Wan’s ire. He hears him sit down. He’d rather throw him off the roof.

But: “Don’t call me that,” the boy pleads quietly. “I know I can’t--that I don’t--” he cuts himself off and grows quiet.

Obi-Wan would say something to break the silence, but he doesn’t want to engage the boy if he doesn’t have to. If he closes his eyes, he can feel and see the Force raging around them, violently buffering them as it demands some sort of denouement.

The boy inhales and stands again, stepping forward hesitantly until he’s a scant foot away from Obi-Wan. “My mom always told me she thought for ages about my name. That it had come to her in a dream after I was already a month old, that it was bad luck to have waited for so long to name me because infants on Tatooine can die as quickly as their mothers.

“And then I...I couldn’t use it or hear it or speak it for so long that I think I almost forgot it, almost lost it to Sidious and...and Vader. So even if you hate me, and I know you should hate me, I know I’ve never done anything to you that cancels out the bad I’ve done to you, but. Please don’t call me that. I think it would have made her sad."

Obi-Wan works his jaw as he stares off into the city. He doesn’t think V--Anakin has ever said so many words to him. If he gives in now, he’d be just as bad as the other padawans who had welcomed Anakin in amongst them because of his big eyes and soft lips and earnest enthusiasm.

Anakin seems to take his silence as permission to continue, which it isn’t. “And I know I’m not. That I can’t be--won’t ever be a Padawan, or a Jedi Knight, that. That I’ll never wear a braid or anything. I’m not--I don’t want another Master. I never want another Master.”

Obi-Wan turns his head just enough to look at Anakin. He’s spent an awfully long amount of time hanging around Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s quarters if he doesn’t want a Master. But...what he’s saying makes sense, and, more importantly than that, soothes the furious emotions in Obi-Wan’s chest enough that he can speak. “Then I can’t understand why.” Why you’re here, why you won’t leave me alone, why you chose to follow me if you’re not trying to dispose of me and take my Master for yours.

Anakin sighs, leaning his head on his hands as he looks out at the city. Obi-Wan finds himself annoyed with that as well, even though he’d just been doing the same thing. Now he can’t tear his eyes away from Anakin’s profile.

“You’re warm in the Force,” Anakin says eventually. “I think maybe I spent too long in space, because I’m always cold. Except when I’m around you. You burn. You always have. I used to think that maybe--it was hatred or disgust at me, when I met you in battle, and you were an inferno. But you burn when you’re on creche duty too. A different kind of fire, but still so warm. It’s just your soul. It’s just who you are.”

Obi-Wan blinks open-mouthed at him. He’s never considered the thought that Vader--Anakin--had been trailing after him for anything other than easy access to his Master. Now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say.

There’s a part of him that still doesn’t understand what Anakin wants to get out of his tenancy at the Temple, a part that whispers that the Sith can’t be trusted, no matter how blue they can make their eyes look. But the Jedi part of Obi-Wan is bigger.

The Jedi part of Obi-Wan tells him to extend his hand just enough to brush against Anakin’s exposed wrist. It’s a point of vulnerability the boy doesn’t shy away from.

“Would you…” he asks slowly, forcing the words out of his tight throat. “Like to meditate with me?”

Anakin looks astonished, then hopeful, then disappointed, then dejected. “I’m no good at meditating,” he says, scuffing the point of his shoe on the ground. “It wasn’t a huge part of my...former Master’s curriculum, and the Force is just so loud in my head that it’s hard to do anything but react.”

He looks up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes, biting his lip as if he’s afraid that he’ll be turned away for this.

Instead, Obi-Wan turns fully to face him and latches onto his flesh hand. “There are some things, I’ve found,” he murmurs, leading them away from the edge of the roof before pulling Anakin down to sit cross-legged in front of him, “that are much easier done with someone else. Done together.”

#that last line shows up in anakin's wedding vows #like eight years later #and obi-wan thinks anakins making fun of him #but really that was just the moment sith!anakin decided obi-wan would singularly possess his heart and soul for the rest of his life #of course he was gonna quote it in the wedding vows #OBi-WAN #what did you expect?? him to quote the line about killing padawans??#asks #obikin #my fics #omg im so happy i told myself when i finished writing and posting this i would get to eat two gyoza and now its gyoza time #its also 12:33 am #but most importantly its gyoza time #prompt fill

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Hufflepuff!Muggleborn Extensive Dating A Malfoy Headcanons:

Okay so this got very long very fast but I apologize for nothing.

So you’re pretty much terrified of getting your Hogwarts letter because you have no idea what magic is but now you’re a wizard???

You go anyway and see a blond little boy at Diagon Alley with his parents and his mother has the same list as your dad does

So maybe you follow the little boy around and pick out the things he does because he seems to know what he’s doing

Then you heard his father hiss “disgusting mud blood” your way and your face kinda falls because you thought maybe you found someone who could help and we’ll never mind

Your dad takes your hand and snaps at Lucius “what kind of example is that for your son? No, I’m not one of your lot but you shouldn’t take it out on my daughter!”

Draco peeks out from behind his fathers robes and looks at the tears in your eyes and maybe he does feel a little bad

You absolutely adore your wand

At the station a few older years can tell you’re new and very Muggle in your tshirt jeans and converse that they sort of adopt you one of them being Cedric

You’re not so scared anymore because it seems like maybe these people aren’t so bad

Some kid named Fred buys you a Chocolate Frog and his twin warns you about their sentience

You meet a few other first years and Hermione Granger whos also a muggle and you sort of lament about all of it. She’s super excited because there’s so much to learn and you start to adopt her perspective

You see the boy from Diagon Alley sneering and bullying other kids and you go up to him with the same fire in your eyes that you dad had and tell the boy off a-al-Muggle

He just laughs and scoffs but you don’t back down which scares him because everyone always backs down

Big brother Cedric comes over and tells Malfoy off for calling you a mudblood again and ushered you back to a compartment of other Hufflepuffs and someone explains to you the house system

“Well that’s kinda stupid,” you decide “why should we be separated based on what a magical hat thinks we might be?”

Cedric grins at you because you remind him of himself and stands clapping when you’re sorted into Hufflepuff

Momma Sprout helps you so much because she knows that her muggle born kiddos need the extra comfort and encouragement

You have Herbology with the Slytherins and that meant Draco Malfoy his name was rattling around your head since the Sorting Ceremony

You end up partners with him. You’re shy and quiet and he’s dismissive and snappy.

“Draco you shouldn’t—“ “Don’t tell me what to do! Filthy little mudblood.” You sit back and watch the Doxy bite him “well get help!” He demands “I thought you didn’t want a mudbloodas help,” you snap. He gives you a hopeless look and you administer the antidote and produce a Bandaid “stupid muggle bandage”

While he’s sulking you handle the Doxy properly and show him how it’s done without being snotty about it. Maybe you smirk at him when you catch him leaning in and watching closely

It’s not friendship but he doesn’t call you mudblood anymore so... there’s that

Cedric nearly has a heart attack when he asks about your first day and you tell him about Draco

You find your footing at Hogwarts and though you’re not the best in class you can still do magic and it’s SO FRICKIN COOL MOM I MADE A FEATHER FLOAT TODAY

You chat with Draco thoughout the year in class well you talk to him he doesn’t say much. “And my mom was so proud when I told her about the Goblin wars and my dad wants to see me leviosa a feather but I told him I can’t do magic outside of school...”

Then there’s a quiet “your parents are proud of you? And interested in all this stuff?”

You look at him, mystified and “...yes? They’re proud of whatever I do,” Draco looks down and continues to sketch the bowtruckle which is almost life like on how accurate it is

You write to your parents immediately asking them to send a letter to Draco and tell them all about his really good drawings in Herbology

It takes a few days but one morning Draco comes up to you in the Great Hall with a parcel

“I think this is yours, your stupid owl gave it to me” he sulks. “It has your name on it,” you point out. “But why would your parents...?” You shrug and go back to talking to your friends and reading your own letter from your mother. Draco huffs and mutters something under his breath and walks away

In Herbology he has a new set of very Muggle graphite pencils and a proper sketchbook and he’s just sketching the Mandrakes on the desk when you come in. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. He’s less irritable now

It’s second year and you hug your parents and go say hi to your friends before finding a compartment for the long journey. You swap muggle candy for magic candy with your friends

Draco passes your compartment and you wave. He gives a half smile and keeps walking.

“You like him!” Your friends exclaim. “What? No! I don’t!” You turn very red. “He’s just a friend!!” No one is convinced

This year you have potions with Draco and you’re freaking out inside because you don’t know what you’re doing and Snape seems to have it out for you and you’re just a mess.

Draco volunteers to be your partner “to show this mudblood a little decorum and how things are properly done.” He scoffs

You look down, embarrassed but as soon as Draco is next to you, you hear a quiet apology.

You understand the charade he has to put on but you wished he didn’t and you really wish he’d stop calling you mudblood it was rather annoying

He helps you through potions like you helped him through Herbology. This year you have Herbology with the Ravenclaws and he has it with the Gryffindors. He totally whines to you all the time about Harry

Once he’s complaining and accidentally puts in the wrong ingredient and the entire thing threatens to explode. Before you know it, you’re on the ground under Draco who pulled you and the remnants of the potion is shielded from you because Dracos robes are draped over you

Snape scolds you for being stupid and you start to protest but Draco confesses that it was him mistake, not yours. Snape just eyes the pair of you and walks off.

“Thank you,” you stammer out. He rolls his eyes but there’s a soft smile on his face.

Boy does Draco flip out when he hears about the Chamber of Secrets because you’re in potential danger and he would willingly sacrifice Granger to keep you safe

He mentions that to you in Potions one day and you gap at him. “Draco killing anyone for any reason isn’t right.” You scold. There’s a cold look in his eyes and a fire in yours. “But... thank you... for worrying about me,”

Your friends still pester you because they can obviously see you like Draco and maybe you do... but you know he doesn’t like you so you’ll just ignore your feelings

Third year comes and your heart skips a beat when you see Draco because he grew a lot over the summer and his hair is no longer ridiculously slicked back and oh Merlin you’re in trouble

Unbeknownst to you Dracos heart flutters when he sees you and has to fight the urge to wave or say hi to you in front of his father.

This year you have History of Magic together

He sits down next to you without a second thought. You smile and say hi and ask about his summer and then he returns the question. Your muggle summer and his magic summer are both a bit lost on the other

“Didn’t you wear glasses?” He asks one day. “Oh, my mom let me get contacts,” “contacts?” “Um... like plasticy little doodads that go in my eyes and help me see?” He just stares and you laugh. “Too Muggle?” You ask. “Too Muggle,” he replies.

Now it’s a sort of game. Youll come in with something Muggle—Pens, notebooks, lined paper, Muggle books, a watch—and Draco decides whether it’s “too Muggle” or not for him. He quite likes pens and lined paper but you can keep your Muggle books

You tell your parents again and Draco gets a package filled with green notebooks and black pens and a pencil pouch with a snake on it.

You hear about the Buckbeak incident and you rush off to find Draco. He’s in the infirmary snapping at Pomfrey but softens when he sees you

“She’s just trying to help,” you scold softly. “Are you alright?” “Doesn’t hurts much anymore but it’s numb so...”

Pomfrey wants to keep him a few hours to make sure that his body is reacting to the medicine correctly and you stay with him.

“You know I’ve been thinking,” you start. “That’s scary,” he mutters. You hit him playfully and notice that he flinches so hard you note it and continue “I’ve been thinking that it really doesn’t make sense for you to call me a mudblood,” “and why not?” He snaps. “Well, I mean... I’m technically all muggle. If anyone was really a mudblood wouldn’t it be halfbloods? With a muggle and wizard parent?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. So he sulks quietly. “Why doesn’t it bother you that I call you that?” He asks quietly. You shrug. “Sometimes I wonder if I really belong here. Your adamant hatred for me is comforting. Like I’m doing something right enough to make you upset about it.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that either. He didn’t know that you were insecure about being a wizard. Of course, you belonged here you were wonderful with magic and your hexes were remarkable.

“I don’t hate you,” he mumbled. “Sure you’re annoying with your cheery disposition and your... Converse trainers... but I don’t hate you.” You laugh and he thinks it’s a wonderful sound

“Well, I don’t hate you either,” you smile back. You don’t think it’s something but it’s definitely not nothing

You hear about what happens between he and Hermione and you’re furious because he’s better than that and you can’t believe he would still call her a mudblood

You refuse to talk to him for a few days. Which is hard because he tries to make small talk with you.

One day in class he slips you a folded piece of parchment and you open it. Begrudgingly. “Im sorry, I was an arse. I shouldn’t have called her that.” You take your pen and scribble quickly “you’re apologizing to the wrong person.” And slide it back to him

Draco did apologize to Hermione before he apologized to you and he’s frustrated because he thinks you’ll think he’s lying if he said he already did

Then Hermione finds you in the hall that day and asks if you put Draco up to apologizing to her and you admit yes you did. And she tells you that he apologized a few days ago. Your heart soars and you hug a confused Hermione before running off to find Draco

He’s in the corner of the library, not reading, but drawing. You accidentally sneak up behind him and see that you’re the sketch on his paper.

“I don’t think my hair is quite that long,” you whisper softly and the boy about jumps out of his skin. You apologize quickly and he quickly covers his sketch book, red faced.

“I um. That wasn’t you.” He stammers turning a darker shade of red. You laugh. “Yes it was!” You reach for his sketchbook but he hugs it to his chest. “Oh come on Draco? What am I gonna do? Laugh?” “You’re laughing right now.” He points out. “And it’s not that good anyway...”

You roll your eyes and sit next to him. You offer to pose for him so that he could take his time to draw you. “Well I’m not busy now,” you grin and he sulks a moment before nodding.

You watch his hands work and sift through the pencils as he props the paper up on his knees and instructs you to look somewhere and not to move.

It’s odd, being drawn. You close your eyes and hum softly knowing he was studying you the way he might a bowtruckle or mandrake and it feels weird. A good weird.

He refuses to let you see the drawing even though you persist. You pout and drop the matter, just glad to have a friend in him.

You begin meeting in the library on a weekly basis, partly so he can draw you partly because you’re both struggling in History of Magic and need more study time

Cedric is not happy about any of this and goes very “protective big brother” on you. You tell him off and huff.

You start going to his quidditch matches and maybe he almost runs into a goal post because you smiled and waved at him and he forgot to pay attention

The summer comes and you wave goodbye knowing as soon as he’s around your father you’re going to lose your fried.

But he surprises you and hands you his sketchbook on the train home then quickly runs away to his father and you just stare at it and him and he’s gone, all you see is two heads of silver blond hair receding in the distance

Your parents usher you into the car and it’s maybe two hours before you get to look at the sketchbook

When you do open it you see a sketch of a bowtruckle and “Steve” written one his careful script underneath. You had forgotten that you named the bowtruckle Steve that day in class

The next few sketches are from Herbology. And little notes about class that day, a lot of them are about you. Then there’s a break in Herbology drawings and there’s a drawing of his mother almost perfectly. Then of a family portrait of the three of them. A few vases of flowers. Then you see your face. And again. And again. It’s you. Smiling, laughing, concentrating on a book, raising an eyebrow at him, gnawing in your lip, asleep in class, then the library drawings that are much more detailed.

Then you’re crying and you want to call him and thank him but you CANT BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A PHONE STUPID WIZARD FAMILY

But you do have an owl. You have no idea what to write. So you go with “thank you” and then send it.

You get a letter a few months later and it’s from Draco. He’s asking if you want to go to the Quidditch World Cup with him. “I know you’re Muggle and don’t like Quidditch much but...”

So you’re going with Draco and it’s weird because he’s on your doorstep with his mother and it is just a clash of worlds. You stammer goodbyes to your parents and you’re quickly ushered into the limo of a car next to Draco. You notice he’s changed his hair again and he looks quite dashing in his blazer. You get a little self conscious about your jeans and sweater.

Narcissa is a doll. She asks you about your summer and time as Hogwarts and keeps polite conversation and you thaw a little.

Though you have no idea what’s going on Draco is very excited about the game and is cheering and you can’t help but smile and maybe you take pictures with a Polaroid camera and he just rolls his eyes and you get a picture of him rolling his eyes

Fourth year comes and he is ushered away from you by his friends before he can say hi.

The kids from the other schools show up and you’re convinced that he like Fleur and he thinks you like Cedric and it’s just a mess

He’s back to being irritable and you’re slipping into depression not just because of him but everything is really weighing on you

You’re alone in the Astronomy Tower, your feet dangling off the edge. You had no intention to jump, but it was sort of thrilling.

Draco flips the fluff out and nearly drags you from the edge.

“What the hell are you thinking!?” He exclaims. You gape at him because it’s probably the first thing he said to you in a week. He’s just so scared that he was actually going to lose you that he pulls you close and doesn’t let you go. You start crying and everything just comes out in a word dump. Your brother is getting worse and stronger and it’s not good for you and he keeps putting you down and calling you a freak and that “no one is going to love me because I’m a freak and mom and dad think I’m fine because my grades are still fine but Draco I can’t... I’m slipping and... and I feel like I lost you and you were the only one who really believed in me and...” You’re just sobbing.

And he listens. He holds you and listens.

“You haven’t lost me,” He whispers softly. “But you like Fleur... and I can’t ever be her... she’s just so perfect and powerful and...” You sniffle, hugging your knees looking at your beat up Converse.

“She’s my cousin,” He almost laughs but doesn’t because of the look on your face. “And what about you and Cedric?” He raises an eyebrow and you blanch. “He’s like a big brother to me, gross,” You shove his arm and you’re both laughing.

“There’s only one Hufflepuff out there for me,” He takes your hand and hello butterflies and blushing. “And there’s only one Slytherin for me,” You lay your head on his shoulder and watch the stars.

You two start dating and Merlin his friends are livid because how dare he date a muggle hufflepuff? But then they watch him with you and it’s hard to deny that Draco is truly happy for once and they don’t want to take that from him

Your friends exchange bet money.

Weekends filled with more games of “Too Muggle” and trips to Hogsmeade and Draco explaining wizard culture and you try to explain muggle culture but he just does not understand washing machines. You introduce him to muggle music and is thrilled that he loves ABBA.

He makes everything hurt less. And it’s nice to feel wanted.

Then Voldemort returns and everything changes and you weren’t ready for it. Draco gets cold and distant again and you try and try to get through to him but he doesn’t let you in.

You end up screaming at him one night and walk out. He finds you curled up outside the Slytherin portrait, weeping not minutes later and carries you back inside to his dorm and apologizes and hold you and admits that he’s scared and he doesn’t want to lose you or see you get hurt

You both make an effort to find the sunshine in the proverbial dark times that linger through the next year. It means you become a but more calloused and jaded and he becomes a bit more optimistic and grateful.

Pansy Parkinson doesn’t exist. It’s just you with Polyjuice potion to keep you safe from Draco’s aunt and Voldemort. It’s an easy charade to keep up. There are still quite nights when you’re yourself with Draco and he reminds you how much he adores the real you with his words and touch

If there’s one thing you don’t do, is break a Hufflepuff and that’s what Harry did after his sectumsempra and holy hell do you lose your cool.

Draco’s mother has to step in before you’re expelled for what you did to Harry

You nurse Draco back to health afterwards and never let Harry forget what he did, nor do you let anyone else forget it when they call him the chosen one

And Merlin does Draco love you for it

Draco can’t kill Dumbledore because your words are still in his head from second year “It’s not right to kill someone for any reason” and he just can’t disappoint you like that

You’re still kind. You’re kind to Luna when she’s locked up at the Malfoy Manor. You’re kind to the house-elves that attend to you. You’re kind, and value fairness and hardwork, but you will not put up with bullshit any longer.

You and Draco stand with Hogwarts when the battle boils down to it. You give Draco your wand when he loses his to Harry.

When you go back eighth year, you advocate for the removal of the House System and write a very convincing argument against it. It takes about ten years, but the system is disbanded after one too many close calls and ruined lives

You also start a Support Group at Hogwarts for those suffering from mental illnesses and for those who have suffered abuse at home.

You and Draco get married at the Manor. You wear your Converse.

Want to read a more in depth Hufflepuff!Reader x Draco? Find it Here!!!

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whack-ed · 4 years

Text

Never (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Synopsis: Y/N and Draco had a fight, and after so much time together, do they split up? Could it end like this? It is not in the personality of either to give up that easly.

Warnings: angsty; bad language; flyffy ending.

Reader: Female

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: That was an anonymous request, so that’s it, I hope you like it!

Taglist: @nebulablakemurphy @jamilelucato let me know if you want me to add you in my taglist ;)

Everyone at Hogwarts knew who Draco and Y/N were. Perhaps the most powerful couple in that school. The two commanded and disbanded in Slytherin. There was no student who was not even a little uncomfortable around them. But most preferred the two together rather than apart. Y/N could be very proud when something - or someone - inflicted her ego. Draco then, could be worse, he was never wrong. So knowing how the two would become more unbearable if they ever broke up, they preferred to put up with the green-colored monarchy they imposed on their house.

But unfortunately, for the bad luck of many, the worst happened. After being together since their fourth year, Y/N and Draco had broken up. Or is that what everyone thought. It was close to Christmas when it happened, thankfully, but It still had another month of real hell at Hogwarts. The ending was not even for such a relevant reason, but it seems that none of the two would take of your high heels to understand the other side.

“Look how ridiculous, I would be ashamed of being a hufflepuff and still be forced to wear a hair like that” Draco said as he passed a first year in the yellow uniform. Y/N who was on his side, looked at him madly. She never understood why Draco was so mean to others.

“Why do you do that, huh, Draco? The boy was doing nothing! You don’t have to be an asshole with everyone.” Y/N said with small signs of anger in hers speech. Draco stopped walking and looked at his girlfriend indignantly.

“Are you defending a hufflepuff, Y/N? What a pathetic thing.” He didn’t laugh like he did at the end of one of his sarcastic comments, since after all, this time he was talking very seriously.

“Hello? Pathetic?! Draco the boy was at most 12 years old! The school can already be difficult enough without a git filling the patience all the time!” People around there already beginning to look at the couple’s fight. Some frightened others curious, but no one threatened to get too close to angry Slytherins.

"Impressive. I didn’t know you liked people like that.” Draco made the best reproach face he could and looked Y/N in disgust. The girl’s blood boiled. Who does he think he was to be able to talk to her like that?!

“I thought you could have matured a little since your second year! But it looks like I was wrong. I always thought the way you implied with Potter was ridiculous, but I thought you could change, right, 16 years old Draco, you don’t need that anymore, right?” And Y/N didn’t contain a word, said everything she was trying to say for days, weeks, maybe months for her boyfriend, but she never found the right moment. And maybe, that one wasn’t either.

"Oh yes? If I’m mature enough why we’re still together then?! ” Draco screamed loudly, unintentionally, but everyone within a radius of at least 3km could hear. Some Slytherin students who passed close to them both had their fingers crossed to prevent what was going to happen. Y/N then raised her eyebrows, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She simply adjusted her uniform, and looked deep into the boy’s eyes, turned around and went on her way, saying nothing.

That had been a week ago, and since then, Draco had taken a vow of silence against Y/N. It was as if the girl just didn’t exist. At first it was kind of mutual, she also didn’t want to chat with him. But, apparently, she was the only one who had felt the slightest bit of regret about what they had done. After two weeks and still nothing, Draco continued to completely ignore the existence of Y/N. The girl, on the other hand, was never going to show that she missed him, although, as the days went by, she didn’t need to say with words what she was feeling, it was clear.

In a divination class, your partner was Blaise, the two of you were sitting at a table above Draco and Pansy. He always knew that you were a little jealous of the girl, since you two were never very good friends, and she always made it very clear that her fancies draco Draco. They were both whispering things and giggling right in front of Y/N. Her furious eyes at the two kept her from paying attention to what were the names of Jupiter’s moons.

"Why don’t you go talk to him already, Y/N?” Blaise said to the girl beside him, it was as clear as daylight that she was jealous.

“Me? Why would I talk to him? I don’t understand your points, you know” She said finally taking her eyes off Draco, since she had been discovered.

“You two are really unbearable, him acting like you don’t exist and you acting like you don’t care. Really pathetic. ” He leaned back and turned his attention to the Professor in front of him.

Y/N chose to ignore Blaise, he didn’t make sense in the girl’s opinion, he was just someone else who had a wrong opinion about her … Right?

***

The following days were nothing different, cute Draco with Pansy and Y/N hating any man. People were starting to get used to the idea that the most powerful couple at Hogwarts was no longer together, it seemed, and were relieved not to be as bad as they thought it could be. Some would dare say it was even better that way. The two without speaking for so long, even if therw was no official ending, it was easier to put up with. At the end of a long day, with two times of history of magic, Y/N has just returned to the common room.

She was beginning to think that after almost a month without speaking, Draco already considered her his ex-girlfriend. These thoughts haunted her for many hours, and she hated them deeply. He could be an asshole at times, but if there were people Y/N was sure to have a good heart, even if deep down, it was Draco. She really liked him.

As soon as the girl entered the common room, she caught a glimpse of Draco and Blaise talking near a pillar, and just passed by without wanting Draco to see her with teary eyes as the thoughts she hated so much were back. But even though she was passing fast, she couldn’t help but hear a comment from Draco “I’m telling you, Blaise, every day that I wanted that this git to have never come to Hogwarts, it’s incredible how I can’t stand being around without feeling rage” And the girl didn’t wait another second to run upstairs and drop the tears on her pillow. That was it, Draco wanted to end it all.

The next day was the most difficult of those last days. It seemed that everything around reminded her of Draco, it seemed that everyone around her was happly dating. If Y/N could choose a super power it would certainly be invisibility. At least she would have potions class today, her favorite subject, and yet she doubted she would pay any attention, last night had been filled not with snoring, but with sobs from crying.

She entered the potions room and went straight to the back table, she didn’t want to draw attention today. As Professor Slughorn was speaking, Y/N was more and more sure that the table looked very comfortable for taking a nap.

"Miss Y/L/N” Professor Slughorn called Y/N, the girl was far from waking up, several students were laughing quietly. He called her three more times before giving up and trying something different. “Well, guys, as I said to you, Amortenia is a very strong potion, probably the most dangerous in this room. And to prove it to you, I’m going to use it to wake up Miss Y/L/N. ” So the Porfessor put some of the potion in a bottle and took it open very close to Y/N, the girl in the same time woke up.

“What the …” She got up scared and looked around the room, looking for where this familiar smell came from.

“Can you share with the class what you smell, Miss Y/L/N?” Professor Slughorn asked.

“Hm… a woody smell, with a hint of mint and… chamomile shampoo.” The girl replied and everyone laughed, everyone in the room knew who was the only person at school who could have these three smells at the same time. Draco who was on the other side of the room, stared at Y/N with sad eyes. It seems that finally, after days, he realized who he was ignoring. Whose flowers did he smell when the professor opened the potion next to him. Seeing Y/N the way, holding back the crying, broke his heart into a thousand pieces. What had he done.

As everyone was laughing, and the Professor Slughorn without understanding nothing, let the girl go to the bathroom when she asked. He might not have understood why, but he knew that for some reason the smell that the girl felt made her very sad, since the girl had tears in her eyes.

“Professor, can I go to the bathroom too?” Draco asked the professor a few minutes after Y/N left. That’s when he understood everything. As soon as the boy got close to him, he felt exactly what Y/N had described. Slughorn may be not a student anymore, but as a good slytherin, he heard the gossip here and there. “Ah… Of course, of course, you can.”

Draco ran down the castle corridors after Y/N, she couldn’t have gone that far. He then stopped and thought for a minute, where could she be? And without much delay he got his answer. The boy ran to the bathroom where he was sure he would find Y/N, and he was right.

He heard it outside one of the cabins. “He doesn’t deserve you if he goes to treat you like rubbish!” Myrtle’s voice echoed throughout the bathroom, as no one came, it was normal for this to happen. Draco wasn’t sure why, but Y/N was the only person at Hogwarts who really enjoyed Myrtle’s company.

Unfortunately the conversation between the two did not last much longer, Draco made a lot of noise when entering the bathroom. Y/N without thinking twice, took her wand and stood by, that was what made the girl a first-rate Slytherin. "Who’s there?“

“Y/N, it’s me, Draco” The boy said coming closer to the cabin door where his girlfriend was.“Filthy fellow! Go away, don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Myrtle said flying over the stall with his arms crossed to look Draco in the eye. Naturally Myrtle was already scary, but sailing in anger instead of sad was worse than you can imagine.

“Go away, Draco” A much less aggressive and much more tearful voice came from the other side of the wooden door. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was crying a few minutes ago.“I just want to talk …” Draco put a hand on the door in front of him. “Ah! Briliant! Now do you want to talk? ” Myrtle replied angrily.“Can you let me talk to my girlfriend in peace, Myrtle?!” Draco replied angrily to the ghost that hung over him. Myrtle was going to give a very rude answer when Y/N interrupted her. “Myrtle, if you don’t mind, can you give us a little privacy?” Myrtle groaned in disapproval, but ended up diving through the pipes of one of the bathroom toilets.

“Well, since you decided to be so talkative, you can speek now"

"You can open the door, I mean that for you and not for an old wooden door” Draco grunted, still holding his hands on the door, holding it as if it could fall at any moment.

“No. Whatever you have to say, say it anyway” Y/N shrugged her feet over the toilet, she was sitting on top of the lid.

Draco sighed and leaned his head against the door. "I’m sorry, Y/N.” He sighed for another moment. “I was an idiot. Ignoring you was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done. And teasing you with Pansy was even worse, God that girl is a nightmare.” He vowed to hear a Y/N giggle muffled by the door. Then he turned on his back and stood there. “I … I really tried to be without you, but today in Professor Slughorn’s class, seeing you describe … well … what you described, just made me realize what I was doing, it was so … . bloody stupid. Look, I understand if you want to break up, I really was an asshole, but I needed you to know that I regretted talking to you that way, the same time I saw you walk away from me.” And he walked away from the door.

In all this time together, Y/N had never seen Draco be so transparent with what he felt. So he didn’t want to end, but what about the conversation with Blaise? Y/N opened the door and was faced with a very sad Draco. Definitely the girl had never seen him look so downcast. He let out a sad smile when he saw the girl with puffy eyes and red cheeks in front of him. It was incredible that she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"So you don’t want to finish things?" A hoarse voice came from Y/N’s throat. "Me? Finish? Never! Where did you get that crazy idea? ” Draco replied approaching the girl."I heard you talking to Blaise yesterday in the common room, about not being able to stand the thought of having me at Hogwarts…” She replied looking at her feet. Draco laughed through his nose.“I was talking about Potter, Y/N …” And came closer to the girl.

Now it was Y / N’s turn to laugh. “I should have known …” She finally hugged the boy in front of her by the waist. Draco smiled and looked deep into his girlfriend’s eyes. He was happy again. He felt complete. Having Y/N in his hands was like having the whole world to himself. Drunk with so much love, he didn’t wait another second to place a kiss on the girl’s lips. Was her. He knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

After breaking the kiss that shared so much passion, Draco said in such a low tone that only Y/N could hear, even if there was no one else there. “Promise me something?” The girl looked into his gray eyes, always liked the immensity of feelings that lived there, and agreed with the head. “Never walk away from me again, seeing you leave was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.” The girl smiled and placed another short kiss on his lips.

“Never.”

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #slytherin #imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #x reader #harry potter #fanfiction #Harry Potter Smut #draco malfoy smut

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solinarimoon · 3 years

Text

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 15

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: Well loves, this is the final chapter for this story. Depending on how season 5 of the show goes, I may do more and I may do one-shots for Cwen and Sihtric later too. I am honestly incredibly proud of myself for finishing my very first multi-chapter story. And I am beyond thankful for each and every one of you who thought it was worth your time to read. Thank you! From the bottom of my Dane loving heart. I have more stories planned featuring our favorite cinnamon role Dane and some new OCs so be on the lookout! The moodboards provided by the lovely @serasvictoria

Warnings: Smut. Smut with feelings. (So this also counts as my outdoors entry for @tlkfanficfest bingo axe card)

Word Count: 3877

Fields of Wildflowers Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

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Hild found Cwen some old novice robes that fit comfortably enough. The abbess then cleaned Cwen’s face and put a soothing poultice on some of the deeper scrapes and bruises before sending her off to bed.

The room was plain, holding only a bed and a small table. And there was a lingering aroma of some floral fragrance Cwen couldn’t place. She laid down and was asleep within a matter of minutes.

When she awoke, it was with a start to find an arm weightily draped across her waist.

Turning from her side to lay on her back, Cwen saw Sihtric dozing soundly next to her.

He had found a moment to clean the grime and gore from his face and body, she noticed as she took in his features. His armor and tunic lay discarded by the door to the room and Cwen took a moment to take in his resting form. The line of his jaw and the length of his neck. His shoulder, rounded and firm, with long muscles leading along the arm hooked around her waist. She felt the heat radiating off his bare chest.

In his sleep, the warrior’s face was relaxed and his breathing even and shallow. His mouth hung slightly open, a quiet snore escaping him every few breaths.

Cwen raised a hand to brush the hair from his forehead and trace the lines along his brow.

She smiled when she felt him stir under her touch. Without opening his eyes, he reached a hand up to grasp her own and bring her palm to his lips.

“I am glad you took my advice and rested,” he hummed against her palm before pulling her body closer into his embrace.

“Is there peace?” she questioned after nuzzling against his neck and trailing her fingers along his collarbone.

“For now, it seems.”

“Tell me.” Cwen asked, sleep still clouding her voice.

Sihtric rolled onto his back, sliding his arm to rest under Cwen’s neck as she nestled into his side.

“They’ve given Sigtryggr Eofiwich. And he promises to remain peaceful and in alliance with Wessex and Mercia.” Sihtric paused, running his fingers gently through Cwen’s long hair. Hild had also spent time using a brush and comb to work through the knots and tangles that had accumulated during the siege.

“That can’t be all though,” Cwen asked while turning her face up to meet his, “What about Stiorra?”

Cwen felt as a rumble passed through Sihtric’s chest as he laughed.

“And what about Stiorra?”

Cwen propped herself up on to her arm, her mirthful smile mirroring his.

“Is she part of the bargain?”

“Why would she be?” Sihtric’s eyes glittered mischievously.

“Because they have fallen for one another. Stiorra and Sigtryggr.” Cwen’s words were sure and matter of fact.

Sihtric moved to place a strand of hair that had fallen across Cwen’s face before he asked, “Now what would make you say that?”

Sighing, Cwen laid herself back down and nestled into his side. Her fingers absent-mindedly finding the hammer amulet draped across his chest. Tracing the intricate designs.

“Well I don’t know exactly. I have never even seen them in the same room together,” and her words were interrupted by a scoff from Sihtric. She hushed him playfully before continuing, “but it is in the way they speak about each other. As if he truly sees her. And she, him.”

Here she paused, her hand stopping it’s fidgeting with the hammer. She took a breath then continued, vulnerability lacing her words, “It is not much different from the way I believe you see me. From the way you have watched me and seen me since the fields of Saltwich. You see me and know me. The true me. And that is love. To have someone see through you to your soul. Or your spirit, your essence. Whatever term you wish to give it. When a person can see your rough edges, the parts that are broken, the fragile things…” her fingers began fiddling with the pendant once more, nervous as she continued, “a person who can see that in another and appreciate it, accept it. That is love. That is what will help someone to heal. Find peace. Happiness. I see who you are and you see me for who I am. I see that mirrored in the way Stiorra and Sigtryggr speak about one another.”

Cwen’s voice got quieter as she stopped her rambling. Her fingers continued to place their anxious energy into toying with the necklace until she felt his strong hand wrap around her own, stopping her movements. He moved to place his knuckles below her chin, tilting her head up so he could catch her eyes.

“What have I done in my life to deserve you, my lady?”

Now it was Cwen’s turn to scoff at his use of the term lady once more before he continued, interrupting her.

“It is true. I have been blessed by the gods and I do not know why. I am nothing but a bastard son who has killed more men than I can count. Many who were probably good men.”

Cwen stared into his face as he spoke. She watched as his brows stitched together and the line of his jaw flexed. His eyes growing distant and clouded.

“Then you do not see what I see, Sihtric.” Her hand rose from his chest to caress his neck, fingers smoothing themselves through the curls of his hair, coaxing his eyes back from whatever unfocused horrors he was imagining, back to her.

“You are a man, devoted and loyal. I see your heart. A heart that is fierce and passionate, but also kind and warm. It is gentle when time or place calls for it. I see that in how you are with the children and with me. You have shown me time and time over that the quality of your heart is pure. It is all those things that make who you are. A warrior. A heathen but not a barbarian as some Christians would paint you. These are the reasons you follow Lord Uhtred. These are the reasons you fight. And they are good qualities.”

Cwen watched while he listened to her words. The lines of his face eased and the whites of his eyes glistened more brightly. The lovers brought their lips together, the language of a whispered kiss speaking more deeply than either could with words.

A subtle cough from the doorway broke them apart.

Hild stood, a kind smirk on her face.

“I would remind you that you are still in a church, Sihtric. And even though you are heathen I will have you respect this home of my God.”

Cwen rolled over, burying her face in her hands and stifling anxious giggles while she heard Sihtric apologize and then the rustle of Hild’s robes as she moved away from the door.

But Hild called over her shoulder to them before she had made it out of earshot, “Uhtred is looking for you. King Edward has spoken with him.”

“Tell my lord I am on my way.”

They heard Hild laugh before she replied, “He wishes to speak with Cwen.”

The pair glanced at each other, confusion on both of their faces. Slowly, they moved to sit up and make ready themselves.

“But Sihtric, you haven’t answered me!” Cwen exclaimed.

When he looked askance at her as he did the laces up on his tunic, she continued, “Stiorra? Is she leaving for Eofowich?”

Sihtric smirks without raising his eyes again to meet hers, instead focusing on his lacing.

“Well?” Cwen moved to help him secure the armour and interrupt his avoidance.

“She will be going as a hostage,” he replied. But the mirth behind his eyes showed his agreement with her notion that it was not a hostage arrangement.

“Lord Uhtred must be furious,” Cwen mused.

“He was quite, yes.”

Sihtric turned to grab his bracers off the floor and Cwen took them from him, sliding them onto each of his forearms in turn.

“So what does he need with me, I wonder?”

Sihtric shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as they walked out of the door to find Uhtred.

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“The king has charged me with the care of Aethelstan.”

Uhtred and Cwen were standing underneath the arches leading to the inner courtyard of the church.

Hild was walking with Eadith to stretch and warm some of her muscles, while an anxious Finan looked on. He was clearly only half listening to whatever Osfeth and Sihtric were discussing. It made Cwen smile, before turning her attention back to Uhtred.

“With care for Aethelstan? But Lady Aelswith had been planning to do that?”

Uhtred sighed, “Plans have changed. Apparently Lady Aelswith is in poor health after the siege. And Edward wants Aethelstan removed from Winchester. It will be safer for the boy.”

“Aelswith offered me a place in her household caring for him before we left Mercia. I turned her down but not because I don’t want to help Aethelstan. Did you wish to speak with me to ask for my help?”

Uhtred chuckled dryly and looked down at his boots, scuffing the dusty dirt.

“It is no secret, I am…,” he trailed off before clearing his throat and starting again, “I will be able to teach him the shield wall and battle tactics. And other life lessons but I am lacking in many skills when it comes to raising a child. I would ask you for help, yes.”

“And you will have it.” Cwen smiled, her words sincere and happy.

It was at that moment that Sihtric approached, wrapping his arm around Cwen’s waist and drawing her close to him as she leaned back into his embrace.

“You have chosen a good woman, Sihtric.” Uhtred clapped his friend on his shoulder.

“I have, indeed,” Sihtric paused, pressing a kiss against Cwen’s hairline making her grin despite herself.

“But may I have a word alone, Lord?”

Cwen glanced between the two men before excusing herself to go check in on Eadith and Hild.

After joining the two women, Cwen continued to glance back to where Sihtric stood speaking with Uhtred. The two men stood close together while Sihtric spoke, but his words did not travel and Cwen did not know what they discussed.

After only a few moments, she saw Uhtred embrace Sihtric and the two clapped each other on the back before breaking apart and Sihtric turned to walk to Finan and Osferth, who were standing in the path that Hild was guiding them along. Sihtric beamed at her as they approached, his smile filled with adoration.

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After eating a light lunch with everyone, Sihtric excused himself and asked Cwen to join him. He led her to the edge of Winchester and outside the walls. The Saxon camp of King Edward was still scattered across the surrounding field, but the couple walked beyond the scattered tents and cookfires. Here and there, men were mulling about, collecting their things, preparing to return to their homes.

“Where are you taking me, Sihtric,” Cwen looped her arm through his and leaned herself against him as they strolled.

She smiled when she felt his breath on her ear as he leaned close, “Do you remember the last time you asked me that question?”

His voice was low, husky.

The implication sent shivers along Cwen’s spine. Just as it had while riding in the fields outside of Aegelesburg, she felt her body stir.

They stayed quiet as they walked, both feeling the rising thrill in their energy.

Cwen tried to keep her breathing steady while her heart began beating steadily faster and faster. The feel of Sihtric’s movements against her as they walked gave her shivers, every place where his skin brushed hers leaving trails of gooseflesh.

Eventually, they moved off of the main road and began to cross onto hunting trails, through woods and fields. It may have been along the route they had come to Winchester. That seemed ages ago and had been in such haste, Cwen thought she would have no idea if she had been through this way before. And there was no way she could focus clearly on her surroundings with the anticipation of being with Sihtric again.

Finally, he stopped walking and Cwen took in their surroundings.

They were at the edge of a low lying glen, leading up to a small hill crested with trees. The glen was carpeted with tiny white and violet-blue flowers, all migling together. Cwen breathed deep, enjoying the musty aroma of the woods to their backs, earthy and solid. She tried to slow her pounding heart.

“I told you I wished to cherish you, Cwen,” Sihtric pulled her body flush against his before cupping her face, “and I mean to do just that.”

His lips ghosted across hers before he moved to nip underneath her ear, his tongue languidly tasting her skin in between gentle kisses down her neck.

“Sihtric,” she moaned out his name, her hands grasping hungrily at his hips and pulling him even closer to her.

“I will never grow tired of hearing you moan my name,” he whispered against her collarbone.

His fingers found their way up from her waist to begin undoing the laces at her collar, before moving the fabric apart to reveal the skin of her chest.

Despite the heat of the late summer, his fingers left goosebumps dancing along the trails they made, slowly fanning their way over to caress one of her breasts.

Cwen sighed as his kisses continued along her neck and his fingers lightly pinched at her erect nipple.

She could feel the swell in his trousers bulging against her hips and longed for more.

Slowly, she reached her hand down from his hip to cup along his length.

The groan her movements brought forth from him flushed Cwen with a sense of pride that she could cause him to make such noises.

“Mmmm, woman,” he growled, “I planned to be making these noises come from you,” but Cwen interrupted him.

“And what if I wish to show you how I cherish you too?”

Sihtric leaned back on his heels to stare at Cwen. Her shy smile and mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

In an instant, his mouth was on hers. All sense of calm replaced by fire.

Both sets of fingers fought to undo the buckles and ties holding cloth against skin.

All the pain, all the terror over the past weeks. Separated by barriers and words. All of the emotions of the heart came crashing out against each other.

Swiftly, Cwen slid her dress down from her shoulders to pool at her feet, leaving her chest bare and only a thin underskirt draped off of her curving hips.

Sihtric, breathing heavily, stood back to admire her form, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist up to the slope of her breasts.

While his hands roamed her body, Cwen undid the lacing holding his bracers and leathers on, removing them deftly.

Smoothly, he lifted his arms and pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it in the grass by their feet, only to then drop to his knees, peppering kisses along her abdomen while his hands reached behind her to grasp and gently knead her bottom.

Cwen sucked in a breath as the feel of heat pooled deep in her core, mingled with a throbbing pull at her opening. She wanted to feel him touch her there.

She ran her fingers along his head, nails scratching along his scalp, before he tilted his face up to hers to see the passion burning in her eyes.

“Come here, Cwen.” His voice was deep and sensual, causing another thrill to ripple through her swollen womanhood.

She slid her body down to meet him, feeling his lips trailing up now, to find her nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue against the hard nub. His hands bunched at her skirt, pulling it up around her as she lowered herself.

Once she was on her knees, he brought his face to hers, kissing her lips once more while growling, “Lay back for me.”

Cwen lowered herself back, while Sihtric’s body, hard and strong, loomed over her, sheltering her, enveloping her.

Again, he brought his lips to her skin, licking and sucking gently at the dips and shallows of her neck and shoulders.

She shuddered when his hands left the skirt, now rumpled around her waist to trail down her hip. He had slowed their pace once more, gradually bringing his fingers to rub against her swollen center. Slow, short strokes followed by an even slower long stroke circling the moist opening of her slit.

She moaned and arched under his hands, yearning for more but relishing the feel of his hands on her.

Slowly, his kisses moved lower, back to her nipple, drawing circles around it before he continued even lower.

Cwen opened her eyes, when he sat up, removing his hand from her wetness.

Sihtric leaned back on his knees and shifted Cwen’s hips as she watched him eye her hungrily.

He began to lean down to her, his breath hot and heavy on her aching core.

“Sihtric, what are you,” but her words were replaced with a rasping moan as she felt his tongue on her. He trailed his tongue up from the dripping moisture of her slit to press and flick against the nub of her sex making her gasp outloud.

Sihtric looked up to meet her eye, now sucking at the nerves before he answered, “I am cherishing my woman, every part of her.” And he then moved back to lap at her with the flat of his tongue.

Licking her lips, Cwen felt as her hips unconsciously rose to meet his actions, continuing the slow rhythm his fingers had started. Slow and small strokes followed by a longer stroke, the pressure always building then pulling back as he pulled her to the edge.

When he brought his fingers to her opening and slowly pushed one then another inside, Cwen felt herself arch and moan his name.

Her fingers found themselves raking through his hair as he moved his fingers inside her, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

Cwen felt herself rising to the edge, “Sihtric,” she groaned while his actions became faster, matching the pumping of her hips rising to meet him.

And she came undone, her legs tensing and squeezing as he brought her to her high.

When she opened her eyes, he had moved his face to stare at her, but was continuing the motions of his fingers, still feeling her clench around him.

“You are the most beautiful woman,” he whispered, his voice deep with lust.

“Can you take me?”

Noiselessly, Cwen nodded, holding her arms out for him to come to her.

He moved, lithe as a cat, to bring his face to hers, kissing her passionately. She could taste herself on his lips and feel her own moisture in his beard.

Cwen slipped her fingers between his pants and his hips and slid them down with his help to release his bulge. He rolled off of her just long enough to slide his trousers off completely, before he was on her once more, his manhood hard and ready for her.

Guiding himself to her entrance, Cwen shifted her hips to better meet him.

As he pushed himself inside her, she met his eyes. He filled her completely, pushing into the hilt before he paused to kiss her. Then slowly again, their bodys began rocking together in a rhythm building steadily. Her small moans and noises driving him to push harder.

He built her up once more, feeling her body tensing beneath him ready to crash in ecstasy. Cwen cried out his name once more when he pushed her over the edge, feeling her walls clench him tight driving his own climax to follow.

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They lay in the grass, a tangle of limbs as their breathing returned to normal. Cwen found her hand in Sihtric’s as he toyed with her fingers, weaving them together with his. He brought her hand up to place a gentle kiss on her thumb.

“Be my wife, Cwen.”

Surprised, Cwen turned her face to watch him. He was focused on their fingers, still lacing them gently together.

He continued after a moment's pause, “I want you for my woman. My wife. From now until the end of days. I told you that all of my roads will lead me to you, Cwen. And I meant it. You are warm and kind. You are brave. And you make me happy. Happier than any warrior deserves to be.

His words were strong. Sure.

Cwen felt her eyes prickle as tears formed, blurring her vision. She blinked to clear them away as she saw Sihtric’s head turn to look at her.

“Will you be my wife, Cwen?”

Smiling, Cwen nodded her head furiously, “Yes, Sihtric, I will be your wife.”

Grinning, Sihtric rolled Cwen on top of him and kissed her, deeply before he pulled away.

Still smiling, he laughed, “Then I have something I need to give to you.”

Cwen moved herself off of him as he reached into his pants, reaching into a small pocket, hidden in the waist.

He pulled out a tiny pouch. He emptied the pouch into his palm. It contained a small golden ring. Simple and delicate, with just a few markings and designs along the band.

“This belonged to my mother. It is the only possession I have from her. Before my father,” he glanced at Cwen before he continued, “before he killed her, she gave this to me. She knew he would find out about what she had been doing to help the children of Dunhilm. And she wanted for me to have this. She has been the only woman to ever hold my heart. Until now. And I want you to have it.”

Cwen was speechless as he placed it in her palm, before closing her fingers over it and kissing her hand.

The tears she had been able to stem before, now ran freely along her cheeks. Gingerly, she opened her hand and picked up the ring. She slid it onto her finger and it fit perfectly.

“She would have loved you,” Sihtric added, wrapping his arms around Cwen and resting his forehead against hers.

“Thank you, Sihtric. I will treasure it and hope to honor her by wearing it.”

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As they were getting dressed and beginning their walk back towards Winchester, Cwen gasped.

“Wait, won’t we need Uhtred’s approval to marry? When will you ask him?” Laughing, Sihtric took her hand, “I have already asked him, love. It is what I wished to speak with him about this morning.”

“Oh you planned all of this then?”

“I did”

“Oh you are quite the romantic, my soon-to-be husband.”

Sihtric chuckled once more along with Cwen, “I guess I am.”

As they continued walking, Cwen asked, “So what did Uhtred say when you asked him?” “He said that I would be a fool not to marry you.”

Sihtric pulled her close, kissing her temple as they walked, “And he is right.”

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#fields of wildflowers #sihtric #sihtric x oc #the last kingdom #fanfiction #tlkfanficfestbingo #tlk fanfic #axe card #finan #sihtric kjartansson #uhtred

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