#i tumbled out of bed to post this because this has been my only thought for the last 20 minutes

[mieczyslawsravenclaw]

Eidetic Memory Be Damned -Spencer Reid

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•Pairing - Spencer Reid x FemFBIAgent!Reader

•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!

•Summary/Prompt - Spencer is tired of only having the memory of you to enjoy during his spicy times , so he just has to intrude into your hotel room after a case is finished…

•Warnings/Content - p in the v unprotected (hey kids- DONT DO IT) ; cursing ; Spence loves to beg to nut in you and does so ; creampie ; some pain play? (just a lil hand on the throat dealio and some hair pulling) ; LOTS of praise on both sides (good boy, pretty girl, etc) ; very mf horny lol ; (basically they do just about everything from first base to last bestie slay)

•Word Count - 3.3k

•Authorʼs Note(s) - Iʼm so mf rusty at writing smut so this is probs not the best, I just wanted to write some Spencer spice cause I had a spicy dream about him lmao RIP >_< Also this'll be my first official post of my writing on Tumblr slayyyyy

•Additional Tags - Switch!Spencer , Switch!Reader , Spencer is a needy brat LMAO , Team has ‘no ideaʼ you two are hooking up (Be so mf fr they do) , Good aftercare is so valid , Spencer loves being cuffed and teased muahaha

As much as this last case had taken out of me, I was more than happy to get to spend some time in my hotel room while the jet refueled and everyone got their bearings. Itʼs not home - far from it, Iʼd been missing my own bed for the majority of our time here in whatever state it was now - but at least it was something.

But of course, the reprieve wouldnʼt last long - a sharp knock on my door confirmed that, about 20 minutes after Iʼd laid down to sleep.

“What…ˮ I groan, frustratedly looking over at the clock.

The knock, again, more persistent this time. And I recognize its pattern now, three short tap-taps. Spencer.

My heartbeat, despite my minor annoyance at being woken up, is hammering now. Spencer seems to do that to me, from the moment Iʼd realized I have feelings for him, carrying into whatever it is that we are now. Secret trysts that Iʼm sure are no secret to our team members, especially Garcia, because sheʼd pried it out of me almost immediately and now waits in her dark little room with nothing else but excitement for the latest updates on us, it seems.

“Are you awake?ˮ A gentle but still much-too-loud voice asks.

I tumble out of bed, rushing to the door. I donʼt even have time to make sure I look okay - Iʼm much too worried about anyone else hearing him. The door is unlocked and pulled open in record time, a stunned lanky man quickly and semi-quietly forced inside.

“Spence, someoneʼs gonna hear you if you keep on like that.ˮ I chastise him, shutting and locking the door behind us. No sooner have I done so, than his lithe form overtakes me, nestling into the crook of my neck with a groan that seems both relieved and not relieved at all.

“Donʼt care,ˮ He pushes me back, until my legs meet the mattress and fold. Quickly following on top of me, he sighs, “Been too long. I miss you. You know I have an eidetic memory, yeah? Doesnʼt mean shit when Iʼm up late and even thoughts of you arenʼt enough to keep me satiated.ˮ

“Someoneʼs gonna-ˮ Hear, I want to say. He knows, of course he does. And Iʼm only half-complaining, with his lips at my neck and his leg sneaking up between mine the way he also knows.

“Donʼt care.ˮ He repeats, the low moan at the back of his throat breaking through into the silent room. “I told you I miss you. Should I tell you about what I use my memory for? And just how much that hasnʼt been enough lately? Or should I show you?ˮ

Itʼs clearly a rhetorical question, but still, he seeks the permission I am more than happy to grant.

“Tell me. Uh, show me. I mean-ˮ

“I can do both,ˮ Even in the dark, I know heʼs got that matter of fact smirk on his lips. He reaches down, holding me by the hip with one hand while the other slips into my pajamas, a practiced motion heʼs all too good at by now. “Usually this is what I remember first. The way your skin feels, how nice it is to make you tremble beneath my touch.ˮ

I buck up, and he chuckles.

“All too eager, arenʼt you? Clearly youʼve been thinking about it too, huh, pretty girl?ˮ A pointed question he knows Iʼll struggle to answer, with his hand and his voice torturing me so.

“No eid- identical- uh, no memory recall whatever for me.ˮ

“Still wouldnʼt satiate, I bet.ˮ He remarks, casually rubbing circles and patterns over my panties. This is how he operates, surely and with no warning. A gentle but firm kiss to my jaw, and he continues, “Itʼs like that for me, at least. I know no amount of recalling how you feel under me will be enough to match just how nice it is.ˮ

Heʼs right, and of course he is; I can barely handle the teasing, the tone his voice has taken in this short amount of time. And I currently dont care if weʼre heard, either.

“Spence-ˮ

“What is it, sweetheart? Too much for you? Not enough?ˮ

“Please?ˮ

“Words, honey. Youʼve gotta use your words. Or you can show me, Iʼm okay withthat too.ˮ He guides my hand down to his.

“More.ˮ I plead, working to undress myself before his hands take over.

“You only have to ask.ˮ

True to his word, Spencer pulls the fabric away, no longer allowing it to be a block between us. Itʼs lost somewhere in the sheets as he kisses me, his practiced hands no longer in the mood to tease. He slips a finger in, and when I let out a keening whine, another, his free hand going automatically to my mouth.

“Now as much as I say I donʼt care, youʼve gotta be a little quiet for me,ˮ He goads, knowing this will only make it harder for me to do so. His breath is hot in my ear, his fingers working a motion thatʼs both breaking pent up weeks old frustration, and yet causing more tension in my belly. “Much as I love your voice. Your sounds. The-ˮ

I rut up against him, my lips opening around his thumb. He works it into my mouth, his voice lowering even further.

“Cmon, show me how much you missed me, huh, princess?ˮ

I moan, words lost in my mind as it spins. Every tug of his fingers between my thighs is building a high Iʼm chasing, and when I get to this point, Iʼm not talking - he is. And he knows it, knows the right words to say to build and break me.

“This is what Iʼm after, this is what I canʼt just remember. Because itʼs all too much to remember how good it feels to destroy you.ˮ

Please, please. I canʼt hold off much longer.

“Now are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?ˮ

I nod, lips opening and letting his hand free from my mouth as my breaths grow heavy. “Canʼt - Please, Spence, please-ˮ

He presses me further into the mattress, murmuring sweet and dirty nothings into my ear as the dam breaks and I ride my high. Iʼm far too sensitive following, and when I try to push him away for a moment, allow myself to collect some sort of reprieve before we continue, he chuckles lowly.

“See, I can recall that clear as day. But itʼs so much sweeter to have it happening in front of me, you know?ˮ He nestles in beside me, turning me to face him.

Nigh immediately, Iʼm reaching for his belt buckle. Of course he wouldnʼt have changed into comfortable clothes, not even this late- Iʼm sure this was his plan all along, and he tried to fight it as long as he could.

“Someoneʼs eager.ˮ He quips, the smirk growing.

“Youʼve got me thinking about it,ˮ I sigh, letting him maneuver himself out of the constricting clothing. “Coming over and getting me all hot and bothered. I really ought to…ˮ

“Ought to what?ˮ He goads, pulling me onto him with a low noise as we brush together. “Hmm? Are you gonna say…you ought to punish me?ˮ

I nod, rubbing back against him. He lets out a moan, hands gripping my hips tighter.

“I remember how that feels,ˮ He pulls me closer, voice dropping. “But for your sake, maybe you should refresh me.ˮ

When he reaches for me again, I pull back, pinning his hands down above his head. I know he could get out of it if he really wanted to - Iʼm strong, but not stronger than him - but he most certainly doesnʼt want to get out of it. And Iʼm enjoying it far too much to stop myself now.

“Whatʼre you gonna do, cuff me?ˮ He snaps, the bratty attitude far too practiced and already making me a soaking mess.

“I might.ˮ I reach for my pair, knowing all too well that heʼll absolutely lose it once I let go on him. I can hardly stand the anticipation. “Scared, Reid?ˮ

“Terrified. Please, donʼt. Iʼve been a good boy, I swear.ˮ

I push him back while he pleads, tightening the metal around his wrists. The look on his face, muffled as it is by the darkness of the room, is more than enough to spur me on.

“Not thinking about this at all, huh?ˮ I shed my top, if only for the knowledge that his inability to reach for my breasts drives him utterly insane. “And Iʼm sure you havenʼt spent many late nights with the memory of me riding you, have you? Havenʼt had your hands on that pretty cock of yours, thinking about how it feels when itʼs me, yeah?ˮ

“N-Not at all.ˮ

“Itʼs a shame, then.ˮ I tease, feeling him harden beneath me with every word. “Iʼll have to make you confess, I suppose.ˮ

His eyes follow my every move as I back up, slotting between his legs and bending down to kiss along his hips.

“Youʼll never get it out of me.ˮ He groans.

“Is that a promise or a challenge?ˮ I ask, not breaking eye contact as I place a kiss on his sensitive head.

“Challenge? Would I…challenge you?ˮ He still holds onto a moment of sanity, until I take him in my mouth, and itʼs lost with a sigh of, “Oh, would I.ˮ

I bob my head, my practiced motions coming in handy now. The usually-full-of- remarks Spencer Reid folds under my touch, soft deep moans and babble of confessions and wish I could pull your hair passing his lips while I work him out.

After a few moments of this, I let him free - at least from the torture of my lips.

“Where are you going? Please, I wanna cum for you, Iʼll tell you everything I did while I couldnʼt stand to wait for you.ˮ He keens.

“Oh, Iʼm far from done with you, Spence.ˮ I slowly, agonizingly slowly, climb back on top of him, making sure to back right up against him as he tightens against the cuffs. “Donʼt you worry, Iʼll have every measly confession pouring from you. You know I will.ˮ

“Please, let me out- Gotta touch you, I just gotta-ˮ

“Shh, be good for me, wonʼt you?ˮ I lift myself over his face, pressing my folds to his lips. “Unless you wanna stay in those forever.ˮ

He shakes his head, vibrating a ‘noʼ against me.

“Good. Now youʼre gonna pay your dues and clean up the mess youʼve made.ˮ

Eagerly, he laps at me like heʼs never had it before. His utter submissiveness overwhelms him, letting me ride his face to my hearts content. Words are muffled and entirely lost in it, and I know by now that the sounds Iʼm making alone will be heard, but I donʼt really care. Iʼm too far gone in how good it feels to finally have him making me cum again.

“Can I touch you now?ˮ

I slide back onto him, teasingly letting myself rest with just the edge of him pressing into my folds.

“Can you?ˮ I look pointedly at his wrists.

“I-oh, my god, clearly not, but-ˮ

“How about this?ˮ I amend. “You give me a confession, you get a reward. Sound fair?ˮ

“Yeah, sounds just fine. I couldnʼt get off without coming here, you realize that, donʼt you? Youʼre the only thing that gets me off anymo-Oh-ˮ His confession is cut short as I slide him a bit further in, just enough to spur him further. “I mean, I get off, donʼt get me wrong here. But nothing feels as good as when itʼs with you. Nothing.ˮ

“Keep going, youʼre doing good.ˮ I praise, sinking a bit deeper.

“Goddamn you feel so good.ˮ He moans. “Like, my hands canʼt even come close to this, are you kidding? I can try all I want, and believe me, I have - Oh, my god, please donʼt stop - Iʼve been trying all the time, I admit that, canʼt hardly stand being around you and not being able to just fuck you whenever I want.ˮ

I push down further, the stretch he gives me loosing my own moan. “How much do you wanna fuck me, Spence? Tell me, please.ˮ

“God, all the time. Itʼs all I can think about when I get down to it - baby, can I please touch you now?ˮ

“Punishment is a bitch, isnʼt it, Reid?ˮ I smirk, starting to push him in and out of me, slowly and with a devious grin that falters at just how damn good it is.

“Baby, Iʼm gonna get outta these and fuck you so good-ˮ

“Try it.ˮ I raise an eyebrow, stopping my motions.

“Oh- No, Iʼm sorry, please donʼt stop. Iʼll be good, I promise.ˮ

“Yeah, you will.ˮ I drop as far as I can take him, savoring the stuttered animalistic groan he lets out as I press down onto him, pulling his hair and moving my hips around him. As he is want to do, heʼs thrusting up into me, even if heʼs unable to reach me with his hands held up as they are. “Eager, sweet boy. Iʼm gonna ruin you.ˮ

And ruin him, I do. The tension and heat in my belly rides and breaks several times, with him unable to form real words except for the continuous begging of please donʼt stop repeated on a loop until I feel Iʼm satisfied with his demeanor.

Once Iʼve tortured him enough, I reach for the cuffs, ready to let him off the leash - knowing that once I do, the balance will shift. Truthfully, Iʼm just eager to let him be true to his word and fuck me like heʼs been dying to.

“You donʼt need any more confessions from me, then?ˮ He huffs, sweat slicked across his brow from the effort of holding back - though heʼs not really done so, has he?

“One last one, I suppose.ˮ I pull off of him, and the pout he gives nearly makes me sit right back down on him again.

“Alright, Iʼll be good and honest with you, then.ˮ He continues while I set to unlocking the cuffs, “You know the other day, just after we got the final piece of evidence put together?ˮ

I nod.

ˮI was so psyched, I couldʼve taken you right there. I donʼt care that everyone would have known, would have seen. Itʼs just something you do to me.ˮ He finishes, his tone light. Oh boy, Iʼm about to get railed. “I love you. And now Iʼm gonna fuck you like Iʼve been wanting to for weeks.ˮ

No sooner is he free, tearing off the shirt he was wearing and looming over me with the hungriest of looks at my body before pressing himself into me. No wait, no teasing - heʼs not got the control for it, clearly, and Iʼm not complaining one bit.

“Next time, you get the cuffs, pretty girl.ˮ He promises, his hands all over my body now that he can manage it. Hard, precise thrusts, his voice heavy and fucked-out.

“And Iʼll show you just what Iʼve been wanting to do that Iʼm gonna savor in my mind after.ˮ

My nails are leaving deep trails in his back, surely leading to marks that would raise questions if anyone else saw. Heʼs so far in me, almost bottomed out, and itʼs almost too much and yet not enough all at once. I pull him closer, and his hand tangles in my hair while the other clasps around my throat.

“Youʼre all mine.ˮ Spencer growls - truly, thereʼs not other word for it, the purely animal drive taking him to a world where itʼs just us, just this. And Iʼm there too, crying out with the ecstasy his body causes my own.

“All yours.ˮ

“Thatʼs right, pretty girl. Say it for me, I wanna hear you say it.ˮ

“Iʼm all yours, Spence- oh, my god-ˮ

“Good, thatʼs good. My pretty girl. Youʼre so tight, you feel so good wrapped around me, donʼt you? God, what a sight.ˮ Here he is, in his rambles now, and I can hardly contain how close I am. “Wanna tell everyone this is mine. Iʼm the only one that gets to have you, gets to fuck you like this. See you break for me. Only me.ˮ

“Only you, Spence, only you-ˮ

“Cʼmon, I know youʼre close, I can feel it. You get so much tighter, god, if itʼs even possible-ˮ

“Spencer-ˮ

“Thatʼs my girl, cum for me.ˮ

“Donʼt stop-ˮ I can feel the cord in me ready to snap, chasing my most intense orgasm of the night with his words and the feeling of him slamming so deep inside me. “More, Spence, you can give me more-ˮ

“Sweet girl, of course, I know you can handle it.ˮ He pushes himself fully in, my breath catching at the slight pain, yet itʼs still so good, I canʼt stop it, I donʼt want to. “Want me to fuck you so good with all of me, donʼt you?ˮ

I nod against his grasp, and he loosens it a bit, kissing me fervently.

“Please, please cum for me, I wanna feel you all over me, beautiful.ˮ He reaches down, his thumb rubbing circles on my clit. Itʼs the last thing I need to send me over that edge, and I cry out, his name slipping past my lips unwarranted. “Oh, baby, love how you say my name. Like itʼs a prayer, like Iʼm a god.ˮ

“Donʼt stop, Spence-ˮ

“Iʼm close, baby- Oh, I wanna cum in you-ˮ

Another orgasm follows near immediately after this one, and Iʼm grasping at him while heʼs chasing his own, his hands fumbling and his thrusts getting sloppy. He grips the sheets, his breaths stunted.

“Cum in me, please-ˮ

“Iʼm gonna, god, Iʼm so fuckinʼ close-ˮ He tightens around me, muscles shaking as he lets loose, and now itʼs his turn to moan my name a lot louder than he should while he cums. Heʼs so pretty when he does, too - the crease that works between his brows, the round pucker to his lips. Partly through, he kisses me, hard. And when heʼs done, his grip loosens, falling slack on top of me with a contented sigh.

A few moments pass where he just holds me, peppering soft kisses across my face and telling me you did such a good job, baby. Then, he pops up with a smile and comes back with water and a towel, cleaning up after himself.

“Satisfied?ˮ I chuckle, slowly pulling my clothes back on.

“Almost.ˮ He dips his head down, capturing a nipple in his mouth for a few moments. I groan, overstimulated, but still too happy to appease him. “Now, Iʼm satisfied. Iʼm staying in here, okay? Donʼt care if someone sees at this point.ˮ

“Spence?ˮ

“Mmhm?ˮ

“I love you, too.ˮ

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #sub!spencer reid

[neet-elite]

An Angel, The Devil, And God Take Care Of You — (SDV) Kinktober

Pairing: Sebastian / Sam / Alex / Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 8,241 Warnings: Foursome, praise, degradation, worship, alcohol, Alex POV, established relationship, cunnilingus, consent checks, name calling, overstimulation, blowjob, creampie, L-bomb, aftercare Synopsis: He always knew that this would be a good idea. He’s been friends with Sam and Sebastian ever since he could remember, and though he’s aware of their closer than most bond, he’s never felt left out of the group. What better way is there to say thanks to them than: Here is my girlfriend, have fun.

A/N: So like… This is just porn without much plot. And it only barely fits into the Halloween theme but… I hope you enjoy it regardless! Posting this at 11.45pm on HALLOWEEN NIGHT LOL.

pinglist: @beet-roots / check my pinned to see how to get added!

What worth is a God if he is unwilling to share with his followers?

In all honesty, Alex is a God in costume only. The loosely wrapped toga—though cheap as it is—does well to showcase his hard worked for abs and muscular thighs, and even he has to admit that he looks quite pretty in the faux laurel wreath atop his head. Although, the outfit is a bit lopsided due to the rough and tumble nature of the drunken night thus far, and so he’s not as pretty as he was a few hours prior, but he doesn’t think you mind given the dopey smile you send his way when he catches your eye. Such a pretty and innocent smile that he automatically mimics in an effort to ease you into the situation you’ve found yourself in, letting his hand wander to your exposed thigh to pet at as a soft I love you, I’m always here.

With his grandparents out for the night and Spirit’s Eve so close, what else was he supposed to do besides thrown his annual costume party? The addition of his new girlfriend by his side is a welcome one, and he’s confident when thinking that the night has went well. You and him both are full with alcohol, a warm buzz in his chest to match your flushed cheeks as you get ready to end the night on a high note, one that has been extensively spoken about and thoroughly thought out. Once again he gives your inner thigh a rub upon recalling the talks, squeezing it lightly for reassuring consent before retracting his hand fully and back into his lap to hide the evidence.

Currently, he sits on his desk chair that’s been haphazardly pulled up beside his bed in a clear hurry, the way his legs have to straddle it at an awkward angle proving just how desperate he is for tonight. His eyes remain hazy when you nervously play with your hands, and when you mouth him a small thank you, his vision stays blurred; and it’s not just from the alcohol he’s consumed that night. But rather, the love and adoration that spreads from his chest to his cheeks at the sight of you so small. You always look so small in his bed, especially when he’s in it with you, but tonight is a different kind. An overcrowding, he settles on.

“Comfy?” Sam asks, his voice barely registering in Alex’s ears because he’s much too focused on the way you squirm in the speakers lap. The way your fluttering eyes catch his attention as you shuffle against Sam, your back to his chest while Sam rests himself against the old bed headboard. Sam’s halo drops a little at your movement, the angelic outfit adorning him all crumpled and riding further up his body the more you wiggle. It’s a bit ironic, Alex muses, but he also thinks he hasn’t been more in love with you than he is right now. He doesn’t think much else in this moment.

“Mhm.” You respond softly, sweetly, like the good girl you are. It’s too easy for him to lose himself in your innocent voice given the lewd scene before him, the stark contrast going straight to his cock as he repositions himself as subtly as possible to accommodate his growing length.

“Can you, uh… Spread your legs a bit more?”

This time, Sebastian is the one to ask. A small whispered please follows him, as if politeness was only a secondary thought, or something you weren’t deserving of. Alex doesn’t mind either way, his cock pulses against the light cloth of his toga at the thought regardless. He knows his friend well, and as such, he’s well prepared for what’s to come.

Sebastian is bent over in front of you, the faux devil horns atop his head threatening to poke against your knees while his palm lays flat against the tent in his pants like a dirty pervert. The sight of your gasped reaction to Seb’s want for you causes Alex’s cock to twitch too, and he inwardly laughs at himself. He too is a pervert, so he can’t judge his friend too much. Especially not when you comply with his request and let Sebastian’s gaze drop down to your cute panties. The ones Alex specifically picked for you to wear for tonights events.

Seeing you sandwiched between an angel and a demon is one of the best sights Alex has ever seen he decides, dropping his hand to his own cock to match Sebastian while Sam whines softly behind you, the shifting around you’re doing surely rubbing against the poor boys hard cock. You fit so well between his friends, your own costume barely there to begin with and leaving little to the imagination all night. It’s been difficult resisting you, and his heart hurts at the realisation that he doesn’t have to hold back any longer, breath catching in his throat when you seem to have the same realisation. Both of you suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings as Sebastian settles between your open legs, his hard on poking against your cute plain panties, white and girlish to excite his friends. He’s glad to see his choice has worked. And perhaps more than that, his cock hardens at the knowing that his friends are beside themselves with need for you.

Alex doesn’t speak. Not yet. He’s content enough just to watch you with hearts in his eyes, pride swelling in his chest at the way you moan out for more attention—of which Sam and Sebastian are all too eager to provide you—and how you catch his eye every now and then with that glassy look you wear oh so well. An unspoken confirmation shared, an otherwise private confession. He does nothing more than give you a little nod, and you’re already pawing at Sebastian’s all but ruined costume. Which is a shame, really, because Alex thought he looked pretty hot in the demon fit.

“Fuck, you’re eager—” Sebastian laughs, but it’s too breathless to be considered mocking. No, Alex knows the tone as one of ruin, because he’s let out the same gasped sound before when you’ve been beneath him. Precum leaks from his tip when Sam removes his halo, the gravity of the situation not lost on him as the angel in front of him loses his innocence in favour of lusting after you, tugging on your shirt and helping you remove it in one swift move. And just like that, things are happening too fast for Alex to keep up with. Reeling at the fact that just as Sam’s greedy hands grab under your bra so too does Alex grab at his cock as if on command, shaking it once or twice and letting a rushed breath escape him. Sebastian is already in the process of undressing too, and thanks to his desperation, he’s soon done and prompting both you and Alex to suck in air. Muscular, though not as much as Alex. It’s his tummy that draws Alex’s vision off of you for just a few seconds, the way they flex under the strain of holding back for you causes more precum to drip down his length, staining his cheap costume sheer for you to stare at. Which is only made worse really as he catches a glimpse of Seb’s cock, all red and wet, jumping for attention that he gladly gives it.

But you don’t.

Sebastian smiles at your gaze in an apparent moment of weakness, his own eyes travelling with your own to gawk at the barely hidden sight of Alex’s own hard cock, and yet still he gently places a finger under your chin as if he was afraid to break you. Don’t damage the goods. He pulls your attention back to him slowly, your eyes hanging on to the wrong cock for as long as possible, and Alex can’t help but snort laughter at the dumb look you adopt. “Eyes on me, dummy.” Sebastian all but slurs, the effect of the alcohol Alex assumes. But… He wouldn’t blame him if it was more caused by how stupid you look, all cute and needy. It’s Alex’s favourite sight, and his cock trembles with excitement to share that look with his friends.

With your attention back where it belongs, Sebastian doesn’t hesitate in teasing you. Dirty words of “Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” and “You really need three cocks?” whispered against your soft skin, matched by a demonic smile as his teeth graze against your neck. Alex tugs at his clothed cock when you react almost instantly with a whined nod, and he watches Sam’s hands travel down your body as he signals for Seb to help undress you too.

They’re so impatient about it too, tearing at your costume and groping every inch of your skin they can reach in the process. Pinching at your sides, squeezing at your tits; their excitement is palpable. And once you’re sufficiently naked all three of them sigh into you, a collective appraisal of how pretty you are; and how much they need you. Perhaps a bit too eagerly so, given how Sam is quickly lifting you up off his body for just a moment, just a few seconds until Sebastian can help him remove the bottom half of his angelic costume and his cock can slap out against his tummy. Alex doesn’t miss the way a string of precum connects Sam’s tip to his abs, and he has to swallow back a moan so as to not disturb the scene playing out in front of him too much.

“Please—” He hears Sam beg. “You’re so soft and pretty, please put it in—” All gasped and cute, like nothing else in the world exists to his friend other than being inside of you. Alex can barely contain himself too, digging his hand under his toga to thumb at his leaking slit, letting a barely audible exhale escape him as his hips roll into the feeling.

It only takes a moment for his eyes to flutter shut, thumb pressed against his tip to play with himself, and when they open again, Sam’s cock has slipped into your pretty little cunt. It feels real good to be an observer, he thinks. To have his rough hand tight around his cock, all the way at the base to squeeze at while you’re squished between his two best friends. He’s got the best seat in the house to watch you fall apart, feeling privileged to have your trust in this process. Your previous position remains much the same, except you’ve slid down a little—no doubt due to sitting on Sam’s cock—while your legs are forcibly raised in the air, Sam’s strong grip right under your knees and Sebastian’s greedy hold on the fat of your thighs. Sam seems to have slipped down the bed with you, though Alex trusts the grasp he has on you while his cock slowly enters you is sufficient enough, the high pitched whine that sounds once you’re completely sat down on his cock goes right through Alex, and he’s got no choice but to respond with his own low groan too.

The sudden sound of his appreciation must have been loud enough for all to hear, and Sam lets out a faint laugh turned moan in response. The sound of his voice makes Alex’s cheeks heat up. “She’s so tight, Alex. Fuck—" Talking about you like an object and not his loving girlfriend. There’s something so gross about that that his cock enjoys.

Alex doesn’t have the strength in him to fully respond, the soft mewl you offer Sam as his cock fills you full effectively silences him as his fist starts to move up and down his too hard cock slowly, in time with the ever gentle rocks of Sam’s hips up into you. Alex can hear how much you appreciate the soft start, the sight of you biting down on your lip to try and remain somewhat composed does the complete opposite to Alex, his heart hammering in his chest and his cock pulsing hard under his touch. Sam seems to be struggling to stay calm and collected too, shoving his cock into you as deep as possible and still trying to bury deeper, a feeling Alex knows all too well. But before Alex can praise you for taking his friend so nicely, and to thank Sam for taking his time to fully appreciate you, your pretty face all scrunched up at the full feeling, mouth left open to let out huffs of air in an attempt to accommodate Sam’s length, Sebastian steals the show away from him.

As Seb bends down further in front of you, right before the sheathed cock in your cunt, his spread hands still straining to hold your legs up above his head, he tuts at you. A deep, condescending sound that turns Alex on just as much as it does you apparently, Sam wincing into the feeling of your tightening cunt. “I should’ve known such a dirty girl would want more, right?” He laughs, light enough to provide you with a false sense of security, but Alex can better hear the slight edge in his voice. It seems Sam can too, halting his movements briefly to provide Sebastian enough time to dive down to your cunt, his tongue immediately laying flat against your slit and by extension; the base of Sam’s cock too. A rough moan rises from Sebastian at the way your hips immediately buck up against his lips, and the sound vibrates across your cunt, a mix of whines and moans escaping both you and Sam in response. Alex can’t stop his fist from moving faster now, a snap up and down his fat cock in sheer desperation to watch the scene before him play out to its eventual conclusion. It’s hot. Too hot given the way he’s panting like a dog and things have barely gotten started. He’s not sure how he’s going to last the whole night.

Once you’re settled into the feeling of Seb’s tongue flicking up and down your cunt and Sam has finally remembered how to begin moving again, Alex offers you a tense good job before his eyes instinctively focus at your cunt. How wet and sloppy it looks with the addition of Sebastian’s saliva, watching said man come up off your cunt to ask in a brief moment of kindness “Is this okay?” only for you to quickly nod and for him to dip his head back down, this time focusing his efforts on your clit and occasionally offering Sam a quick lick as he fucks into you. Wet sounds fill the room, and Alex is thankful to spend the night alone with you like this. No one but you and his best friends left, and the sound of skin on skin. It’s bliss, and his cock is surely thankful too from how rigid it is under his strong grip.

Sam seems to be in a rush, too. Not that Alex is complaining, because he knows just how perfect your little cunt feels and how easily it is to lose himself in your tight heat. But there’s something in Alex’s core that stirs as he watches the earlier angel delve deeper into damnation with every greedy thrust, his feet planted firmly in the bed at either side of you while he easily manhandles you into position. Lifted only slightly off his cock so he can hammer into you from below, snapping his hips into your tight hole like his life depends on it. Desperate. Sam is beyond hopeless right now, driven only by his needs to cum inside of you and to make you feel good. Countless whines of his spill, almost as pitchy as your own, and Alex catches Sebastian referring to you both as sluts. He can’t deny that one.

“That’s it, fuck,” Sam sighs, though it’s more of a struggle to get out than one of relaxation, like it pains him to be feeling so good. The wet slap of his balls hitting your backside as he humps himself into you, bullying his cock into you over and over again, unable to prevent his hips from picking up speed with each fuck he makes; it prompts Alex to swallow thickly in an effort to remain focused. Because it’s difficult to do that when the sound of another mans name in your voice rings in his ears, and all it does is cause his hips to fuck upwards into his lonely hand on their own. “Doing so—shit, Seb, do that again—doing so good pretty girl.” Sam moans down your ear, face pressed snug to the crook of your neck for him to pant directly into as you’re fucked and sucked by yourr angel and demon friends.

And it seems Sebastian heeds Sam’s words well, returning to lick the entire length of your cunt, including Sam’s cock. Alex wonders if Seb can taste you on Sam, and his legs widen at the thought that he must. The state his friends have you in is astonishing, your hair all messed up and body shaking under the too much pleasure they offer you. Alex briefly ponders if you’re going to be able to last the night as he strokes himself to your ruin, and then he quickly moans when he realises that he doesn’t care. Sam’s praise of “Don’t stop, God don’t fucking stop—” despite pinning you so close to his body that you have no say in stopping or not as he fucks into you, and Sebastian’s degrading remarks of “Dummy, only knows how to get fucked, huh?” followed by light laughter at the way both you and Sam eagerly nod down at him, proves to be just as much an issue for Alex as it does for you, your body arching off of Sam’s front to prove just how good you feel. Even Alex feels his head spinning a bit, and all he’s doing is watching you bounce, his gaze catching sight of Seb’s ass every now and then and his throat drying up at the view of Sam’s slick covered cock.

He always knew that this would be a good idea. He’s been friends with Sam and Sebastian ever since he could remember, and though he’s aware of their closer than most bond, he’s never felt left out of the group. What better way is there to say thanks to them than: Here is my girlfriend, have fun. He trusts them both to take care of you, and to look after you well, and given the cute little whimpers Sam fucks out of you and the gasps for more Sebastian’s tongue forces you to make, he couldn’t be happier. Hand on his own cock, flipping the stupid costume over so that he can properly free himself and hissing into the air as he jacks himself off to the sight of you having fun. It’s so dirty, and he loves it.

It just so happens that as Alex feels a tightening coil in his tummy, the addition of added pressure courtesy of Sebastian’s tongue is too much for Sam to handle, which Alex finds more than adorable. How sweet both you and Sam sound together, moaning for each other in such desperation that he has to slow down fisting his own cock just to stave off the quickly approaching orgasm. It doesn’t help that he’s been waiting for this event since the month started, dealing with your drunken antics and watching you flirt all night in preparation. It’s only natural that he’s close, right? Forced to watch your tight cunt wrap so prettily around Sam, watching Sam fall apart inside of you with each frantic thrust he has you bounce into, and watching Sebastian enjoy himself just from eating you out and whispering inaudible filthy words against your cunt. The way you react is obvious enough, and Alex finds himself gently humping into his hand to mimic the act of sex with you as he stays patient on the sidelines, despite his attempt at slowing down. It’s just the effect you have on him, being unable to commit to stopping when you’re around.

“Perfect little pussy,” Sam moans, though it almost sounds like a beg from how strained his voice is. “Making me feel so good, yeah?” he continues, words as sweet as his ruined angel costume that’s been carelessly tossed to the side, covered in a mix of precum, your slick, and Sebastian’s saliva. “God— hope you feel good too—” Sam pants against you, and Alex wants to reassure him that you do, that the whines spilling from your lips with every thrust of his cock that he bullies up into you is evidence enough that he’s fucking you good, but his arm is too tense and his hand is too tight around his wet cock that all that tumbles from his mouth is a strangled groan.

In a final act of need, Sam grips your legs firmly, inadvertently pulling you away from Sebastian for just a moment before he gives chase to suck noisily at your clit some more, but Sam doesn’t pick up on it. For him, it seems his desperation has reached breaking point, and Alex eagerly sits at the edge of his seat with cock in hand to pump away at while waiting to see what Sam does next. A last ditch effort to prove himself with his head thrown back as far as it can because it feels too good inside of you at this new angle, the rasp of your moans when Sebastian hums against your slit causing Sam to stutter into you a few more times before he’s crying your name; an inappropriately sinful sound for an angel, and one that Alex struggles not to cum to as you match the pitch and broken tone with your own whimper. Sam continues to fuck into you despite how painful it must be out of sheer greed to milk himself dry as he cums inside your pretty hole, making it even prettier as some of his load seeps out from his inconsistent humps. Alex watches the leak with great greed, biting down on his lip and squeezing his cock at the base to hold himself back. It’s not his turn yet.

“Aw, look at her—” Sebastian coos, his tone anything but genuine. Sarcasm drips his words as he speaks against your clit, a short huff of laughter leaving him at the way you shiver into his harsh voice. “You look so dumb right now,” he continues, and Alex agrees, nodding along with Sebastian despite not being the recipient of such dirty words. “Fucked stupid already?” Seb tuts, followed by: “Good. It suits you.” Before he’s given you a chance to reply.

“Good job, babe.” Alex offers you as consolation, and though he wishes he could say more, he’s practically winded at the dazed and dumb smile you offer him in response. Oh how he wishes he could bury his cock in you already, chest tight with anticipation for his own turn at using you. At loving you.

And Sam, lagging behind, breathing heavily into a sigh from behind you. Sebastian, though rather unfair thus far, takes a moment to rub soothingly against your clit. Small and gentle circles with the pad of his thumb, knowing that you must be so sensitive and yet still not wanting you to feel neglected while Sam gathers himself and slips out of you, cum dripping down to stain Alex’s sheets white as you’re quietly left alone on the bed with Sebastian.

Recovering, Sam makes his way over to Alex and rests on the floor beside him, the two sharing a small smile at the prime viewing position. No words are exchanged, and Alex supposes that’s a good sign. His hand removes itself from his cock to take a breather too, edging himself just for you, for when his friends are truly spent and he can enjoy you when you’re most ruined. Because he already knows he isn’t going to last long, his cock trembling at the mere thought of being inside of you, eyes rolled to the back of his head to refocus when Sebastian drags a single finger from your hole to your clit, the reaction you offer being that of overstimulation. Sam fucked you well, perhaps a little too well given how ragged his breathing remains as he settles next to Alex, resting his messy bedhead on Alex’s knee, but his hard cock convinces him that it’s all part of the fun of the night.

It’s interesting to see the differences in how his friends act. How, where Sam is kind—yet often too energetic—Sebastian is… Well, the opposite. Mean and methodical. Making you work for his affections, and even then he barely gives you any. It’s fun watching you flounder under him, the tip of his cock pressing teasingly against your slit while you babble for something; whatever that may be seems to be turning the room on more regardless of how unintelligible you are. Just the needy tone of your voice is enough to get them going.

Due to your whimpered begging, Sebastian takes to slowly rocking his hips against your cum filled slit, his eyebrows scrunching at the easy glide Sam has offered him, and Alex clenches his fists in barely contained restraint when you try to buck your hips up to meet the mocking thrusts. “Greedy girl.” Sebastian reprimands, though still his thumb presses down on the base of his cock in preparation for pushing in. It seems he can’t quite control himself either, and suddenly Alex feels less bad about being so head over heels for you in this situation that he’s almost convinced to touch his cock again, but the feeling of Sam’s breath against his tip convinces him to pause for a moment. Forces his attention to switch from you so that he can stare between his thighs in a mix of shock and awe.

What greets him is an open mouthed Sam, tongue dangerously close to his cock as a fat bead of precum leaks and rolls down the length for his friend to immediately lap up, the feeling of which causes Alex to truly spiral. No longer can he withhold his need, his tummy flipping with how different but fucking good it feels to come into contact with something other than his hand on his rock hard cock.

The fact that Sam went down on him without asking, or really without thinking, stirs something deep within Alex. Instincts taking over the moment Sam pops the tip past his lips, the warm and wet feeling of a new tongue circling the slit; Alex is left simply with no control left. His hands lock on to Sam’s already messed up hair and he holds tight, treating the angel much rougher than he deserves as he’s all but forced down Alex’s cock. A soft gargle is ripped out of Sam, and it only spurs Alex on more. He can’t fully process how unfair he’s being to Sam with how taut his muscles are, full of his need to breed anything at this point thanks to your dirty display, and Sam looks so stupidly good when choking on cock that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t.

It’s almost painful to tear his eyes away from Sam as his body reacts intuitively. Every tug of Sam’s hair is matched with an impatient thrust of his hips, hoping to fuck his cock deeper into the tight throat enveloping him. It just feels too good to stop, and when he eventually gathers the willpower to look back at you, he almost cums on the spot. Has to force Sam’s head all the way down for a few seconds so as to not blow his load before he has his chance with you tonight.

Seeing you so submissive and bent over with Seb’s cock slowly dragging in and out of you isn’t what he’d expected already, but he’s not about to complain. A low wolf whistle filling the room that promptly turns into a winced moan as Sam takes the opportunity of distraction to move again, tongue flat against Alex’s cock and head bobbing at an increased speed. Sebastian looks over at the whistle, and smirks before proudly stating.

“Bitch in heat.”

With how dizzying Sam’s sucks are it takes Alex a moment to register the words completely, and even then he can’t tell who they’re really aimed it. Himself, with his hands locked in one of his best friends hair to guide him better down his cock, or you, bent over prettily and presenting your holes for another man. God— he wants to cum inside of you so bad. A reward for tonight, for performing so well and allowing his friends to experience your perfect little cunt. For moaning Sebastian’s name so cutely that even he himself responds with a curt gasp.

It only take a brief sigh later for Sebastian to start truly fucking into you, a stark contrast from his earlier slow teasing; brutal slaps once again fill the room and Alex has to look away for a few seconds in what looks like pained effort, but really it’s because he can easily imagine that it’s him that’s slapping his balls against you right now. That it’s him that’s making you cry silently, fists balled up tightly into his sheets as Sebastian refuses to hold back any longer.

Staying true to his discarded demon fit, he’s being mean. Treating you poorly, caring only for his own pleasure as his hips hump into you at a bruising pace. The wet squelch from the remainder of Sam’s cum fucked in and out of you, and the fact that you’ve been kept on edge since the night began has you dripping down your own thighs leaves Alex gasping, reaching one hand out to you in a want to soothe your erotic sounds, but he falls short as Sam swallows around his leaking tip again. Rendered useless by the angel between his legs, and left begging for more show by the demon fucking you up his bed. Disgusting. It’s so hot.

And just like the God he’s dressed as, Sam sucks his cock so well it’s got him light headed. He can feel his wreath slipping off his head from how eagerly Sam sucks him off, but he can’t care enough to fix it. Mind empty beyond the need to cum, indulging in the hedonistic pleasure between his legs while you’re fucked into the sheets. It’s getting increasingly difficult for his eyes to remain open on you, consistently rolled back into a grimace from how good he feels, but he catches sight of your teary eyed expression pleading at him and a soft please begged. For what? He can’t discern. But he’s glad Sebastian can look after you right now, watching through hazy eyes as he grabs hold of your pretty ass and spreads your cheeks open to gain more purchase, lifting himself up a little so that he can fuck you even deeper, resulting in rough and ragged sounds of Sebastian’s attempts to breathe, but Alex knows. He knows that your cunt feels too good to make sense of the situation, that Sebastian must be struggling to keep up his demonic display but now. It’s present in the way his face scrunches up every time he’s balls deep in you, how his hands slip from your ass with every pound and stretch he forces your hole to accept.

And yet still, he has time to taunt. A frankly condescending “You’re in no position to be begging, baby.” Is barked loudly at you, and Alex finds himself agreeing. Corrupted by Sebastian’s foul language, enticed into falling further from Godhood with every lap of Sam’s tongue, every throaty choke and gasp his fat cock fucks out of him. Be a good girl, and make his friends feel good, yeah? Nothing compares to the pride he feels with each gush of your cunt and sob fucked out of you.

What’s worse—or better, he quickly amends mentally—is that Sebastian isn’t even looking at you while bouncing your ass back against his cock. He has complete control over you, and he doesn’t so much as glance down at you. But rather, his gaze is locked on Alex, or maybe his cock, it’s difficult to differentiate with how hazy Alex’s vision is given the waves of pleasure that’s currently building in his tummy. All he can think about is how it feels too good to be watched like this, and how he can’t wait to love on you the second Sebastian’s unfair treatment stops. And yet, knowing that for the moment you’re nothing more than a hole to be fucked is enough to almost trip Alex up, tapping on Sam’s head in a plea for pause.

“Close?” Sam asks, but his throat is fucked raw and his voice is croaky and it prompts Alex to roll his eyes in sheer sexual frustration.

“Can’t help it.” Alex wearily laughs in return, confirming without confirmation that yeah, he’s close. Who wouldn’t be he thinks to himself as Sebastian thoroughly stretches your insides and repeatedly fucks Sam’s seed back into you. “It’s… I mean—” words fail him, swallowing thickly when he has a proper moment to take in the state you’re in, mind racing with thoughts of how he’s going to reward you for tonight.

But for right now, it’s up to Sebastian to exhaust you. Or, maybe to exhaust himself, given the fact that his thrusts are inconsistent and sloppy now, more a case of trying to ruin rather than actually doing so. Like he’s losing himself in the tightness of your cunt, his chest almost pressing into your back from how deep he tries to get inside of you, panting above your neck when his hips simply won’t stop.

And Alex is in love with the way your back dips to help Sebastian. How despite the croak in your voice you still show your appreciation by moaning, whining about how good it feels and responding to every nasty word that stumbles out of Sebastian’s mouth. Dirty girl this, needy cunt that.

Both Sam and Alex take to watching the scene unfold before them, Alex’s cock twitching and leaking some more while he waits his turn, willing himself not to touch his cock; because he understands that he hasn’t got much longer to wait.

From his holier than thou position behind you, Sebastian falters. In his chest is a heavy feeling, and Alex feels fortunate to watch the man fall apart, to see the downfall that you’re banned from viewing by way of Seb’s harsh hand on the back of your neck keeping your sobs muffled against the bed sheets, but he’ll have to tell you all about it later tonight. The way Sebastian trembles against you, how slicked up his cock is with cum, how his mean facade wavers the more he humps his cock into you like you were somehow uncorrupting him. Alex holds his breath while his cock dribbles precum when Sebastian teeters on the edge, evident from how his fucks gain a small amount more focus and precision until eventually; you’re receiving your second load of the night.

No amount of kind care has been given to you, from Sam’s misguided eagerness to make you feel good resulting in only serving himself, and Sebastian’s purposeful selfish attitude, Alex has to convince himself not to cum the moment he hears your upset sob. Filled with just as much frustration as it is enjoyment from having Sebastian fill you up from behind, burying himself as deep as he can and resting, letting his cock pulse inside of the deepest parts of your hole to empty against your cervix. And how pretty Sebastian looks when cumming too. Focused, a light sheen on his skin while he fills you up with soft huffs of air, brows furrowed and teeth clenched. It almost makes up for how his heart hurts to hear your annoyance over not cumming yet, but knowing his turn is next persuades him to wait. Let Sebastian play with you some more by forcing you to wait on his cock until he decides he’s done.

Another break swiftly follows for everyone to relax, Alex’s hand automatically tugging and playing with his cock lightly in fear of busting immediately if any more pressure is added, but he can’t not touch himself when Seb offers him an apologetic grin.

“Wow.” Sam half laughs, genuine joy present in his tone as well as his face. It’s only natural given the overtly lewd scene in from of them, and Alex nods too in response. Too afraid to talk, he wants to give you the space you need to calm down enough before he approaches.

Sebastian slowly slips out, wincing just as much as he’s sure you are while more cum flows out with him. Dripping down your legs, collecting in a pool under your cunt. Alex can see the way your legs shake from the stress you’ve endured tonight, and his heart skips a beat with how cute he finds it. “God, Alex, I—” Sebastian stumbles, but there’s an unmistakable smile on his lips.

“It’s all good.” Alex reassures, flashing a dopey smile too to communicate that he understands. Thanks.

“And you.” Sebastian lowers himself down to your level, off the bed now and crouching next to it. He allows you to turn your head to face him, and when you do so he pets your face so softly. “You done so well.”

Even from behind Sebastian, Alex can hear your sniffled thanks. All quiet and timid, but nonetheless genuine. Alex can’t imagine what you must be going through right now, but he assumes it must be much the same as him. Pure need to cum, and he wants to be able to provide you that.

Sebastian takes a step away from you and it’s all Alex needs before he’s climbing to the bed beside you, prompting you to lay down after such a draining experience and being careful not to overwhelm you too much. Hell, having Sebastian alone would be tiring enough, but to deal with Sam’s puppy excitement too in one night? He tuts reassuringly down at you, helping you reposition onto your back so that you can be as comfortable as possible while he rests back against his knees between your legs. Even if you agreed to the foursome tonight too, he’d still like to make sure you’re doing all right.

“Baby…” He coos at you, hovering above you as gently as possible, but he’s well aware of how hard his cock is from the way it stands almost upright against his abs, and how harsh his panting breaths are from needing to fuck you too. “I’m so proud of you, so proud.” He whispers, leaning over you to place tender kisses against your cheeks, leaving a trail along your tear streaks to show just how precious you are to him.

And it’s true. He loves you so much he’d like to destroy you too.

While his attention has been divided all night, now that he has you under him finally, he’s resolute to give you his full focus. Barely cupping your cheek while you shake, your legs automatically rising to better fit him between them. It’s unfair, he thinks. Not only how pretty you look when getting fucked, but how your body just acts without second thought. How stupidly hot it is to see you still asking for more, even if your legs tremble and your voice remains a constant whimper. At least this proves to him that you’re still consenting, and that you still want him. Something he didn’t realise he needed as much as he did until you willingly gave it to him. The pout you wear is too cute, and he has to fight with himself not to shove himself inside of you with reckless abandon. No, you deserve softness after such obscene treatment.

“Made everyone feel so good tonight, yeah?” He prompts you, heart fit to burst when you quickly nod up at him and flutter your eyes. “Time to make you feel good now, kay?” He promises you, because while he may be dressed as the God tonight, it’s you that he worships, and he’s more than excited to do just that.

The stupid costume he’s got on is easily removed in favour of matching your state of undress, a heavy sigh escaping him as he’s finally free of all constraints and his cock can stand tall and proud. To his side he hears some whistling and jeers, but he can’t even turn to look when he has you begging for him to enter below him. A tiny hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding him to your well used and abused hole: home. Even just the feeling of his friends mixed seeping cum coming into contact with his cock is enough to convince him to slowly push in, but it helps to hear your low whine as his tip pushes past your entrance too.

Immediately, relief washes over him. An almost overwhelming chill down his spine once he enters, so much so that he doesn’t stop slowly pushing until he can feel his thighs touch your ass. When he looks down to confirm that he’s fully entered—if your cute whines weren’t enough—he groans out at the cum that’s circling his cock. You’re so wet and sloppy, your cunt made such a mess thanks to his friends, and the feeling of their enjoyment lathering his cock up feels a bit too much to bear. Forces him to simply breathe for a few seconds while he’s inside you, warming his cock up despite your cries to continue.

“Shh, shh.” He hushes you, flinching into the way your cunt squeezes tighter around his cock despite the snug fit, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

To prove his promise, he presses his thumb lightly against your clit and instantly drops his head low from how responsive you are, coaxed into letting his hips move and start a slow rhythm into you solely out of a want to perform well for you as you’ve done for everyone else tonight. In and out, letting you feel his whole length almost slip out of you before gradually pushing back in, coupled with soft smooth circles against your puffy clit. It’s enough stimulation for the both of you after such a long night, and though he’d love to go a bit harder, he hasn’t the heart to when you hum so sweetly into his touch. An unspoken thanks hanging in the air as he worships you, taking his time and paying special attention to your needs as he rests your heavy legs on his shoulders.

“Tired?” He asks, but his voice comes out as more of a whisper. For as feral as he’s felt today, actually getting to be the one inside of you now turns him soft. “It’s okay, you did so well baby. Let me look after you now.” He states, pleading for your acceptance of his adoration tonight. Let me love you, he asks with a swipe of his thumb. Let me show you how special you are, he begs with a buck of his hips. It’s what you deserve, he thinks, for being the best girl tonight and always. Just a little devotion, spoken clearly with every thrust, every stroke your cunt offers him. The least he can do is provide you with the release you so desperately need, and that you’ve earned by way of letting your hole be used.

A quiet hum escapes him as he melts into you, not daring to fuck you much faster than he already is lest he loses all control, focusing mostly on seeing you to your end, but all the mess and comfort of being inside your cunt is enough to have him on edge already too. He hadn’t expected to last very long given the whole day edging session he’s been on, and especially considering he’s just watched you get absolutely ruined by the only two other closest people in his life, so it’s no surprise that your perfect cunt has him this close already. And to be honest, he thinks he’d be able to cum even just by letting his cock rest inside of you at this point.

“Love you.” He sighs simply, eyes closing tightly to really feel the way your hole wraps around him, how it fits him perfectly, so slick and easy to glide into with the small humps he settles into. Not snappy, but purposeful. Because he knows all your spots, knows how to make you feel as good as you’re entitled to. “So proud of you tonight, babe. C’mon, you can do it.” He encourages you, admiration dripping his words from how pretty you look when on the cusp of orgasm, knowing that he’ll quickly follow you when you do eventually cum.

And he doesn’t have to wait long. The lazy but heavy thrusts he fucks into you and the tight precise rubs of his thumb against your clit are too much after the eventful night, and he can tell you’re close by the way you fall silent spare some rushed gasps and the keen shiver in your thighs. Still, he asks just to make you whine uh huh and then he doubles his efforts, picking up enough speed to make you bounce down on his cock as much as he fucks up, and letting his thumb grow careless in its strokes against you. Panting for each other like you were in heat, ignoring the other party in the room to solely focus on each other, like nothing else exists in this moment beyond each other. He feels your tell-tale squeeze, and then it’s over for him too.

As your back arches off the bed in what he can only assume is the best orgasm of your life, he wraps his arms tight around your midsection and humps into you like a dog, burying his head against your neck and groaning and moaning into your ear. He fucks you down against his cock while you cum around him, rolling his eyes at the vulgar sounds that escape your lips, pounding into your convulsing cunt until he eventually spills with you too, a rough growl quickly following at how soft and sensitive your insides are. And, truth be told, how delicate his cock feels too. Red raw and overstimulated in your too tight cunt, shivering into your nails as they claw down his back, picking you up into a tight hug while he continues to buck into you until he’s completely milked empty.

Though even then he keeps his cock inside your warm heat, holding you close to his sweaty body to whisper reassuring praise against you. Because you deserve it. Because you’re his, and he needs you to know it.

“Calm down, c’mon baby, breathe for me.” He huffs despite finding it difficult to catch his own breath. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It’s over now, promise.”

He continues hushed aftercare until you’re properly settled, cock still buried deep into your cum filled cunt in hopes of plugging it in. Behind him, he feels a hand against his lower back. He’s too tired to turn around and see the owner, but as he lifts his head regardless he can see Sam behind you, presumably giving you the same treatment.

“What a show.” Sam admits with a smile, eyes half-lidden and sleepy. It’s understandable, Alex can feel the same wave of exhaustion wash over him.

“You’re telling me.” Sebastian hums behind Alex, and you lift your head at the sound too, a satisfied smile on your face despite the tear stains on your cheeks. “Seriously, thanks. Both of you.” Seb follows up with, and Alex lets his head lean back to rest on his friends shoulder.

Fatigue overwhelms the room, and after a few drowsy minutes of just existing next to each other and Alex’s softening cock slowly slipping out of you until it eventually pops out, he’s reminded of the gross amount of cum painting… Well, pretty much everything at this point.

He groans as he sits up, his arms remaining wrapped around you to keep you safe and close to him. “We should all clean up.” He asserts, swinging his legs off the edge of his bed and waiting until he feels stable enough to stand without wobbling with you in his arms. Sebastian and Sam are quick to follow, and he makes a mental note to ask what they got up to when it was his turn with you. “But first, the princess.” He nuzzles into you, leaving loving kisses all over your face as he walks towards the bathroom with his best friends in tow.

Maybe tonight should become a new Spirits Eve tradition, much like his yearly house parties. He’ll bring it up tomorrow, because for tonight, he’d like to take care of everyone with the same respect he was given.

#sdv smut #sdv sam smut #sdv sebastian smut #sdv alex smut #stardew valley smut #- writing

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Osamu Miya NSFW Profile

Yandere! Osamu Miya x fem! reader

Warnings: non/dub-con, masturbation, kidnapping, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of nonconsensual voyeurism, exhibitionism, toys, biting, bondage, overstimulation, mentions of crying, fem reader, Osamu is horny as hell, he briefly considers coming in your food, stalking, MDNI

WC: 10.0K

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

HABITS

Osamu has never classified himself as an overly sexual person.

Of course, he’s had his moments; nights of insatiable horniness, his hand or a girlfriend being the only one to bring him the release he’s so desperately craving, his body feeling hot and heavy and frantic to reach orgasm. But even then, his horniness has never been a huge part of his life – more so something he indulges in occasionally. Even with past partners he’s never found himself wanting sex more than once or twice a week, his body simply not needing it.

And for the most part, this has been his life story – however, once you step into the picture, things begin changing. Just as his desire for you in less graphic, more wholesome and pathetic ways multiplies monumentally, the way his body begins desiring you does as well.

It’s not even purposeful; Osamu doesn’t mean to be creepy when he slowly begins noticing the way your body looks in those sweatshirts you always seem to be wearing. He promises he’s not being weird when he sees the way a bit of your tummy is exposed when you stretch, your arms high above your head and your face twisting up into the cutest little pout and fuck, the noise that slips past your lips –

He has to physically pause and breath when this happens, willing himself to not get carried away by thoughts of how you’d sound in bed with him, your pretty moans and cries like music to his ears as he touches and squeezes at you, his thumb rubbing firm circles against your clit and his cock plunging in and out of you so steadily it’s almost filthy. Osamu doesn’t mean to be a pervert when he imagines the way you’d look in your underwear, your cute bras and panties framing your body oh so well, making you look delicious and perfectly soft and supple for him to grab and caress.

He’s shocked by the way you make his body so easily respond; perhaps it’s because he’s been so long without a previous girlfriend (maybe a year or so), or perhaps it’s just because his every waking thought revolves around you. And really, isn’t it only natural for his thoughts to drift off into a more risqué domain? Isn’t it only natural for a young, vital man at the prime of his sexual health to imagine a sweet thing like you underneath him, writhing and grasping at his pillows, begging and pleading for him to give you more, please ‘Samu, more more wanna come so badly please!

He thinks so, and while the influx of sexual thoughts about you makes him nervous at first (too often is he scared he’ll grow hard at the mere sight of you, making it glaringly obvious exactly what’s on his mind), eventually Osamu is giving in and letting it happen.

Because really, what can he do to stop it?

The seeds of his desire for you are already planted, and it’s not like he can stop the roots that slowly take hold in his every thought. It’s alarmingly easy to accept the way his body just needs you now. It’s scarily easy to let himself fuck his fist every night, gasps and wanton groans tumbling from his lips along with slurs of your name, praises and begs for you to clench harder, to go faster, to moan out his name and tell him you want him, that you want his spit and cum and love. It’s just too easy for him to deny, and what’s the harm, really?

Sure, when he’s fucking his pillow or the makeshift pillow he pretends is you, he’s wasting precious cum that should be resting inside that cute cunt of yours, but he’s sure you’ll understand. After all, you must touch yourself with him in mind – why else would you be so flustered around him?

Why else would you be bending down in front of him, biting your lip, twirling your hair, making those sexy fucking sounds that are much too close to being a moan to be a coincidence?

When it comes to actually touching himself, Osamu is versatile. He likes to mix up his methods often, as he believes the key to a good sex life is surprise and trying new things. And so, once he’s got his fingers wrapped around his cock and his eyes fluttering closed, Osamu practices this in the way he imagines you.

His fall back is often to let the warm shower water run over his nude body after work, letting the stress of the day wash away from his tight muscles. He closes his eyes and sighs, wiping down his chest and letting his mind drift back to how cute you were today in his shop; you’d smiled at him, your cheeks plumping up as you laughed at some joke he’d made, your pretty voice making his heart race and the way you’d said his name –

Osamu curses under his breath, the memory of how your tongue caressed the syllables of his name making his throat run dry. Listening to you speak was always a pleasure, but there’s was something about the way you’d said it, something about how breathy and airless it’d been that had Osamu’s hand reaching for the wall, steadying himself against the tiles as he gulped.

It’s easy to let his mind wander to more explicit thoughts of you; the way your shirt hugged your chest just a little too much, the outline of your breasts painfully clear through the material. Osamu hisses under his breath as he imagines reaching out and squeezing, feeling your soft skin under his palms, your hard nipples pressing against his skin. His tongue flicks out to lick at his lips – would you let him lick them? Would you let him run his tongue over your sensitive buds, swirling and teasing, sucking them into his mouth and little nibbling at them, making you keen his name and sigh out?

His fingers trail down his chest, toying with his own nipples as he imagines it, making his cock throb as it grows half hard in mere moments, the affect you have on him making his body respond faster than it ever has before. He lets his eyes flutter open for a moment, staring down as his cock steadily grows darker, the tip turning a bright shade of pink against the wet, matted pubic hair.

He bites his lip as he wonders whether you’d be able to take it – maybe down your throat? Would you let him thrust into your mouth, gasping your name as his tip lodges itself down your throat, twitching and leaking precum as you gag and choke?

He wonders if you you’d let him facefuck you right in this shower, your pretty body kneeling against the wall, letting him rest his hands against the tiles and languidly thrust into your mouth, letting his balls clap against your chin, thick and aching to be drained inside you.

He’s fully hard at this point, images of you with spit, drool and cum dripping down your chin too much for him to ignore. He wonders if your sounds could be heard over the shower water as he lets his hands trail down to his navel, his fingers brushing over his skin and making him hiss. It’s ridiculous how sensitive he already is – how sensitive you’ve made him, how cock practically begging to be surrounded by your warmth, your spit, your little hums and moans of pleasure that shoot straight up his spine.

With a shaky, uneven exhale, Osamu lets his fingers wrap around his length, turning around to face the tiled wall away from the shower stream. He positions his legs wide apart, imagining enough space for your cute little body to kneel down, your mouth the perfect level with his cock. He gives himself a few pumps, hissing through his teeth, before letting one hand press against the wall and lean forward.

It's disturbingly easy to imagine you between his legs, your eyes staring up at him all glossy and needy, your hands running up and down his thighs as you mouth at his cock, desperate to get him in your mouth, wanting to taste him and feel him and swallow him and milk him for every fucking drop of cum he has –

Osamu groans as he lets his hand begin stroking, the motions quick and precise, exactly as he likes it. He flicks his wrist slightly as he pulls upward, the foreskin glistening with the bit of sheen left from the water and his own pre-cum. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and feeling the way his thighs tense and clench, his hips jerking forward every once in a while, his imagination running wild with ideas of the way you’d lick and suck at his skin.

His tip is bright red, oozing pre-cum in large droplets, and Osamu curses as he imagines the way you’d moan at the taste, pulling off of him with a popping noise and giving him a few pumps. Fuck ‘Samu, taste so good, wanna make you cum, wanna taste your cum, please…

He loses himself in the fantasy for a few moments, squeezing his eyes shut and letting a shaky smile spread past his lips, his voice interrupted by his own moans. F-fuck yeah baby, shit, make me cum, give ya everythin’ – oh fuck, just like that – gonna give you every fuckin’ drop, gonna stuff you fuckin’ full -!

His voice is gravelly, the pleasure making his head spin, and as he strokes harder and faster, Osamu feels the trace edges of his orgasm approaching. The water beats down on his back, the heat making his muscles flutter, and as he imagines the way he’d slowly lose control, his hips unable to stay still while you bob your head up and down, he snaps. His hand stays still as he jerks his hips forward, thrusting into his hand with reckless abandon, imagining the way you’d gasp against his cock, your throat tightening up impossibly as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, your body to make him feel good.

He cries out your name, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as every muscle in his body tightens, the feeling growing as his balls clench, the warmth spreading, growing larger and larger as he moans and gasps your name, warning you that ‘s coming, take it baby, fuck take it take it! Long ropes of cum shoot from his puffy tip, the off-white splattering against the shower wall, sliding down towards the tub bottom. Osamu’s heaving, ragged breaths slipping past his lips as he leans down, hunched against the wall as he keeps stroking, trying to milk every drop out just like he promised he’d give you, because he knows how much you love his cum.

His shoulders shake as he slowly overstimulates himself, his red cheeks growing even darker as he whispers out praises to imaginary you, the sound of the water nearly drowning out his voice. It feels so good, so fucking good, and as he lets go of his spent cock, Osamu shuts his eyes and turns back to the water, letting it run down his face as he wills himself to stop breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

You’re just too damn good – if you feel this good in his imagination, then how would you feel in real life? How warm, tight, wet would your mouth feel against his skin, your hands carefully groping and massaging at his balls, maybe even letting one slip inside?

Osamu shudders, one last spurt of cum dripping onto the ground below, before smiling shakily.

You’re just perfect, and he can’t wait until he gets to fuck you for real – no more imagination.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

While Osamu would be honest with ever fiber of his being if he were to say that he loves every part of you, he’d be a liar to say that his thighs aren’t his favorite part.

To him, there’s just something so wonderful about the plush expanse of fat; he loves to watch you watch, the little shorts he has you wear leaving nothing to the imagination. Seeing the slight jiggle as you move gets him biting his lip, those steel eyes never leaving your upper legs. He likes seeing the way your skirts brush against the soft skin, all the sizes he buys you just slightly too short to be comfortable, though you both know why he does this.

When you bend over, exposing the curvature of your ass and how it connects to your thighs, Osamu has to stifle a groan, his hand automatically reaching down to cup at his cock as arousal starts flowing through his veins.

There’s just something so soft and supple about them, and really from the beginning of his infatuation with you, many of Osamu’s fantasies revolve around them.

At first, it’s mostly innocent; he wants you to lay on the couch with him, your legs over his knees while you stuff your face with popcorn, the movie on the screen making you laugh – and fuck, do you look pretty while you laugh. He’d spend more time simply staring at your creamy skin below him than watch, though, tracing a finger over the flesh and making you giggle slightly because it tickles.

He wants you to cuddle with him, to wrap your legs around his, letting your plush thighs brush against his own, their warmth and softness driving him crazy and making him kiss all over your face, his heart swelling at the way you try to hide from him.

Eventually, however, Osamu can’t deny the way his fantasies slowly turn more lewd, more risqué, less innocent. He can’t deny the affect your thighs have on him; the idea of spreading them, exposing your twitching hole and your puffy clit makes his throat dry, desire blowing his pupils wide because god, how soft is the skin right below your pussy, your upper thighs?

He can’t deny the prospect of sucking hickeys into the area, feeling the way you squirm underneath him, the thin, sensitive skin so susceptible to that pretty, purple color his lips leave behind. He can’t deny that having your thighs squeeze his head as he eats you out would be enough to get him moaning your name, that you clenching as tightly as you can around his head would him dizzy in the best possible way.

He can’t deny that the idea of you clasping your thighs around his waist as he fucks into you would be enough to bring him to orgasm, the way your muscles would spasm and sporadically clench and unclench enough to get him moaning into your ear, gasping your name as he fucks you harder and harder, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his hips smack against your own.

He just really, really likes your thighs, and he’s not afraid to say it – maybe towards the beginning of his obsession he is, too shy to tell you that your thighs have routinely gotten him hard, but by the time he’s got his tongue shoved down your throat, your breast in his hand, his fingers teasing your aching cunt, he doesn’t mind letting you know.

He doesn’t mind telling you that he’s spent so many nights with his cock in hand, your thighs on his mind as he imagines fucking them, pushing his length between them over and over while you writhe and squirm underneath him, the sight of his cockhead appearing with every thrust driving you crazy with lust.

He’ll tell you he’s thought of coming all over them more times than he can count, smearing the off-white into your skin and telling you how pretty you look, all painted up just for him.

He loves your thighs – they’re the perfect reflection of you. Sweet, soft, sexy as hell, and something he’s thinking of nearly every minute of the day – you just have that effect on him, after all.

His mouth

Osamu’s favorite part of his own body is his mouth. You’ll quickly discover with him that he absolutely loves to use his mouth on you.

There’s something so satisfying about tasting you, feeling the texture of your skin against his tongue, knowing how you sound when he’s licking stirpes up your neck or along your thighs.

He’s always imagining kissing you; he’s spent time daydreaming about what your lips would feel like against his as he rolls rice balls at work, wondering what your tongue must taste like, whether you like rough or soft kisses. He’ll check inventory as he imagines the way you’d moan into his mouth as he kisses you – would you like it if he bit your lip? Just a bit, just enough to be playful, the smallest, smallest edge of pain lighting up through your body?

He’s daydreaming of leaving hickeys along your skin, wondering how you’d react if he were to spell his name out in the dark patches, right along your collarbone or your lower tummy, anywhere that shows his possession over you, that he’s the only one who gets to see your body in such a vulnerable way.

He’s thinking of the way you’d caress his hair and sigh as he sucks on your nipples, mouthing at your tits like some fool in love because god, what would they taste like? He’s constantly plagued with thoughts of how you’d respond to his mouth, whether you’d enjoy the sensations he can bring you, whether you’d like the way his tongue feels against your skin, even if you like the residue of his spit when the cool air hits it, making you shiver.

And so, once he’s got you in his arms, your pretty face mere inches from his own, he’ll put all those theories and questions into action. You’ll find yourself being kissed nearly every minute of the day; anything from heated, French kisses that leave you breathless and wanting more, all the way to chaste pecks against your knuckles when he’s cooking you dinner, telling you that nothing he could ever make would be as sweet as you.

He’ll always be kissing every inch of your body when he’s got you naked underneath him, making sure no area is left untouched before he ravages you and has you seeing stars.

And when he gets to use his tongue on that magical place between your legs, kissing and sucking at your cunt with a reckless abandon?

Well, sometimes you wonder if he eats you out for his own pleasure, not yours – and really, you’re right. He likes to make you feel good, to get you creaming on his tongue so you can be prepared and relaxed for the rest of the session, but really, it’s for him. It’s for him because he loves the way you taste, all musky and natural and irresistible. It’s for him because he likes the texture of your folds against his tongue, all soft and squishy and slick with your cum (and sometimes his, too).

It’s for him because he likes the way you pull at his hair, his tongue making you see stars as you drive your hips up, so close to coming that you can almost taste it.

At any given time, Osamu is more than happy to use his mouth against you – after all, you’re his beloved, and what kind of partner would he be if he wasn’t willing to give you orgasm after orgasm, all because of his tongue and the talented ways he can use it?

Surely, you’re not complaining – how could you be, when he leaves you too fucked out to remember your own name afterwards?

DRIVE: 

Although his libido spikes up monumentally once you step into his life, Osamu is still not that dependent on sex. He likes the idea of being close to you; your bodies touching without an inch of air between you, your mouths working against one another while your tongue brush and suck, to the point where he’s fantasizing about it at least every other day.

But just because Osamu thinks of fucking you routinely, it doesn’t mean that’s the only form of intimacy he craves with you – no, as much as splitting open that cute little cunt with his fat cock makes him light headed and pleasantly dizzy, he’s almost as happy to hold you against his chest, to kiss the crown of your head and whisper little declarations of love against your skin.

He’s almost as satisfied holding your hand, letting his fingers trace yours, comparing the sizes of your palms and chuckling when you ogle at how much bigger his palms are. He just likes physically interacting with you in general, and therefore not everything has to be sexual. He’s just as content spending time with you in romantic, wholesome ways; things that get his cheeks dusting pink, his heart racing in his chest because you’re just too damn cute.

You’re so sweet to him, and particularly at the start of your captivity with him, he’s not very insistent on making things sexual. Of course, he’d never say no if you were to climb on top of him, to cup his cheeks and kiss him until your lungs give out, to grind your hips into his and beg him to make love to you. He’d have to be insane to deny you of that, really, particularly if you were to beg, to look at him with such pouty, full lips, to tell him you’d do anything, that you just wanna feel his cock and how full he can make you feel. Osamu is only a man after all, and one who’s weakness has always been – and will always be – you.

However, he’s content to wait for you, to get your consent before he touches you in any way that’ll make you moan or scream his name, wanting you to enjoy the moment, to like the pleasure he brings you. Plus, he has an active imagination – he can always find something to fantasize about, to tide him over until he can compare just how realistic his fantasies are to reality.

And honestly, that becomes one of his favorite hobbies once his feelings for you form – thinking up scenarios he sees in porn or develops on his own, imagining the way you’d respond.

Would you enjoy being tied up, your pretty wrists and ankles bound by a soft silk, your free movement totally restricted, relying entirely upon Osamu?

Would you moan and whine when he teases you, degrading you for being so needy, for wanting his cock so badly you can hardly stay still?

Would you like to be recorded, your pretty body on camera while he destroys you, rearranging your guts and stuffing you full of his cum as the recording captures every depraved moan, every desperate buck of your hips, every bit of drool that slips past your lips as you whine and moan his name, the way his hips smack into yours simply too much to handle?

He wants to know, fuck he wants to know, but he’s a patient man – he can wait, because doesn’t that make the treat just so much better when he finally gets you naked in front of him? Doesn’t it make it more rewarding when you finally expose that perfect, tight little pussy he knows you have all for his eyes?

He thinks so, so he’ll let you play coy, get comfortable, get needy, until your body can’t take it anymore and you jump him, too desperate for his cock and cum to control yourself.

In the meantime, once you’re in his captivity, Osamu will channel his desires for you in ways that let you know he’s most definitely thinking of you, but don’t require you to actually touch him. He’s so used to regularly touching himself that while it slightly embarrasses him, he doesn’t mind continuing this habit once you’re living under the same roof.

He’ll leave the door cracked open slightly to the bedroom, sitting against the pillows on your shared bed, leaning back and letting his eyes close as he strokes his cock, letting his voice get louder and louder. He’ll moan your name, gasping out praises and encouragements that match whatever fantasy is playing through his mind, all with the hope of not only getting off, but with the goal of having you hear him.

You aren’t in the room, not watching him from the end of the bed, but the condo is only so big – you will be able to hear him, even if you don’t want to. You can hear the way he moans breathlessly, his voice starting off steady and low but eventually climbing to a higher timber, sounding like something out some audio porn.

It’s hot, if you’re being honest, but especially towards the beginning of your captivity, you don’t want it to be.

And when he moans your name?

Well, you can fight it as much as you want, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he sounds so desperate, the pleasure clearly making his voice unsteady, the hoarse quality to it as he nears his orgasm.

You’ll hate how it affects you, how you have to shift your thighs and ignore the way a wetness builds up in your panties, but isn’t it only natural to be that affected by someone sounding so fucking desperate while they moan your name and stroke themselves to the thought of you?

Osamu is shameless, truly, and as he gets more comfortable with doing this, he’ll invest in bottles of lube, anything to make the squelching noise of his fist against his cock louder for you. It sounds so wet, so dirty, so messy, that even if you don’t want to come closer, you’ll find yourself slowly inching closer to the bedroom door, the crack just enough to give you a better show of his self pleasure.

You’ll hear the way he hisses under his breath, how his little gasps and groans are more defined this close up, how the mattress squeaks slightly as he chases his hand with every upwards stroke, trying to keep the flighting sensation of pleasure alight. He’s a sight to see, really, and one day, when the horniness and curiosity are just too much for you to ignore, you’ll take a peek inside, looking through the crack into what may be the dirtiest thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s shirtless, his chest bare and looking perfect to touch, because while he may have lost his defined abs, he’s most definitely attractive – perfect, you might even find yourself saying. He’s wearing gray sweatpants, the waistline pulled down enough to release his cock and balls, the pale skin flushed bright red as he works himself towards orgasm. His hand is quick, nearly to fast to see, and suddenly the intensity of the squelching noises makes sense.

You can see lube and precum shining on his skin, the light from the overhead appliance doing nothing to hide how messy it all is. His mouth hangs open, lips parted as he breaths raggedly, gasps and groans slipping out as he cries out your name in between moans.

He’s shaking, his thighs and biceps tensing periodically, his hips jerking and spasming, and you can’t help the way your fingers reach down, between your panties and shorts, brushing against your clit – which is already much, much more sensitive than you’d realized. You’re quick to rub harsh, frantic circles against the bud, your arousal peaking, watching with wide eyes as he loses himself, his cries of your name sounding shrill and higher, growing in volume until he’s coming, ropes of cum shooting up onto his chest as he whines your name.

You think you even see a tear falling down his cheek, the intensity of his orgasm just too fucking much.

You watch for a few more moments, eyes fixated on the way his cum oozes down his chest, and somewhere in the back of your mind you idly wonder what it tastes like – surely, a man with such a good diet would have a decent taste…

You shake yourself out of it, ripping your hands out of your panties as he opens his eyes and makes direct eye contact with you, his cheeks flushing an even darker shade of red, your legs carrying you away as fast as you can.

You don’t see it, too busy locking yourself in the bathroom and trying to calm your racing heart, but Osamu can’t help but swallow and grin, reliving the way he’d watched your hand come out of your panties, you obviously touching yourself while watching him…

He’s sure it won’t be long until you’re ready to actually fuck him, until you’re ready to give him everything, just as he’s ready to give you everything in return.

MAIN KINKS:

BODY WORSHIP

Generally, Osamu finds you beautiful. He’s known for a very, very long time that you’re his ideal woman; your hair color, texture, eye color, body type, every asset you possess. There’s not a thing about you that he wishes to change, and while you may find this hard to believe, Osamu needs you to understand that he’s being honest.

He hates the idea of you being insecure about anything on your beautiful body, and so he makes it his mission in the bedroom to convince you of his honesty, to convince you that he’s genuinely in love with everything about you.

And to do this, what better way than to start every intimacy session with a slow, vulnerable, intense series of kisses against every body part of yours, his eyes never leaving your own?

He’ll always start with your lips – pressing kisses against them, his tongue coming out to play with yours as he groans into it, sighing heavily and getting comfortable as he situates himself above you on the bed. He loves pulling away afterwards, your lips all swollen and puffy, your eyes glassy as they stare up at him, breaths tumbling out of you because wow, Osamu is a good kisser.

(You don’t need to know how often he stayed up in the night practicing on his hand before he had you – he’s kissed plenty of people before, sure, but he wanted to be perfect for you.)

He’ll  tell you that yer so pretty babe, love the way yer lips taste. He’s already breathless as he says this, his voice husky and just barely above a whisper. It feels like a secret he’s telling you; like it’s something only the two of you get to know, like he’s trusting you with something important that you shouldn’t squander. He’ll press kisses against your cheeks and forehead, smiling against your skin as he tells you that he loves the way your skin is so soft, how your cheeks are so cute ‘n squishy, wanna pinch ‘em every time I see ya, cutie.

He’ll move down onto your neck, licking along your jugular and leaving slight hickies, feeling the way you squirm slightly under him, the embarrassment of such personal attention making you antsy. He loves it, and as he moans against your neck, he’ll make sure you feel how he’s affected by rutting his clothed crotch against your hip, his boxers doing very little to hide the prominent bulge trapped beneath them.

He’ll press kisses into your collarbones, using a finger to trace their shape as he smiles up at you from under his lashes, licking his lips as he tells you this is my favorite spot to mark ya up, y’know. Love it when yer all purple here, makes sure everyone knows yer mine. Of course, no one will ever see your collarbone but him, but there’s something about the possessive lilt of his voice that gets shivers running down your spine, straight to your cunt.

He’s already got you stripped naked, and as he moves down and cups your breasts with his hands, you see the way his cheeks light up, a dusting of bright red smattering across the bridge of his nose. Fuck, yer perfect baby, so fuckin’ pretty… ya feel how hard yer making me? It’s all for ya, ‘m so hard because yer just too damn sexy. He grinds against your leg again to prove his point, his fingers massaging at your breasts, and you gulp, moaning slightly at the treatment.

He smirks and leans down to capture your nipples into his mouth, feeling the way they harden up as he blows his breath against them, licking and sucking against the sensitive skin. He moans against your skin, moving his head to your sternum and vigorously shaking it, his silvery hair looking like moonlight as you whine and cover your face, too embarrassed to watch.

This makes Osamu smile, and as he leans up again and presses his lips against yours in a quick kiss, he can’t help but chuckle. Been wantin’ to do that for so long, baby, dreamed about it every night for a month straight, these pretty tits in my face, in my mouth, ‘round my cock…

He trails off, his hands coming down to press against your stomach. Love this tummy babe, so pretty when yer all full – full of my food, he kisses right underneath your left breast. Full of my love, a matching kiss under your right. Full of my cum, right where it should be. He finishes with a long lick from your sternum down to your bellow button, blowing a raspberry against it while you giggle and squirm.

He smiles and laughs too, the sound of your voice making him grow impossibly harder. He spreads your legs slightly, looking up at you from his place between them, moving so that his head is merely inches away from your pussy.

He kisses up your knees and the insides of your thighs, moaning against your skin as he palms himself through his boxers. Ya get me so excited, love, this pussy’s so fuckin’ cute, could make me cum just from lookin’ at it. He closes his eyes and presses his nose against your folds, making you jump slightly. He groans, deeply, before growling out in a voice much deeper and gravelly than before how he could cum just from smellin’ it, fuuuck.

And soon, his tongue is working at your clit, his eyes never leaving yours even as you bite your lip and try to look away, too embarrassed to keep eye contact. He’s groaning and telling you how fucking good you taste, how it’s exactly how I imagined baby, tastes like heaven, never wanna stop eaten’ this cunt. So wet for me, fuck do I make ya this wet?

He loves the way you babble out a whiny yes, letting your hands thread through his hair as he eats you out, suctioning at your clit while his fingers press against that spongey spot inside of you, curling and scissoring them as he humps the best, rambling on about the way you make him so hard, so horny, so needy. He tells you it’s all your fault, that your body’s just too perfect, too warm and welcoming, how you should be ashamed of how sexy you are.

He just loves you, really, and as he lines himself up to finally, finally fuck you, he can’t help but moan that he loves you,  pushing inside slowly and telling you that you feel so damn good, fuuuuck ‘m not gonna last baby, oh fuckfuckfuck –

Osamu really, really loves your body, and he’s not shy about telling you – plus, there’s something about the embarrassment on your face when he does this that makes him that much more desperate to fuck you, that much more desperate to stuff you so full of his cum that you’re leaking it for days.

ORAL FIXATION

Osamu has always been a fan of oral.

Even before you walked into his life, there was a part of him that preferred good head over actual fucking any day of the week – he can’t explain, but he likes how personal it is, how intimate and vulnerable it is to have someone’s mouth working at him, to have his own mouth working at someone else.

He just enjoys it, the warmth of tongues and spit, and once you step into his world? Well, he without a doubt absolutely wants to fuck you – he wants to fuck you so hard that you’re crying, that big tears are welling down your cheeks, that you’re too spaced out to even remember where you are, who you are, anything but his name and his cock. Obviously he wants to feel your cute, tight little pussy wrapped around him, but just as he’s always fantasized about head, this fixation only grows worse once you’re in the picture, the idea of you worshipping his body making him light headed, his pants already growing tight.

Because really, there’s something about the attention you’d be giving him that makes him feel shaky, his heart racing in his chest, his throat going dry because wow, would you really be willing to take him into your mouth? Would you be willing to get on our knees for him, to stroke him and drool on him, to let him stretch out that throat of yours and cum down your throat?

Osamu loses his cool merely thinking about it, and so the first time you actually move to take him into your mouth, he nearly passes out. There’s just something so intimate about the way you bite your lip and tell him that you want to taste him. There’s just something so sinful about the way you shimmy up between his legs as he sits perched on the couch, his legs spread wide while his cock bobs with every small movement he makes.

It’s twitching, pre-cum already dribbling from his engorged slit, and he can’t take his off of the way you lick your lips, moving impossibly closer so that your lips are merely inches away from him. He throws his head back in ecstasy the first time you kitten lick at him, groans tumbling from his lips as you suck on his head, your tongue slipping along his slit, dipping in slightly and making his hands latch onto your head, pulling ever so slightly at your hair.

He just loses himself when your mouth is on him; he’s moaning and whining out your name, praises, telling you how good you’re doing, how he’s never felt so good, how you’re going to make him come so fast, too fast. It's euphoric, and as he gets closer, he’ll start unconsciously bucking his hips, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed so tightly shut while his mouth hangs open, stuttered breaths and ragged moans free falling.

He’ll push your head down without meaning to, the pleasure just feeling so good that he needs more more more, and to feel the way you gag and whine around him makes Osamu’s gut clench, his orgasm hurdling towards him even faster.

His toes curl, his abdominal muscles flexing, and a non-stop stream of your name is spilling past his lips, the words slurring together as he begs you to keep going, begging you to not stop, fuck baby please – pleasepleasepleaseplease ‘m gonna cum, gonna cum for ya oh baby fuck-

He’s always brought over the edge if you play with his balls; your soft fingers toying at the extremely sensitive flesh, squeezing lightly and mouthing at them, running patterns over them with your tongue and letting one slip into your mouth to suckle, moaning around him and making his hips jerk near violently.

He insists that he always cum either down your throat, on your face or on your tits, sometimes all three. He’ll watch with lidded eyes and heavy breaths as his cum splatters across your breasts, the off-white rolling down over your nipples and dripping onto your thighs below, the sensation of the warm cum oozing down your body making you shiver. He’s mesmerized by the sight, his chest falling and rising so rapidly he almost looks like he may pass out.

He’s too lost in the post-orgasm glow to move after you finish sucking him off, and it’s only once you press a kiss to his lips that he snaps out of his haze, tasting himself on you and making his mind race.

He always wants to return the favor, to get between your legs and make you cry out his name, to get you coming over and over on his tongue, even to get you squirting; that’s always his goal, and whether or not he’s been successful doesn’t deter him. He wants to taste just as badly as he wants you to taste him, so you’d better get used to frequent and persistent head from Osamu – he’s just expressing his love, after all.

He loves you, loves the way you taste, the way you pull on his hair and cry out his name, how your hips buck and twitch as he brings you closer and closer, how you let out that cute little gasp if his fingers dip down to brush against your asshole, so taboo and strange.

Osamu just really, really likes using both his and your mouth in the bedroom, so hopefully you’re a fan of oral – and if not, you will be by the time he’s down with you. He’ll make sure of it.

BONDAGE

While Osamu enjoys wandering hands during sex, he’s equally as turned on by the prospect of restraints. There’s something undeniably hot about tying you up, or being tied up during your intimacy, and while he won’t be the first to bring it up, if you were to ever express interest he’d immediately jump you.

From the moment his sexual urges towards you formed, Osamu has been on the lookout for as many different kinds of sexual restraints as he can – he has a collection, one he keeps hidden from you until you express said interest. He doesn’t want you to find out, if only because he’s scared you’ll think it’s weird, that you’ll be turned off by the idea of being tied up, completely at his mercy. He’s got everything from handcuffs, silk ties, embroidery rope, and everything in between – he can utilize anything you want, whatever fits your particular fantasies.

(Although, his personal favorites are the silk ties, only because it’s softer on your skin and he thinks their softness matches you perfectly. He’s got all kinds of pastels, and he’ll always choose the color that looks best against your skin, making you look like a cute little gift for him to unwrap and fuck.)

It’s the protective instincts within him that really fuel this kink; he likes the idea of you giving yourself up to him, trusting him with not only your pleasure and ability to orgasm, but also with your physical movements, making you entirely at his mercy.

He likes the rush of power he gets from this, and while he has no intentions of leaving you or hurting you in any way, there’s something about the knowledge that he could that gets his cock hard, that gets him breathing heavy, that gets his hands itching at his sides to touch you. He finds that he particularly likes to tie your wrists and ankles to the bed, leaving you spread out in an almost star position, your breasts and pussy perfectly exposed.

You look up at him with such vulnerability, biting your lip and watching his every move that it almost makes him nervous, almost insecure, almost unsure. But then he’s touching you and you’re moaning his name, your pussy sucking in his fingers as if they belong there, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It’s all so good, enough to get him biting his lip and struggling to not just ram his cock into you and fuck you until he’s spilling everything inside you, but he holds himself back.

After all, when he’s got you tied up like this, he has all the power; he can do whatever he wants to you, whenever he wants to. He could leave you with a vibrator against your cute little clit for hours, get you squirming and begging, a pool of cum sitting below your pelvis as you weakly jerk back and forth, the vibrations from the toy making your brain fuzzy.

He could lick and suck at your pussy, kissing your clit and fingering you until you’re right on the edge of orgasm, so fucking close until he suddenly stops, the pleasure fading as you whine and beg him to keep going, telling him you need more, need him.

He could straddle your tummy, pushing your breasts together as he thrusts between them, fucking your tits while he groans and throws his head back, the sight erotic for you but not giving you nearly as much pleasure as you want.

The possibilities are endless, and while he’s not cruel enough to do most of those ideas to you in real life, Osamu does enjoy the way you become dependent on him to make you orgasm. He likes to hear the way you beg him, how your voice breaks slightly as you get closer, your wrists tugging against the restraints as you close your eyes and moan, your lips permanently parted into that pretty ‘o’ shape.

He likes to watch you come undone, asking you if you need it baby? Need me to make ya come, huh? He wants to hear you screaming yes and his name, slurred together as he makes you come again and again and again, because this is what you wanted, right? To feel good?

And if you were to ever express interest in tying him up, Osamu would gladly do it. He wouldn’t until quite late into your captivity with him, until he knows that you wouldn’t take the opportunity to run, but once he feels comfortable, he can’t deny the euphoric feeling of you hovering over him, your lips quirking up into a smile as you tell him how cute he looks, all tied up and begging for you.

He wants you to tease him, to make his cock flush pink and leak, to get him moaning and twisting at the restrains, to have his hips desperately bucking up, chasing your hand as you oh so fucking slowly stroke him. He likes the way you have control, how you’re giving him so much attention, sprinkling in praises of how proud you are of him, how well he’s taking it, how he’s such a pretty boy underneath you like this.

He wants you to overstimulate him, to get him crying, and once you untie him he’ll scoop you into his arms, cuddling you against his chest and whispering to you that he loves you.

He’ll spend the rest of the night by your side, not letting you out of his embrace for even a moment, because now that he feels so close to you, how could he possibly let go? You’re perfect, after all, and you only get more perfect when you’re all tied up for him, all needy and helpless and his.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

FACESITTING

Going hand in hand with his oral fixation, Osamu quickly finds that although he’s never done it with a woman before you, he absolutely adores having you sit on his face.

There’s something so trusting and intimate about it that makes him absolutely crazy; you trust him enough to let yourself be vulnerable on top of him, your thighs caging in his head and your pretty pussy at the perfect angle for him to ravage and destroy.

It’s so, so fucking hot, and from essentially your first few sexual encounters, Osamu will be somewhat shyly bringing it up, oddly scared that you’ll reject this fantasy of his. He’s always been too nervous to try it before, but with you, it feels like the ultimate form of worship. Like by doing it, he’s treating you the way you deserve – making sure everything is about you, that you’re enjoying yourself, that you’re finding the pleasure you deserve to feel.

And so, when you shakily agree to his plan, Osamu can’t help the way a giant grin splits across his face, excitement brewing in his veins as he strips off his clothing, practically throwing himself on the bed and wetting his lips, staring at you expectantly. Even if you try to tell him that you don’t want to crush him, that you’re worried you’ll break him or that you’ll look ugly from that angle, he’s having none of it. With every negative word that comes out of your mouth, he’s keeping count and telling you he’ll make you come that many times, that you’ve said you’ll crush me five times now baby, guess ‘m gonna have to make you cream five times, maybe you’ll even squirt for me, eh?

He’s quick to adjust you so that you’re fully sitting on him, slapping your hip harshly and telling you to just let go, to let your full weight drop on him, and if you were to look behind you, you’d see the way his hips buck up once you do as exactly as he says. He loves the way you suffocate him, how everything he can breathe, feel and taste is pussy, your pussy, his favorite thing on Earth.

And as he gets working, running his tongue along your folds and rubbing at your clit in figure eight motions, he finds that you’re so much more sensitive this way; he can see the way your tummy bulges out, your breasts looking tantalizing above his head, the angle he sees you at so strange yet so fucking hot.

It’s a wet dream come true, and as he encourages you to grind against his face, he can only squeeze his eyes shut and will himself not to cum, because the sensory overload is just too much. He’ll use his free hand so slap your ass, and if you were to reach behind you and toy with his cock, stroking or even squeezing it?

Well, don’t be surprised when a splatter of warm wetness hits your back, the moan he lets out downright sinful against your sensitive folds. He just really, really likes having you sit on his face, and he could leave you there for hours, idly nibbling on you and drinking up every last drop of slick you can offer him.

It’s heaven.

BITING

Osamu, in general, doesn’t like causing you pain. He’s not particularly interested in anything in the bedroom that could hurt you; he doesn’t want to see you bleeding or crying in anything other than pleasure, and for the most part he stays far away from anything like that, even if you beg him to try it.

However, the one thing he eventually relents and gives into trying if you bring it up is biting. Maybe it’s because it’s less inherently violent than slapping you around, than drawing a knife to your skin, or maybe it’s because there’s something so feral about it, so animalistic and natural.

He’s not sure, but the first time he lightly sinks his teeth against your flesh, an audible groan slips past his lips. There’s something so primal about it, like he’s staking his claim on you in the most basic, human way possible – leaving his teeth marks on your soft skin. He never bites hard enough to break the skin or leave any scars, but Osamu doesn’t mind; it’s about the heat of the moment, claiming you as his.

You're his lover, his woman, his to love and touch and fuck and cherish. And so, once this habit begins forming, Osamu takes nearly every opportunity he can to lightly bite you in the bedroom; when you’re throwing your head back and moaning as he thrusts into you, he’s sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, moaning against your skin as he licks and sucks at the area trapped between his jaws.

When your face is pressed into the mattress, your ass high in the air as he gropes and squeezes at it, he’s biting into the suppleness of your cheeks, making you squirm and moan into the pillow as he reaches under to rub fast circles at your clit.

He’ll even lightly bite at your nipples and breasts, paying extra care to not hurt you, but knowing that when you ride him, your tits are right fucking there, and how can he deny himself?

It’s something he never thought he’d see himself doing, but it just feels so right – and god, when you return the favor? When you sink your own teeth into his skin, biting down and claiming him as yours? Fuck, Osamu feels like he’s in heaven, the sensation of very slight pain making his cock stir inside of you, twitching and that much closer to filling you up with his seed.

He just likes the idea that you want to mark him back, that you consider him yours as he considers you his, and he’ll let you bite as hard as you want. He’s strong, he can take anything you give him, so please – bite him as much as you like, as hard as you like, as often as you like. He’ll enjoy it, he promises.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

When it comes to fantasies, Osamu is game to try pretty much anything you’d like to. His only hard and fast rules are no hurting you, and nothing that involves extreme humiliation. In that respect, he’s not especially harsh in the bedroom, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to be in a more dominant position, to get you squirming and crying out his name.

No, in fact that’s what he loves most – seeing you turn into a shaking, desperate mess right before his very eyes, all because of what he’s done to your body. As a result, Osamu quickly learns that one of the things he loves to do with you is to overstimulate you.

There’s something beautiful about the way you shake and writhe, how your eyes squeeze closed as the pleasure doesn’t let up, even after you’ve come and your body cries out for relief. He thinks you look so pretty as you beg him to stop, that you’re too sensitive, that you can’t take it because it’s too – too much ‘Samu, I can’t!

He’ll always shush you, kissing you and smothering your cries with his lips and tongue, still rubbing those circles against your clit that have you spasming below him. He likes pushing you to the brink as many times as he can, and while he enjoys the rush of power that comes from knowing he’s the one that’s driven you so crazy, the root of this fantasy is his protectiveness. He likes the idea of taking care of you, and this carries over into the bedroom as well – there’s something so romantic about making you come, about watching you fall apart just for him, your body trembling and your face twisting up into that pretty expression you make when you’re coming.

It’s addictive, really, so much so that Osamu is willing to swallow his pride and invest in something that’ll make getting you off much, much easier. That is, while he doesn’t inherently have any problems with toys, there’s a certain piece of his pride that’s lost when he buys the vibrator. There’s some part of him that wonders whether his mouth, fingers and cock aren’t enough, whether you need this stupid toy to feel good.

He’s hesitant to first use it, worried that you’ll enjoy the silicone more than his own touch, but the moment he presses the vibrations against your body, he can’t find it in himself to care – you’re gasping and clawing at his chest, the overstimulation hitting your body in waves because you just fucking came on his tongue.

You’re incoherent, babbling and trying to string words together that have no meaning, and Osamu can only watch with wide eyes, his lips parted and drool threatening to spill out because fuck, you’re so hot like this. You’re falling apart right before his eyes, the pleasure almost hurting because it’s too intense, but Osamu can’t find it in himself to care – especially not when you’re coming again a few minutes later, tears streaming down your cheeks as he keeps the toy over your clit, the vibrations never ending even as your body threatens to give out.

It’s just so goddamn hot, and Osamu knows that buying the toy was a good choice – you’ll never like it more than himself, he’s sure, but it gets the job done, and at the end of the day as long as you’ve come more times than he can count, isn’t that all that matters?

“Feel good, baby?” Osamu asks, his voice husky as he leans down to lick at your clit again. You warble something out, an affirmation to his question that makes him growl and work harder at your nub, his fingers pumping at a steady pace inside of you. They’re callused, years of volleyball and cooking making them steady, precise, the texture feeling like heaven against your gooey, spongey walls.

Osamu groans, letting the vibrations roll against your sensitive skin. You jerk slightly at that, the stimulation to your clit making your head dizzy, but the building pleasure in your navel distracts you. With a sharp gasp, you’re whining out his name, “O-osamu, please ‘m gonna come! Don’t stop, oh fuck please don’t stop!”

Your cries motivate him, his eyes staring up at you as he watches your lips part, wanton moans falling past them as you twitch around his fingers, your walls clenching like wild, even your clit seeming to throb under his tongue. He uses his free hand to reach up and grope at your breasts, squeezing the flesh and pinching at your nipples, anything to give you that extra stimulation he knows will having you falling off the edge.

And, a few seconds later, you do – with a heavenly cry of his name, all broken up by your own moans and gasps, your walls fluttering around his fingers as he keeps up the pace. You’re shaking, chanting his name like a prayer and threading your fingers through his short hair. Closing your eyes and hoping to recover your breath, your brows squeeze together at the sound of something buzzing.

“’Samu, what are you – oh!” You cut yourself off with a cry, your hips jerking upwards as Osamu places the baby blue toy against your bundle of nerves. Your body lights up, the pleasure seeming to pierce through you as Osamu continues to finger you, his gray eyes watching with hazy lust as you lose your mind.

“Too much! Oh fuck – fuck, shit, ‘Samu I can’t – too sensitive -!” It’s hard to make out what you’re saying over the sound of your own moans, the pressure building in your stomach seeming to ebb and flow as the vibrations destroy your clit. It’s too much, truly – you feel an overload of pleasure, the onslaught to much to even process.

“Fuck princess, ya look so hot like this, gonna make me cum.” Osamu groans, letting his head fall against your thigh as he removes his fingers, licking at your cum and cleaning them dry. A strangled moan falls past his lips at your taste, and as he shifts himself to sit up, he keeps the toy pressed firmly against your cunt. You’re crying, he thinks, your eyes tearing up as you moan and writhe, and though he worries for a moment that this hurts you more than pleasures you, your little cries of ‘s-so good’ have him grunting instead.

He changes the vibration pattern on the toy, now a steady throb-throb-throb that has your abdominal muscles visibly clenches, the pleasure driving you crazy with need. He’s mesmorized, watching like a child on Christmas as your lips part and get caught between your teeth, your body and face absolutely wrecked.

It’s not long before you’re slowly getting close again, your body tensing up and your muscles contracting, and Osamu watches with baited breath as you scream his name, your body winding up as your second orgasm hits you, much more explosive than your first. More slick oozes from your hole, visibly contracting and making his mouth water. He can’t wait anymore – he’s been a fucking saint so far, holding back in favor of making you feel good, but at the way you’re grasping at the pillows behind your head, your tits bouncing as you shake and tremble, Osamu’s lunging forward.

He's quick to align his cock with your cunt, already dripping pre-cum and desperate to feel you. He groans deeply as he slides inside, his voice cracking as he moans out, “So – so fucking tight baby, how’rya this fucking tight Jesus –“

You cut him off with a gasp of your own, the feeling of something so big stretching you out in the midst of your pleasure making tears slip down your cheeks. He’s still holding the vibrator over your clit, and you almost can’t feel it anymore, the sensation so strong. You claw at his shoulders, bringing him down for a kiss that he eagerly reciprocates as he beings thrusting into you. You’re so wet like this; wet and tight and fucking warm, and Osamu swears as he pulls back from the kiss, his own orgasm approaching embarrassingly quickly.

He whines as he fucks into you, his face red while sweat drips at his temples, and though you’re nearly too fucked out to notice, Osamu gasps your name as he comes, sending spurts of hot, potent cum directly inside you. The sensation of his orgasm and the vibrations together send you over the edge, your final climax of the night as you scream his name and go limp, the pleasure making black spots dance along the edges of your vision.

Your body jerks as he turns the vibrator off, your skin clammy and sweaty as you stare unseeingly up at the ceiling, trying desperately to catch your breath. Osamu’s equally as breathless, scooping you into his arms as he holds you, kissing you and running his hand over your hair, whispering how well you did.

You’re too fucked out to listen, of course, but as Osamu holds you against his chest and coos at you, trying to recover from what may have been the best orgasm of his life, he can’t help but laugh a bit. You’re perfect, truly, and your pleasure ridden expression at the height of your orgasm just proves it.

#_lee's profiles #_nsfw profiles #yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #_osamu miya #_inarizaki #haikyuu smut #osamu smut

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Four

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Chapter warnings/tags: slow burn, dad!din, bonding, injuries (not in detail), negative self-talk, mentions of past trauma/abuse

Chapter Length: 4.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info

notes: im sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others! if it's any consolation, a few of the chapters in this fic are 10k, so there's that. :) i've set a posting schedule of mondays and thursdays, but this week i'm posting on sunday because i'm going to be travelling on monday and i have to stay off tumblr to avoid tlou spoilers until the evening. so, surprise :)

i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw you

“How do you feel?” Is the first thing you hear when you wake, rolling over on your makeshift bed to find Mando standing at the cave entrance again. He’s leaning against the wall with one shoulder, his hip cocked out, one leg bent casually. 

Kriffing hells, how is he so attractive when all you can see of him is his posture and his impossibly shiny armour? 

You force the thought from your mind, blaming it on your half-asleep state. 

“I don’t know yet,” you answer with a grimace. It’s been two days since your fall. The pain is better, though the rest of your body feels stiff now, muscle soreness finally catching up with you after the tumble. There hasn’t been another storm, at least, so Mando has managed to hunt for every meal so far. He goes out to get water every morning, filling canteens to the brim. He makes you drink so much that sometimes it feels like you’re swimming in it. “Hydration helps with healing,” he says every time, even though you already know; he says it just to counter your playful glaring at him every time he hands you the flask. 

“Sun rose not that long ago,” he cranes his neck to gaze up at the sky, “if you’re feeling up to it, we can probably travel today.” 

You manage to sit up, but the minute you do, pain shoots down from the wound on your calf and into your ankle. It circles there around the joint and throbs. “Have we got any more ice packs?” 

“One more,” Mando answers as he heads right over to his medpack and gets it out. 

“We should ration it,” you hold out your hand to stop him activating it. “For when we’re travelling. I’ll probably need it.” 

He looks down at the pack, hesitates. Then nods and puts it away. “Do you think you’ll be okay to travel today? If so, we should move soon, make the most of the daylight.”

Shifting a little, you try to get a gage on your body, how it feels. A grimace makes its way onto your face without your consent. Everything hurts. Literally everything. Muscles you didn’t even know you had are strained and stiff. 

But you’ve been here for two days. He’s been stranded here for four. 

“If the answer is anything but yes,” his voice cuts through your rapidly declining thoughts, “then my answer is no.” 

Relieved, you smile. But you protest, “Mando, you’ve stayed with me so long now. I can make my own way back.” 

“No,” he says definitively. “We move when you’re ready.” 

You relax, settling back against the wall. You’re too sore to argue. 

“The kid’s enjoying the vacation, anyway,” Mando says, the lilt of a smile in his voice. 

As if summoned, Grogu steps forward from his little bed at the back of the cave. He yawns, his tiny mouth opening as wide as it can go, his eyes screwing shut. 

Oh, Maker, he is adorable. 

“You take time off a lot?” You ask with a wry smile as Mando scoops the kid up into his arms. 

The huff of a laugh comes through his helmet. “Not really.” 

“Why am I not surprised?”

Mando tickles Grogu’s cheek, earning a little giggle. 

You watch them. There’s that warmth again, creeping its way between your ribs, around your heart. 

You have to look away. 

All three of you are starting to get a little stir crazy by the time the night comes around. 

You’re feeling better, though. Mando’s hydration obsession is working to help loosen out your stiff muscles. It doesn’t help, though, that you have to keep getting up every hour to pee. Especially because you have to tell Mando every time nature calls, which is, admittedly, rather humiliating—it shouldn’t be, it’s fucking natural, but he’s Mando and he’s been making you feel a certain way, and you don’t want to have to admit to this terrifying yet comforting man that you have to piss. It’s even worse that he has to help you hobble outside, then walk away while you do your business, and come back and pretend to not notice the puddle sinking into the ground. 

It’s demoralising. Your cheeks are tired from flushing red all the time. 

But he insists on you drinking enough, even when you protest. 

“I don’t mind doing this, you know,” he says as the sun sets, an arm around you as you hobble to the designated Nature Area. 

“Yes, you do,” you grumble, kind of just wanting the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t,” he insists. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s good to move a little.” 

“A little? Mando, it’s every hour, on the hour, at this point.” 

The unfamiliar sound of a soft laugh comes through his helmet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it sounded fond. But you’ve never heard a laugh like that. So. “It’s good. Just call me back when you’re ready.” 

He never comes back until you call, no matter how long it takes you.

It isn’t lost on you, either, that you never would have been able to do this on your own. You’d have had to piss where you sat. Which seems like a worse concept than just ruining your leg, and subsequent mobility, forever by forcing yourself to walk home. 

As darkness approaches, Mando takes his flashlight—yours is long dead by now—and puts it in the far end of the cave. He stays over there, rustling in his pack for something. Curious, you watch, wondering what he’s doing; he angles the light strangely, propping it up with a few stray rocks on the ground, and then fishes out a small piece of canvas, pulled from what remained of your tent. He puts it over the flashlight, folds it once. 

Then, the light is softer. Diffused around the cave. 

Grogu, who is sitting against the wall playing with a little silver ball, looks up at the newly-lit cave walls and laughs in glee. 

“You like it, kid?” Mando asks him. 

The kid claps his hands together, gazing around. Mando laughs softly and sits back down beside the kid, watching him. 

You’re watching Mando. It’s impossible not to, with the soft light reflecting from his armour in a new way, casting new highlights and shadows across every curve and edge. You wonder what places he’s been, how he’d look in all kinds of light. Harsh, bright, sunshine of a bright summer’s day, the dark ashy colour beneath rain clouds. 

“Mando?” You find yourself saying. 

He looks up at you, one hand holding the kid. 

“Tell me about somewhere else you’ve been,” you request. “Please?” 

“Where do you want to hear about?” 

“Anywhere. First place that comes to mind.” 

For a second, he’s quiet, just looking at you. Considering. When he speaks, he doesn’t say what you expected him to, and his voice is softer than it should be. “You really want to travel, don’t you?” 

And, okay. 

That hits a nerve. 

You look away, blinking. It’s clear that you’ve tensed, that something has made you uncomfortable; and you expect him to backtrack, to apologise, but he just waits. So patient, like he wouldn’t mind if you didn’t say anything, or even if you just told him to fuck right off. You wish you could see his face, decipher his expression. Match it to the soft curiosity of his lovely voice. 

“Yeah,” you manage on a shaky breath, imagining yourself up there, in the vastness of space, free to explore the Galaxy. “Yeah, I do.” 

Quiet again. He’s giving you space. 

You take it, let it sink in. 

Then, his voice is there again, “So why don’t you?”

And if that isn’t a question and a half. “It’s, uh,” you clear your throat. You’re about to say it’s complicated. But that doesn’t even cover the half of it. Instead, feeling a cold, familiar dread slowly creeping through your veins, you say, “I like it here.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you still, some kind of unexplainable patience coming from his dark visor. 

It’s unclear if he can hear the omission of the truth.

You don’t want to lie to him. 

You’re sitting here, in a cave that he so beautifully lit as best he can, on top of a bed that he made just for you to be comfortable, after he’s helped you pee about twelve times a day for the last two days. He’s been nothing but kind. 

And it’s not that you feel like you owe him answers because of that. Nor, in fact, that you think he feels you owe him answers. His quiet, unassuming patience in the dim intimacy of this cave is proof enough of that. 

No, it’s not that. 

It’s that you’ve been alone for so long. You’ve never said this to anyone.

And after all this, once you’re back at your hut and you’ve fixed his ship together, he’s going to leave. And you’re never going to see him again, anyway. 

So. 

“Truthfully,” you say, “as much as I like it here, it’s not where I’d choose to be. If I had another choice.” 

Instead of staying still and silent, he starts to nod. His gaze is unwavering, solid and stable, weaving its way into the tension and uncertainty beneath your skin, soothing it.

Grogu gets up and waddles over to you. He climbs clumsily into your lap.

Then, with a quick look to Grogu, Mando says, “I understand.”

And that, those simple words, make something release in your chest.

The weight of your confession doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expected. In fact, it feels like something has lifted in the air between the three of you. Like even the kid understands. 

Well.

This is new. 

-

As the third morning in the cave rolls around, you wake up feeling much better. 

Once you’ve relieved your always-full bladder, you tell Mando as much, staggering back into the cave and to your bed. “You can stop over-watering me now,” you tease as he lets you back against the wall, gentle. Your hands are on the backs of his arms, and slide all the way down them as he moves away. You wish you could linger there, and the way he moves so slowly, his visor gazing down into your sleepy eyes, makes you think that he wishes that, too. 

As your palms brush against his wrists, he seems to catch himself. He pulls away quickly and turns to distract himself with the kid.

“So, you’re ready to travel?” He asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, staring at him from behind. He has a nice behind. (And you need to stop. Immediately.)

“You can lean on me. We’ll take it slow, I promise.” 

Kriff, say that again… “I’ll be alright. You’ve got enough to carry.” 

He looks at you again. “I’m leaving the parts here,” he says, like that should be obvious. 

“What?” You frown. “But your ship…” 

“Once we find our way back, and you’re safe, I’ll come back for them.” 

“Mando, I can manage. Seriously, we should take the parts. You’ve been here long enough.” 

The helmet tilts. “You trying to get rid of me?” It would concern you, if the teasing in his tone wasn’t arousingly obvious.

You just about manage to recover from the stirring in your belly, and you laugh, “Totally. Sick of you already.” 

The kid, standing beside him, looks at you and makes a sad noise. His ears turn down towards the ground. 

Kriff. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” you assure him with a smile. As a peace offering, you reach your hands out to him, and he relaxes in an instant, immediately plodding over to you and climbing into your lap. You hold him, give him a quick hug, then just let him sit there. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually gonna miss you,” you whisper into his ear. He coos happily, tugging at a loose thread on your coat.

When you look up, Mando is, of course, staring at you. This time, you know for sure that it’s at both you and the kid.

“What?” You ask. 

“Nothing,” he answers after a moment of hesitation. “I’m going to pack up. Then we can move. You okay to sit with the kid?” 

“You know I am,” you smile, and watch as Mando nods and heads outside.

That pang in your chest is back. Well, you’re not sure when it turned from a slow warmth into a pang. 

But it’s there. Too obvious to ignore. 

For a few miles, you manage pretty well. It took some convincing, but you got Mando to agree to taking the parts along with him in the end. You do lean on him, but only when moving over particularly rough terrain, fallen logs, or exposed tree roots. 

“How we doing?” Mando asks at around noon. 

“Fine,” you say, feeling a little breathless. 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure. We can stop soon for a break.” 

Another hour passes, your ankle is starting to throb, and you’re really fucking glad that you saved that ice pack for this exact moment. 

Mando sits you down on a fallen log, keeping his arm around you until you’re properly seated, lingering just a little too long for you to tame the way it makes your heart beat wildly. To feel the heat of him through his flight suit, your hands and arms pressed to parts of him not covered by armour, just the soft parts; it’s a lot. When you first saw him, this wall of metal, you never thought you’d see any further than that. Kriff, you never even thought he’d get closer to your hut than he was when you had your blaster pointed at him. 

Maybe that would have been best. Because if he’d just left, if there was another way for him to get the help he needed, you wouldn’t be thinking about him the way you are right now. 

The softness of the crook of his elbow, the curve of his waist and hip. The warmth of his skin that you have yet to see an inch of. All of the weapons strapped to him, so close to you, close enough that if it were anyone else, you’d be scared. 

But it’s Mando. 

This might be the least scared you’ve been in a lifetime. 

He cracks the ice pack to activate it, then kneels down in front of you. Reaching out to grab a smaller log, he places it under your ankle, elevates your leg slightly. Then his gloved fingers tug at the hem of your trousers. “Can I?” He asks. 

Kriff. You nod, unable to form words. 

The rough-yet-smoothness of the gloves is all you feel at first, brushing delicately against your skin as he lifts your trousers, then unlaces your boots, gently pulling them off, followed by your socks. Your ankle is more swollen than it had been this morning, but you’d expected that. 

And, besides, that is not what you’re thinking about right now. 

Instead your mind can only focus on the softness of his hold under your foot, the gentle way he places the ice pack on top of it. The heat of his hand starts to come through. You wish it was his bare skin. Wish you knew what his skin is like. Is it calloused, or soft from always protecting them? Does he have scars? Is the hair on his arms dark, light, a thin covering or thicker, perfect to run your fingers through—

His hands are gone before you realise it. It takes your glitching mind a second to catch up.

You chase him with your eyes, silently wishing for him to come back. 

But then. 

Then. 

As he turns away, he reaches for the flask in his satchel. You watch his hands lift to his helmet, take a gentle hold of the base of it. At first you panic, thinking he’s about to remove his helmet, no you don’t have to do that it’s okay—

But he just lifts it the tiniest bit, such a small movement that you only know it has been lifted because he puts the rim of his flask to his lips and takes a sip. 

You can’t see his skin, not a hint of it. But you can hear him drinking, hear the water against his lips, the gentle gulps as he swallows. 

And the way it entrances you, takes you away from the forest and the pain of your ankle and the fact that this is so not appropriate for you to be thinking—yeah, it’s probably for the best that he can’t ever show his face to you.

You look away before he even lowers the helmet again. 

-

Maybe the worst part about all this is that you’re starting to dread Mando and the kid leaving. 

That’s not how this was supposed to go, not how any of this was supposed to play out. You helped him because it was the right thing to do, because it’s exactly what They would tell you not to do, because your life has been the same every single fucking day since you got here. 

But that’s been fine. It’s been safe. 

“Pass me that wrench?” Mando asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

You pass him it, noting the tilt of his helmet in a wordless ‘thanks’ before he turns back to his job. He’s up on a ladder, leaning against the ship’s exterior wall with one of the panels fully off, fixing something to do with the foundation for the body. 

His ship is bigger than you’d expected. He tells you that it’s bigger than his old ship, the Razor Crest, but only by a little. “It’s a similar shape,” he’d said, “but it has two bunks and more space. For the kid.” He has a star fighter too, apparently, docked at some other base off-world with a friend of his. It’s funny to imagine him with friends, though you’re not sure why. Especially because, since getting to know him the last few days, you know how generous he is. How kind, helpful. Gentle, despite everything. 

Why wouldn’t he have friends?

Beneath him, you sit on a crate and lean against the ship, waiting for him to give you more instructions. The engine has been mostly fixed now, as much as it’s ever going to be out here in the middle of nowhere using scrounged-up parts. He’s just getting the last of the body work done, enough to make sure it’s aerodynamically sound. 

It’s interesting, watching him work. You ask a lot of questions, and every time you do, you expect a frustrated sigh or an exasperated response. But he answers every question thoroughly, and it doesn’t even distract him from his work. 

The sun is warm against your face. The afternoon of Mando’s fifth day on this planet is drawing to a close, fading into the evening. As the sky turns to duller shades of blue, tinted with oranges and pinks, you can’t help but admire the way he looks beneath the light. His armour is always the same, always so distinctive, yet it reflects different lights in different ways. Sometimes it makes the beskar appear darker, like a gun metal grey. Other times it’s a bright silver. Then there are times like this, when it goes with the colour of the sky, reflects the beauty of everything surrounding him. 

You think back to the light in the cave, how that looked different still. The urge to see the Galaxy comes over you again, though this time it’s not staring at his ship and dreaming about taking off in it that does it; this time, it’s wondering what he looks like in even more places, more environments. Does the metal get hot in the sunshine? Or is it always as cool as it’s been when you’ve had the chance to feel it before? 

The kid is sitting on the ground in front of you. There’s a beetle scuttling around in the mud, and Grogu is toying with it, blocking it off when it runs one way, then doing the same when it runs the other. You wonder if he’s going to eat it, or if he’s just having fun by being cruel to the little six-legged creature. 

“Don’t play with your food,” Mando says to him, answering your silent question. 

Grogu looks up at him. His ears turn downwards, sulking. Mando ignores his obvious pleas to change his mind, turning back to his work. When Grogu looks back at the beetle, he only just catches it before it runs off, and instead of toying with it anymore, he just shoves it in his mouth with a loud crunch. 

You find yourself smiling at him. He smiles back, ears lifting again. 

“Alright,” Mando starts to step down from the ladder. You reach out and hold one of the ladder’s legs, knowing he probably doesn’t need you to, but still not wanting to risk it. Ladders make you nervous. “Think that’s the best we’re going to get.” 

You look up to the ship. He’s fixed the panel back on again. Now all that remains is the burnt metal from his “interesting landing”, with some bends in it, exposing little sections of the framework beneath. It’s definitely a patchwork job. But it looks better than it did when you got here this morning. So.

“How’s your leg?” He asks as he folds up the ladder. 

“Good,” you answer. It’s stretched out in front of you, propped on another crate. “Ship looks good.” 

With a resigned sigh, he puts his hand on his hips, and tilts his helmet to look up at his handiwork. “No, she doesn’t. But she’ll do.” Then he looks back to you, “I couldn’t have fixed it without your help. Thank you.” 

You shift under his gaze, unable to help it. Every time he looks at you it feels like his eyes can see right through you, and the part that makes you uncomfortable is that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Self-conscious and disgustingly aware of your own inappropriate, lustful thoughts? Yes. Uncomfortable? No. You don’t think it ever could. 

“Of course,” you say eventually. “And, hey, I’ve got a scar to remember our little adventure by, huh?” 

He laughs softly. You see the shake of his chest as the chuckle comes through his modulator. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” 

“Hm, no. But there’s no gift shop around here. So.” 

He shakes his head, and you imagine, hope, that he’s smiling under all that beskar. He certainly looks casual, a hand on one hip, one leg relaxed while his weight rests on the other. 

“Do you always stare so much?” You find yourself asking with a teasing, daring quirk of your brow. 

“Yes.”

“At everyone, or just me?”

He pauses. Your heart rate spikes briefly as you wait for his response to your terrible excuse for flirting. “At everyone,” he answers eventually, and disappointment starts to set in before he says, “But it’s harder to look away from you.” 

Oh. 

The disappointment quickly shifts to nervousness, heart beating fast again as you clench your hands in your lap. He just stands there, staring despite the awkward and loaded silence between you, and stares. As if he’s making his point by offering an example. 

You look away. Suddenly, your cheeks are hot. “You hungry?” You find yourself asking. 

He pauses again, then nods. “Yes.” 

“I’ll make us some dinner. You just come back to the hut whenever you’re ready.” It’s only as you stand to hobble back home that you realise he might not want that. You swivel back around to face him, backtrack, “I mean, unless you want to eat out here. Your ship’s fixed now, I guess you can—you can stay in that? You don’t have to come back with me. I’ll be okay.” 

Again, getting more and more infuriating with each silence he lets stretch out, he just stares. Kriffing hells, does he ever stop!? 

“Would you let me cook for you?” He asks, finally.

You weren’t expecting that. 

Shifting weight to your good leg, you raise your eyebrows. “You want to cook me dinner?” 

He nods once. “Yes. To thank you for all your help. And as a farewell.” 

You’ve been trying your hardest not to think about that part. It sits in your stomach, cold and dreadful and confusing, too far down for you to swallow it. “Alright,” you agree with a soft smile. “I can’t promise I’ve got any decent ingredients, though. You might have to perform a miracle.” 

“I’m up to the challenge,” he says, hooking his thumb over the belt around his hips. You’re distracted by it, finding your eyes sliding down to his middle before you catch yourself and look back up. The tilt of his helmet suggests he might have seen your gaze shift. “I’ll walk back with you. Just give me a minute.” 

You can’t find a reason to refuse. 

♡ updates posted Mondays and Thursdays ♡

notes: thank you for reading! all interactions are appreciated as always, but comments and reblogs especially fuel my need for validation ❤️ as always, the title and lyrics at the start are from taylor swift's "daylight"

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 @iwantjoelmillertoultraviolenceme

if you wanna be on the taglist, let me know! (pls specify if just the taglist for this fic, or the list for all my future fics ❤️)

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars fanfiction #my post #my fic: mando #i only see daylight

[obey-my-twisted-logic]

Truth Spilled : Prefect is not the perfect extrovert they're assumed to be - not at all. Idia Shroud x GN!Reader (may be slightly fem leaning, apologies in advance if I missed anything like that)

Synopsis : post book 6, after Idia shows his skills, Prefect decides to take him aside when he seems overwhelmed by the people, leaving Ortho to entertain those who remain. As they reassure and comfort him, the cracks show and the shell reveals a close guarded secret.

Warnings : crying, mental health confessions, ptsd and beyond. Occasional cursing on both ends. Basic proof reading, potentially missed grammatical or spelling errors is higher than you think. Angst is real, but there's some playful fluff in the end. Only platonic in this blurb.

Authors Note : very self indulgent. How I personally have been feeling as the game progresses as someone with severe PTSD and anxiety. Had I been in a dorm, definitely would have been Ignihyde 100%.

---

After the impressive amount of prowess and just cocky amount of game play by the usually introverted dorm leader, you decided to rescue him when the nervous sweating kicked in. The initial adrenaline had worn off, and you knew the only reason he hadn't bolted was because Ortho had never looked happier, getting to interact and be normal with a group of friends, and making sure his big brother got to join in the fun.

Big brother was all "fun"d out, and as a good host, and just sympathetic anxiety riddled bean, you take him upstairs with the excuse of needing assistance with some older technology you had been relying on.

After gently steering him up the stairs and to the furthest guest room, you hold on lightly to the sleeve of his jacket to guide him. Nothing too invasive, but still a comfort, despite his initial flinch, he seemed to accept the action and looked almost grateful for the escape.

"Here we are. Furthest back and best insulation, trust me." You say leading him in and closing the door quietly. "Sorry for the white lie, but you looked like you needed the break, so I thought-" immediately your cut short by a nasty look and a huff as he dropped onto the bed and fell back.

"What would you even know about how I feel? What was I not cheerful enough for your liking? Perfect Prefect, of course you'd notice. Why'd you bring attention to it?" Idia snapped giving you a dirty look. Now Ortho would be upset and think he hadn't had any fun.

Sigh escaping your lips you take a seat on the floor and lean against the closed door. Eyes closed you steady your breathing the best that you can. Despite your best, tears streak gently and slowly from each eye. You can hear him shift panicked on the bed, assuming he was sitting upright and staring. You decide to keep your eyes closed, more amused by the expression in your mind and not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

"Idia, I know you're smart, I know you think you know all that there is to know about everything." Slowly you open your eyes, ignoring the tears, allowing yourself this moment. He wanted to know why you did it, why you interfered, well he'd certainly find out today. "You're not near as smart when it comes to any information you think you know about me."

"I grew up in constant survival mode. As soon as I begin to heal from the nightmare my life has been, I'm ripped into a world that I've never known. Most memories have been ripped from me of my old world, and I was dumped here with only my survival instincts keeping me from truly breaking down." You wipe some tears away, just to clear your vision to catch his gaze. He looked guilty and chewed at his lower lip.

"I've been nearly killed by half the damn people I call my "friends" and honestly, I do love them all, but the only reason it's even been possible is my desperation for survival." You laugh coldly and stand, the rant and your breathing becoming more erratic as it all comes tumbling out.

"Perfect Prefect? I don't have any other way to protect myself. Idia I didn't even have a phone until the THIRD overblot. THREE of the most powerful students on this campus had to try killing me for the fool of a headmaster to give me this... technological piece of shit." You toss your phone next to him on the bed. "I may not know much about this world, but I know about technology. It's different but very similar to what I used to work with in my old world..." Catching the surprised look on his pale face you can't help but laugh. "Yes yes, pitiful, magicless human knows how technology works. There's a reason that my grades keep Grimm an honor student, I'm far from stupid."

The crying resumes and laughter is mixed in as you give him a pathetic look. "Even he's attacked me, and Grimm's the closest I even have to a family in this hellscape. Idia I'm so tired." You choked up a sob and sank to your knees, back pressed against the wall now.

Unable to, refusing to look weak, you dry the tears beat you can as you answer his initial question. "What do I know about how you feel or why I interfered?" You let out a low and sad chuckle and look up to him. "Because I so desperately have needed to be saved, to be rescued and taken somewhere quiet so I could breathe that I couldn't just leave you like that. I couldn't just ignore the panic you were in." You let out a sigh and hug you knees unable to stable your breathing as much as you'd like.

"Feel free to leave or stay, do what's best for you. I'm just going to be here." You say after one minute stretches out into several. "I'd appreciate if-" Once again the Idia interrupts you, but in a much more surprising and soft way.

He embraces your trembling form, kneeling to be on the floor with you and just embraces you. He mumbled a genuine and quiet apology, stroking the back of your head. His hair provided a soft and safe warmth and glow.

You look up nearly sobbing again, and question him "Idia, will you be the friend I can be myself with? Will you give me the space to be pathetic and cry my anxiety away?" The sobs came out choked and desperate, pleading for him to be your safe space.

"Of course." He replied gently, never breaking the embrace. He gave the bed a dirty look. "First things first, we're getting you a new phone. Immediately." He grumbled unlocking his own to put in a rushed order. "There's no way you're going to be able to play games with me on that thing." He growled clicking his tongue, distaste for the headmaster evident on his face.

You burst into laughter and hugged him back, burying your face against his neck. You ignored his embarrassed noises, he didn't pull away or push you away, so he must be fine with it. "Sounds good to me." You mumble out, feeling a genuine sense of comfort from someone who finally could understand at least some of what you've been feeling for the entirety of your life.

#twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #book 6 #idia shroud x introvert reader #short blurb #first fanfic #obey my twisted logic #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #secrets shared #platonic!shroud x reader

[violet-shadows]

Missing Piece (Part Six)

Series Index | Masterlist

Summary: Cassian and Nesta are happily mated and in love, so why do they feel like something is missing? When a newcomer arrives in the City of Starlight, they learn that their bond is not yet complete. 

Pairing: Cassian x Nesta x Reader (She/Her) (Poly Relationship)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Sorry this took a while to get posted. Work has been kicking my entire ass lately. 

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Eventually, I stopped feeling sorry for myself long enough to splint my wrist. It was fractured but not displaced, and with Fae healing, it would only be a week or two before it was completely healed. The injury still felt like a defeat, though, and I couldn’t help but launch into a spiral of regret. My friends back home had questioned my decision to uproot myself, but I’d dismissed their worry, determined to prove I could make it on my own. Now, it seemed their concerns were not as unfounded as I thought. 

After my parents died, I felt utterly lost. The deep loneliness of those early days made it nigh impossible to go on. Afterward, I became determined to rely only on the one person who couldn’t be taken away from me: myself. Leaving behind my old life had felt like the ultimate test of self-reliance, a chance to prove my independence once and for all. Now, as I lay in bed with a broken wrist and throbbing head, I felt like I had all but failed that test. 

It took me a while to fall asleep that night, and when I woke up the next morning, the sun was high in the sky already. I rose slowly, my muscles aching from my tumble down the stairs. When I looked in the mirror, I cringed, already dreading having to explain myself to Madja when I returned to work in two days' time. My left eye was blackened and swollen shut, and my lip was split from when my face caught my fall. In combination with my tear-streaked cheeks and unkempt hair, I looked an absolute mess. I hoped that by the time I had to emerge again, I’d be able to hide the worst of the bruising. Originally, I had planned to spend the day about town, stocking my pantry and buying other household basics. Between my haggard appearance and aching body, though, I elected to spend the day in bed. I knew that wallowing would do little to serve me, but the heaviness of my heart seemed like too much to carry for the time being. 

Sometime in the afternoon, I was pulled from my snoozing by a heavy knock at the door. I cringed, remembering the heap of broken furniture I had left at the base of the stairs. It would be my luck that one of the neighbors took issue with it. Not wanting to make enemies in the neighborhood already, I rushed to the door, secretly hoping a few sincere apologies and my pitiful appearance might smooth any feathers the mess had ruffled. But to my surprise, instead of being greeted by an angry stranger, I was met with the spymaster of the Night Court. 

Azriel. 

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

“We need your help with Y/N,” Nesta announced as soon as she arrived in Azriel’s office. The spymaster let out a long sigh, putting his papers to the side and giving his sister-in-law a weary look.

“I thought I already said I wasn’t going to spy on your mate.” 

“We’re not asking to spy on her,” Nesta huffed, “we’re asking you to find her.”

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up and he straightened, suddenly engaged in the conversation. “You lost her already?”

“We were working,” Nesta hissed. “She moved out of the inn and she didn’t leave an address. We need to find her soon because that useless innkeep didn’t even bother to give her our first message.” The Valkyrie’s face reddened, her notorious temper flaring once more. 

“There weren’t any messages left here for us, were there?” Cassian added hopefully, placing a comforting hand on the small of Nesta’s back.

“No, noth—,” Azriel began to answer, then froze. “Dammit.”

“What? What is it?”

Azriel rubbed his temples and groaned. “Yesterday the guards at the stairs mentioned someone trying to leave a message for you. They said it was probably just some well-wisher but—.”

“What was the message?” Nesta asked, bracing her hands on his desk. “What did she say?”

“They didn’t take a message,” Azriel replied, cringing. “They sent her away.”

“They what?” Cassian growled, his siphons flaring. 

“They sent… our mate… away,” Nesta hissed. She had a wild look in her eyes that Azriel knew well. 

“They didn’t know who she was,” he assured her, but the notion did little to calm the seething pair. “Look, I’ll find her for you. It won’t take long. Just give me an hour.” Nesta nodded stiffly, her posture rigid, and watched Azriel rush off to fulfill his promise.

“I hope—,” Cassian started to speak, but cut himself off. 

“What?” Nesta prompted.

“I hope she doesn’t think they sent her away on our orders,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck. Nesta’s heart dropped at the thought. Less than a week in and they’d already messed things up with their mate. 

“We’ll make it up to her, right?” she asked, deep in thought. 

“Right.” 

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Azriel worked quickly, sending out shadows to widen his search. True to his word, it wasn’t long before he’d tracked her to the northern edge of Velaris. The apartment she had chosen was run down and seedy, much like Nesta’s first home in the city. He had no doubt she and Cassian would take issue with the location, and he made a note to remind them to reign in their overbearing side. He decided to confirm her location before returning to the pair and made his way up the cracked exterior stairs, past a heap of broken furniture and discarded trash. It was quiet inside her apartment, and he couldn’t distinguish her heartbeat from the other residents, so he sent his shadows underneath the door to verify she was home. 

‘She’s inside,’ they whispered. ‘She sleeps.’ He called them back, turning to leave, but froze when they added another detail. ‘She’s injured.’ He drew Truth Teller on instinct, even though his shadows would have told him if she wasn’t alone. For a moment, he debated summoning Cassian and Nesta, but he thought better of it. If he didn’t give any details besides what his shadows had provided, he was liable to send the two into a panic, which was unlikely to end well for anyone. Especially him. 

He pounded on the door and was relieved when he heard movement inside. She took a while to reach it, and when she finally pulled it open, his heart sank. One of her eyes was blackened and swollen almost all the way closed, and her lip was split like she had been punched. Her wrist was wrapped expertly, splinted to brace a broken bone there. “What happened?” he asked urgently, stepping past her to search the small apartment. The space was little more than an empty room, with a tiny kitchenette and mattress on the floor. Nesta and Cassian would not be pleased with it, indeed. 

“I… fell,” she stammered, looking bewildered at his arrival.

“Fell from where? Have you seen a healer?” he asked, turning back to assess her. She seemed otherwise unharmed if a bit out of sorts. 

“Down the stairs. And I am a healer,” she reminded him. “What are you— can I help you?”

He realized then that he didn’t have any explanation for his appearance at her doorstep, and decided he would go with the truth. “Cassian and Nesta just got back to the city. They asked for my help in finding you.” 

“They… wanted to find me?” she seemed surprised and Azriel cringed internally. They certainly had come explaining to do. 

“They did,” he replied. “I’ll let them know where to find you. But… do you need anything? Are you sure you don’t need a healer?” She shook her head, blinking slowly, and he made his way to the door.

“Wait!” she called after him. “Can you just, tell them I’ll meet them in a few days… when this isn’t so bad?” 

“As much as I’d like to… I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep them away,” he said apologetically. “They’re… worried.”

“Okay…” she seemed resigned. “Can you take me to them, then? I don’t want… I don’t want them to see…” She blushed scarlet and Azriel felt a pang of empathy. He knew what it was to be pitied and he could understand her desire to avoid it. 

“I can take you to the House of Wind,” he agreed. 

“Okay, just give me a moment and I’ll be right out,” she glanced pointedly toward the open door and he stepped out. When she reappeared a few moments later, she had changed into a fresh set of clothes and let her hair down. It did little to hide the bruising, but he didn’t point it out. 

The flight to the House was short, and Azriel could hear approaching footsteps as soon as they landed. He set Y/N down quickly, stepping away to create some distance, and prepared to play referee if need be. Nesta arrived first, breaking into a grin upon spotting Y/N’s small frame half-hidden behind Azriel’s wings. But her face fell when her mate came fully into view and she rushed forward, all but shoving Azriel out of the way with Cassian hot on her heels. 

“Who did this to you?” It was Cassian who spoke first, his tone full of unbridled rage. His siphons were shining brightly, casting a red glow about the foyer. Nesta was wide-eyed as she reached out to touch her mate's shoulder, looking her up and down several times. Only Azriel noticed how Y/N shrank slightly under the sudden attention.

“I fell down some stairs,” she explained, cradling her wrist to her chest. Cassian’s hand left his sword, but he remained tense, his wings flared wide.

“Are you sure?” Nesta coaxed, her stare fixed on her mate’s swollen eye. The hand not resting on her shoulder was curled into a white knuckle fist.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked innocently. 

“If someone did this, you don’t have to protect them,” Cassian explained, stepping closer to tower over both his mates. 

“No one did this,” Y/N explained with a nervous chuckle. “Well, except the stairwell and myself. I lost my grip when I was moving in my bedframe.” 

“By yourself?” Nesta demanded, sounding vaguely admonishing. “Why didn’t you have help?”

Y/N’s expression darkened and she pulled away slightly, causing Nesta to drop her grip on her shoulder. “I didn’t have anyone to help me. I tried to drop a message here and got threatened with jail time, so…” She trailed off, shifting slightly from foot to foot. Azriel got the impression that his brother’s mate was of the nonconfrontational sort, and this was as close to an accusation as they were likely to get. Sensing the tension in the air, he took his leave, disappearing into the shadows. 

Meanwhile, Nesta’s eyes burned with wrath and she recoiled as if she’d been slapped, “They what?”

“They said you weren’t taking audiences, thought I was lying when I said I knew you,” she mumbled, looking at her feet. Cassian blew out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand down his face.

“They’ll be dealt with,” he said decisively, as much to assure Y/N as himself and his mate. He pitied the guards who had made such a grave error. 

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said, her voice soft. It seemed to catch Y/N off guard and she finally looked up from the floor. “For everything. It was all a misunderstanding and…” 

“Let’s take a seat,” Cassian suggested, gesturing to the adjacent sitting room. “I’ll get you some ice.” He stepped into the other room to make the request of the House, figuring now was not the time to tell her about its enchantment. When he returned, Y/N was seated next to Nesta on the sofa, her wrist still cradled to her chest. Cassian cringed at the sight of his mate in pain. “We should get Madja.” 

She shook her head furiously, then winced. “We don’t need to bother her. I’m a healer too, remember.” 

“Should you be treating yourself?” Nesta asked skeptically. 

“I splinted the wrist just fine. It’s not a bad break. The rest will heal in time,” she explained. 

“So it is broken?” Cassian asked, taking a seat on her other side. She accepted the ice gratefully and pressed it against her swollen eye. 

“Not badly,” she said again, dismissing their concerns. An awkward silence settled over the three before Nesta finally spoke. 

“We left a note for you at the inn,” she explained. “We had to leave for the Illyrian camps urgently but we didn’t want you to think we were ignoring you.” 

“Oh,” said Y/N, not meeting their eyes. 

“But the innkeep never gave it to you,” Cassian grumbled. “And then those Cauldron damned guards—” 

“It wasn’t our intention,” Nesta cut him off, “to just disappear.” 

“So you didn’t change your mind… about getting to know me?” Y/N asked, sounding small. 

“No!” The two replied in unison, their tones emphatic. 

“No, we were concerned, when we didn’t know where to find you. We do want to know you,” said Cassian. Nesta nodded in confirmation, resisting the urge to take Y/N's uninjured hand in hers. “If you’ll still have us.” 

“Of course,” Y/N replied quickly. “I’m glad it’s not as I thought it was.” Nesta and Cassian shared a smile, their relief palpable. Just then, Y/N's stomach growled and she blushed, murmuring an apology.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Cassian asked. Nesta would have teased him for his mother-henning if it weren’t for her own protective instincts in overdrive. 

“Last night,” Y/N shrugged. “I should probably go get something to eat—.” Before she could finish, there was a gentle thud as three plates appeared on the coffee table before them. Y/N yelped in surprise, jumping at the sudden appearance. 

“What in the Mother’s name was that?” she asked. 

“This House has certain… abilities. And a mind of its own,” Nesta explained. “I think it wants you to have dinner here.” 

“And so do we,” Cassian added. 

“The House is… magical?” she asked, dumbfounded. Nesta nodded, a glint of amusement in her eyes, and reached out to pass Y/N a plate. They sat on the couch to eat, falling back into familiar, comfortable conversation. Y/N asked them about their time in the mountains, listening intently as they explained the nature of their trip. The conversation led them to talk more about their jobs, Cassian’s role as a general, and Nesta’s work training the Valkyries. When they were done eating, both Nesta and Cassian noticed how Y/N eyes were beginning to droop. The House noticed as well, and a blanket popped into existence on Y/N lap, causing her to jump. 

“We should get you home,” Cassian said, holding back laughter. “Are you sure we shouldn’t have Madja look you over?”

“No, there’s really no need.” 

“Well then, how about that flight we talked about?” 

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

Flying with Cassian was incredible, but flying with Cassian and Nesta was practically euphoric. I couldn’t help but shreik as Cassian dove through the air, sharing a look with Nesta, who was grinning as the gripped onto him. True to his word, he carried the two of us with ease, never once loosening his grip on my waist. I directed them to the northern part of the city, trying my best to be vague about which building was mine. It wasn’t that I was ashamed, per say, but in contrast to their lavish, enchanted home, my hole in the wall felt especially humble. We landed on the street in front of my building, but it was immediately clear that both Cassian and Nesta were hellbent on walking me all the way to my door. 

I didn’t look at them as I led them up the stairs, afraid of what I might see in their expressions. When we reached my door, I turned and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Nesta kept glancing down at the stairs, her eyes drifting to the discarded, broken headboard, while Cassian was intently examining my front door. “This isn’t secure,” he commented, tugging on the old, rusted hinges. “I can fix it. Tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to do tha—”

“Is that what you were trying to move?” Nesta interrupted, gesturing at the splintered wood below. I nodded and she peered down at it thoughtfully. I opened my door and Cassian looked behind me, examining the space. 

“Can we come by tomorrow? If you’re up to it, of course?” he asked, looking back at me. There was something so innocent about the way he asked, a hopeful look to him so at odds with his reputation is was comical. 

“Sure,” I replied, unable to decline such a genuine request. The two shared a meaningful look that I couldn’t quite interpret, then smiled. 

“We’ll see you in the morning, Y/N,” said Nesta. “Get some rest.” 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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#cassian x reader #nessian x reader #cassian x you #nesta x you #nesta x reader #nessian x you #poly!nessian #acotar #nessian #acotar fanfic #ff #my stuff

[hotasfahrenheit]

Scattered Only Friends ep 8 thoughts for now while I tumble it around in my brain and pick it apart:

Ray thinks Sand can't (and won't) walk away from him because Ray can't walk away from Mew.

I know the preview for next week shows Ray and Sand having a lovely time in the river but I'm hoping that Ray waking up alone on that couch is a big wake up call for him in general.

Mew didn't stay by his side- he couldn't have helped Ray even if he'd wanted to. Mew also needed taking care of, and Ray couldn't do that for him, either. Mew was too busy prioritizing his revenge plot on Top to pay any attention to what was happening to Ray except when it convenienced him, both at the party and beforehand. So much for Ray's emergency contact.

Top watched Mew do all the things Mew asked him not to, that Mew judged him for, took everything that Mew threw in his face both literally and figuratively, and could have been the good dude who just put Mew to bed but then got weird about it. He was being very gentle? But Mew was not aware or awake and the longer I think about the whole scene, especially how it ended, the more squicked out I feel. Top wanted to take care of him but crossed the line.

Mew wouldn't kiss Ray, then Mew only kissed Ray to make Top angry.

Sand wouldn't kiss Ray, then Sand stood his ground and refused to be second place.

Sand still did his best to rescue Ray from the cops- and the fact that it was Top of all people who salvaged the situation is wild, tho we know he did it for Mew's benefit and not for Ray's- but Sand couldn't do it on his own. Then he left Ray. He collected Nick and went home. Which was incredible. Standing ovation. Well done, Sand.

Ray is going to wake up with no Mew, no Sand. Alone. I don't want my lil meowmeow blorbo boi to get hurt but he's made it very clear that there is no other way for him to learn. Each time he's screwed up deeply, someone has been there to hold him, get in a tub with him, stay physically by his side, but this time he's going to wake up alone. By himself. Cared for, or else he'd be in a jail cell or even just on the floor, but alone.

I have a lot of thoughts about how Ray isn't actually in love with Mew and hasn't been for a long time and his behavior with Sand this episode continues to support that but I'll get into that in a separate post later because I've rambled enough for now.

#only friends the series #ofts #only friends #ofts ray #ofts sand #ofts mew #ofts top #sandray #raymew #topmew

[baileys-3]

CHAPTER 16 IS ONLINE on AO3

First things first: Thanks again to Cookies93 for beta reading. Who put in another late shift yesterday so that you can get your new chapter this morning.

Then maybe a few words about the current status. Chapter 25 is almost finished. But it was almost midnight yesterday and fatigue overwhelmed me. That's why I didn't manage to finish it. I'm currently at 130,000 words. And still in episode 5x11. There's a lot to write about there too.

By the way, I had to laugh a little. I had just finished writing the scene when Lucy asks Tim for tips for the Citizens' Academy. The scene where “Nothing” comes. When Tim is asked from Nolan what he did the night before. And if you look at Lucy while Tim is talking about the academy...well, she's gone and doesn't hear anything about what Tim actually says. And I just worked that into my chapter... shortly afterwards there is a post on Tumbl with exactly the same scene and the same comment. Sometimes it's nice when others see it that way too.

Sneak Peak:

Lucy wakes up the next day with cramps and immediately aware of the reason of said cramps. It’s her period. She always has these cramps on the first day. So, her the first she thinks is "Shit."

The second thought is "How did I ended up in bed?" And the third: "Where's Tim?"

One issue at the time Lucy! She jumps up from the bed and rushes into the bathroom, or rather straight into the shower. As the warm water runs over her body, she tries to work out exactly what happened yesterday. Did she fall asleep? She remembers that they were watching some documentary on the tv. She was in Tim's arms and then? Then nothing … She doesn't remember anything at all! Only that she got insanely tired at some point. Oh boy. Apparently, she fell asleep on a date with Tim. AGAIN! How incredibly embarrassing. She just can’t help it, she always feels so safe in his arms and somehow her heart must be saying "Just sleep Lucy. You are safe." It has never really happened to her before. She never fell asleep on the couch in her boyfriend’s arm.

But actually, it makes sense, because she's usually super tired the days prior to her period. And the last few days of dating, going to the bar and the overnight stakeout have probably taken more out of her than she thought. She was clearly behind on her sleep.

But that doesn't explain how she got to bed. She had just finished taking a shower and is in the process of drying off when she hears the front door open. It takes her about three seconds to finish drying before she starts to panic. SHIT! When Tamara sees the state of the couch and the two teacups, she will instantly know that someone had been over, and she will need to come up with a cover story.

Lucy quickly wraps her towel around her body and hurries out of the bathroom. As she enters the room, several things register in her mind all at once. Tamara is standing facing away from her, opening the fridge. The cups have been cleared away and the blanket is neatly folded over the back of the couch, while all the cushions are back in place. Oh, thank God for Tim and his tidiness.

Tamara turns around to sound of Lucy storming out of the bathroom, crossing her arms and lifting her eyes up and down in response at the sight of her.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. How was the party?"

"Very good, I'd say."

Then Tamara points at her with one hand and waves it. "What are you doing?"

"Showering."

"I can see that. But what are you doing here?"

"Ehm. Tea... I uhh… I wanted to put some the kettle on."

Lucy goes to the kettle, picks it up and fills it with water, then switches it on. In the meantime, Tamara has turned back to the fridge and taken out a bottle of juice. Then she glances at Lucy again.

"And you just came up with that spontaneously in the shower, did you?"

#archive of our own #chenford #chenford fanfic #lucy chen #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fic #tim x lucy #chenfordsource #ao3 link #lucy and tim #ao3

[this-is-moony-lovegood]

6x18 Couch Spec/Coda

Just an idea I wish would play out on screen tonight feat. Bobby and Buck father/son vibes. It’s about 1.6k. Let me know what you think.

***

It’s been a long day to say the least. Buck has been a firefighter for years and he doesn’t think he’d ever experience a more draining day on the job and he’s been through a lot. Yet today it wasn’t just a normal rescue, because all of his team had nearly died in that bridge collapse. Hen in the wreck, Chim being impaled, Bobby tumbling off the bridge, and Eddie trapped in that ticking time bomb they called a van… it had almost been too, much.

Buck had counted each time that day he wanted to just stop and take a minute to just scream a the universe for this horrible situation: only him and Ravi fighting against all odds to save their family. Yet, he didn’t stop once because he had to save them. And he had done it. All of them made it out of there, alive. Bobby would be banged up for a bit, Chim would be out for weeks healing from his puncture wound, and Eddie was on bed-rest while his ribs healed. Both Buck and Hen had concussions that would need a few days of rest to recover with, but he’d be back at the firehouse bright and early Monday morning ready to take on the world.

Now, after visiting Chim in the hospital and getting Eddie bandaged up, now that he was home at Eddie’s Buck could finally start taking some breaths. As he settled in on the couch, Eddie on the right end and Chris snuggled in between them while they watched a movie (the brightness dimmed just a bit to help with both his and Eddie’s headaches), exhaustion started seeping into his bones. The feeling he had now was on par with his post-tsunami crash, coming down from being high on adrenaline and fear. At least this time he was somewhere safe and comfortable, rather than outside of a field hospital, or dealing with the drama of the Connor and Kameron ordeal in his loft. That was a tomorrow Buck problem, right now, he didn’t want to be anywhere else but right there, with Eddie and Chris.

Just as he’s about to fully close his eyes, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He nearly groans thinking that it might be Connor or Kameron calling him to mediate. If it had been he would have immediately. However, when Bobby’s name flashed across his screen, he can’t just silence the call. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers to Eddie before gently moving a sleeping Chris from his side to lean against his dad. Buck quietly got up and made his way into the Diaz’s kitchen before answering, “Hey, Cap. Everything okay?”

“Hey, kid. Everything is fine. Just calling to check in. Today was… a lot. Are you doing okay?”

“Me? You’re the one that fell off a bridge, Bobby!” He doesn’t mention how he had to watch Bobby fall of said bridge. Doesn’t mention the fear that seeped into his bones at the thought of Bobby being dead when he found him.

But he doesn’t have to mention those things, because as if Bobby can read this thoughts, he says, “And you’re the one that had to deal with the fall out.”

“I promise, I’m okay.” As long as all of you are okay, I’m okay. “Just exhausted.”

Dropping the subject for the moment, Bobby speaks again. “You really stepped up today, kid. I’m proud of you.”

Buck smile grows three sizes at the compliment, and he’s glad Bobby is just on the phone so he can’t see how much he’s affected by it. Bobby might not be his dad, but he’s a way better one than Philip Buckley, and having any parent be proud of him is all he’s ever wanted. “Just doing my job, Cap.” He says, trying to act nonchalant. If Bobby notices his change of voice, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Look, days like this often put a lot of things into perspective for us.” Bobby begins, and Buck can’t help but wonder where this conversation is going. “For me, I decided that it’s time I take a break.”

“A break? Are you leaving the 118?” Buck asks, his voice getting a little higher as the panic begins to blossom in his chest.

“No - well, yes, but not for long.” He’s sure Buck can hear his very audible sigh of relief that the clarification. “Athena and I have been trying to find the right time to take our honeymoon, and I think after this, we both deserve some time off.”

“You’re honeymoon… yeah, it’s been four years, Cap. I think it’s about time.” Buck adds, a teasing tilt to his voice. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Just a few weeks. I’ll be so quick you won’t even miss me.” Buck highly doubts that, and tells him so. “While I’m gone, I’m going to need someone to hold down the fort over at the station.”

“The 118 isn’t the same without you, but I know Hen will do a great job. She always does.” It had taken Buck some time to settle with Bobby’s thoughts about his leadership of the 118 before, but he knows Hen is a good interim captain. Even when she was busting her ass studying for medical school, she was still the kind of leader the 118 needed while Bobby was gone. He knows this time won’t be any different - well, maybe it’ll be even better now that the 118 has her full attention.

Because of this, Bobby’s next statement though takes him by surprise. “Actually, Buck, I was going to ask you to take over for me.”

“Really? Me?” Buck sputters, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes, Buck, you.” Bobby assures him. “I know we talked about this earlier this year about how you weren’t ready, but I think you’ve shown a lot of growth since then. I told you that you needed some experience, and today you really showed up. When we needed you, you stepped in and became the leader the 118 needed. Hen, Eddie, Athena, Chim, Ravi… they were all really impressed by you today. So was I. If you still want to lead, I think you’re ready now. I know you are.”

“Are you sure? I mean.. You want me, to be interim captain? Even though I don’t have a couch?” Buck asks, recalling their previous discussion on the topic.

“I thought your mom bought you a couch?” Bobby says skeptically.

“Yeah, she did. But, that’s not what I mean, really.” Buck says, still shaking his head. Needing some reassurance, he ducks out of the kitchen door and moved back out into the living room. “The couch isn’t really a couch it’s a-” He cuts himself off at the scene before him.

On the navy couch, the one that he falls asleep effortlessly on all the time, Eddie and Chris are fast asleep. Chris is curled up into Eddie’s side, arm gently thrown over his dad’s stomach. His glass are titled on his face, from where his face is buried in Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie on the other hand has his head resting against his arm. Said arm is stretched across the back of the couch, almost as if it was reaching for the empty seat on the left. Buck’s empty seat.

Buck thinks back to a conversation he had with Maddie years ago about his place in the Diaz home: This is Eddie’s house. I’m not really a guest. Even then he felt like Eddie’s house was his home more than his apartment. Now, with Kameron sleeping in his bed and Buck sleeping - well, not really sleeping - on his couch in his loft, he’s felt more like a guest there than he has here. Because It’s true. 

It’s not that the couch at his loft is ridiculously uncomfortable compared to Eddie’s, it’s that it’s not where it should be. His loft is cold, empty, lifeless. The Diaz house is warm, caring, lived-in. There are more photos of Buck on the walls, more life, more compassion inside the Diaz house than there ever will be in Buck’s loft. If Buck’s being honest, it has nothing to do with the couch itself, than the people sitting on it. And isn’t that what he’s been looking for? Someone - someones - that make him feel like he’s at ease… at home?

“You know what Cap… I think… I think I do have a couch.” Buck says, a little breathless at the realization that everything he’s been looking for has been right in front of him the entire time.

Bobby’s light laugh rings through the phone when he says, “I know you do, kid. Take care of the 118 for me while I’m gone, alright? I expect a full report when I get back in two weeks.”

“Will do, Cap. I’ll keep the clipboard handy.”

“Oh, and Buck.” Bobby adds, “I’m glad you found the right couch. I knew you would.” Before Buck can ask him to elaborate, the captain has already hung up. He’s tempted to call back and ask him to, but now is not the time. 

He simply tucks his phone back into his pocket, and pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch. As he settles back down into his spot, he tosses the blanket over him and his Diaz boys. He knows he needs to talk to Eddie about what he’s realized tomorrow, but tonight having them like this is enough. It doesn’t take more than a minute for Buck to fall back asleep with a smile still on his lips.

#buddie #911 6x18 spec fic #911 fox #911 abc #911 #buddie theory

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Wonderland: Part Four

A/N: And now back to my regularly scheduled writing and posting schedule ;) Trigger warning for animal attacks and animal/creature death. But uh hope everyone enjoys? I always feel weird saying enjoy with these parts because this whole fic is hella angsty but hey, maybe people do enjoy that. 

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta’s eyes flutter open to soft morning light filtering in through the windows. It streaks across the blankets of the bed, against the floor and walls, painting everything in golden hues. Much like the previous night, Cassian has curled himself around her, arm a secure weight across her hips and a leg hooked between her own. His face is half buried against her hair, every exhale skittering across her skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Nesta tries to discreetly shift away from that, but it seems those mating instincts are awake even if Cassian isn’t, the male softly growling and pulling her more securely against him.

At least the night had been all quiet, no nightmares returning to their usual haunts. For either of them. As much as Nesta hates to admit it, last night was probably the best sleep she’s ever had, and not just in the last two years. For once there was no restlessness, no broken and scarred images flashing behind her eyes, no floating in that in between space that always leaves her on edge.

She isn’t sure what to make of that, how she feels about it.

Nesta supposes she can simply add it to the long list of things she’s still so unsure about. Her mind keeps flittering back to Azriel’s words, to how Cassian had been after she’d rejected the bond. Even more so, she can’t stop thinking about Cassian’s words to her, how he would have taken her away, would have helped her if she’d only asked. She knows it never would have been that simple, but it doesn’t stop the what-if’s from tumbling around in her brain. Where would they be? What could they be?

Of course, it doesn’t matter now. It’s just about where they go from here, what next steps may be awaiting for them to take. It certainly feels as though they’re at a cross road, but is there a right one? Sunshine and green grass has never been a path Nesta envisioned for herself, never a possibility. She can’t help but wonder if maybe she and Cassian both are a little too broken, too full of jagged pieces weathered down by time, to truly be fixed. If they’ll always be cracked and imperfect no matter what. Perhaps darkness and a bramble filled path is their only option.

With a soft sigh, Nesta brings her hands up, pressing them against her eyes in frustration. It’s a move she instantly regrets, the cold air from the cabin rushing in and licking across her skin. Nesta shivers, hiking the blankets back up to her chin and burrowing deeper into them, desperate to chase their warmth. A wing curls up and around her, cocooning her and the warmth in, and Nesta freezes. She rolls over carefully to find Cassian fully awake and watching her. She isn’t sure if it’s the sleep or something else that’s helped, but his eyes are alert and intense, almost as intense as before. They’re certainly as unnerving as before, and it has Nesta clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Aren’t you cold?” Nesta asks, noting the fact that despite sleeping shirtless and having half his chest out of the blankets, Cassian seems completely unbothered.

“When you grow up in the snow,” Cassian explains quietly. “You get used to it.”

The comment has Nesta frowning. “I thought the cabin you, Rhysand, and Azriel grew up in was quite nice. It didn’t keep you warm?”

“Rhys’ cabin,” Cassian corrects her. “I spent my first few years after I got tossed into Windhaven sleeping in an old, torn tent on the outskirts of camp. It kept out the worst of the wind, but there wasn’t a lot to be done about the cold seeping up from the ground.”

The explanation has Nesta’s chest aching, the image of a young Cassian shivering in the cold flashing in her mind. They’re so similar and yet so different.

“Our cabin, if you could even call it that, wasn’t much better,” Nesta offers, toying with the fraying hem of the blanket. “Elain, Feyre, and I didn’t just share a bed because of the lack of space, the body heat helped as well. We used to fight over who got to sleep in the middle since it was the warmest. But there were still days, in the dead of winter especially, where we’d wake and be able to see our breath, where our hands would start to turn purple.”

“I know. Feyre told us what it was like when she first came to Velaris.”

Nesta scoffs at that, pulling away from him and sitting up in the bed. “Of course she did. Let me guess, she told you how horrid her sisters were too, right? No one ever wants to hear my side. It’s always Feyre’s side they’re on.”

Cassian is silent for a moment, and when Nesta looks back toward him, that heavy intensity is still swimming in his eyes. “I would have been on your side. If you’d have let me.”

“No you wouldn’t have,” Nesta whispers, curling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “You were always going to be most loyal to Rhysand.”

“You mean the person who exiled me?” Cassian shoots back, incredulity underlying his tone.

“I heard you attacked his family.”

“Are you asking for my side?”

A heartbeat passes. Then two.

“Yes.”

“I never would have hurt Nyx. Or Feyre. It’s just…” Cassian sighs softly, sitting up as well. “It was like every part of me was always screaming at me to get to you, I had to get to you, that instinct practically clawing at me, pulling me apart from the inside out. I tried to fight it, but it would get inside my head. I… I made a mistake that day. I thought it was a trick. I thought I was being taunted by the future I would no longer have.”

Cassian’s explanation is like a bucket of cold water over Nesta’s head, stealing her breath, stealing any sort of coherent thoughts. His words echo and ring in her ears, the pain laced through them like a knife straight through her chest. Her gut twists, guilt’s cold hands digging into her insides until Nesta has to look away from Cassian’s gaze.

“I didn’t—” Nesta pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know this was what happened. No one ever told me.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Nesta’s gaze snaps back to Cassian, but the words stick to the back of her throat. What can she say? Would it have made a difference if someone had told her the consequences that awaited? She thinks back to the person she was back then, so utterly broken and weighed down by it all, so cold and unfeeling and desperate for any type of reprieve. Would that female still have rejected the bond if she knew?

She isn’t sure if it’s something he sees on her face or just the silence that stretches between them, but Cassian merely nods. He stands up and skulks out of the bedroom without another word, not even bothering to look back at her. Nesta closes her eyes, letting out a shaky sigh, before clambering off the bed herself. She quickly washes and changes into one of her dresses, taking the time to braid and pin her hair.

When Nesta steps out of the bedroom, she expects to be stuck spending another day in the cabin alone. What she doesn’t expect is to find Cassian in the kitchen, cooking. In fact, she has to blink a few times to ensure what she’s seeing is actually real, but he’s stood by the cabin’s small stovetop, still clad in only the pants he slept in, stirring a pot. He doesn’t turn when Nesta steps into the room, so she goes over to the table, sliding into one of the seats.

“Where did you go?” Cassian asks, walking over to her and setting down a bowl of porridge. “You said yesterday that you needed to get away from Velaris. Where did you end up going?”

Nesta picks up the spoon, twiddling it between her fingers. “A seaside town on the continent, near the port. I have an apartment there, and a job at the local bookstore. I help balance their books. I was always good at math.”

Cassian hums quietly in understanding, heading back to prepare a bowl of porridge of his own. Nesta finds herself watching him. Despite the wildness that has taken over Cassian’s features through the year of isolation, the morning light cascading in through the window still paints him in soft lines and shadows. When Cassian catches her staring, Nesta ducks her head, instead focusing on the breakfast in front of her, the cinnamon of the porridge sweet against her tongue. They eat in silence for a while, the only sounds in the cabin the scrape of their spoons against their respective bowls.

“And are you happy? Where you are now?” Cassian breaks the quiet, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nesta considers how to answer, how to accurately convey all the emotions she’s felt since moving to the continent, before settling on, “I’m happier.”

Cassian turns away from her, back toward the sink, but Nesta swears she can feel pain and regret that isn’t her own lance through her chest. It almost takes her breath away, but just as soon as it flares, that feeling is vanishing.

“There’s a storm coming in from the mountains,” Cassian says, pushing away from the kitchen sink and back toward the bedroom.

“It looks perfectly sunny outside,” Nesta calls after him, her brows pinching as she looks out the window, a stretch of bright blue sky above the snow and trees.

“It will most likely hit us later this evening,” Cassian explains, stepping back into the front room fully dressed. “I’ll make sure to check the nearby traps and gather enough wood for us to weather through it.”

“Okay,” Nesta agrees halfheartedly, unable to swallow down the disappointment as she watches Cassian pull on his boots. Another day alone in this cabin.

As if he can sense her thoughts, Cassian pauses where he was lacing up his boots and glances back toward her, something like shame pinching across his face. He holds her gaze for just a moment, but then he snaps back to the task at hand, securing his boots and yanking open the front door.

Left to her own devices again, Nesta gets up from the table, making quick work to wash the dishes from breakfast. She heads to her old bedroom, pulling the quilt off the bed and grabbing her unfinished book from the bedside table. She gets comfortable on the sofa, wrapping the blanket around her and balancing the book on her raised knees. She opens up to her last page, but her eyes keep glancing out the window, waiting to catch a glimpse of large, dark wings in the skies above, or even to see the storm Cassian mentioned. There’s no sign of either.

Nesta doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but something about the quiet, the warmth curled up in the blanket, the story she’s reading, it all lulls her until she’s shifting to get more comfortable and letting her eyes fall shut. She’s not sure how much time has passed when she’s finally tugged away from sleep’s gentle embrace, but the room seems somewhat darker, clouds having rolled in to cast the skies overhead in a dull gray.

Slowly, Nesta blinks her eyes open properly and comes face to face with a pair of almost glowing, golden ones. Nesta rears back with a startled shout, pressing back against the cushions of the sofa, but the large wolf in front of her doesn’t move. Its ears twitch slightly at her reaction, and it tilts its head as it continues to stare at her. Nesta’s gaze darts around the room, trying to figure out how the wolf even got inside, trying to find some sort of weapon nearby that she can grab and defend herself with. She half wonders if Cassian is close to the cabin, if she shouts his name, he’ll come barreling inside.

The wolf takes a step closer, and Nesta’s whole body tenses. It dips its head toward Nesta’s hand, and she swears she’s not breathing, watching with wide, weary eyes as the wolf presses its nose against her fingers. She waits for it to bite, for the pain of teeth sinking into skin to shoot up her arm, but it never comes.

Instead, the wolf continues to move its head until Nesta’s hand is resting between its ears. There’s something like expectancy shining in the gold of its eyes, and cautiously, Nesta starts to card her fingers through the fur, finding it surprisingly soft. The wolf lets out a contented huff, pressing its face closer to Nesta as she continues to pet it.

“Vidar…?” Nesta questions carefully.

The wolf looks up at her at the name, ears seeming to twitch in recognition. Nesta can’t help it. She laughs. She laughs until her chest is practically heaving with it, an ache threatening to overtake her lungs. Here she is, sitting in a cabin in the middle of nowhere Illyria, petting a wolf. A wolf that, until a few minutes ago, she didn’t even think was real. Maybe the isolation is starting to get to her too.

Vidar lets out another sound somewhere between a huff and a snort and steps away from Nesta, stalking toward the front door of the cabin. He turns his head to look back at Nesta for just a moment then faces the door again, thumping his large paws against the floor.

“Walk?” Nesta asks aloud. “Do wolves go for walks?”

Vidar turns to stare at her again, tilting his head slightly. It feels like answer enough. Nesta lets out a soft sigh, but she stands up from the sofa, depositing the blanket and her book. Perhaps a walk will do her some good too, give her a chance to breathe some fresh air and to untangle the knot of thoughts in her mind before she’s stuck inside during the storm.

Nesta slips on her boots and a heavy cloak before opening up the front door, Vidar bounding out and into the snow. The start of the storm seems to have already arrived, small flakes of snow falling slowly in swirls of white. They land like soft kisses against Nesta’s hair and eyelashes, and already her nose feels pink and snow bitten.

Nesta lets Vidar lead the way, the wolf clearly familiar with the terrain. She treks after him through the snow and between the trees that surround the cabin. All of the evergreens are blanketed in white, the snow weighing down the branches. With the snow falling softly all around them, there’s a quiet peacefulness to the landscape, and as Vidar comes to a stop, Nesta can’t help but close her eyes, tilting her head back toward the sky and taking a deep breath.

A low growl has Nesta’s eyes snapping back open again. Her attention goes to Vidar, the wolf now crouched down, hackles raised. His ears are pressed flat against his head, teeth bared, but his attention isn’t toward Nesta, but further into the woods. Nesta tries to squint between the trees, but the snow has started to pick up, and she can’t see anything. A shiver rakes its way up Nesta’s spine, her heart stuttering up a few paces in her chest. Suddenly, the quiet has take on a sense of eeriness rather than peacefulness.

Nesta takes a few cautious steps backwards, eyes darting back toward the cabin they came from, but then there’s a second growl, a growl that’s lower, more ominous. Nesta watches in horror as a creature twice the size of Vidar slinks out from between the trees, fur as dark as the shadows. Two pairs of horns curl upward from behind its ears, red eyes boring straight into Nesta. It snaps its jaw, fangs on full display, and Nesta feels icy cold terror lance through her.

She continues her careful steps back and away from the creature. One step. Two. Three. The creature takes a step forward, and Nesta freezes. Before she can even blink, Vidar jumps into the action, charging at the creature, and Nesta doesn’t need to be told twice. She turns and sprints back toward the cabin, desperately trying to drag her feet through the thickening snow.

A pained whimper sounds from behind Nesta, and when she turns to look over her shoulder, Vidar is crumpled beneath a tree, the bark splintered like he’d been thrown against it. Her heart gives a painful squeeze at the sight, a choked sound tearing past her lips, but she knows she doesn’t have time to worry about him. She continues her trudge through the snow, glancing behind her every few seconds to keep her eyes on the creature. It stalks toward her slowly, like it’s some sort of game, like it’s taunting her before it eats her. It takes everything in her to fight back the fear threatening to paralyze her, to keep her feet pushing forward.

Nesta glances back again, but suddenly, the creature is gone. Her feet stutter to a stop, and her eyes scan the tree line, squinting for a flash of black fur. Could it really have left? Just like that? She turns back around to continue toward the cabin, but the creature is right in front of her now. It must have circled around without her realizing, large, clawed paws silent in the snow. It rears back on its haunches before it pounces, and Nesta lets out a scream, arms coming up to shield her face instinctively.

She can feel the ground shake and shudder beneath her feet, red flooding her vision, but there’s no pain. In fact, she doesn’t feel anything except the cold bite of the snow and the fear still pulsing through her veins. Slowly, Nesta lowers her arms only to find Cassian in front of her, wings spread wide and sword poised in his hands, siphons casting the snow around them a ruby red as they flare.

Nesta can do nothing but watch as Cassian’s sword arcs through the air, slashing toward the creature without abandon. Cassian had always been so refined and elegant in his fighting, all those years training carving and molding him until he moved like a dancer across battlefields. But not now. Nesta isn’t sure if it’s the time without practice or the madness, but there’s a wildness in the way he moves and fights now too.

Unfortunately for Cassian, whatever the creature is, it’s built for and used to the snow, body moving lithely as it dodges the swings of Cassian’s sword. It lets out another growl and charges toward him, but Cassian stands his ground, using the creature pouncing to his benefit and burying his sword in the creature’s side.

The creature has barely hit the ground before Cassian is in front of Nesta, shaking hands frantically sliding up and down her arms, over her sides, cradling her face. His eyes are wide as he takes her in, and Nesta is sure that the way his chest heaves isn’t just from fighting off that creature. She can practically taste his fear on the back of her tongue where it mingles with her own.

“I’m okay,” Nesta assures him quietly, reaching her hands up to grip Cassian’s. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She feels more than she hears Cassian’s sigh of relief, his breath skating across the skin of her cheeks. His hands fall back down to his sides, and Cassian drops to his knees, slumping down against the snow. Nesta crouches down as well, pushing the matted hair off his face with gentle fingers and tilting his face back up to meet hers. But any words die in her throat when she takes in the glazed look that’s overtaken Cassian’s eyes, his focus clearly going in and out.

Nesta frowns down at him, and it’s then that she notices the red stain growing in the snow around them. She rears back enough that she can fully take Cassian in, finally noting the four long gashes on his chest from where the creature must have sunk its claws in. They look deep, and they definitely look bad, Cassian swaying unsteadily where he’s knelt in the snow.

“Oh, gods.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist​ @hellogoodbye14​​ @nestaspegasus​​ @nesquik-arccheron​​ @sv0430​​ @lady-winter-sunrise​​ ​​@talkfantasytome @secretlovelybeauty​​ @dontgetsalmonella​​ @swankii-art-teacher​​ @mis-lil-red​​ @bookstantrash​​ @eirini-thaleia​​ @sleeping-and-books​​ @wonderland--memories​​ @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter​​ @sayosdreams​​ @ubigaia​​ @duskandstarlight​​ @live-the-fangirl-life​​ @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​​ @fromthelibraryofemilyj​​ @luivagr-blog​​ @autumnbabylon​​ @xstarlightsupremex​ @lifeisntafantasy​​ @deedz-thrillerkilller16​​ @superspiritfestival​​ @faeriebambula​​ @almosttenaciousmoon​​​​ @vanjaulven​​​​ @laughadil​​​​ @magdoi​​​ @hiimheresworld​​​ @birdsdontwearshoes​​​ @marigold-morelli​​

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nesta x cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #Wonderland au #my fic

[anthrofreshtodeath]

P FKN R Snippet

I've been playing with P FKN R again, while I work on Cafuddàri 18. Slowly. I only have three chapters written, so it won't be posted any time soon, but I often like to share drafts of what I'm working on because conversation always drives the process forward.

See it below the cut.

Jane sat on the couch right after tossing Maura a glance that asked for permission. Maura granted it, so Jane lowered herself - slowly, as if that were supposed to show some grand contrition. She didn’t know; she’d never been in this kind of delicate situation before. “Listen, Maura, me and Tatiana… we’re a thing,” she said, putting her hand on Maura’s knee. Maura jerked away, but Jane followed. She winced. “That, shit. That came out wrong. What I mean is, me and Tatiana are a thing, unless one, or both, of us, has a thing. Does that make sense?”

It must have, just a little, because even though Maura still sniffled, she turned more towards Jane. “To be honest, no,” she replied, rolling up her eyes to prevent even more tears from falling and embarrassing her. 

“It means that she and I have an agreement,” started Jane. She watched Maura’s body for signs she should stop, or alter course. When Maura only listened with that emotion-weary look, her downturned lips, Jane continued. “When we’re not seeing people, if we’re in each others’ neck of the woods, we… we have fun. If we both want it.”

Maura twitched her nose. Then her cheeks reddened when she looked Jane full in the face since she yelled at her in the foyer. “That’s - that’s all?”

Jane actually laughed a little. “Yeah,” she confirmed, and Maura tracked the handsome little bob of her voice box. “We’re not… serious. We uh, I don’t think we ever will be. We figured out a long time ago that we’d always be on different life paths. Her dream was always New York; mine was, is, Boston. Home.”

“So you pick up your relationship when she’s here?” Maura asked, voice shaky and quiet, “Or when you’re in New York?”

“We have sex, Maura,” Jane deadpanned. “We have sex when she’s here.”

Uncharacteristically, Maura blushed. She chalked it up to the fact that they are talking about the sex life of her very-catholic best friend, and not any personal investment in the matter. “The… that conference. In New York City,” she said, unable to help the words tumbling out of her mouth. “That cybercrimes and homicide investigations conference. Last May.”

“No,” Jane anticipated the unasked question. “She was upstate. Had some business with one of the ADAs out there. I didn’t see her. Thought about it, though.”

“Ugh,” Maura groaned, her head thrown back. She dabbed at her eyes with each index finger and closed them while she shook. “I’m sorry, for crying. For overreacting before I had all the facts.”

Jane pursed her lips. She scanned Maura from head to toe, in her usual semi-casual Saturday shopping attire and having fully expected an evening out with her friend and instead finding that friend in bed with someone Maura barely knew. “You, uh, you don’t gotta be sorry,” said Jane. She looked down at her own hands, folded over her lap. She wore running shorts and an old, faded Red Sox t-shirt, and possibly mismatched socks. She imagined that if she lifted those hands up to her face, they would probably still smell like Tatiana Martinez Vazquez. Jane reddened again. “You don’t ever gotta apologize for feelin’ your feelings. And I fucked up today. We had plans and I forgot because I was thinkin’ with… well I wasn’t usin’ my brain. But we can still go, ok? I got a couple changes of clothes upstairs. Lemme just shower and get dressed and we can do everything we planned to.”

Maura perked up. “Are you sure you don’t need to… Should you at least call her? You must have left seconds after I did to get here so fast,” she replied. She couldn’t deny the hammering in her chest, explicit possession, a thrill that Jane had abandoned her tryst with a very attractive young woman to come be at Maura’s side.

#P FKN R #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #poor maura #however my plan is for her to get the last laugh of course #people are probably going to hate this the way they hated trigonometry but oh well #I do what I want lol

[ravelights]

I posted 453 times in 2022

That's 403 more posts than 2021!

125 posts created (28%)

328 posts reblogged (72%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@redoaktreehill

@gentrychild

@ravelights

@rain-coat-killer

@psychomurderz

I tagged 276 of my posts in 2022

Only 39% of my posts had no tags

#bnha - 164 posts

#all for one - 133 posts

#boku no hero academia - 57 posts

#midoriya izuku - 57 posts

#dad for one - 56 posts

#mha - 38 posts

#my hero academia - 32 posts

#yoichi shigaraki - 23 posts

#izuku midoriya - 22 posts

#bnha spoilers - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i actually didn’t look at the original while i was drawing i just remembered it from my head and was shocked to se how much i had changed

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

So is the little villain au DFO? If so, it's hilarious to imagine AFO's reaction when he tracks down this new upstart villain who's been making a nightmare for the HPSC (good) but hasn't paid proper homage to him (bad), only to find out its his adorable five year old, founding a new criminal empire already! They grow up so fast! Now he can have all sorts of new daddy son experiences!

Yeah this is basically what happened, at first All for One thought someone was using Izuku because his son was five, but nope, Izuku did it all on his own. You can imagine the whiplash All for One got from finding this out, for a man that has seen everything that was a first. Although how I imagined them meeting changed this was originally the prompt for it:

All for One had been struggling through a unnecessarily hard process of meeting the boss of a growing villainess organisation, that seems to know how everything goes before it happens. But no matter how much All for One tried, the members refuse to let him have any contact with their leader. It isn't until after he forces his way into one of the organisations strong holds and finally come face to face with their mysterious leader did he realise why they been so relucted.

"What's wrong?" A four year old with green curly hair, and freckles yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Having just woken up from his afternoon nap, something he couldn't escape from these days.

All for One stared down at his four old son, sleepily tumble off his bed, blanket still in hand. "Oh" All for One whispered, not quite sure if he should be proud or angry, so he chose surprised instead.

582 notes - Posted March 12, 2022

#4

I know it's not official so grain of salt; but this is really sus that AFO knows that A) Bakugou grew up watching All might winning and wanting to be just like him (to win). B) The fact that he also knows that Bakugou was blinded by his ego, instead of what Tomura though of before was that Bakugou was oppressed in hero society. And C) AFO knows that Bakugou feared being in Izuku shadow no matter how hard he tried to be stronger then Izuku.

it's disturbing that AFO knows so much about Bakugou fears that have stemmed from his childhood, and considering that Bakugou was friends with the doctors grandson, I have a feeling AFO been keeping an eye on Bakugou for a lot longer then realises.

674 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#3

Please tell us more about tiny villain, time-traveller, Izuku. It’s a delightful au

Sure!

Some more funny facts over this:

-Despite being a five year old boy who looks like a cinnamon roll that could kill you, Nagant find Izuku miles better then her old employees and becomes the wine aunt group.

-She convinces Hawks to join them via hot gossip, chicken wings and the joint power of flipping off the commission together.

-All for One follows around Izuku when the boy is doing his jobs, so you have little pre-school Izuku running around trying to set up an organisation with All for One chilling in the background, occasionally helping Izuku reach tall places.

-This backfires one day when they run into All Might at the shops.

-Izuku stops Toya from exploding into flames by spraying water on him every time he burst into flames.

-Toya follows Izuku soon after, he say it's because of the fire resistance quirk he got, but Toya also set Izuku up to play with Shoto every now and again, so yeah.

-When AFO finds out Izuku ate the replica of his quirk to get it, he never lets the child live it down.

-Izuku also takes quirks from AFO, but never anyone else, he get's them ethically, like a good kid, AFO the exception.

-Izuku meets Tomura and humbles him real fast, but then Tomura also basically adopts Izuku as his little brother

-Inko is has an interesting backstory in this AU.

-Izuku doesn't know All for One is his dad, everyone else guess it five minutes into seeing them together.

-Doctor Ujiro and Izuku hate each others guts, but unfortunately the Doc is the only one who can treat the All for One quirk and Izuku injuries.

-Izuku lowkey ditches bakugou because there are more pressing matters and bakugou actually misses Izuku.

-Izuku really underestimates learning to control All for One the quirk.

730 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#2

Izuku travels back in time fix it AU...with a twist.

11 pm idea that hit me one night (might have been done before but hey, here's my turn at the idea) Izuku is transported back into his Five year old self, and has the chance to do everything all over again; and makes things right this time...

But there are several problems getting in the way of saving everyone, namely that he's a quirkless five year old, that has none of his friends, allies or strength he had in his teens. All of them don't know he exist, plus half of them are toddlers. There's also a lot of stuff that won't happen until much later, not to mention he isn't sure how a lot of stuff came to be. He has no idea how Dabi survived were toga grew up, and Tomura has already killed his family four years prior and is living somewhere with All for One.

He knows won't get OFA until he's fifteen, and he's not even sure he might this time around. Because changing history means that All Might won't get injured and never have a reason to pass it on. Getting it when he's four would be impossible since he's young, and because people might not believe him when he say's he from the future, and can he blame them?

So after thinking over all the options, Izuku decides that if he can't be a hero, then he's going to be a villain...or at least pretend to be one so that he can stop the villains before they become huge threats. Basically Izuku decides to fight fire with fire, which he cranks up to 100 because he know a way to get a strong power that could go toe to toe with All for One and the person to go to get it from.

So Izuku sneaks into All for One doctors office and get's a hold of the replica of All for One quirk, with added hijinks. Now Izuku my have the replica nicely stored away in a glass tube, but he doesn't know how to acquire it... so he just decides to eat it because it worked the first time.

It's not meant to work like that, but for Izuku it does, after falling sick for like three days. Because eating a quirk wasn't the best idea. But who cares Izuku now got All for One, foresight on future events and his New villain career to kick off at the ripe old age of five.

And boy does he go off with a bang, by breaking Nagant out of Tartarus (Izuku needed a body guard, and Nagant was innocent), convincing hawks to run away from the HC (it was Nagant idea really) and recruiting the number two hero eldest son (Well Toya more recruited himself) among other things.

This unsurprisingly, this get's All for One's attention, but Izuku sure that he won't get caught because who would expect "quirkless five year old Deku" to the the next be up and coming villain? Apparently All for One, because the guy awkwardly walks in to his preschool one day, picks him up and is both quite shocked and amused to find this villain, that's been causing the Hero commission so much strife, is just a four year old boy.

Izuku thinks this might be the end, but instead of snipping of this bud before it grow, All for One decides he'll let Izuku keep doing what he's doing, because the whole things amusing. Except Izuku still "only a baby, not quite a big bad villain yet" so All for One will be "probably supervising" Izuku growth into villainy.

Izuku doesn't know weather to yell in joy at getting a one up on All for One or scream in anguish that now he's got the worst villain in the world making him his personal pet project.

Izuku decides to burn that bridge when he get's there.

I have more of this AU if anyone wants to know about it, but just baby toddler villain Izuku getting followed around by his older villain father, during his first errands. All dress up in his preschool uniform carry several books on "how to commit crimes and get away with it" well telling AFO to buzz off.

1,658 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fun chapter this week.

1,896 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[jmflowers]

I know you are doing prompts intertwined with song lyrics...I've had this image of Carina walking in on Maya doing work outs with their new baby. (I follow this soccer mom on instagram and she posts videos of her doing light work outs with her baby, it's super cute.) All I could think was, this is something Maya would do. :p Not sure if there's a song that could be included with it. Anyway, just thought I'd throw that out there. Thanks!

Well, I started writing this in my head from Maya's point of view, and then I found a song that made it need to be from Carina's point of view... so, here's the best of both worlds.

Prompt #2: no one else is such a beautiful dream to me. (the beautiful dream by george ezra)

It's not quite the amount of weight that she's looking for. Doesn't make her biceps tense or her legs quake as fast as she'd like. But it's movement and that counts.

And he looks at her just the same, gurgling happily as she rises up and drops down into lunges and squats and whatever else she can think of, holding him securely against her chest.

She'd run on the treadmill with him, too, if she didn't think Carina would kill her for it. Because it's been six weeks since she last set foot in a gym and she's starting to go a little stir crazy.

Which is not to say that she's not loving every minute of the blissful wonder of infancy - she is. She really, really is. But there's a wire in her brain that's rooted to the necessity of movement and there's only so many laps she can do around their living room before she has to admit that the need is simply not being sated.

"Exercise," she huffs out, lips pressed against her son's head, "Is excellent for mental health. It releases endorphins, which are those things that make you feel good." She shifts, transferring the baby into her other arm. "Right now, you just get those from Mama's boobs and snuggles, I think. But when you're big..." she smiles, picturing it, "Maybe you'll like running and jumping and climbing as much as I do."

The baby sighs, eyes wide as he looks up in the direction of her face. It's still new, that he follows the sound of her voice. Still a treat when he listens intently as she talks to him.

Carina had called it a social milestone - the six-week growth spurt they'd all been enduring coinciding with a newly-establishing interest in the world around him. Truthfully, it made the middle-of-the-night feeds more bearable.

"I agree, little man," she whispers, rubbing her nose against the swoop of hair atop his head. "It is tiring work, even when it feels good."

He balls a hand into a fist, rubbing it along his cheek before directing it into his mouth. That was something new, too; another milestone behaviour that Carina had celebrated with uncontained glee. So smart, piccolino, she'd cooed.

"It'll be different for you, though," Maya hums, "Because Mama and I will let you choose what you want to do." She wrinkles her brow, the sudden thought heavy. "And we won't force you to keep going when you've had enough." It tugs at something in the back of her throat, the words catching. "I promise."

~~~

It's quiet when she steps out of the shower, no one crying or talking or pacing. She pokes her head out of the bathroom just to be sure, finding the bedroom empty, the bed properly made, the bassinette immobile. She wanders to the doorway, curious, wet hair dripping off her shoulders and down the back of her robe.

As she peeks around the corner, she finds them, Maya facing the window, her hands cradling their son in that way she always does that softens the sharp lines of her shoulders, her spine relaxing into his touch. She isn't swaying as she normally would, her body forever in a perpetual state of motion, and it takes a second for Carina to realize that the stillness isn't a calm but rather a rest.

A rest between sets of squats.

She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the chuckle that tumbles free. Maya has tried to be stationary - calm and careful and kind as they've existed just the three of them in the safe little bubble of their new motherhood. She's spent lazy afternoons in bed, rising only to fetch diapers or glasses of water or to rock their son when he just wouldn't settle. She's woken in the night for feedings and slept late and all the while, never said a word about the desire to run.

She's stood by, a stable, immovable force, as Carina has recovered and their child has grown.

But the itch hasn't stopped needing to be scratched, Carina knows, she can feel it digging away inside Maya's bones when she rolls over in bed at 5am, choosing not to slip out for an hour lest Carina need her help. Lest Carina or their little boy need anything at all while she's gone.

Not to say she hasn't noticed when Maya slinks down the hall to do push ups on the living room floor.

This, though, is new. She watches as Maya shifts their little boy in her arms, his sweet gurgle filling the apartment as she takes him through another set. There's a stillness again when she finishes, her voice soft as she murmurs to their son.

Carina watches as her wife turns, the words indecipherable but her eyes glistening as she looks down at the baby cradled against her chest. He raises a fist to his cheek, guides it clumsily into his waiting mouth. His legs kick at the air, always in motion just like his Mommy.

She watches, too, as he yanks his fingers back out of his mouth. As he looks up at Maya as though she's hung the stars in the sky. As their son, for the first time in his life, smiles a social smile.

#while my peers are having real life babies I'm researching them for baby!fic #what was it we said about my guilty pleasure? #please don't @ me about maternity leave... let me live in my blissful canadian existence #I hope this is everything you wanted #someone said MAXIMUM CUTE #maya x carina fic #carina x maya fic #minefic #prompt party #thank you for your contribution #janelle's asks #writing prompts #stillaliveandstanding

[feverinfeveroutfic]

but the one on my right | a one shot

another one shot—i got started on this… i forget when (maybe when i was getting started on xenon dreams and i made those alex/joey one shots, idk) but i didn’t post it because i kinda just wrote it for myself. i found it in my drafts on here a few nights ago, coincidentally after my realization that i have yet to delve into the genre of romance, and i decided to give it some new life.

my confidence has been tanking lately (the other reason i haven’t been able to write, aside from… you know. “getting slammed with art” and the realization that i am moving house in the near future), plus slash is still sort of new to me, so i’m literally not expecting much to come from this. but the outside world is getting way too hostile for me right now: i may as well just put my feet up and be the lonesome writer for a time 🤷🏻‍♀️

chuck x alex, arranged marriage fused with soulmate and hints of royalty (👀👀👀👀👀) au

“Alex? Honey? Are you awake?”

The sound of my mother’s voice rang throughout my mind, as if she had been calling down the vast barrel of a shotgun after a wedding. Her voice was thence followed by the soft continuous beep of a heart monitor. I was a young boy, flat upon his back in the narrow vessel of a hospital bed at the far end of the children’s wing, and he had not a single clue as to what had happened up to that point.  

I remember my eyes flickered open and I latched onto her own face, her eyes rested behind a pair of half-moon glasses; a firm full feeling had appeared on the right side of my forehead and onto the crown of my head. There should have been a deep pain there, however it had faded out to something that made me think of a rock stuck inside of my skull.

“Mom?” I opened my eyes a bit more, only to find something that obscured my view of my mother’s face from the right side. “Mom, what happened?” I gasped and coughed so hard that my whole entire body shuddered and shook from the fall. It wasn’t much of a fall from what I could remember but I did take a tumble along with the rest of my class.

“It’s okay, bubbeleh,” she whispered to me, to which she stroked the other side of my forehead. “You have to rest for a while, though.”

“What happened?” My voice broke: the full feeling in my head trickled down the rest of my face, as if she had cracked an egg upon the crown of my head.

“You fell, dear,” she cooed at me, to which she kept on stroking my forehead. “Remember? You and your class were at Indian Rock yesterday and you fell.”

“I did fall,” I muttered. I remembered it as if it had just happened, as well: I climbed up the side of the rock and then my foot slipped or something.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital in my mother’s arms and with a helmet of gauze wrapped around my head. I knew the fall was to leave a deep mark on my head, but it was a miracle that I had survived it, even as they released me and I lay down in my own bed that night.

Since the incident, Indian Rock had been fenced off to the public and no one could go there unless they had permission from the city, and I knew that the fall that nearly killed me had a lot to do with it, if not then my friends’ parents had said something to the city. I had no idea about the whole entire story.

All I knew was by the time I hit thirteen years old, I stood there in my parents’ bathroom over the sink basin with my hairbrush in hand, something on that side of my head caught my attention. At first, I thought it was nothing more than the reflection of the bathroom light on my hair, given it had grown out rather long, down to my shoulders, and with a nice full curl to it at that point. But as I brushed it on that side, I noticed it again, especially when it fell out and landed onto the side of the sink basin. I glanced down at it and I picked it up.

My hair was a rich jet-black coal color, very like that of a hard rocker throughout most of the Seventies. When I picked it up and held it between my index finger and my thumb for a better look, I noticed something rather off about it. The black color had faded out to a soft silvery tone.

A single gray hair.

At first, I believed that it wasn’t my own, especially when I had shed a few other hairs in the meantime.

“Mom?” I called out.

“Yes, dear?” she returned the favor to me. I doubled back out to the hallway to show it off to her. She peered over her glasses at me as I made my way into the living room.

“What’s that?”

“I found this while I was brushing my hair just now,” I told her. “Just lying in the sink basin.” I handed it to her and she nudged her half-moons up her nose for a second look.

“Oh. Well, it must be one of your father’s.”

“Dad’s completely bald, though,” I pointed out.

“I was getting gray hairs by the time I was eighteen, bubbeleh. It's just a part of life.”

“But I’m fourteen, though.”

“Tell you what,” she started again. “If you see any more of them, don’t pluck them because more will grow right in their place. We'll find you some black hair dye in the meantime, too.”

Since her promise, more gray hairs did in fact come in, right there at the crown of my head, and right where I hit my head from the fall, too. By the time, I started taking my first guitar lessons with Satriani, the streak had only grown to of considerable size, a singular plume of gray the size of my pinky finger, right over the right side of my forehead. No one really knew about the true origin of the streak, but I had my questions and curiosity about it, much like how I had my curiosity about other things.

When I joined my first band, The Legacy, at sixteen years old, I knew that thing had set up roots on my head and it was there forever. What struck me as peculiar, aside from the fact that it had even showed up in the first place, was the fact that it grew in a singular plume. The rest of my hair was a helmet of solid black waves and tiny ringlets.

I thought about wearing a hat more and more since my parents had never gotten black hair dye for my hair, either. But other than my yarmulke, I had no other hats at my disposal.

When the five of us went into the studio to record our first album together, I had taken my spot there by the door of the sound room and with one hand rested upon the right side of my forehead to hide it from any onlookers. That thing aged me by about fifteen years, and it didn’t help matters that I still had to do my homework every night, either. At least until school let out. No way I was about to drop out during my junior and senior years, though, all to go out on tour with a band that had just formed.

I lived in a time in which every person alive seemed to be catering to me and people my age. On one hand, as a sixteen-year-old boy in the middle of the Eighties. I had to have the large poofy hair sprayed beyond recognition and my nose sozzled full of the ripest form of cocaine if I wasn’t already hiding it from my superiors; on the other hand, I had to shed the long lush curls and become a good Christian boy who abstained from any sort of drugs or from listening to Kiss and Van Halen.

Ironic given I walked around with a knit yarmulke stuffed in my back pocket, even after I turned thirteen. Even more ironic given I only smoked a cigarette all of twice this year and the taste of it alone was enough to make my stomach turn.

But then he took his spot next to me, on my right.

He was almost identical to me, as if he had been my elder brother in another life. His long smooth mousy brown hair sprawled over his collar bones and when he smiled, it showcased his prominent chin as well as a cute little dimple on one cheek. I had only ever gone out with one girl before but I never thought I would find myself feeling attracted to boys before.

“What’s up with you?” he asked me with a gesture to my hand upon my head; he had the slightest Long Island accent, an accent I had heard many a number of times growing up with my parents having relocated over to the Bay Area from New York City. He didn’t have that bold, distinctive Jewish mannerism to him, however.

“My head hurts,” I quipped back at him.

“Not enough water?” he teased me.

“Yeah...” I replied reluctantly.

“Yeah...?” he retorted back to me. “Would you like a drink of water?”

“Please. I haven’t had anything to drink since this morning, anyway.”

He sauntered across the floor for the water cooler and one of those little paper cups all for me. He filled it up with two lanky fingers: I looked on at the seat of his pants. He did have a nice shape to his derriere, but then again, it served as nothing more than my own idea of what a guy’s ass should look like. I was more acquainted with that of a girl than anything, so my guess was that he had a very nice ass. He doubled back with it nearly full all the way, and then he hesitated right before me.

“How old are you?” he asked me.

“I’m sixteen—I'll be seventeen this September, though. Seventeen and a junior.”

“Oh, cool! I just turned seventeen. Heh. I'm a senior.”

“I’m jealous,” I retorted back to him.

I didn’t think to use my non-dominant hand for the cup; I took my hand off of my head and he almost dropped the cup right onto the tiles between us.

“What?” I asked him.

“Wow,” he remarked. I froze with my mind blank.

“It’s real,” was all I could muster out right then.

He blinked a few times at the sight of it. “Oh.”

“Yeah. It's big.”

“No, no,” he swore to me with a shake of his head and a wave of his free hand. “I kind of like it.” His bright eyes locked onto the streak and he showed me a small smile. “It's kinda cool looking, actually.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at that. “You don’t think it makes me look old?”

“Nah, man. If anything, it makes you look wise. Or fearsome, like you’re the kind of guy I wouldn’t fuck around with in a dark alley.” He handed me the cup of water and his smile warped into a sly smirk. “I’m kind of curious about you now,” he confessed to me. “Like, what caused it and whatnot.”

I lowered my gaze to his chest and I saw that he had a silver Star of David medallion around his neck: it was about the size of my thumbnail, and hence I had missed it the first time around.

“You’re Jewish,” I remarked.

“Born and raised in a Jewish household straight outta New York City. We're based out of Florida, though.”

“Ouch,” I groaned with a grimace.

“Yeah, my parents, my sister, and I all moved there when I was real little, but I’ve always felt my ties to New York, though.”

“Same here,” I told him with a slight raise of my other hand; I sipped down the water. Even though I didn’t have that type of headache, or a headache of any kind, when that water hit my tongue, it gave me the strangest euphoria right then and there, one that shot a chill up my spine and down my arms. “Except my parents moved to the Bay Area before I was born, though, so I grew up here.”

“We’re both men with no country,” he remarked.

“Jewish men who—kind of look similar to one another,” I added.

“Yeah, we kinda do,” he said with a nod. “Maybe if I dyed my hair solid black like yours, we could pass off as brothers or something.”

“Not sure if my actual brother would be okay with that, though,” I pointed out as I took another sip of water.

“Fuck ‘em,” he joked, to which I almost spat out my drink right then. I coughed and set the paper cup down on my knee.

“So, are you here to audition or—?” I started again.

“Here to record some things,” he answered with a nod. “It was either come here or find a studio in Florida, which—” He shook his head and rolled his eyes at that. “—no way I was going to do that. Things just feel easier over here on the West Coast for some reason.”

“Probably ‘cause they are,” I teased him. “I can take one look at the dick of Florida and just be like ‘nope.’”

He chuckled at that.

“What’s your name?” he asked me.

“Alex.”

“Alex? I’m Chuck. Chuck Schuldiner.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a Jewish name. Mine’s Skolnick.”

“Yeah, right, my name is Jewish,” he laughed at that.

“Somewhere, in another life, I grew up in the Soviet Union and became a superstar student who can uncover the meaning of life in one fell swoop.” He laughed again.

“You know, if we’re going to be in bands and whatnot,” he started again. “This is just what I’m told anyway—we're going to have be selected for spouses.”

“Why is that?” I asked him.

“It’s so the band doesn’t crumble apart at the seams,” he said. “They don’t want any more bands with bad blood between them.”

“Oh, I see—they don’t want another Beatles situation on their hands.”

“Exactly, yeah! Anyway, the reason why I asked you your age was because of this rule here. Since we’re both teenagers, we can’t marry as of yet, which means there’s still plenty of time to figure ourselves out before we’re both supposed to get hitched.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip at that.

“What about—guys in other bands?” I asked him with a clearing of my throat.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted in a soft voice. “We might. You know, because we never know how these things play out in the end.”

“Especially since even the Beatles paid their dues to one another in the end,” I pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. I think it was Paul who made amends with George and Ringo? Or it was George who made the amends first. I can’t remember, to be honest.”

I had my hunches, that this Chuck liked me, or that he had a feeling on his end, like he knew that I liked him. But before I could say anything more to him, someone called him into the sound room.

I had been called over to the next room to jam with The Legacy, with our banner pinned up on the wall over Mike Ronchette’s drum kit. Lead singer Steve, who insisted on being referred to as “Zetro” after a cartoon whale he had seen a few years back and thought it was the most adorable thing ever, had vocals akin to Bon Scott but with more of a sear behind them. We stood under the shadows of Metallica and The Scorpions, plus Slayer and Megadeth. There was that band Anthrax out of New York City coincidentally enough; and then there was us.

I thought about Chuck, and I thought about asking him out when I saw him again.

But I never did see him again for a couple of years.

I knew that this was the band I would be with from thence forth, even as Zetro left for Exodus and another Chuck took his place on vocal duties, and when our other guitarist Eric changed the band name from The Legacy to Testament given there was a hotel cover band in the south that had the name trademarked. Though I was happy being lead guitarist with Testament and we officially found ourselves on our way to releasing our first record, I woke up one morning with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

Chuck was right about the arrangements. They all came courtesy of the label: I had to get married to the one other bachelor in the band, and that was our singer, given Eric and Louie had already hitched up their wagons to each other and Greg had somehow escaped it for himself.

His band travelled back East and he never gave his number, and thus I couldn’t call him up when I so felt like it.

Now, as a seventeen-year-old young man, I lay on the doorstep of my own wedding day, which was to take place the Saturday following my eighteenth birthday, which took place on a Monday to boot, and while I was still a senior in high school as well. Overnight, I had become young and old at the same time, and all of it was about to be summed up on a fresh wedding day under the October haze courtesy from the Bay Area.

I gazed on at the wedding band on my left ring finger, the bit of silver in junction with my engagement ring. My own band of silver paled in comparison right at that very moment. And my mother being emotional did very little to comfort me, either.

“I can’t believe my baby is already getting married,” was something I heard more times than I would like over the course of a whole entire month up to the wedding day.

But my very own personal crossroads were not the thing that perturbed me in the least. I was going to graduate high school early and at eighteen years old, and I had to leave my childhood in the past at some point anyway.

The thing that bothered me was I had been selected the wrong Chuck, especially when during that month before the wedding, I had received word that he was diagnosed early with brain cancer and it had to be surgically removed.

Something about being bonded by a head injury, and one that nearly threatened our lives as well.

And then, right then and there, like clockwork, it clicked.

I had my doubts, but I swore that the removal of the brain tumor signified the scar that I needed to feel out for myself, the thing that indicated my soul bond over to Chuck. We had far too many similarities otherwise for it to be a pure coincidence of some sort. I had to be with that Chuck in the end. I could feel our bond in my bones, as well as within the scar on my forehead.

Instead, I had paired up with our new lead singer, especially if I even so much as wanted to find my way out of the Bay Area and with some sort of financial backing to boot. A tour could only do so much for me, or for any of us, especially since we were just starting out in the world in comparison to a band like Metallica, whom had already put out something like three albums at that point. Though we hailed from the burgeoning Bay Area, we were still nobodies at the time.

Chuck Billy had several irons in the fire, one of which was the world of real estate. An unstable world nonetheless, but it had the right trappings for someone looking to make a great deal of money should he find his way through the proverbial maze. His first big deal was selling off a big house to Zetro and his new wife right within the coziest avenue of Dublin, a good-sized hillside town due south of the San Francisco Bay Area. Though he never wore the red blazer one time, he may as well have had one on: the man was savvy with the houses and the neighborhoods of the Bay Area, a place that he knew like the back of his hand.

“A nice and stout little commission for us,” he was telling me one evening over dinner. The way in which he said the word “us” sent a chill down my spine until it manifested itself right in the pit of my stomach. I wished that I could add to it at any given notice, especially since a healthful marriage required equally as healthy communication with one another, at least that was my perception growing up with my mad professor parents. But I had no idea if it came from my own naïveté or if it came from the fact that this Chuck wasn’t the one for me.   It didn’t help matters that he took some of the money he had made from the deal and brought the bills together into a single brick, and then ran the edge of it along the bottom of his nose. The sweet, sweet smell of success, as I saw it.

Each and every commission was a step closer to my own fate, to be hitched only mere days after I turned eighteen and then set for life should the whole tour thing stop dead in its tracks. I never believed for one minute that I would have a sugar daddy of his own, especially given my own streak of independence to accompany the stubby little gray streak upon the crown of my head. There was in fact a strange comfort to it, however: my knowing that I was about to be taken care of for the rest of my life, but I still couldn’t help my own reticence.

The way that Chuck looked on at me from right across the table with those pearly whites contrasted with his sun-kissed skin: his luminous eyes seemed to dig into my soul, the biggest holes I could possibly imagine for the front of my head and all to accompany my silver streak. His long fingers curled around the base of his wine glass, and it was as if each and every day we saw each other, he had a brand-new ring on each of those fingers as well. One that always caught my attention was that large polished orb of turquoise on his right ring finger: the way the stone carried a soft glimmer to it from underneath the warm lights suspended over their heads. The silver which comprised the ring itself only reminded me of the silver on the crown of his head.

The silver of age. The silver that told me that my childhood was no more.

I was still the same boy as always, still the little man, still little Alex. But the sight of the silver only made me wonder about the clock.

I knew that I should have been happy to have a husband in my life soon enough, one with a fair amount of money in his nest egg as well as one who supposedly loved me to the ends of the earth, and yet something was amiss for me. Something needed to fill the void in my heart, as well as the scar on my own sky.

I kept thinking about the hole in my heart as well as the one on my right as I took my seat on the floor of Chuck’s guest bedroom with my guitar rested on my lap. Though we were recording our first album together, there were some other things I had to air out, outside of Eric and Louie’s prying ears.

The metronome over my head clicked in continuous rhythm and yet I found it rather difficult to strum the guitar along with it. I spread my fingers across the guitar neck; I had put down a few notes, when I rubbed my eyes with the side of my free hand, left followed by the right. I peered up at the small metronome half the size of my palm, and the needle as it swayed in perfect harmony.

“I have to get my shit together,” I muttered to myself. I nodded along with the metronome and I set my fingers back down on the guitar neck. Something to follow along on every third ghost note.

Something titled “Ghost Notes”. But I had to focus on getting it written, however.

Despite my hammering heart, I went ahead with this particular piece of music, and I wondered if I should write it down instead of leave it out in the open like the singular note that would torment a singular classical musician. I leaned back against the wall with my slender bare legs extended out before me and the hollow body of the guitar rested upon my lap. Slight tendrils of inky black hair sprawled down over my left collar bone and down onto my chest: some stuck onto my shoulder and my upper arm. But I needn’t be caught up in something as trivial as my own hair as I strummed at the strings with the very edge of my pick. Right on the spot, I had comprised a bluesy riff that went along every third note of the metronome.

I was such a nerd, but the more I thought about it, the more I enjoyed seeing myself as such.

“Alex?” Chuck’s gruff voice resonated through the door panel on the other side of the room.

“Yes?” I stopped the guitar, and then I reached up and stopped the metronome needle dead in its tracks with the sides of two fingers.

The door cracked open and he poked his head into the room: his long wavy hair cascaded down over his right shoulder and he showed me a warm smile.

“There’s my lovely fiancé,” he declared. “I was just wondering where you were at—you know, it’s almost one o’clock, right?”

“Oh, shit, really?” I set the guitar down on the floor next to the table and I clambered up to the edge of the bed. I was to spend the night there that weekend, and then I had to make my way back for my birthday and then that Friday. That next weekend, I had to be out of my parents’ house and into Chuck’s place there outside of Dublin.

I lay down on the bed with my feet stretched down by the left poster.

“Want me to tuck you in?” he offered me; at first, I thought he was joking.

“Nah, I’m good,” I assured him as I rolled over onto my side. “Maybe we should make that a ritual after this Saturday, though.”

“Maybe we should,” Chuck suggested to me sleepily. “Maybe we in fact should.”

“The wedding is in a week, Chuck,” I reminded him.

“I know! I'm excited, too.”

He crawled over the right side of the bed and kissed me right on the rim of my ear, the soft feeling which made my toes curl.

“By then, I’ll have the left side of the bed cleared out for you,” he softly vowed to me.

“Sounds like a plan,” I told him, as I closed my eyes and stuck my hand between my thighs. Though it wasn’t very warm in the room, I wanted nothing more than to sleep atop the covers.

“Gonna be a big week for us, little man,” he told me with a caress of my hip and then a pat of my ass. I swallowed and tried to keep my eyes shut at the sensation. “A big, long week.”

He doubled out of the room and I knew he had switched off the light because I opened my eyes and I was surrounded by total darkness.

I sighed through my nose. “The wedding is in a week,” I repeated in a louder voice. “Seven days.”

Seven days. Seven long days and my fate would be sealed.

A big, long week indeed.

#one shot #alex skolnick #chuck billy #chuck schuldiner #testament #testament band #testament fanfic #death band #arranged marriage #alternate universe #soulmate au #soulmate alternate universe #royalty au #slash fanfiction #slash fic #writing #fic writing #text #fanfic #fanfiction

[gaysimpsstuff]

Accidentally Injuring Their Partner PT. 2

Part One Here

Y’all- the last one is like, my most popular post. As I’m currently writing this, it’s literally almost at 1K notes so... yeah. This one needed a lot of thought and effort if it’s going to meet people’s expectations. 

Please read the note I added at the end of the fic

Genre: angst

Type: drabbleshot

Warnings: gore, mentions of hospitals, crying, cursing, toxic relationships, self blame, some real ‘who cares how I feel, how do you feel?’ kind of unhealthy vibes, hazbin hotel reference (found in Todoroki’s section), talking down on oneself,

Other: this was requested multiple times, but this bitch was planning it before it was requested haha I’m so cool no I’m not I still feel like shit lmao. 

Angst Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy @catcherisvibin @thesubtlewhore

Tomura Shigaraki

It was really all he could do to stare at you.

You’d moved from the theatre to an abandonment hospital, mostly to find any leftover supplies to help with your arm, or rather, lack thereof.

You’d only sort of expected this. Tomura lashing out at you, you getting hurt, you just didn’t expect it to result in you loosing a fucking arm.

Toga was helping to change your bandages, and Magne was speaking quietly with Twice, Spinner, and Compress.

Dabi was speaking with Shigaraki outside the room, and you couldn’t hear what they were saying. You were glad, you didn’t exactly want to hear his voice right now.

You didn’t think you were being that annoying, you thought you were just helping him. And you usually did. When he’d have his little tantrums, he’d get upset at you sure, but he’d never hurt you.

You knew you didn’t do anything differently than usual, maybe he was just more stressed than ordinary? Maybe you should’ve recognized that and altered yourself to fit accordingly.

Or maybe he’d just been horrible, and attacked you for no reason, and you had just been trying to help him.

You knew it was more likely the latter, but you couldn’t help but blame yourself. People don’t just try to kill their partners that they love so much

The door slid open, and Dabi stepped in. He glanced around the room, waving his hand to usher Magne, Spinner, Twice, and Compress out of the room. Today stood up, but you grabbed her hand.

Dabi pushed the door open a little wider, and your boyfriend stepped inside. For once, you were glad he had that horrible hand in his face, you knew that if he took it off you’d probably vomit.

“Call us in if you need anything.” Dabi offered uncharacteristically, sliding the door shut behind him.

Everything was quiet.

Not even the people in the hallway wanted to say anything.

He slowly walked towards you, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

You sat cross-legged on the creaky hospital bed, staring at him as Toga held your hand.

“Why are you here?” You asked quietly.

“I- I um. Why is she here?” Tomura ignored your question, pointing to Toga next to you.

“She’s here because she chopped off my arm after you dusted it. She’s here because she saved my life. Why are you here, Tomura?”

One of his hands lifted to his neck, scratching lightly.

“Shit- I didn’t want anyone else in here-“

“Why not? Don’t want anyone to see you loose yourself and hurt me more? Don’t want anyone here to save me?” You snapped.

“You- you know I didn’t mean it-“

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not, Shigaraki.” He flinched away when you spat out his last name like that. “I still got hurt. I lost a fucking arm because of you. How horrible are you that you have to cover up your own insecurities by trying to kill me? No really, I could have died.”

“I’m sorry!” He exclaimed, nails digging deeper into his neck. “I love you, okay? And I promised I’d protect you so-“

“So you broke your promise in the worst way possible.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed, squeezing Toga’s hand before letting go. You walked up to Shigaraki, lifting your hand and gripping his shoulder tightly.

“I’m going.” You whispered. “I can’t be around you. I still have family outside the League, friends that aren’t villains. I can build myself a semi-normal life. I’ll be happy without you.” You turned back to Toga, offering her a smile. “You can come over whenever you want, you’re my friend.” You headed towards the door.

You paused when you heard a soft noise, like a gargled scream. You turned around, seeing Shigaraki shaking.

“No, no please no- don’t go!” He spun around, grabbing your shoulders. You shoved him off you in an instant, curling into yourself

“GET OFF ME!” You screamed. But he was already launching himself at you again, you saw his palm flying towards your face. This time, it wasn’t an accident.

And you knew you wouldn’t make it out this time.

You were pulled back by a strong force, realizing Magne was holding you tight. Compress and Dabi were on either side of Shigaraki, holding him back, while Twice had ran to Toga.

“No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please don’t leave me!” He screamed, the hand fell loose on his face, tumbling down to the floor. You turned away, not wanting to see him.

You could only imagine his expression.

“Goodbye, Shigaraki.” You whispered, ducking out of Magne’s grip and rubbing off.

“Goodbye.”

Touya Todoroki/ Dabi

It had been a week since he’d seen you, a week since he’d felt your hands on his. A week since he’d heard your voice. A week since he’d seen your smile.

A week since he’d burned you.

Called you inferior.

Threatened to kill you.

Well there was certainly a reason why he hadn’t gone to see you since the incident.

But...

He missed you.

He felt so guilty, knowing what he’d said and done to you, and he needed to see you.

Maybe he was just being selfish.

Maybe he knew he’d done something wrong.

Maybe he needed to call you.

He flipped his phone upside down, then right side up again on the counter of the bar.

Toga sat on a stool next to him, tapping her hands against the marble in boredom.

“So... what’s up with you?” She asked, cocking her head and glancing at him.

“Like I’m telling a brat like you.” He growled, flipping his phone over again.

“You’ve been off all week!” She exclaimed, leaning towards him. “Somethings happened to you.”

“If i tells you a little, will you shut up?”

“Mhm mhm!”

“Ughhhhh fine. I had a fight with someone close to me. I... I really hurt them. I know it. I haven’t spoken to them in a week.”

“So... Dabi has a soft spot?”

“That’s not the point of this. Also say that again and I’ll kill you.”

“Oookay then. You should just call them. Say something to them and apologize.” She offered with a shrug.

Dabi sighed, pressing his face into his hands.

“They don’t want to talk to me. Trust me on that.”

“Welp- that’s just my advice. Cent for my thoughts kind of thing except you didn’t pay me. You owe me a penny.”

Toga shrugged, hopping off the chair and leaving the room.

“Don’t owe you shit.” Dabi grumbled, glowering down at his phone again. He pulled up your contact, staring at the picture he’d set for you.

You had a bright smile, emoji hearts decorating your cheeks. It was from your first ‘date.’ When you’d hung out at your place after he broke in looking for shelter and food.

You’d taken care of him, let his spend the night, and even offered to let him stay whenever he needed to.

You were an Angel on earth.

And he’d burnt you.

Called you dirty.

And selfish.

You were anything but.

Ring

Ring

Ring

“Why the hell are you calling me?”

“I-“

“Dabi. Why are you calling me? You hate me, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate you...”

“Jeez, coulda fooled me.”

“Baby...”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I- I didn’t mean it.” He choked out. “Everything I said, I didn’t mean it. And I-“

“I really don’t care. The doctors said my arms would scar. I’m burnt and scarred like you. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to achieve? Make me like you so that no one would want me? So that only you could have me?”

Yes

“No! I never wanted to hurt you, ba- Y/n please,”

“Please what? Please what, Dabi? What do you want from me? Huh? You want me to cradle you and say is all going to be okay? You want me to kiss your scars and tell you you’re beautiful? You want me to suck your dick and tell you I love you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“I-“

“It’s not just you burning me. You’ve left me for days without contact, and then showed up like nothing’s happened! You’ve hit me and then groveled and cried for my mercy! You’ve made me do so much shit for you in bed that I never wanted to do! Our entire relationship, I was scared you’d get sick of me and kill me!”

“You really thought that?”

“Well guess what motherfucker? You can’t come after me! I’ve told the police what happened. Everything between us. They’re helping me move across the country. You’ll never see me again. Happy?”

“No. No no I’m not happy why would I be happy? You made me happy, when I didn’t even know what the word meant, you don’t have to go through with this, please don’t go through with this!”

“Don’t flatter me. I never made you happy. Nothing could make you happy except watching the world burn. I don’t make you happy, Dabi-“

“Yes you do!”

“Just shut up. I’m going to hang up. If I’m being honest... I’ll miss you. You made me happy. But with so much anger and fear surrounding you, it’s hard to even remember the last time we were happy together.”

“I’m... I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Beep

Beep

Beep

You were gone.

Shouto Todoroki

If you thought Shouto was quiet before, you should see him now, wait, you were seeing him now, in class, eyes boring into your spine.

You still had a large bandage on your face, being hit in the face with plus added fire power is bound to leave a mark that lasts for over three days.

Did I mention it had been three days now?

It’s very hard to ignore Shouto, seeing as you were in the same class and lived in the same dorms. 

Plus everyone in class wanted to know what happened between the two of you, why Shouto seemed so down, why you had the bandage on your face, and if it was all connected.

You’d only told one person what had gone down between the two of you, and that was Bakugou.

Which maybe was a mistake, because he took to trying to fight Todoroki every time he saw him, and repeatedly told you that he ‘fuckin knew that icy-hot bastard was a good-for-nothing bag of of poorly packaged horse shit.’

You appreciated his comfort, but it hurt you every time he said something about Todoroki.

“I don’t get why you’re defending the scumbag. His hand hasn’t even healed off your face yet!” 

You and Bakugou were heading to the dorms after class, and he had gone on his usual tangent about how Todoroki did this, Todoroki did that, Todoroki was an asshole, etc etc.

“I mean... he’s technically still my boyfriend. And he’s been nothing but kind to me up until this point. He just... he was stressed, and I was being a bother. I’m sure the injury will fade at some point, then he’ll talk to me again and we can get back to normal.” you shrugged, rubbing at the back of your neck. “We’ll be fine.”

“You know what you are? A pushover.” Bakugou glared at you. 

“Wha- I am not! Where did you get that idea?” 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe from the fact that You forget to check in with how you feel and keep thinking only about that Half n Half bastard! ‘Oh, he must be so upset with himself!’ Fuck that! How do you feel?” 

You kept your eyes on the ground, speeding up. Bakugou grabbed your sleeve, tugging you backwards. His hands found your shoulders, thumbs rubbing soft circles. Your breath hitched, did Shouto ever do this for you? 

Not that you could remember.

“I feel... nervous.” you admitted. “I’m nervous that he meant what he said to me. That I’m nothing but a bother to him. I’m nervous that he’ll never come and talk to me, never apologize. I’m worried that if he does talk to me, he’ll think it was my fault. It wasn’t was it?”

You looked up at Bakugou warily, and squeaked when he tightened his grip on your shoulders.

“The fuck? Of course it’s not! Idiot.” he poked your forehead, and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “Keep talking.”

“Um... I’m...” you took a deep breath. “I’m angry. I’m angry that he hasn’t talked to me. I’m angry about what he said. I’m angry that he even hit me to begin with. If we were training, of course it’d be different, but we weren’t training. And he hurt me. And now I’m doubting everything between us.”

Bakugou was silent, Cardinal eyes met yours. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and for a moment, you feared Bakugou would try to blow your ass up for being a pathetic little weakling.

I mean... compared to people like Todoroki and Bakugou, you were right?

Bakugou took a step forward, pulling you into his arms. You held your breath, wondering if he was going to finally snap and kill you. 

But... it felt nice. 

You lifted your arms, wrapping them around his body and tugging him a little closer. You buried your face into his uniform shirt, body shaking a little as you cried.

You almost wanted to scream, but then the school would panic.

So you just cried, sobbing into his arms and letting him hold you. His embrace was war and comforting, nothing like you’d felt from your so-called boyfriend.

Maybe he was right, maybe you really shouldn’t try to think about him.

You did deserve better.

You sniffled, pulling off Bakugou with a soft smile.

“Thanks, Bakugou. I really needed that. And you’re right.”

“What was that second thing?”

“You’re right.”

“Hmmm?” Bakugou cupped a hand around his ear, feigning deafness.

“Oh my goodness- I said you’re right!”

“That’s it.” he patted you on the shoulder, proud smirk traced across his features. You chuckled. “Now you’re going to tell that to Mr. Daddy Issues and get the fuck over him.” 

“Alright, but you’re coming with me!” he nodded, keeping his hand on your shoulder as you returned to the dorms, heading to his dorm.

You paused just outside his door, knocking lightly. Bakugou was a few feet behind you, out of the way, but close enough to step in if something were to happen.

The door swung open slowly, revealing a bored-looking Todoroki. WHen his eyes landed on you, he jumped a little, taking a step back. His hand tightened around the doorknob, his other hand gripping his pants

“Y-Y/n-“ he stuttered, eyes flickering between you and Bakugou. “I-“

“We need to talk.”

“Listen I- I’m sorry!” He exclaimed.

“Todoroki, I don’t think you get it. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. You might have scarred me, so your one mistake might stay with me my whole life!”

“I know.” His head drooped, and his grip on his pants loosened. “I know. I’m- I’m just like him.”

“Him?”

“I promised I was nothing like him but here we fucking are!”

“Shoto what are you talking about?”

“I’m the worst kind of person!”

“No!”

Shouto looked up, eyes brimming with tears. You took a few steps forward, taking his face into your hands.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered “it was an accident, and you didn’t mean it. Please don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Bakugou grabbed you, yanking you away from him

“Uh, what the fuck? You came here to sever ties with him, not fucking comfort him!”

“Look at him, Bakugou. He needs me.”

“Y/n-“

“Trust me.” You smiled at Bakugou, pushing him away from you slowly before turning back to Shouto. You took the boy into your arms, rocking back and forth with him.

You ignored the heavy feeling in your chest, and the screams your brain slew ar you to get off of him, get away from him, and let Bakugou protect you.

You ignored logic, emotion, and all better judgement.

For this boy who’d hit you.

But Bakugou would end up being right, he was smart.

You’ll see.

Katsuki Bakugou/ Dynamight

Shit wrong Pomeranian

That’s better

Katsuki stood outside Recovery Girl’s room, waiting for Kirishima to come out and tell him what was going on.

He was chewing on his nails, foot tapping against the ground as he stared at the door. He could hear people moving around and talking inside.

He couldn’t get the sound of your screaming out of his head, the large dark patch that formed on your skin around your face, the way you just... fell.

The door slid open, and Bakugou stared forward and Kirishima stepped out, smiling and thanking Recovery Girl.

Bakugou was on his feet in an instant, grabbing Kirishima’s arm.

“How are they? Do they hate me? Can I see them?” He rambled, Kirishima gently pushing Bakugou off him.

“Uh, they’re fine for the most part, they haven’t said anything about you at all, and ask Recovery Girl.” He said, backing off down the hall as Bakugou stared helplessly after him.

“You uh- you might want to apologize. They are really upset.” Kirishima told him, quickly running off down the hall. Bakugou faced towards the room, stepping inside.

A cyan curtain blocked him from seeing you, and he heard shuffling behind it. It slid open, Recovery Girl stepping out. She looked up and saw Bakugou.

She wacked his leg with her needle/cane, and he yelped, stumbling backwards.

“You have no shame!” she snapped. “With what you did to them, you should be cowering outside right now!”

“Shhh!” Bakugou pressed up against the wall. “Do you want them to know I’m here?”

“Are you that clueless?” she grumbled, pulling herself up into her chair. “They’ve gone temporarily deaf.” Bakugou froze, glancing back at the curtain.

He’d blown up your eardrums.

He felt Recovery Girl press something into his hands, and he glanced down. 

It was a small whiteboard, with a pen and washcloth.

This was how he’d have to talk to you.

On a fucking whiteboard.

RG pulled the curtains aside, revealing you.

You were laying in the bed, half your face wrapped up in bandages, hands resting on your lap.

“Y/n...” he murmured. You remained still, staring out the window. Bakugou cleared his throat, and you still didn’t react.

“They can’t hear you, remember?” RG shook her head, waddling over to the other side of your bed, pointing at Bakugou. He watched your face slowly turn, before his eyes shot away from you, staring at the ground.

He heard you swallow, and you let out a soft whimper.

Were you scared of him?

Bakugou lifted the whiteboard, quickly scribbling some kanji on it 

ごめんなさい (Translation: I am sorry)

You reached forward, taking the whiteboard from him and erasing his words, putting your own down instead.

分かってる。(Translation: I know)

Bakugou pursed his lips, fidgeting with his shirt before he watched you put more writing down

どうして？(Translation: Why?)

Bakugou reached out, taking the whiteboard back, quickly putting down his excuse explanation

私は弱いと感じました。 じゃあ霧島を助けてくれたんだ。 うらやましくなってきた (Translation: I felt weak. Then you helped Kirishima. I got Jealous)

お許しください (Translation: Please forgive me.)

He handed you the whiteboard back, tapping his foot against the ground. You passed it back to him, and he hurridly read your response.

私はそれについて考えます (Translation: I’ll think about it.)

He had a chance. His eyes finally lifted off the whiteboard, landing on you.

The visible part of your face looked exactly the same, although there was a large bandage on your ear. Your eye looked sad, fearful, and nervous. You had a shaky smile on your face, trying to make him feel better.

You were always thinking about him.

それは再び起こらないだろう (Translation: It won’t happen again)

You sighed, smile falling.

本気？(Translation: Are you sure?)

Bakugou felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Well of fucking course you didn’t trust him, look what he’d done to you!

おっしゃる通りです。. もうお前を放っておいてやる さようなら、y/n。(Translation: You are right. I will leave you alone now. Goodbye, y/n.)

He stood up, leaving the whiteboard on your bed. He headed towards the door, with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ignored the soft cry of your voice, surprised he was leaving.

He ignored the way you managed to choke out his name in a warbly, unsure voice.

He slid the door shut behind him, slumping against it and sliding down until he sat on the cold ground. He buried his face into his arms, finally allowing himself to cry.

He wasn’t going to try and talk to you, he resolved. He wasn’t going to bother you or scare you.

He’d keep you safe by refusing to talk to him.

He’d let the author end the fanfiction right then and there.

The door slid open behind him, and he flopped backwards, staring up at your face. You were holding the whiteboard.

オマンコにならないでください。 事故だったのは分かってる 頑張って俺を捕まえるのか諦めるのか? どんなヒーローがあきらめるだろうか？

(Translation: Don't be a pussy. I know it was an accident. Are you going to work hard and get me or give up? What kind of hero would just give up?)

A smirk slowly spread across his face. Yeah, he’d work hard. He’d never scare you or hurt you again. He’d do better.

He’d be the best boyfriend.

And he’d accept your help to stand up next to you.

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

After fic note: ohmygod I’m finally finished. This took fucking forever. You loved part one so much, I had to make sure part two was perfect.

Some of these ended in heartbreak

Another ended in a questionable descision

The last ended happily

All of them are different! 

I hope you get my references, and appreciate the Japanese Kanji I put in Bakugou’s part (if any of it is inaccurate, please let me know so I can try my best to fix it. I don’t speak or write Japanese, I used this translator to get what I needed). 

I worked hard on this, so if y’all could tell me what you like and dislike about this so I can improve my writing, that would be lovely. Don’t be afraid to pop a comment or pop into my ask box, I do my best to respond to every comment and ask, so don’t worry about being ignored.

I love all of you, and I’m so glad to be able to write for you.

Thanks for all of your support, I promise I’ll work hard on all of my drafts to make sure you get entertainment constantly! 

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tomura x reader #tomura angst #tomura Shigaraki #shigaraki angst #dabi imagine #dabi angst #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #todoroki #todoroki angst #todoroki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #tw: toxic relationship #tw: gore

[amerrierworld]

Swaddled

Summary: we interrupt your regularly scheduled fic-posting with some urgent soft!alcina 

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu x gn!reader

Word Count: 1,409

Warnings: absolute tooth-rotting fluff (plus a hint of steam). featuring the (possibly canon??) long-haired Alcina :3

If there was anything you loved nearly as much as Alcina in Castle Dimitrescu, it was her bed. It was large enough to fit two of her with room to spare, and sleeping in it was comfortable beyond belief.

When you were buried beneath the covers and she came into the room, you had to make noise like a hiding kitten to alert her that you were hidden by the massive duvet, so she wouldn’t flop down on the mattress and accidentally squash you.

Alcina had now gotten accustomed to habitually turn back any covers on the beds or couches that she came across, just to double check.

On one such occasion she came into her bedroom and reached over to pull the blankets down, and a sudden, meek squeal of protest made her smile.

You were clinging to her pillows, swaddled in the covers, surrounded by Alcina’s musky, warm scent, and would not have woken up had it not been for the rush of cold air as your cocoon was unraveled. 

“Hello there, little dove,” Alcina whispered as your eyes opened and your face scrunched up, burrowing your head further into the pillow. “You slept through dinner again.”

You enjoyed taking a late afternoon nap, but sometimes when you slept in Alcina’s bed, you kept on dreaming for longer than intended. 

You sat up groggily, hair swept in all directions and watched as Alcina tugged off her gloves and began unpinning her hair from the tight up-do she wore underneath her wide-brimmed hat. 

“Are you hungry?” the giantess asked, sitting at her vanity and thoroughly removing her makeup. “I’ll fetch someone to bring dinner if you’d like.”

You shook your head, watching Alcina as you pressed back into the pillows, bare legs worming underneath the warm covers again. Everything in this room made Alcina look normal-sized, and made you seem like a small dwarf-like creature. All items, from the chairs to the bathroom sink, had been catered to her measurements. 

You preferred to use the regular-sized furniture and rooms in the castle simply for convenience, but when you had the chance, you would always choose Alcina’s bed over yours. Considering that she couldn’t cuddle in your bed like you could in hers, it made the most sense to you.

Long, black hair tumbled from her bun down her shoulders and back and you marveled at the sight. She had a few shorter pieces in the front that she curled and styled to stay in overnight, but tonight seemed rather relaxed, because she brushed through it and left it loose. 

“Is there still room for me there, little dove?” she teased as she walked over to the closet and pulled out a nightgown while gesturing towards the bed. You giggled and spread your limbs like a limp starfish, exclaiming,

“No! Sorry, your bed has been entirely occupied.”

“A shame,” she purred, changing from her creamy dress to an almost pure-white nightgown. Her heels came off and stayed by her vanity chair, and she patted barefoot over to you. “I’ll be forced to use whatever means necessary to reclaim my place.”

“Do whatever you will, I shall never move,” you declared, willing your limbs to stay still, iron-like.

“Whatever, you say?” she drawled, arms coming to plant beside your head, sinking deeper into the soft cushions of the pillows and mattress. You felt your face heat up in surprise as her locks tumbled down and brushed along your shoulders. 

“Perhaps I can be persuasive,” she whispered, full lips pressing against your temple. The smell of her was even stronger now, and you felt your senses tingle as her nose trailed down your face, along your cheekbone. Her larger mouth hovering over yours with a tantalizing smirk.

You felt your body rise as her lips began peppering soft kisses along your lips and chin, but you didn’t bring your arms up around her like you usually did. That made her hum in feigned annoyance, and she kissed your pulse point a bit harder.

Fangs scraped lightly along your skin and you gasped, but just a little.

“Hungry?” you asked, squeezing your eyes shut as a long tongue soothed the skin and suckled over your racing pulse.

“Hmm.. some other time, perhaps,” she replied. Her fingers reached down to your bare legs, the slightest of touches making you buck your hips.

“Come now, darling,” she cooed, her hands wandering and her mouth hot against your skin, “give up and let me ravish you.”

You giggled, and retorted, “never.”

The pillows were off the bed in a second, and suddenly your whole figure was shadowed by Alcina holding you down with the weight of her body. She kicked the duvet further down the bed, exposing your body. She pulled your legs apart,  thumbs rubbing over the inside of your thighs.

“Strong, but ever the fool,” she observed, your fingers grabbling the sheets to not pull her hands to where you were hot and needy. “I can tell you want it, sweetling.”

“Cruel,” you whined as her hands came off of your legs. You expected her to keep kissing you, to hold you down and whisper until you were melting and begging. But instead, her heavy warmth disappeared, and you cracked open an eye to see her sit at the foot of the bed, apparently ready to leave.

“Where are you going?” you asked, as she grabbed a silk robe to put over her nightgown.

“To find other accommodations for the night,” she said, “I’ve clearly lost this battle. You will never budge, it seems.”

Her tone was neutral, but you caught sight of her profile, framed by dark wavy locks, and her lips were pulled into a mischievous smirk.

“No,” you breathed, barely audible. Alcina turned her head away, pushing her arms into the sleeves of the robe.

“What was that?” she asked, but you both knew damn well she heard what you said.

“No!” this time you were the one who pounced, flying up to wrap your arms around her neck from behind before she could stand up.

Her laugh was melodic and soft as you clung to her, face burying in her sweet-smelling hair. 

“You’re mean,” you whined, “we were playing a game. You never sleep without me.”

Your lips pressed underneath her ear, nose worming through her hair and Alcina chuckled deeply.

“Of course we were playing a game, little dove. And now you’ve lost.”

You opened your mouth to retort but only a screech escaped you as Alcina stood, suddenly, lifting you up in the air while holding onto her neck. She plucked you off with flawless ease and then you were being cradled in her arms, her perfect smile showing perfect teeth, and you couldn’t bother being mad at her for tricking you.

“Fine,” you grumbled, crossing your arms, “but you have to make it up to me. I was actually gonna win against you for the first time ever had you not played tricks.”

“I always play tricks, darling,” she said, hands rubbing your form as she settled back against the pillows, you in her arms. You squirmed until she released you and you sat upon her middle staring up into those golden eyes with defiance written all over your face. 

“I suppose that’s true,” you grumbled, “though that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”

She grinned again, her eyes crinkling. You wondered if she ever smiled this much before you had come to stay at Castle Dimitrescu. The thought made your heart beat a little faster. Then you wondered if her senses could pick up on that. Everything about her made you wonder.

“How does my sweet want to reconcile?” Alcina asked, one hand cupping the back of your neck. “I can’t have you stay angry at me forever.”

You raised yourself a little higher and climbed up a bit more so you could press your mouth against hers. Once she was delightfully distracted by your tongue twining with hers, your small hands wandered down to her breasts, running the fingertips over the tops that were exposed to your eyes.

Alcina’s breath came out in a soft, slow gasp, and you continued, pushing the robe off of her shoulders and then the silky straps down her arms, before you cupped them both in your hands, feeling stiff nipples as you sucked her lower lip with a grin.

“I can think of a few things,” you said.

A/N: and that concludes our very urgent announcement. back to business, everyone.

#alcina dimitrescu #Alcina #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #Lady Dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x you #lady dimitrescu x reader #tall vampire lady #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil fanfic #resident evil village #re8 #merry writes