#i’ve drawn her so many times that it was too much to dig out every instance

[ciearcab]

goodbye dear jellie. thankyou for keeping me company in countless survival worlds

(old work- cats 2021)

#goodtimeswithscar #jellie the cat #gtwscar #i’ve drawn her so many times that it was too much to dig out every instance #instead here’s my favorite and one that meant a lot to me at the time. she’ll live on through every creeper kept out and bed shared.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Okay so I’ve been thinking about soap which led me to thinking about your soap and introvert!reader 🫠

For one I know soap loves listening to her talk (obviously cause she doesn’t do it a lot) but he loves bringing up topics that she’s passionate about cause 1. She looks so beautiful when she gets into it digging into all the details and the way the personality she keeps under wraps comes out when he gets a part wrong and 2. Intelligent women turn him on 🤷🏻‍♀️

The first time he gets her to be comfortable enough around him to start actually get her talking to the point where he’s just listening he has a very hard time hiding his hard on lol 100% covers it with a couch pillow and tries not to make it obvious and thank god reader wasn’t really paying attention cause it was so obvious it’s embarrassing 💀

Another thing, reader accidentally finds out that Johnny draws. She wandered over to his place to give him some food since she made way to much and she knocks but there’s no answer and Johnny has told her before just to come in if he doesn’t answer (obviously witching certain times lol) so she makes her way in and find him sitting on his couch with head phones on drawing in a sketch book. (I want to say it’s her he’s drawing but I’m not going too 😤) He’s drawing a set of brown eyes that seem to be surrounded by a mask? She’s in awe for a moment and goes to tap Johnny’s shoulder when he notices her and screams like a girl 🤣

Anyways this leads to them eventually getting to the point of (when Johnny is on extended leaves) he’ll wander over to her place and sit and draw while she does whatever it is that she does, reading, writing, music, or maybe even art herself. It would be so beautiful if this is when Johnny realizes he loves her. She calls him so much but he also gets to be who he truly is around her and he also bring out who she really is too 🥹

(Hope this all makes sense… anyways these are just thoughts not even really hc’s just little thoughts that came forward. Oh, and i also have another little thing for Simon and roommates!reader that I’ve been conjuring up and it won’t leave my mind so I’ll eventually send that ask 😈)

you are always giving me good thoughts because you're 100% right!!!! @random0lover

Soap would absolutely fall more in love with you the moment you start talking on and on about your favorite thing or something that you're interested in. He's 100% into intelligent people he will be turned on by someone who knows their stuff and by golly the first time you went crazy he was hanging onto every word but also trying really hard to not make it obvious he wanted to make out with you

(If you've seen that tik tok audio where it's like "i'm way too horn y to talk to this woman right now" that's him when you start talking passionately)

Soap would also definitely tell you you can enter his home whenever (as if you lived there too).

I think Soap would be a little embarrassed if you saw him drawing in his journal because his very nervous about you finding out he's drawn you so many times. But he's very willing to draw you something and if you suggest he can come over and draw while you do your own thing he might actually marry you

(i am so excited for the roommate series ask that will be coming you feed me so well)

#your friendly neighbor #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mw2

[tastelessblogginz]

FUCK YEAH DANGAN OC TIME!!!!!

I think she’s definitely one of my oldest danganronpa ocs who I still remember, and one of the main reasons she’s stuck w me so much is because her old design looked way too much like mahirus, so today I went ahead and attempted redesigning her, and I’m really proud of the result!!

Quick warning: by pressing READ MORE you are therefore going to be exposed to the ramblings of someone who has nothing better to do with their free time rather than explain every tiny detail & reason for their design change, you have been warned.

First off, I’d like to start this off with a really shitty drawing of her old design

After quite a bit of digging, I found a few signatures from some of my friends at the time and they’re all around October of 2019, so this was drawn approximately 3-4 years ago.

Design Choices

When comparing the old vs the new design, one of the main features I wanted to change was her role in the story, as you can spot in her old design, she originally had an ahoge, meaning that I most likely wanted her to be the protagonist of the story I was planning. However, due to an idea I’ve had for her character which otherwise she wouldn’t really be able to accomplish with that role, I’ve transferred the ahoge to one of my other ocs, who may or may not make an appearance in the near future!!

Another thing which really bugged me about her old design was the hairstyle, don’t get me wrong, ponytails are cute!! But to me it just felt a bit too plain when combined with her personality, and so I wanted to change it to the bubble braids she currently has, mainly because she’s characterised to be really social & bubbly, and so I wanted to try and incorporate that into her new design.

Finally, the biggest noticeable change about her, her clothing. The main reason I so desperately wanted to change it was simply because it felt way too mahiru & even when I first designed her, the outfits felt way too similar in my mind but I tried to brush it off, well not this time!! For her new outfit, I still wanted to keep the whole school uniform vibe, but this time I wanted to take some inspiration from kogal fashion, but if anything this is just more of my love for gyaru fashion than anything 😭😭

Backstory

I’m gonna be completely honest here, her backstory actually kinda came to me whilst I was writing the design choices bit, so bare with me if it’s a bit lacklustre. Originally, Kei had applied for hopes peaks entrance exams as one of the reserve course students, however, during the entrance exams, something about Kei stood out to the staff of hopes peak academy. In all of her test scores, she had managed to score way below average in everything apart from mathematics, in which she managed to get full marks for. And to only further this achievement, Kei had actually fallen asleep part way through the maths exam, with half an hour to spare. Therefore, the talent scouts of hope’s peak academy took a keen interest in her and brought her in for further examinations, mainly to check that she hadn’t cheated on anything. This time, they gave her a university level maths paper, in which many people within the maths field struggle to get a decent pass on, and yet once again, she had managed to score full marks & with some time to spare. Once hope’s peak realised they had an ultimate in their hands, they immediately contacted Kei’s parents to tell them the good news, and with that, she had been transferred into hope’s peak’s main course.

Personality

Like I mentioned in the design bit, Kei is a very sociable teenage girl who is willing to strike up a conversation with anyone, however, a lot of the people around her may find her to be obnoxious, as she often accidentally boasts about her ultimate, finding it idiotic how some people find math’s difficult, and can go on many random tangents about her own life, often trying to relate other people’s experiences to her own, yet this is more of her way of trying to show support for someone.

Despite her overconfidence when it comes to maths problems, she struggles intensely when it comes to other subjects, often times resulting on cheating as her only option, and even then scoring terribly low. Despite her low grades in Japanese, she does actually have a keen interest in books; romance novels especially, as she loves listening to them as she works, one of her all-time favourites being ‘So lingers the ocean’

After reading that book, she has become increasingly “boy-crazy” and often times develop crushes incredibly quickly & even tends to fawn over some of her male classmates, however, she doesn’t actually get crushes on people, and she doesn’t actually understand that you can’t choose who you like, and so she will become incredibly confused when one of her friends complain about developing a crush on someone, as she doesn’t really get why they don’t just “pick someone else”

I might add some more to this later on but I’m Gonna be honest I’m really tired rn, so I’m gonna go to sleep 😭😭

#danganronpa #danganronpa fangan #danganronpa fangame #danganronpa fangan oc #danganronpa oc #fanganronpa #fanganronpa oc #Kei Ikehara #I love her so much #sorry about the rambling #oc #original character

[anamazingangie]

Practice

Rhaenyra x Alicent , Rhaenyra x Daemon

2k words | Complete | Rated M | by AmazingAngie

Summary:

Her friends' laughter was sweet as ever, as she rolled into her husband's side. Her hand rested on his chest and her lips curved into a smile. Why shouldn’t Rhaenyra smile, when she got everything she wanted?

Alicent wiped at her eye, a tear slipping.

She was Queen. Didn’t she get all she wanted, too?

Then why couldn’t she stop wanting her? 

Alicent was nervous when she first came to King’s Landing. She was only ten, and leaving behind her friends was scary. She felt sometimes like…they were all she had. Now that her mother was dead, and her father was distant, and her brothers were older. She felt like she was leaving the last part of herself behind and she wasn’t sure how to live without it. 

But then she met Rhaenyra. 

…

Rhaenyra wasn’t nervous about anything. Rhaenyra walked around the palace as if she owned it — and in a way, she did. She was powerful and smart and pretty, gods, she was so pretty. Alicent knew Targaryen’s were supposed to have a queer sort of beauty that drew you to them. But Alicent hadn’t thought it possible to be drawn in like this. She felt captured, enraptured every time the younger girl spoke or smiled. 

Her hair was the color of silver, and shone like the sun. And her eyes were bright and purple and her lips looked soft and they were so pink. Sometimes Alicent would look in the mirror and touch hers, they were thinner and a deeper color than her friends — but she thought, just maybe, they would fit together nicely. 

She tried not to think of this often. 

For she’d blush at the thought, and look down at her nails — but when she went to pick them, Rhaenyra would take her hands and chastise her. “You can’t play princess if you have bloody fingers!” She said, gently rubbing the raw cuticles with her own fingers. 

She pulled her off the bench they sat at, dragging Alicent’s taller form behind her. “I have cream somewhere!” She said, digging around in her vanity when they reached her rooms. She grinned, a brilliant smile when she found what she was looking for. Passing the tin to her friend with a proud look of success, “My Uncle bought it for me! From his travels. It smells like roses. Now we’ll both smell like roses.” 

Alicent swallowed, Rhaenyra looked so sincere. So pleased. It made her want to smell like roses, simply because Rhaenyra wanted it too. 

She applied the cream that night, and fell asleep with her face pressed into her palm, because it didn’t smell like her, it smelled like Rhaenyra. 

She didn’t use the cream every day — she wanted to savor its aroma. But she did stop picking her nails. Because there was little she wanted more than to keep playing princess with Rhaenyra. 

…

Playing princess meant she got to wear pretty dresses and crowns. It meant she got to eat good foods and read good books. It was blissful, but whenever she tried to thank the girl she laughed. She said Alicent should thank her Uncle — the Prince, Daemon. For he was the one who showered her with so many gifts that she was able to share. 

Alicent just smiled, she hadn’t met the Prince yet. But he must be wonderful, for how highly Rhaenyra spoke of him. 

She didn’t think much more of the Prince, not for the next few months. Until the morning she was greeted by an excited Princess. “ Daemon is coming!” She said, grinning, a piece of parchment crushed in her fist. 

“He heard of Syrax’ growth! That she is ready to ride! And he is coming to teach me.” Rhaenyra let out a squeal, throwing herself into the seat next to her friend and pulling her close. “I haven’t seen him in ages.” The girl moaned, “I’ve never been so excited for anything before in my life!” 

Alicent smiled at this too, though perhaps it was a little less genuine — she couldn’t muster up that level of enthusiasm for anything in life other than perhaps Rhaenyra herself. A feeling pooled in her stomach, one an awful lot like jealousy. 

…

She became familiar with that feeling, while Daemon visited. He doted on his niece but did not seem fond of their friendship. He said the Hightower’s colors were green, like a snake, and they slithered where they weren’t wanted. He said her father licked at the King’s ears, spewing venom in the process. 

She wanted to cry when she heard him saying such things. 

But Rhaenyra giggled, “Uncle you’re silly. Alicent isn’t like that. She is my friend! You always say I cannot be held responsible for the sins of Father, you must not hold hers against her!” She seemed unphased by her uncle’s criticism, but Alicent saw something in the way he looked at her. 

She knew the emotion in his eyes well. For she wore it too. 

It was one of envy. 

…

She saw little of her friend while the prince was present. He seemed to easily take a place by his niece's side, often keeping her from her friends' company. They went hawking, and riding, and dining, and seemed joined at the hip in the months he visited. 

Alicent tried not to miss Rhaenyra. 

She tried not to wonder if Rhaenyra missed her. 

…

Instead, she was merely thankful when Daemon left. When the princess was once again hers. She swallowed the thought, feeling strange and possessive over the girl. She’d never felt that way for her friends back home. Never felt that way for anyone at all. 

She had nothing to compare it to. Not until she found the book of poems. Rhaenyra was translating them, something her maester had required. She rolled her eyes when Alicent picked it up, “They are so dumb.” Rhaenyra said. 

“Listen to this one” She said before she began reciting. 

“This knot thus knit, who shall untwine,

Since we that knit it do agree

To loose not nor slip, but both incline

To love that heart that loveth me?”

She spoke the last words sarcastically. “I can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone. And if I did, why would I question their love? Obviously they would love me too!” Rhaenyra said insistently. 

Alicent swallowed. 

No, Rhaenyra should never question whether she was loved. 

Alicent was beginning to question how she loved her, though. 

…

The girls she took lessons with spoke of crushes in the years that followed. Often complimenting the looks of Alicent’s brothers, or guards. “They are handsome.” The girls would whisper. It made Alicent’s nose wrinkle. But it was fair after all, for they were her brothers. And her guards! They were like family to her. She would never consider them handsome. If she ever considered that at all, for the Seven frowned upon such things — the value of a person could not be based on their looks and she was a Godly girl, she had to remain true to such things. 

But…still, she asked her dearest friend that evening. 

“Do you think my brothers are handsome?” 

Rhaenyra’s face creased into a displeased frown, making Alicent laugh. 

“No.” She said decisively. 

“Do you think anyone is handsome?” She asked, a bit surprised when that left the princess thoughtful. 

“ I suppose there is my uncle.” She said with a soft smile. 

Alicent never smiled when she spoke of her uncle. Not anymore. Not when he had visited a half dozen times, always pushing Alicent aside. She had grown to dislike the prince, even though her father told her to be nice. She thought him cocky and rude and cruel and far from handsome. 

She didn’t think his looks could compare to his niece’s, not even close, for Rhaenyra was beautiful. 

She thought a lot about her friend's looks, even if that was a sin. But she was so lovely — her pale skin would flush when she was embarrassed, the hue matching the rosy shade of her plush lips. And when she laughed, it was like she was singing, the sound so joyous and musical. 

And her hands were so soft, and so was her hair, and sometimes Rhaenyra let her brush it, and she would sneak her fingers through the locks. And she always smelled of dates and roses, sweet and floral and fragrant and so delicious Alicent thought she could subsist off the aroma alone. 

There had been a few times, Alicent had stayed over for sleepovers, and they had slept side by side in nothing but shifts. The outline of small breasts visible beneath the cloth, along with long legs that extended beneath. Rhaenyra wasn’t tall, but she was shapely in a way Alicent wasn’t. Surely it was normal to be curious? 

Surely it wasn’t wrong that she didn’t look away, when her friend undressed to bathe?

For the first time in a long while, she wanted to pick her nails. Because watching Rhaenyra splash amongst the warm water made her feel warm in an unusual way. Like a nervousness, or buzzing in the pit of her stomach. 

It only intensified when Rhaenyra insisted the bath was big enough for her to join her. 

As she slipped into the steaming water, she felt hot for an entirely different reason. The slide of her friends bare legs against her own — slippery hands brushing as they passed soaps and oils. She could barely take her eyes off the way Rhaenyra’s breast seemed to float. It made her swallow thickly, made her squirm with how badly she wanted to stroke. 

…

She felt that way, the following year, when Rhaenyra begged her to practice kissing. “It’s indecent!” She had protested, thinking of her faith, of how two women together was wrong. But Rhaenyra was insistent, “Nothing will come of it! It’s just practice for our husbands.” 

Her eyes were so bright, and her lips looked so soft, and Alicent had wondered for so long…

It was Alicent’s first kiss. 

She had been right, Rhaenyra’s lips were soft. And her breasts were too, as they pressed against her own small chest when Rhaenyra pushed her to the grass. Her friend was demanding, as a princess, and she demanded much of Alicent’s own lips. 

Alicent hadn’t known tongues could be involved in such things. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes were bright as she told her of other things tongues could be used for. 

Alicent thought a lot about that, late at night. 

…

It was Rhaenyra’s idea to sneak out to the brothel. She insisted it would be fine, that her father and uncle had done it all the time when they were young. “Don’t you want to see what it’s like? Before you are forced to do it?” 

Alicent could never say no  to Rhaenyra’s smile. It mattered more to her than even the Seven. 

She didn’t say no when Rhaenyra said they should practice there, either. 

“With an audience, like there will be on the wedding night.” She whispered, lips brushing her friend's ear. Her lips brushed her neck soon after, and then lower, and lower…

They were both breathless and giggling after, kissing with slick lips amongst the writhing bodies. They escaped after a final kiss, slipping out the door and riding into the night on horseback. 

…

In a year's time, Alicent was kissing a different Targaryen.

…

She remembered her wedding night very well. The humiliation of it, of knowing her father was behind a screen witnessing it. Knowing that others would see her with the King made it all the more real. 

The pale skin under her fingers, and the light hair brushing against her chest. The lips, too rough, too dry against her flesh. But if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine a different set of rosy lips, that had been hot against her own. 

If she thought of her, the daughter of the man above her, perhaps it would not be so awful. If she imagined the slip of a feminine form riding her, the tips of plush breasts brushing her own…that almost made her moan. But she held it inside, for fear the name she cried out would not be her husbands. 

When it was done, she returned to her rooms — where she slept alone. She used the last dredges of the rose scented cream and slept with the smell of Rhaenyra on her fingertips.

…

She spent a lot of time in the rose garden, after she wed. 

…

She found entertainment from great bards and minstrels as queen, but it didn’t replace her friend's laughter. 

…

It seemed Rhaenyra had found entertainment without her, too, instead with her uncle. 

…

She remembered Rhaenyra’s wedding night better than her own. It was burned into the back of her eyelids, for as Queen she had been commanded to witness the act of consummation. She sat still behind the screen, her husband at one side and her father at the other. There was a Septon too. 

None of them spoke, as the pair entered, giggling and sweating from a night of dining and dancing. They stripped each other with a level of familiarity that made Alicent swallow, for once she had shared such a thing with the girl before her. 

But now she was in the arms of another. In the arms of her uncle. And she looked happy for it, grinning between kisses and laughing as he tore her chemise in his eagerness. Alicent hadn’t been fully nude, for this — her chemise had stayed on, baring only her hips and what lay between to her husband. 

But Rhaenyra had little need for shyness. She never had. She had nothing to self conscious of, with her beautiful curves and full breasts. She was all pale skin and pale hair, the color of the moonlight that filtered in from the room's open windows. 

Daemon was not dissimilar in coloring, but she still did not see the appeal, not compared to her . 

Her stomach hurt as she watched, unable to look away from the sight they made. She watched calloused hands touch what she once had, lips bite at breasts and roaming the smooth plane of her stomach. They went lower, too, and Rhaenyra’s hands clutched her uncle’s own silver hair — moaning and squirming beneath him as he licked at her cunt. 

It was all Alicent could hear, aside from the sound of her own breathing. The squelching of her loves quim, and her moans as she begged for more. Rhaenyra grew inpatient, despite her obvious pleasure, pulling at Daemon’s hair until he acquiesced and returned his mouth to her lips. 

Her legs parted for him, curling around his waist in a way that seemed natural. Their skin matched, Alicent realized, as Daemon palmed her ass and brought their hips together. There was no pain, no blood, only moans and sounds of flesh when he thrusted. 

There was a beauty to them, she had to admit, watching the heave of Rhaenyra’s breasts with each thrust, the way she clawed at her uncle’s back. The way he buried his head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. Of roses, Alicent knew. 

But that was all Alicent knew, for she’d never known such pleasure — not with her own husband, perhaps not ever. 

The closest she had come was at the heist of Rhaenyra’s own lips. But watching this now, watching her arch and groan, beneath Daemon, she knew the truth. For Rhaenyra all it had ever been was practice. 

…

When they were finished, Alicent felt numb. Her nails were bloody. The room smelled like sex, and roses, and the combination made her feel sick.

 As did her friends' laughter, sweet as ever, as she rolled into her husband's side. Her hand rested on his chest and her lips curved into a smile. Why shouldn’t she smile, when Rhaenyra got everything she wanted? 

Alicent wiped at her eye, a tear slipping. 

She was Queen. Didn’t she get all she wanted, too? 

Then why couldn’t she stop wanting her? 

A03 !

#Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #daemyra #fic #a03 #romance #fluff #prompt #daemon x Rhaenyra #HOTD #alicent x rhaenyra #rhalicent #angie writes

[lynderman]

Does anyone else just have a song(s) that hearing the first word can make you start crying on the spot? Like I don’t mean ‘boohoo, this makes a tear fall’. No. I mean violently sob. Like cover your mouth and try to slow your breathing down because the lyrics or whatever Just spark so much going on in your head and it makes you so upset. The crying where you fall asleep because it took so much energy out of you? That crying. Anywho, here’s my little post about the two songs that make me do that. A.K.A, Rn.

1: When She Loved Me (Specifically the cover by Lyn Lapid)

Holy fucking shit. Her voice is so amazing. (Anyways) This song triggers smth in me that just makes me think of that one person. Yk, the one that was ‘Right Person, Wrong Time’ or ‘If We Only Had More Time’. That person. Again, every memory just speeds through my mind. It never fails to make me cry. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. It varies if that makes sense? It’s the one song I can recognize when the first note is played because it lives rent free in my head. The lyric that could tear me apart is: “Still I Waited For The Day When They’d Say: ‘I Will Always Love You.’.” Because it’s so accurate. For me at least. It’s the one song that helps me pinpoint my emotions. The one I’m so drawn to Yk? (Like the person I’m talking about) But it makes me want to cry and never stop because I would give any and everything to go back in time to see this person. My entire life, my body, my soul. Just anything. Even for 30 seconds. For 30 fucking seconds I would give all I’ve worked for and achieved to tell them I love them. To tell them I’m sorry we didn’t have enough time together. I would throw my entire well-being away just to see them. To hug them. To see their smile. Just to tell them thank you and I’ll always remember them :(

2: I Hear A Symphony- Cody Fry

Words cannot express how much this song makes my heart ache. Everytime I listen to it, I fr feel like my heart might as well be ripped from my chest. It’s such a beautiful song. Sure, it makes me cry till i can’t See but that doesn’t mean it’s not a 18/10. It’s one of those songs that makes every memory of specific people come flooding back all at once. It’s a mix of good and bad memories. Stuff that I wish I could experience again for the first time, people I wish I could see again, just so much. But the one lyric that makes me want to never leave my room again and cry till i have no tears left is: ‘Our Flaws Are Who We Really Are.’ Bro This fucking takes me out. Every. Single. Time. It’s that one point where I can’t contain anything and let out some incoherent choked sob. I get it’s such a common sentence and is used in so many things but good god. Those 7 words dig into the deepest part of my soul and make me want to cease to exist. For reasons that are too long for a list.

Anywho, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. 🫶

#live laugh love #I’m going insane #sob

[themovieblogonline]

Scoop On Netflix Review: An Understated Thriller Spotlighting The Ethics Of Indian Journalism

Hansal Mehta is one of my favourite filmmakers. Many of his work features situations and stories that could easily become cheesy, over the top or just plain melodramatic. However, Mehta has a restrained style of storytelling that makes those moments work. Brilliantly, I might add. Similarly, as I’ll showcase in this Scoop on Netflix review, Mehta once again tells a chilling and shocking story, but in a way that that’s effective and conveys a realism that other filmmakers have a hard time doing. Scoop is a Netflix original series about journalism and crime in India that hits so very hard! Scoop On Netflix Review Is Spoiler-Free Scoop is all about crime-reporter Jagruti Pathak (Karishma Tanna), an accomplished Indian journalist who is constantly chasing the biggest scoop. As a crime reporter, Jagruti is a woman trying to make it in a male-dominated field, and excelling at it so far. However, as she gets one of the biggest scoops, along with it comes a series of events that leads to completely devastating her life and career. Based on real events, and a real person, Scoop starts as this amazing journalism story, unlike anything I’ve seen come out of India before. While the series could easily be a crime thriller, it’s from the perspective of the journalists on the ground trying to break the story. It puts a spotlight on Indian investigative crime journalism, from the lens of reporters on the ground. Instead of showcasing the story from the viewpoint of the police or villains, it’s all from the POV of crime reporters doing the legwork. It’s a story that could be India’s first-ever series that showcases the nuances of journalism; the ethics, processes, politics, competition and dangers that come with it. The Writers Create An Amazing Protagonist One of the best things in this Scoop on Netflix review is how the show touches upon many subjects, without making too big a meal out of them. Jagruti is a single mother with an abusive former husband. She’s the single-wage earner in her family and has to constantly juggle her home life with her ambitious and demanding job as a crime reporter. But the show never shows these elements of her life as a crutch or something to pity her for. Her characterization is also pretty genius. Jagruti is never shown as an idealistic, principled naive reporter proclaiming truth and justice all the time. She has morals and ideals but is also pragmatic about the realism her job entails. She will do anything to get the story, but nothing that compromises her integrity or the objectivity of the story itself. It’s a great nuance and balance that many protagonists from Indian media rarely get. Is Scoop Indian’s First-Ever Journalism Story? What I also loved about Scoop on Netflix is how the story really digs into the journalism industry of India.Many other movies and shows portray journalists, news reporters or TV anchors in a very superficial way. But the main character of Scoop is journalism itself, along with Jagruti. The show dives deep into how ethical journalism works, within an Indian backdrop. There are real conversations about the nature of reporting news and making a profit from it. About reconciling an idea meant to find the truth, with how to maintain a successful business empire with the same ideology. But again, none of it is in a preachy way. None of it is long drawn our speeches about morality and justice. It’s all done in a way that is subtle and understated. Which conveys the harshness and brutal truth of reality in a much more effective way, than blaring patriotic music over some emotionally tear-jerking scene. Scoop On Netflix Review Praises Its Performances Scoop also works because of its amazing cast of powerful actors that really enhance every subplot, no matter how brief their screen time is. Imran (Mohd. Zeeshan Ayyub) is Jagruti’s editor who gives us the most insight into the world of journalism and its ethics, through his character of a veteran reporter who stands by his protege. JCP Shroff (Harman Baweja) plays a police leader who initially has a good working relationship with Jagruti but then is in a position to completely betray her. Baweja is a great example of a actor forced into a leading man role years ago but is so much more effective in a supporting role like this. The series features many other appearances by amazing actors like Tannishtha Chatterjee as a rival newspaper editor, and Deven Bhojani as Jagruti’s uncle who stands by her no matter what. Not to mention Prasenjit Chatterjee in an awesome role of a senior reporter whose death kickstarts the main plot of the series. Where Scoop On Netflix Falters, Ever So Slightly My only issues with Scoop are some of the minor subplots. There’s a storyline with an ambitious reporter (Tanmay Dhanania) who is kind of sleazy, attributing Jagruti’s rise to power to her sleeping around. But then, when his strong and independent wife, played by the amazing Ira Dubey, is accused of the same at her job, he acts like a jerk. Even going as far as to imply that her success is also due to things other than merit. And while it’s a subplot that seemed important and relevant, it kind of goes nowhere. It serves to make the character realize his mistake and have an Aha! moment, but it feels like his wife gets sidelined to serve his story. Which is a shame given how talented Dubey is. The ending of Scoop also feels a little abrupt and rushed. However, that’s a complaint I can’t really credit to the writing, given that the series about the real-life experiences of crime-journalist Jigna Vora. I do love that the series ended with Vora herself speaking directly to the camera. It punctuates the story we see in the entire series with some real-life blurring of lines. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmnQzRP-NZ4 All episodes of Scoop are now streaming on Netflix. What did you think of Scoop On Netflix? Share your thoughts in the comments below or reach out to me on Twitter at @theshahshahid to discuss further. Read the full article

[badassbuchanan]

Secrets and Spies

Request: Could you write something where the reader and bucky have been seeing eachother for a while but no one from the team knows. But they know something is different with bucky so they follow him one night to the readers place and kinda catch them in the act? I don't know if that makes sense

Warnings: smut; shower sex, loud sex, unprotected sex, swearing and some really bad writing skills on my part!

a/n: my first request, yay! I hope it came out okay! it’s different to the writings i’ve done before - I hope it makes sense

also I'm sorry if you didn't want this to be smutty but my thirsty ass brain took the ‘catch them in the act’ part a little too literally. I'm just a whore for bucky let’s face it. 

“You coming to the game with us next week, Buck?” The blonde haired Captain asked his childhood friend as he stood with him and Sam in the kitchen.

“Hm?” The long haired winter soldier looked up from his phone which had previously captured all of his attention.

“The baseball game,” Sam frowned at Bucky suspiciously, crossing his arms as he leaned his back against the kitchen worktop. “The one we talked about last week.”

“Oh,” Bucky raised his eyebrows and nodded, lifting his metal hand to scratch the back of his head. “Uh yeah,” he looked back down at his phone which was now buzzing in his hand. “Um, I’ll be there.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Bucky was out the door, lifting his phone to his ear as he softly answered “hello.”

Sam and Steve turned to look at each other with a puzzled look on their faces.

“You know he’s been acting weird right? Even for him.” Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve who rolled his eyes softly, leaning his hands on the counter.

“He’s probably just stressed or something.” Steve dismissed Bucky’s recent behaviour, but even he’d noticed how distant and odd his oldest friend had been acting.

“Steve, I know you always want to see the best in him.” Sam’s voice dropped an octave in seriousness, mirroring Steve’s stance from across the kitchen bench. “But don’t forget what he’s capable of.”

“No, that wasn’t him. That was Hydra.” Steve defended Bucky, hitting his palm against the worktop before lifting it to rub his jaw anxiously. Sam’s words were making him worry.

“Okay, so what if Hydra, starts controlling his mind again?” Sam spoke softly, understanding what the weight of his words were doing to Steve. “Regardless, that doesn’t excuse his sneaking around, all the secret conversations, the frequent disappearing, or the fact that he is constantly distracted.”

“Oh, so it’s not just me who thinks Mr.Bionic is acting like more of a weirdo than usual?” Tony waltzed into the room, removing his sunglasses as he did so.

Steve shot Tony a warning glance but nodded his head anyway. Bucky had been acting strange for a while, it started off with small things, but now he was hardly ever around. And when he was, his mind was distant. Everything Sam said was true and Steve could only ignore it for so long.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y informed me he’s arranged to meet someone tonight.” Tony added, shoving a handful of almonds in his mouth as he did so. “You might wanna keep a close eye on him.” He more instructed than suggested, shrugging his shoulders before leaving the room to answer his ringing phone.

Steve loved Bucky. He believed in Bucky. But he couldn’t deny the small amount of constant doubt that lived in his mind. What if Hydra was still dormant in Bucky’s brain, controlling him with such a subtlety that no one would notice?

Steve let out a sigh, running his hand through his pushed back blonde hair. He was torn between trusting his childhood friend and doing his job as an Avenger to protect the world from potential threats. “Just let me talk to him.”

Sam nodded understandingly as the kettle clicked, signalling the water was done boiling just as he turned his back to grab a mug from the cupboard.

—Bucky’s POV —

“The baseball game,” Sam frowned at Bucky suspiciously, crossing his arms as he leaned his back against the kitchen worktop. “The one we talked about last week.”

“Oh,” Bucky raised his eyebrows and nodded, lifting his metal hand to scratch the back of his head. “Uh yeah,” he looked back down at his phone which was now buzzing in his hand, Y/N’s unsaved number flashing on the screen. “Um, I’ll be there.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Bucky was out the door, lifting his phone to his ear as he softly answered “hello.”

“Hey mister,” The sweet voice cooed through the phone, a bashful smile appearing on Bucky’s face as he leaned against the wall. “You coming over soon? My housemate’s gone out for the night.”

“Yeah, just finished working out with the guys. I’ll have a shower and then make my way to you.” Bucky fiddled with the drawstring of his grey track pants absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Or you could have a shower here,” Y/N spoke in a suggestive tone. Bucky living at the compound and Y/N’s housemate almost always home meant they never got much alone time without having to worry about Y/N’s housemate hearing what they were up to. “We could even have one together.”

Bucky’s eyes almost popped out of his head, her words catching him by surprise as he pushed himself off of the wall to stand up straight. “I’ll be there soon.”

Y/N chuckled at Bucky’s attempt to try and keep his cool, her heart skipping a beat at his excitement. “Okay, see you soon.”

“Okay.” Bucky breathed through a bashful smile. turning quickly to walk back down the hallway.

— Sam and Steve‘s POV —

Bucky walked back into the room in a slight rush.

“Hey, Buck. We need to talk.” Steve looked Bucky up and down, analysing his body language to test his reaction. No matter how busy he was, Bucky always made time for Steve and vice versa. They were always there for each other.

“Yeah buddy, later. I have to go.” Bucky turned to reply to Steve quickly before walking down the stairs out of sight.

Sam turned around to face Steve, mug in hand as he chuckled. He shook his head, looking up at Cap who was frowning in both confusion and concern.

“Okay, we need to find out what’s going on with him.” Steve crosses his arms, biting the inside of his lip as he racked his brain for any and every possible solution to reason Bucky’s behaviour.

— Bucky’s POV —

“C’mon Buck, we still have to cook it.” Y/N giggled softly as she watched her boyfriend dig his finger into the raw brownie batter they’d just finished mixing.

Bucky lifted the chocolate covered finger towards his mouth, licking off the mixture as he shrugged. “Taste good enough to me.” He smiled cheekily, using his metal arm to pull Y/N against his chest.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands playing with his hair as she admired his handsome face. Bucky leaned down to press his lips against hers, the sweet taste of chocolate enticing her in.

She moaned against him, tilting her head as Bucky let his tongue run teasingly over her lips. “How about that shower, hm?” She mumbled against his lips, feeling the kiss heating up fast.

Bucky moaned with a nod, feeling his cock stirring beneath his sweatpants. Y/N made a quick move to turn away from him, putting the brownie mixture in the oven.

He couldn’t help but watch her ass as she bent down, the workout leggings she wore left nothing to the imagination. He bravely moved forward, his hand slapping her ass cheekily as she quickly stood back up.

“Hey!” She shot Bucky a glare, smiling at the same time after she made sure to set the timer on the oven. “Save it for the shower.”

Bucky chuckled in amusement as he followed her down the hallway of her house which he’d become so familiar with. He didn’t go many places outside of the compound, and Y/N’s house felt like his special little hideaway from everything and everyone.

Y/N adjusted the temperature of the shower before removing her clothes, turning around to face Bucky as she did so.

Bucky couldn’t help but get distracted as she undressed, watching her every move. She walked towards him when she was left only in her panties, running her hand over his stomach.

“Need some help?” She offered, looking up at him innocently as she tugged on the tie of his sweatpants.

Bucky clenched his jaw as he looked down at her perky tits, nipples hardened in the cold air. His cock twitched at the sight of her bare skin, his metal hand reaching out to palm her breasts.

Y/N reached her hand inside his sweatpants, grabbing hold of his cock as her mouth dropped opened in shock. “Already so hard, Buck.” She smiled widely, slowly pumping his hard member in her hand.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, his hips bucking into her hand as he tugged on her nipple. Y/N felt her arousal dripping onto her underwear from the thought of his cock inside of her.

“Baby stop or I’ll cum.” Bucky grunted, his face screwing up as he grabbed hold of her hand with his flesh one, his metal hand still full of her boobs.

“I don’t want you to cum until you’re inside me.” Y/N spoke against his lips, giving his cock one last squeeze as she felt her pussy start to ache in need.

Bucky’s cock throbbed at her words, his eyes drawn to watch her pull his track pants down his legs. She tugged his underwear down with them, admiring the way his hard length bounced to slap up against his stomach.

Y/N bit her lip, her hands running up his thick thighs and over his abs, pulling his t-shirt up as she went. Bucky helped her out, lifting the material over his head, leaving him completely naked.

Y/N pushed her chest flush against his, leaning up to kiss him teasingly. Bucky felt her hard nipples rub against his bare chest, her soft skin felt so good against his as he held her waist.

She gave him an open mouth kiss before turning around in his arms, still pressed against his body as Bucky’s cock rubbed over her ass.

“Take them off for me, Buck.” She said softly, guiding his hands to the waist band of her panties.

Bucky complied with her request, pulling them down to her knees before she bent over in front of him to take them off the rest of the way, causing his cock to nudge between her bare ass cheeks.

Bucky groaned at the feeling of his tip in her wetness, quickly pulling her hips tightly against him as he refrained from shoving his cock inside of her.

She smiled cheekily, knowing exactly what she was doing to him as she ground her ass against him, his cock saturated in her juices.

Bucky grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to stand back up, his chest flush against her back. He kissed up her neck, his metal hand sliding down between her thighs to rub her folds, immediately saturated in her slick.

“If you want me to fuck you like that, doll, all you have to do is ask.”

“Bucky!” She giggled softly, almost becoming shy at his filthy words. It was still something she was getting used to, Bucky was her first boyfriend.

He chuckled at her response, spinning her around in his arms to face him. He lifted his flesh hand to cup her cheek, pressing his lips against hers.

Y/N immediately kissed him back, relaxing into his touch as Bucky’s hands slid down to the back of her thighs.

His tongue pushed into her mouth the same time as he lifted her off of the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist as she let out a satisfied moan.

Y/N hugged his neck to hold her up, his thick length laying flush between her folds. She whimpered into his mouth, rubbing her hips forward slightly as Bucky walked them into the shower.

The heat of the water hit them immediately, warming their bodies as Bucky pressed Y/N’s back against the tiled shower wall.

“So gorgeous.” Bucky grunted softly, pecking her lips as he pushed his hips forward. Y/N’s pussy started to ache with a dull emptiness, his cock against her folds wasn’t enough to satisfy her. “I love you so much.”

She smiled into the kiss, tugging on his now dampened hair. “I love you, Bucky.” She looked up into his bright eyes, admiring his beauty as Bucky moved his flesh hand down between their bodies.

He grabbed hold of his cock, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. The intense feeling caused her head to drop against his chest, kissing up the skin where his flesh fused with the metal.

Bucky’s heart fluttered at her touch, still so thankful to have found someone who loved and accepted him for him. It was something that he never thought would happen.

“Baby, please move.” Y/N moaned as her pussy clenched around his tip, causing Bucky to snap back to reality from his thoughts. He pushed his entire length inside her slowly, the tightness of her walls constricting him.

Y/N moaned again when he was fully inside of her, her nails digging into the flexed muscles of his back. Bucky stilled inside of her, knowing she’d need a moment for the stretching pain to subside.

“Oh, fuck.” Y/N panted out in pleasure, her throbbing pussy hungry for more. Bucky bent his head to kiss a line from her collar bone to the underside of her jaw.

He began thrusting his hips slowly, allowing her pussy to adjust to his size. “You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” Bucky moaned into her ear, his breath tickling her skin. “We’ve got the house to ourselves remember?” He picked up his pace a little, his fingers digging into her ass so hard she’d definitely have bruised tomorrow. “Let me hear you.”

Y/N’s head fell back against the shower wall, her eyes closing as she let her moans flow freely. Her thighs clamped around his waist, trying to pull him closer as he fucked into her.

Her pussy clenched around his length, the slapping sound of his balls hitting her wet skin filled the room. It only turned Y/N on even more, that and the fact that they didn’t have to keep quiet for once.

“Bucky.” She moaned out his name shamelessly, arching her back which caused their chests to press together.

Water ran over their bodies as Bucky picked up his pace, already feeling his climax approaching as he listened to her moan his name.

Y/N kept up the volume, knowing it was driving her boyfriend crazy. Bucky stepped towards her, practically squashing her against the tiles.

The new position caused his pelvis to rub against her throbbing clit with every thrust. Y/N felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach, the pulsing of her clit making her toes curl.

She moaned breathlessly between thrusts, his pace quickening as she tugged on his hair.

“Oh fuck.” Bucky moaned, his head dropping back as he chased his high, fucking into her fast and hard.

Her pussy clenched around him with every thrust, the feeling of his big cock deep inside of her was something she didn’t want to end.

She moaned like a pornstar for him, her mouth dropping open as she looked into his eyes. Bucky bit down on his bottom lip, keeping his rough side locked away as he fucked up into her.

“Bucky, oh shit.” Her eyes widened in panic, her cheeks covered in a pink blush as she felt her orgasm taking over. “I’m gunna cum.” She cried, head throwing back against the tiles as she rocked her hips into his.

Bucky watched her in awe, always so proud to be the provider of her pleasure. Her hair stuck to her wet body, her breathing shallow as she continued to moan.

He didn’t let up his pace, watching her tits bounce against his skin as he leaned his head back into her neck.

His moans were muffled in her skin, Y/N’s only getting louder as Bucky fucked her through her orgasm.

Her body was so sensitive, the sound of their skin slapping together had grown louder with his erratic thrusting.

Y/N’s pussy throbbed around his silky length, her arousal dripping onto his balls. She turned her head to kiss him, so fucked out and breathless.

Kissing her made Bucky more determined to chase his high, his hands pinning her hips against the wall as he fucked into her.

“Oh, yes.” Y/N moaned loudly, her hands clinging to any part of him that she could. She panted in unison with his thrusting, Bucky’s face screwing up as he chased his high. “Oh, Bucky, fuck.” She cried out when his cock twitched inside of her.

Bucky felt his orgasm about to hit. “I’m about to cum.” He suddenly moaned, hardly even finishing the sentence before he released his load inside of her.

He dropped her legs to the floor, Y/N almost tumbled at how jelly-like her legs felt. She grabbed onto his biceps to steady herself, Bucky’s hands planted themselves either side of her head on the tiled wall.

He went to kiss her softly, missing her lips because of the way she turned her head. A sudden loud noise from outside catching her attention.

— Sam and Steve’s POV—

“Are you sure?” Steve looked over at Sam in the drivers seat with a slight frown of confusion on his face.

“Yes,” Sam nodded insistingly, turning the engine off which would’ve left them in total darkness if it wasn’t for the light illuminating from the house they sat outside of. “This is the last place F.R.I.D.A.Y traced Bucky’s phone.”

“But it looks like a normal house.” Steve’s frown didn’t leave his face as he stared out of the window, scanning the area for any sign of danger. “In a suburban area, full of civilians.”

He didn’t know what he expected to find when he’d agreed to Sam’s ridiculous plan to spy on Bucky. But it sure as hell wasn’t this. The unknown set off a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wasn’t fond of. A feeling that made him think the worst.

“Maybe Hydra has finally figured out that creepy warehouses attract more attention than normal houses.” Sam half joked with a scoff, turning his body to take off his seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s head immediately whipped round to look at Sam with a worried look on his face. Sam could sometimes be hotheaded and jump into things without a plan, which didn’t sit well with Cap.

“I’m going to check it out.” Sam replied matter-of-factly. He knew that Steve would oppose to what he thought was the best plan of action, so he wasn’t going to ask permission, which he realised wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Steve pressed his lips together in a line nervously, his eyes darting back to the location where they’d tracked Bucky.

“Okay, why?” Sam dropped his hand from where it had lifted to open the car door and looked over at Steve. He decided he at least respected Cap enough to listen to his Star Spangled reasoning.

“Well for one, if it is a Hydra location the perimeter will be highly alarmed, not to mention the calibre of dangerous assassins that will be waiting inside, you won’t stand a chance.” Steve sighed, thousands of thoughts bouncing around his mind as he ran his hand through his hair stressfully. “And even if it’s not,” Steve’s voice dropped as his eyes grew worried. “Bucky will know we were tracking him.”

Sam chose to stay silent of a moment, something that didn’t happen very often. He knew Steve had just opened up about the real reason he didn’t want to go charging in like a bull in a china shop. He didn’t want to hurt Bucky. He didn’t want Bucky to feel like his two best friends didn’t trust him. Steve didn’t want to betray Bucky’s character and allow him to know that he had his doubts. That he could become Hydra’s Winter Soldier again.

“Okay, we’ll do it your way.” Sam said softly, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“We’ll start by securing the perimeter, then if, and only if, anything seems off, we’ll move in for closer inspection.” Steve instructed directly, only opening the car door once Sam had nodded in agreement.

They’d chosen not to bring any uniforms or weapons, knowing it would only draw more attention to themselves. Making sure to shut the car doors silently behind them, the pair slowly approached the white picket fence surrounding the property.

Sam veered to the left, Steve to the right as they inspected the location. Nothing seemed off. A few lights in different rooms illuminated the house. The curtains were drawn, making it hard for the two avengers to know exactly what was going on inside.

“No sign of movement on the east side.” Steve whispered, loud enough for Sam to hear as he slowly moved to inspect the gate.

Sam looked over at where Cap was, walking casually to meet him, finding no need to be as stealthy as his partner. “I got nothing on this side either.”

Steve sighed, relaxing a little when he saw no sign of danger. He stood up straight and crossed his arms, he was growing more curious by the second.

“Why this house? This family? In this neighbourhood? Who lives here? There must be some significance. I’ll call Tony and get F.R.I.D.A.Y to run the house through the datab-“

“Shh.” Sam quickly lifted his hand, cutting Steve off as his eyes darted from side to side. There was an eery silence in the street, followed by a muffled sound which made Steve’s ears prick up in attention. “Do you hear that?”

The boys made eye contact, frowns covering both of their faces as they slowly turned towards the house. Sam gestured towards the front door with his head, Steve nodding in agreement as they carefully opened the gate and moved in towards the house.

They crept up the garden path, stomachs sinking as the noise becoming more apparent, informing them they were on the right track.

“It’s coming from around the side.” Steve whispered as he pointed his finger, Sam’s eyes drifted to where Cap was pointing with a nod of acknowledgment.

The pair continued on their search, ears on high alert as they followed the sound down the left side of the house, a small passage which was as dark as the night. They stopped when they got to a room illuminated with light, the small open window too high up on the wall for them to see inside.

Low grunts, loud moans and harsh slapping sounds made both of their faces go pale in fear. It had to be Bucky. But they weren’t his moans, they were the moans of a woman. He wasn’t alone. And it sounded like he was torturing her.

“Shit.” Steve couldn’t help but let the language slip passed his lips as he dropped his head in a sigh, his hands on his hips. He tried to give Bucky the benefit of the doubt, but the evidence was stacked against him.

“What do we do now, Cap?” Sam whispered sadly, he wanted Bucky to be innocent just as much as Steve did. Yes, he would wind up the metal armed soldier at every opportunity that he got, but he had grown fond of him.

“We can’t let this go on.” Steve gestured towards the window where the near enough screams of a women were coming from, knowing they had to act fast as he tried to think up a plan.

“Oh, yes.” The girl moaned before Steve could even begin to think, causing both Sam and Steve to look at each other in surprise. “Oh, Bucky, fuck.” She cried out in pleasure, both boy’s brains ticking over as they tried to catch up with what was happening.

“Oh. My. God.” A cheeky smile washed over Sam’s face as a chuckle erupted from his throat. Steve let his face fall in his hands, humiliated and relieved at the same time.

Steve was thankful that his friend hadn’t been taken over by Hydra again, thankful that he wasn’t causing anyone harm. But now, he was stood in an alleyway listening to his best friend have sex.

Steve, still in shock, shook his head as he looked up at Sam who was still softly chuckling.

“I’m about to cum.” Bucky’s sudden moan caused both boys to snap back to the moment, eyes widening as they realised they didn’t want to be in ear shot when their friend reached his climax.

“Go,” Sam said quickly, his hand lifting to softly push Steve when he didn’t move. “Go, go, go.” He added with a bit more urgency, both boys turning to run from the alleyway in such a hurry that they weren’t looking where they were going.

They didn’t even make it more than a couple of steps before a loud crashing sound came from beneath them. “Shit.” Sam sighed, scrambling to pick up the pipes which he’d knocked over in his rush to get away.

Steve turned around with a sour look in his face, watching Sam try to clean up his mess. There was no way all that commotion would’ve gone unnoticed by the couple inside.

Sam gave Steve a knowing look, the only chance they had of escaping was to make a break for it.

Steve nodded, turning to run back down the alleyway with Sam right behind him. They were almost in the clear, close to the front of the house when a metal arm punched across Steve’s face to stop him running, only missing him by an inch.

Sam stumbled into Steve’s back at his sudden halt, the metal hand twisting to grab Steve by his throat. He was pulled around the corner, his back shoved against the brick wall of the house harshly.

“Steve?” Bucky’s face dropped in shock as he let go of his best friend’s throat. He stepped back and looked to the side, noticing a sheepish looking Sam. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Steve and Sam both looked at each other before back at Bucky, noticing his wet body only covered by his track pants hanging low on his hips.

“I think the real question is, who are you doing here?” Sam asked cheekily, a cocky smirk on his face which got wiped off as soon as Steve hit his chest in annoyance.

“Bucky, we can ex-“

“How did you- Did you follow me here?” Bucky chose to ignore Sam’s comment, cutting Steve off before crossing his arms as he waited for an explanation.

There was another moment of silence as the two culprits looked at each other once again, saved by a small voice coming from beside them.

“Bucky, everything okay?” Y/N’s soft voice made all three boys turn to face her from where she stood on the porch, a slight whistle coming from Sam as they took in her appearance. Her hair was still wet, her body only covered by the shirt that Bucky had been wearing earlier that night.

Bucky sighed, running his flesh hand through his wet hair, his metal one firmly on his hip. “Yeah, baby. It’s just my friends.” Bucky said the word ‘friends’ through gritted teeth as he glared back at them.

“Oh,” Y/N perked up a little as she pranced down the steps to where they were, almost hiding behind Bucky as she cuddled his flesh arm. “I apologise for my appearance. If Bucky had told me you were coming I would’ve been more prepared.” She giggled softly, her reaction to the whole situation made all three boys frown in confusion.

They’d expected her to yell, to ask what the hell they were doing around the side of her house, to kick them out, to yell at Bucky for telling his friends about them without consulting her first, to just walk back into the house and ignore them. In that moment, Bucky knew she was a keeper.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Y/N spoke as the two boys opposite just blinked, half surprised that Bucky actually kept such a secret from them for this long. “I’m Y/N.” She held out her hand.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve immediately responded, stepping forward to shake her hand with a sweet smile.

“I’m Sam.” Sam followed, shaking her hand as

Bucky, still half confused about why his best friends were there, wrapped his arm around Y/N’s waist. “So are you two-“ Sam dragged out the words.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Bucky responded shortly, Y/N’s heart fluttering at the word, something that was only shared between the two of them until now.

“Well we should all probably move inside, it’s a bit chilly out here tonight.” Y/N offered sweetly, gesturing towards the front door. “I hope you guys like brownies.”

taglist: 

@harrysthiccthighss​

@annestine​

#bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes au #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #Sebastian Stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #Sebastian Stan oneshot #sebastian stan x oc #sebastian stan x reader #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier oneshot #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x oc #captain America smut #captain America imagine #captain America oneshot #captain America x reader #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #marvel smut #marvel imagine #lance tucker smut #lance tucker oneshot #lance tucker x oc #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker imagine

[firein-thesky]

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read on Ao3

***

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

He keeps his distance.

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

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

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

You feel shockingly alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just the way he walks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouta would be proud of you.

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

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

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

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

But you followed him, didn’t you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shigaraki–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thought strikes him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly grab for his hands.

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

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

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

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

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

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

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

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

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

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moan, low and drawn out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe still are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

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

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

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

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

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

You think the guilt should hit you now.

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

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

You send a text to Shouta;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until Shouta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s no happy ending here.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lock had been picked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(He loved when you clung to him).

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

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says, “Touch yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gives you a cold stare.

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

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

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

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

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

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

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

All over this little stray.

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

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

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

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

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

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

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

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

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

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

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

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

You haven’t been here in years.

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

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

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

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki x you #tomura x y/n #shigaraki x y/n #tomura shigaraki x female reader #tomura shigaraki fanfic #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #tenko shimura #tenko shimura x reader #bnha

[mxpseudonym]

More, Even If It’s Too Much

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x OC or she/her pronouns Reader

Summary: Arthur falls for his innocent, young bookkeeper who doesn’t actually have an innocent bone in her body

Length: 1396 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Age difference, Manipulation, Unhealthy-ish ideals

Request: for the arthur smut idea - how about the reader is younger than him, maybe her 20s and she is somehow around the shelbys a lot and he falls madly in love with her but doesn't want to bother her cause she seems really innocent and sweet, but in reality she is daydreaming about how he would just have his way with her and she teases him a lot, maybe by sucking on lollipops or whatnot, until he just can't hold it back and somehow they get it on🥵

A/N: I felt rusty when I was writing this, but it was a joy. I hope you like it! I took a liberty and made it a tiny bit dark. If anyone wants to hear about my analysis on my own story, I may just have to share.

--

He said her name, but all she could hear was a snap. 

Pulling Arthur into his office on a quiet afternoon and lifting the hem of her dress to reveal what his Christmas bonus bought her was the last straw to break under her many efforts. Her gaze lifted from where she ran her fingers over the lacy hem of her new garter belt and looked into the dark eyes of her boss. 

Arthur looked frustrated and maybe even a bit angry. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened like he was on the verge of barreling over the line he'd drawn. Her wide eyes narrowed, and her innocent smile shifted into a wicked smirk. This was perfect. He was perfect.

"Have you finally noticed me, Mr. Shelby?" 

She was sure the paperweight that cracked against the floor was expensive, but the experience of finally having Arthur push her onto his messy desk was worth more than the whole of this shady company. 

"Notice you? Fuckin' hell, lovey, you're all I can think about."

His lips were a bit chapped against her soft ones, always prepared for the possibility that Arthur would lose his good sense like she knew he could. 

She'd been around the Shelby's since she started running numbers as a preteen. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t have a crush on the older man. He was all heart, a dangerously open book that she wanted on her bedside table very night. Now as a young lady with a knack for bookkeeping, she was the only thing Arthur insisted on taking to the London offices during the Shelby Co Limited expansion and she was glad. 

It wasn’t until a couple of years before when she turned 20 that she realized how much more she wanted to know. What did he look like when he was content or overwhelmed with pleasure? Would he ever get mad at her? About what, she wondered. She wanted to know everything.  

Tommy wasn't so sure about it at first. It wasn't a secret, after all. Arthur couldn't touch her without going red and went out of his way to make her life easier any way he could. At some point, even she had to tell him to stop making her so many cups of tea just how she liked it. The eldest Shelby had been ready to risk everything for her for ages. But it wasn't the pining that worried the perceptive middle Shelby. 

It was the look she had when no one was watching. Her eyes, only ever set on Arthur, were insatiable. And anything or anyone who pulled Arthur's concentration away from her received a glare that could kill. But maybe what worried Tommy more was that Arthur was a fool. 

He was too convinced she was a nice girl who fixed his hair with a tender touch and laughed brightly at his silly jokes. Even when she got Arthur to do whatever she said or steered other women in the opposite direction just to keep his attention, she was still young and assuming to Arthur, which only worked to her advantage.

Nice girls finished last as far as she was concerned. She may have been young and seemingly innocent, but she didn't desire the mad dog of a man without knowing him. With his inability to avoid a devilish addiction, Arthur Shelby only needed to be tempted to devour her. He only needed a little hand brushing, a compliment on his appearance paired with a giggle, a low-cut blouse. She knew it, and Tommy knew she knew it. 

"Tommy says I put you on too high of a pedestal," Arthur mused one day when they stood in the back alley of the Eden Club for a smoke break. 

Well, Arthur lit his cigarette and forgot to inhale while his eyes followed her swirling tongue around the lemon-flavored lolly. Deciding to quit smoking was an all too convenient addition to her seduction plan. She reached up and plucked what was left of his cigarette from his fingers and tossed it away. She raised her candy to his lips instead, and he was obedient in taking it, making her chuckle. 

"It could be higher." 

Arthur didn't waste any time, or rather, he didn't quite know how to go slow. It was all or nothing. It was hardly looking her in the eye or hungrily taking in her taste in the back office of the Eden Club. 

His calloused hands still had a slight tremble to them even as they pulled down the soft sleeves of her dress, leaving it to pool around her waist, but one hand pressed against the desk beside her, caging her in, while the other trailed along her skin, leaving her gasping. She wasn't going anywhere. A gasp escaped her lips, and a shiver ran down her spine when he ghosted over her nipple. She jumped slightly when his lips ghosted over her ear. 

"Are you afraid, lovey?" He rasped in a way she'd always wanted to hear directed at her. 

"I'm afraid you'll stop," she answered, her own voice desperate. Arthur leaned back suddenly and looked down at her. Now he wondered just how blind he'd been. Was she always this forward with him? 

"And I thought you were a sweet, pure lamb." 

She placed her hand over his and guided it lower, beneath the bunched of fabric, and pushed aside cotton until her breathing was shallow and Arthur was dipping between her slick warmth. And yet, her eyes never left his. She licked her slightly parted lips while Arthur swallowed. 

"How could I be when you leave me like this every day? I'm not nice, Arthur," she revealed, desperate as ever. "I'm greedy." 

She kept his pace easily. It was fluid if you could call it anything other than ravenous. Clothes were forgotten on the floor next to the holsters and the guns. Their names flowed between moans and cries, getting cut short or sighed at an exquisite movement. 

Pressed between Arthur and the wall, she was still trying to adjust to his size but refused to let him slow down. She'd been thinking about this for too long, and her own hands weren't enough anymore. Even Arthur teasing her a bit at the beginning, rubbing the head of his weeping cock over her entrance and around her sensitive bud, had been agonizing enough to make her cum before he even put it in. She was losing count of every peak she was experiencing, but all that mattered was that he moved with no resistance. Every sound and experienced movement he made sent heat straight to her core. Arthur was no saint, and he'd certainly been around the bend, but she just as hungry as he was. That was a first. 

"More," she moaned as her eyes rolled. Arthur let out a haughty laugh that she didn't mind.

"You think you can take more?" He asked, but he tightened his grip on her thighs and thrust hard and deep into her in the same moment. She could only dig her nails into his shoulder and tug at his hair with a silent cry. "What are you greedy for?" 

"You," she finally gasped loudly at the resulting deep thrusts. 

"Me?"

"I want every part of you. Even if it's too much," she whined and grabbed Arthur's face in her hands. He was looking at her, watching her, in awe as her eyes welled up and she tightened around him. "And I want you to look at me only. Just always at me. Oh god!" 

She shook and bucked against him, her eyes closing tight and her nose scrunching up. Still, Arthur kept her wish of never letting his eyes leave her contorted, euphoric face as she mumbled his name even as he followed her release with his own. She really was something else.

It was perplexing to see her transform back into the girl he thought she was. Even with her cheeks warm and a silly grin on her face from their salacious act, she still looked precious and not like the vixen dragging her nails down his back and biting his skin just moments ago. It made him want to apologize for being so rough. She'd have plenty of bruises of her own in the morning. As if she sensed what he thought while he helped her into her coat, she turned and pulled him down into a kiss. 

"Arthur, thank you for taking me so seriously." 

"Well, I've loved you for a while, haven't I?" He asked, turning again. She perked up with her usual smile. 

"Good. Because I want you to want me more than anything else too." 

He scoffed and shook his head. Something else entirely. He reached up and pinched her cheek.

"When you say something like that with such a pretty face, how can I say no, lovey?" 

#Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby Imagine #Arthur Shelby fic #Arthur Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby x OC #Arthur Shelby smut #Peaky Blinders smut

[gojology]

Lovebirds.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 |  omg this is my first request. ilysm anon, im now feelin super cool. also, i just realized i put recc (as in recommended) instead of requests. i’m super stupid LOL. anyways, im touch starved too dw bby, i’m servin u up a long one since i rlly like this request and after all u r my first! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Wife! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2307 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Coming home from a long mission in America, precisely 1 year, you’re excited to catch up on Gojo’s students, Nanami, and just Gojo in general.   Leaning out of the car window, resting your arm against your purse, you sighed. A humid wind brushed against your skin, tickling you. It had been quite a while since you had been in Japan, spending almost a year on a huge mission in America. You had killed a battalion worthy amount of special grades.   You spent most of your time in America in mostly horribly rundown places, equally as infested with curses. Although you found yourself enjoying America’s natural beauty, further away from the city life that many of the Americans found themselves enjoying, you much preferred Japan. after all, it was your home, and where you met Gojo Satoru. It would be another day until you could return, and you had gone through hundreds of scenarios of finally being in his arms again, but nonetheless, you were ecstatic at the thought of your husband’s touch.   Your phone’s notification chimed loudly, you threw your phone onto the other seat, heart jumping up to a high rate. It was a recording of Satoru loudly yelling, “OPEN YOUR FUCKING PHONE!” with a flurry of giggles afterwards.    Ijichi jumped, turning left and right. Whispering under his breath, he let out an exasperated sigh, switching the music channel.    The recording was mostly because of the time you had to ghost him due to work. Gojo had snuck on and recorded it, doing some magical tech stuff and giving you the custom notification sound. You had kept it that way ever since, since secretly, you enjoyed that you were so badly wanted by Gojo, that, and you had no idea how to change it back.    But the custom notification was sweet as well.   You smiled to yourself every time you heard it, a familiar twinge of pain flashing inside of you whenever you realized you wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.   Well, today, and the days after that would be different. You’d be able to finally see Gojo again, and his new students that he always frantically texted you about. Nanami, an old friend of Gojo, and also an old friend of yours, would also be there to welcome you back, you found yourself reminiscing about them.   You had heard so much about them, one of the kids being Sukuna’s vessel, you wondered how Gojo could contain such a fear, being around the kid at all times, he always told you about how the kid was actually energetic and happy and an overall great kid, you had heard about Nanami, finally coming back into the jujutsu sorcerer field of work, even though you always found that he still had a thing for finances.   You shook your head, “Save that shit for later, (Y/N).” muttering to yourself, you didn’t want to think of anything but Gojo, after all, it had been one fucking year of being deprived of the man you loved most. You were practically starving for the guy, in more ways than one.   Ijichi gulped, facing towards you, one hand on his steering wheel, “Forgive me Mrs. Satoru, but um.. Forgive me if I misheard, but I think I heard your phones notification go off.. Due to the ah- incredibly loud profanity.”   Now just realizing that you had completely forgotten about the phone notification, you nodded your thanks to Ijichi, a warmth rushing to your cheeks before opening up your phone.    In the small, rounded box containing Gojo’s message, he wrote in all caps, “SUGAR, MY BELOVED, MY QUEEN, HOW CLOSE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT I’M LITERALLY BOUNCING UP AND DOWN IN OUR BED.”   Smiling to yourself, you furiously texted back, “Calm down honeybun, I’ll be there in like, 24 hours, I’m not even fucking close.”   You almost instantly got a DM back, making you jump a bit in your seat. Even with the 5 years of friendship, and the 3 years of relationship, and the 2 years of marriage, he still almost always texted you back as quickly as possible.   “God I can’t fucking wait for you to meet the kids! We’ll keep it a surprise, yeah? We have a bunch of treats, and we also got the kids to get some gifts for you! How thoughtful aren’t they? They’re MY offspring by the way, so like, you know, whenever you want a kid, it’s your call ;)”   You snorted to yourself, smiling. He genuinely seemed so excited, and it was all shining through even though it was from a screen.    “Maybe in a few years, I don’t even wanna imagine a little you.”   Despite the excited, bubbling feeling brewing bigger and bigger in your stomach, you figured it’d be best to sleep before the chaos. Happily sighing, you laid down, using your purse as a pillow, drifting into a blissful sleep.  ‧₊˚✩彡.   You awoke to a sudden halt, Looking around your surroundings, you figured you were home. Ijichi looked like he was damn near about to fall asleep on the steering wheel.   Well, maybe that’s what 24 hours of constant driving did to you. You fished around in your purse, silently cursing looking for a water bottle.   “Here, Ijichi, looks like you ran a marathon.” you grinned, handing the slightly crumped water bottle to him.   He beamed as if a guardian angel had descended down and gave him a trillion dollars.   “Mrs. Satoru! You really mean it? The ride was nothing, I was merely instructed to do so and I would’ve done it happily regardless.”   You waved your hand, as a dismissal of the conversation. “You overwork yourself Ijichi, go catch a break, on me. If Gojo tears you apart, tell him he won’t be getting any pussy from me for another year.”   Ichiji nodded vigorously, before dashing off, probably towards a massage center, God that guy needed it. ‧₊˚✩彡.    Gojo frantically hopped up and down, it had been a day, now he was just waiting for you to bust through the door in your wild hair, his legs sprawled onto the whole of a couch, he stared at the ceiling, a dopey smile spread across his face.     “Satoru. (Y/N) will not even want to be associated with you, looking at your current state.” he remarked, staring at the sorcerer with his strikingly dead eyes.     “Nanami, how the fuck am I supposed to act calm?! I’ve waited for this moment for ONE YEAR! Does my hair look normal?!”    “Your hair looks just like an albino porcupine, just as usual.” Flipping the page of his newspaper, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will never understand how someone like (Y/N) would be.. Interested in you, Satoru.”     Gojo paid no attention to the insult Nanami had so clearly made, his ears were perked up, eavesdropping on a distant conversation coming closer and closer.     “Gojo-Senpai was telling me about this movie while training my cursed energy! He basically spoiled the whole thing but he told me that the main character was super annoying but apparently she dies in the end in the most gruesome way possible! It’s worth the watch, your soul will feel cleansed as soon as you see her lifeless body!”     “Yuuji, you literally spoiled the whole thing to me just now.” Fushiguro calmly stated, looking bored out of his mind.     “Oh, oops.” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled coyly, tightly hugging his present.    “What’s with the decorations, Gojo-Sensei?” inquired Nobara, stroking her warm toned brown hair. She had figured it was something about the presents that Gojo had forced the trio to get, but he never told them who it was for.    The room had been decorated with various balloons and confetti, scattered about, on the table and the ground. A cake box wrapped with a gigantic bow limply guarded whoever was brave enough to get their hands on something that Gojo seemed to be protecting with his life.    A pink table cover with a crudely drawn Gojo and what would seem to be a girl, a heart in the middle of the pair. In a horrible font with an even awfuller text, the text on top and at the bottom of the drawing proudly stated:    “WELCOME BACK QT”    “-YOU’RE HUSBAND AND THE CREW”    Nobara stood in distaste, trying to disguise the face she made. The drawing, the misused you’re, and the overall poor design choice was enough to almost make her vomit.     Nobara, about to make her distasteful statements about the whole mess, was suddenly shut up as Gojo started hopping up and down, looking directly at his phone.   “SHE’S COMING! SHE’S COMING! EVERYONE IN YOUR PLACES!”    Now, seeing Gojo freak out wasn’t outside of the ordinary, but it was to see him freak out to this extent. He was hopping up and down, blabbering about a certain woman named (Y/N). Nobara was pretty sure that if a curse attacked right now, even a special grade comparable to the one with the uncomplete domain could completely crush Gojo, the guy seemed completely unaware of the example he was setting to the kids. Even Yuuji stood in disbelief, and he had seen multiple tantrums by Gojo.   Nanami, however, licked his finger and flipped the newspaper page. A face of boredom obviously displayed.     Nobara, preparing herself to chew Gojo out about how utterly stupid and embarrassing he made the whole class of jujutsu sorcerers look like, stopped wide eyed as she looked at the doors slide wide open. ‧₊˚✩彡.    You stood, shyly, looking at the ground. Gojo dove headfirst into your arms, laughing like a maniac and digging his face into your shoulder. You breathed in his scent, scanning the room.     Three teens, sat wide-eyed, backs straight as they looked at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. All three of them held presents.     The one with eyelids underneath his eyes (which you assumed was Yuuji, the vessel of Sukuna) eyed you curiously, his eye twitched.     The other boy, one with wild black-blue hair, sat mouth agape, before closing it. He looked like he was about to say something, before stopping entirely and hugging his present closer to his chest.    The warm haired girl darted her eyes between you two, seemingly trying to put the puzzle together.     Nanami put the newspaper down, glancing over to you two.    “This is obviously Gojo-Senpai’s wife. He hasn’t seen her in many months, and as you can see, really really misses her.” he paused, a small smile spreading on his face, a rare sight.     “I don’t even know why myself, but what can you do with lovebirds?” he thought aloud, his attention now focused to the two of you furiously making out, hands in places Yuuji and the crew didn’t need to see.    “Satoru, (Y/N), leave the kissing for later. Don’t you see the kids?”     You detached yourself from his mouth, panting for breath. The air being exhaled out of his nose fanned over your face, you had just now realized the kids again.     “Satoru, lets sit down. I bet the kids are surprised. “ you motioned to the couch. Gojo whined.     “What? They’re not that dumb, they can tell you’re my wife or at least, you’re my girlfriend, just by the way we kiss right? Isn’t this telling enough?”     “You didn’t tell them about me, ever did you?”     He sighed in defeat, holding tightly onto your arm as you dragged him over and sat down on the comfortable couch, opposite of Yuuji and the crew. Nanami scooched over, before finally getting up to pull another chair from somewhere else. Grunting, he excused himself from the room.     “YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND, GOJO-SENPAI? AND DIDN’T TELL US?” Yuuji questioned, looking like he was about to faint.    Gojo laughed, snuggling deeper onto you, almost like a koala.     “She’s my wife, aren’t you, sugar? Did you even pay attention to anything Nanami said? He literally said she was my wife.”     Megumi made an obvious gagging sound, but even he didn’t seem as bored as he was usually. He actually looked intrigued.     “Why didn’t you tell us, Gojo-Senpai?” the girl nagged, slamming her fist down on the table.     Gojo smiled, “Uh, well, I wanted it to be a surprise when she came back.”     “Couldn’t you have told us that you had a wife or something?” Megumi butt in.    The door slid open, Nanami coming in with a wooden stool.     “Knowing Gojo-Senpai, that probably went over his head.” grunting as he placed the wooden stool down and sat, he opened his newspaper again.     “Where do you guys know eachother?”    “Was Gojo-Senpai handsome back in highschool too?”    “Do you know what lipgloss Gojo-Senpai wears?”    “Gojo-Senpai, how did you know you loved her?”     “Gojo-Senpai, can we eat now?”     “Do you know why Gojo has such a horrible sweet tooth?”      Before you could even respond, Nanami put his hand up.     “Now, now, lets let the happy couple settle down.” he cleard his throat, not even making eye contact with anyone but the newspaper.     An audible chorus of groans sounded, “What do you expect us to do? We literally just met her!” moaned Yuuji.    “Weren’t you the one that literally asked if we could eat yet?”    Yuuji immediately shut up afterwards.     “Yuuji, she just came back from a 1 day trip. She should be laying down comfortably with Gojo-Senpai and they should be catching up. You’ll have the opportunity to talk to her and learn about her later. Right now she needs space.”    “But-” Nobara whined, clasping her hands together.    Nanami turned to Fushiguro, but even he had his mind set. “I didn’t even begin to think that Gojo had a wife. I really want to know more about her, if you think about it, this is all Gojo-Sensei’s fault.”    Nanami rubbed his temples, staring at the two of you for backup, realizing that you two were making out again.    Nanami sighed, 10 years later and you two were still the same.    

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #wife reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo #saturo gojou #gojou #jjk yuuji #yuuji itadori #jjk nobara #nobarakugisaki #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu kaisen nobara #nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami

[sabxism]

But I’m Here In Your Doorway

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Based on these lines from this is me trying: 

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

Word count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of and encounter with possible suicide, injuries (blood, bruises, etc), mention of (previous) deaths

Summary: reader loses everything. after she nearly makes an irreversible decision, she goes to Poe for help. 

GIF not mine

The screams of your squadron members bounce around in your head. It was your fault, you knew that. You shouldn’t have set off without checking your ship. Without checking for any trackers. So it wasn’t a surprise when, out of nowhere, a group of TIEs burst out of hyperspace, straight into your fleet like pins being knocked over by 30 flying bowling balls. You had watched, helplessly, as your friends - your family - were picked off one-by-one. As they went up into terrifyingly bright balls of gas and flame and smoke. It was your fault. All your fault. 

Part of you was trying to cling onto the notion that you couldn’t have known, how could you have known? But the majority of your mind beat back those thoughts, letting the sickening guilt take over and push you into a dark corner. Debriefing had been a nightmare. General Organa had, of course, told you that it wasn’t your fault, that it was nobody’s fault but the spy she hadn’t discovered in time. She could sense the weight on your shoulders, sense you falling into a pit inside of yourself. 

After the meeting, she had pulled you aside.

“Y/N. I need you to look at me,” she said, turning your head gently but firmly with her right hand. “It isn’t your fault. You did everything you could. Sometimes, things are just out of our control.”

“I know,” you lied, just wanting this conversation to be over. Leia could sense your apprehension, and sighed.

“Look, I know that nothing I say is going to change how you feel, because I’ve been there, and I know what you’re thinking. I know it’s hard. Trust me.” you look down at the floor, scuffing the tip of your boot across the dusty ground. “It will get better. I promise you.”

“Thanks, general.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leia?” she asks lightly as you turn to walk away.

“A few more, apparently,” you respond, the ghost of a false smile resting over your face. With that, you turn on your heel and head to your quarters. 

You step through the door as it slides open and sit down on your bed. You reach for your datapad, wanting to distract yourself with something. 

You click the screen on, and your heart drops. Staring back at you are the smiling faces of your squadron. You’re all clustered around Mari’s new droid, with hands on its shiny purple head. She had been so happy to get that little guy. 

Now they were both nothing more than dust drifting through the empty expanse of space.

 You hurl the tablet at the wall, watching as the screen shatters and falls to the floor. 

You place your head in your hands, silent sobs racking your body. You clench your hair in your hands, knuckles turning white. You stand up, body shaking, and walk out of your quarters.

You pass Finn in the hallway. He smiles at you, but you can’t bring yourself to do the same. You feel awful as he looks back at you as you pass him, but at this point there’s no use trying to fix it. You trudge outside and up to your x-wing sitting on the tarmac, the edges of the wings blackened from smoke. You glance around, checking the coast is clear, then scurry up the ladder and into the cockpit. You check the time. 

1800. 

Sighing, you boot up your craft and quickly take off. You cruise over the base a few times, watching everyone go about their day. Like nothing happened. Like 10 of the most beautiful, vibrant souls hadn’t just been snuffed like a match. You swallow the knot in your throat and head for the atmosphere. You need to get away from here. 

-

“General Organa!” Leia turns, to see a frenzied runway tech sprinting towards her. “Y/N took off on an unauthorized flight.” 

Leia swallows thickly, her heart dropping. “How long ago?”

“We noticed she was left just now - but it looks like she’s been gone about an hour.” 

“Then there’s nothing we can do but hope she comes back safely.”

“That’s what I was worried about.”

-

You land on a nearby forest planet, after searching for about ten minutes for a place to touch down. You pick a plateau on the Western side, lowering your land gear as you begin to descend. You hop down from your ship onto the grassy earth, and look around. 

It’s quiet up here. There’s a soft wind blowing, and it weaves delicate fingers through your hair and across your face as you take off your helmet. You let it fall to the ground, and decide to walk around for a bit. You make your way to the edge of the plateau, and look out across the forest beyond. It stretches on for miles, a swath of dark green. The last rays of the sun blaze across the sky, painting the clouds with a pink-orange hue. 

You glance down, and your heart drops to your toes. It’s a long way to the ground below. You begin to back up, but for some reason you find yourself stopping. You get closer to the edge, still looking down. It would be so easy to just take another step. Just one more. All of this would be over. You wouldn’t have to feel this guilt anymore. 

Your knee lifts up slowly.

Realizing what you’re about to do, you scramble back, falling to the dirt. You brace your hands on the ground, digging your fingers into the earth to anchor yourself. Your chest heaves, and your vision spins. The ground seems to buckle, to toss you around. The sky bends and arches above you as you struggle to breathe. You roll over onto your stomach and wrap your arms around your knees. 

You don’t know how long you lie there, but by the time you have the courage to stand up and walk again, the moon is floating in the sky above you, and the stars glimmer against a black backdrop. 

You climb back into your x-wing and sit there, staring at your dashboard. Your eyes meet one of the few pictures leaned against the fuel gague. You and Poe lean against his x-wing a few months ago. You have your arms wrapped around each other. He’s kissing your cheek, and you’re laughing, open-mouthed, your nose scrunched up and your eyes shut tight. 

You take a shuddering breath. Poe. You couldn’t believe what you’d almost done - what you still might do, if you don’t get out of here. You couldn’t leave him like that. You rapidly go through your flight checklist and then take off, headed back to base. 

You land on the tarmac around 0200, exhausted and beaten down by your own thoughts. You hop out of your ship, landing on the ground with a thud. 

You start walking, not really knowing where your legs are taking you, but you end up at Poe’s quarters. You can hear movement inside the room. You raise a trembling hand and knock once.

He opens the door, and his eyes widen. His mouth moves silently, searching for words.

You swallow thickly, a nervous knot tying in your stomach. 

He takes a step toward you, not quite believing what he’s seeing. Leia had told him that you’d left suddenly after their meeting, and he had grown worried that you were hurt, or worse. But here you are, standing in front of him. Your form is limp and you’re drawn into yourself. Your face and neck are caked with blood and dirt, and your eyes are clouded and empty. 

“Hi,” you say weakly. He quickly closes the gap between the both of you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. Your arms hang limp beside you.

“Stardust,” he breathes, holding you tightly. “I was so worried.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, falling down your face and onto Poe’s shoulder. He pulls back, concerned. Cradling your face in his hands, his eyebrows crease with worry. 

He looks down at you, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. There’s a silent question written across his features. You shake your head tearfully. You don’t know what to say. 

“Baby…” he whispers, pulling you close to his chest again. You clutch at the back of his shirt with shaking hands.“I’m here now - you’re safe. You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.” He repeats those two words over and over like a mantra, equally to himself as to you. “Let’s get you inside, ok?” he says, and you nod. Placing a hand on the small of your back, he guides you into his quarters. 

“I’ll grab some clothes for you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed. He rustles through his drawers, eventually coming up with a long-sleeved olive green shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts. He sets them on the bed next to you. “Are you good to take a shower?” You think about it for a minute, and slowly shake your head. The idea of being pounded with thousands of tiny droplets makes you want to hide under a blanket. 

“Too much,” you murmur, and he nods in understanding. 

“Ok, love, that’s fine. We do need to clean you off and deal with these cuts, though.” he gestures to the lacerations across your skin. You nod weakly. You hear him pad over to the refresher unit and grab a medkit and some washcloths, which he wets under some running water from the sink. 

He kneels in front of you, and motions for you to take off your flight suit. You slip it halfway off, letting it rest around your waist. Poe sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the bruises blooming across your torso and arms. You’d gotten tossed around pretty bad, getting knocked through space by several of the TIEs. You’d slammed your sternum right into the dashboard at one point, and small fragments of something had slashed open nearly every bit of exposed skin and even some under your suit. 

“Y/N…” he says quietly, tearing up. You bite the inside of your cheek, hating to see him so upset. 

He gets to work cleaning your cuts. He’s as gentle as he can be, but you still hiss as the cold water on the washcloth cleans out your cuts, and tears start to fall as he bandages up a particularly bad cut on your stomach. He holds your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need to, never even flinching as your vice grip tightens around his fingers. 

“Ok, baby, let me check your legs and then you’re all set,” he says, and you turn away, face flushing with nervousness. He’s confused for a second, then has a moment of understanding. He’s never seen you naked - you weren’t ready to get intimate yet, so you guys had been taking it slow, and now really wasn’t the best time to breach that barrier. “You can change into the shorts first,” he says quietly, and you look back at him gratefully. 

You make your way to the refresher unit, shutting the door behind you. You peel off your flight suit the rest of the way, followed by your undergarments, crusted with blood from the cuts on your stomach. You pile the discarded clothes in a pile by the shower, and slip on the shirt and shorts Poe had leant you. You take the opportunity to glance into the mirror above the sink, and grimace at the reflection that gazes back at you. Hair messy and tangled, face bruised and covered with small cuts, you were not a pretty sight to behold. Sighing, you head back into the main room. 

Sitting back down on the bed, you lean against the wall and stretch your legs out in front of you. Poe sits down on the mattress next to you, surveying your exposed limbs. They aren’t as bad as the upper half of your body, but they definitely aren’t good. He dabs at the cuts gently, taking your hand again. He mutters sweet nothings as you clench your teeth and shut your eyes tightly for the next few minutes as he finishes up. 

“All done,” he eventually says, and you relinquish your grip on his hand, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looks up at you, and you almost melt at the love in his eyes. You realize in that moment how lucky you are - that no matter what, he’ll always take care of you. Always. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he smiles softly, opening his arms. You crawl over to where he’s leaned against the headboard and collapse into his embrace, breathing beginning to even out. 

“You need sleep, baby,” he says, and you nod. “You can stay here, if you want.” You nod again, and he presses a kiss to your hair. “I’ll grab some extra blankets from the closet.” He gets up and goes to retrieve them. You get under his comforter and lay your head down on one of the pillows. Your eyes drift closed.

 Poe pads back over to the bed and pauses, looking down at you. He swallows thickly, tearing up. He makes a promise to himself then and there that he’d never lose you like that. Never again. 

He lays another blanket over you, then switches off the lights. He quickly changes into some sleep clothes and then gets under the covers, laying down facing you. 

“Poe?” you mumble, searching for his face in the dark. 

“Right here, honey,” he says softly, and you inch closer to him, a bit nervous to get too close. He senses your unease and smiles softly. “Cmere,” he says, draping a hand over your waist and pulling you close to him. You tuck your head against his chest, a warm feeling creeping into your very core. Being this close to him is grounding. You take a deep breath in. The scent of the lavender soap he uses clings to his skin, and it washes over you. You listen to his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I love you,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize what you just said. The two of you haven’t exactly said it before. You feel Poe freeze beside you, and your heart drops. You mentally kick yourself. How could you say that right now?

“I love you too,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You blush furiously as he tilts your head up with his thumb and forefinger. “To the edge of the universe and back.” He presses his lips to yours, feather soft. 

“I love you,” you say again, just because you can. He smiles softly. 

“I’m proud of you, I want you to know that,” he says after a while. “For...getting through all this. I know it hurts, and it’ll stay that way for a bit, but…” he pauses, taking your hand in his. “But I’ll always be here if you need me. To talk, or just listen. You can lean on me, ok?”

“Ok,” you say quietly, looking up into his eyes. 

“Ok,” he whispers.

“Ok.” You smile, and his heart flips at the beauty of it. He pulls you into his chest once more, and you’re out like a light almost instantly. He presses his lips to your forehead before drifting off, holding you tightly in his arms.

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fluff #star wars angst #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #fluff #angst #fluff and angst

[oneirataxiahiraeth]

First Time Jitters

Pairings : SpencerReid x Fem!Reader

Warnings : unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, language

Summary : At a dinner party hosted by Rossi, the girls tells stories on the first times they’ve had to fake an orgasm. They all get intrigued by the readers silence and begin digging into her new relationship with Collague Spencer Reid and find out they haven’t even had sex together... yet.

Word Count : a little over 4K

“Are you kidding me? I’ve never felt anger like that in my life.” Emily laughed out, the rest of us entranced in her tales about the horrors of her sex life. “That’s was probably the first, but definitely not the last time I ever had to fake it.” She shrugged, and I felt my cheeks turn pink. We all sat around the fire pit at Rossi’s house after dinner, soaking in the warmth from the fire. Rossi and Hotch were inside, probably have a heart to heart about man troubles or something, and Reid was entertaining Henry and Jack showing them Magic’s tricks and ignoring any signs of the rest of the adults here.

“Well, sorry to you ladies but I can gladly say that none of my boo thangs ever had to worry about not finishing.” Morgan spoke proudly with a smile on his face. I could see on Garcia’s face how bad she wanted to make some inappropriate joke but she let it pass.

“Okay, I mean... Will is amazing. A totally sweetheart, but sometimes...” JJ groaned, leaving the rest up to our imaginations. If I remembered correctly she was actually the one who brought up the conversation. She mentioned something about her ‘mommy and daddy’ time last being a complete disaster that Will didn’t even know about.

I sat quietly listening to everyone tell their worst stories, laughing when they did and making some commentary from time to time. It was growing late and the only thing in the sky was a crescent moon that seemed to shine really bright. I was seconds away from passing out on Morgan’s shoulder as my attention suddenly was drawn to the fire. I should’ve know that eating so much pasta tonight would’ve led to a food induced coma.

“Awfully quiet tonight.” Morgan spoke, his shoulder moving my head up to get my attention. My eyes looked back up to the group whose eyes were all focused on me. I was fairly quiet tonight, but with the topic on hand I hadn’t needed to speak too much. I’ve had my fair shares of faking my orgasms with ex boyfriends, but it’s been a while since I last did anything sexual with anyone. Reid and I only began dating about 5 months ago, and while I was okay waiting for him, he just never seemed to be interested in doing anything like that. Besides the flirty comments, we never seemed to take it past the heated make out sessions whenever we could sneak them in.

“You’ve been staring off into space for like half the conversation.” Emily spoke, a bit of worry in her tone. “What’s up? No fun stories of boyfriends who couldn’t get you there?” She raised a brow and I gave a slow shrug. Of course I have stories, but none of them really worth mentioning.

“Oh no, I have tons.” I spoke, picking my head up off of Morgan’s shoulder. “No fun ones, though. None of my ex boyfriends have ever been able to get me close.” I spoke honestly. None of any of the guys I slept with in the past has ever been able to make me cum.

“Any stories of boy wonder over there?” Morgan teased and I shook my head.

“Not one.” I answered, hoping my answer would satisfy their need for gossip.

“Really?” Morgan looked surprised, looking back to the brown haired Doctor who was explained to the child how he did his last magic trick. “You’ve never had to fake it with him?” He scoffed. “He’s only had like one girlfriend before!” He wasn’t wrong. Spencer had expressed to me a few times about his lack of experience. Maybe that simple fact that he’s only ever had sex like maybe twice played a part in his abstinence. Maybe he just didn’t see me as someone he wanted to have sex with.

“Honestly,” I took in a deep breath as I realized that they were all staring back at me like I was the object of their affection. “We haven’t had-”

“Oh. My. God.” Garcia gasped, already knowing the end of my sentence. I rolled my eyes, as Morgan’s whole body shifted just to give me a look the read ‘are you really serious right now?’

“It’s not that big of a deal.” I shrug it off, minimizing the impact of the news. “Like you said, he’s had one girlfriend before. Maybe he’s just not ready yet.” I mention, relaxing my already tense body.

“It’s been 5 months.” Garcia adds.

"It's not that long of a time to be dating."

“You guys are around each other for almost like 24 hours a days every day of the week!” Emily scoffed. “You’re telling that you’ve never had sex with him before?” She asked and I shook my head .

“We don’t even talk about it really...”

Each of my team members remained silent, coming up with possible solutions to my ‘problem’. I could see it in there faces that they were just in shock. They all looked to each other, equally as confused and a bit uncomfortable as the next. Doubt flashed across their eyes as they all looked because me and the brown haired Doctor across the lawn.

“So...” Emily began “if you and Spencer haven’t had sex yet, when was the last time you did?” She asked, interrupting he silence.

“I don’t know like...” I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had sex with anyone. “A few years maybe?”

“A FEW YEARS?!” Garcia gasped loudly, gaining the attention of the doctor from across the field who only paid attention for a second before returning to the two boys.

“Oh my god, could you be any louder?” I laughed at her obvious dismay over my absent sex life.

“If you said anything over ‘a few years’ then yeah, I probably could be.” She nodded, still very troubled over the news.

“Look, We’re both pretty busy people outside of work and obviously weee not going to do it on the job-”

“Literally that’s a terrible excuse.” Garcia shook her head, as disappointment began to form on her face. Maybe they were right. We’ve been dating for 5 months but we’ve known each other way longer. It’s not like we were complete stranger still digging to get to know the other person.

“What’s a terrible excuse?” Spencer’s voice spoke from over my shoulder, causing me to jolt slightly. Everyone’s eyes immediately focused on him as he stood there confused and left out. I didn’t even have to give them a dirty look to tell them to keep our conversation under wraps, considering it was him we were talking about.

“Y/n was just telling us how she never read any of the Harry Potter books before.” Garcia spoke quickly, everyone nodding to agree with what she said. I cursed him out in my head as he moved around the couch and sat down next to me. I then shifted my weight from Morgan to Spencer, leaning my head on his shoulder. I tried to ignore the eyes but I couldn’t, each other them staring completely unbothered on how awkward it totally was.

“Y/n doesn’t read anything that doesn’t have hot vampires who sparkle in the sun.” Spencer commented, making my mouth drop. That’s was so untrue, I read other things too... I can’t name them off the top of my head but I know I do!

“Thats so-”

"very accurate?" he finished my sentence causinf my eyes to narrow even though i wasnt looking at him.

“Actually Spence, y/n was just telling us about a headache she had!” JJ spoke up, putting on a concern face that confused the hell out of me. When did I mention I had a headache? “She’s said her head was pulsing and it felt like her brain was throbbing?” My eyes widened and I realized what she was doing.

“Yeah,” Emily spoke, nodding her head as she picked up on the silent plan they just agreed upon. “I think she needs to get home, she might have hit her head or something earlier.” Emily frowned, as if she was really concerned for my health. They each had a look of evil on their faces which, to the blind eye, could easily be mistaken for care.

“Really? That’s does sound kind of bad, maybe we should get you to the ER? It might be a concussion...” Reid spoke, and my eyes widened even more.

“Oh no, she was check by the medics earlier! She might just have a migraine.” Morgan came quickly to my rescue. God knows what I’d have to do to talk Spencer out of taking me to the ER if he thought I was hurt or injured.

“You guys a such-” I stopped myself, watching the amusement grow on their faces as the waited for me to finish my sentence. “... such angels...” I grumbled, “always looking out for me.” I hummed, narrowing my eyes at the women on the couch across from me.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” Spencer spoke, helping me stand from the couch even though I was perfectly fine.

Our fingers were intertwined as we bid farewell to our evil scheming friends. I let him lead the way back to the hous, solely so I could flick them off behind his back. Once we got close to the house, we were attacked with hugs and pleads not to leave by the touch gorgeous little boys who would just missed their uncle Spencer. After we said our goodbyes to Rossi and Hotch we headed back to his apartment. Only because I loved the smell of strong coffee and old books, and he was closer.

“You should go lay down, y/n/n. I can wake you up when it’s time to go?” He spoke sweetly, his hands on my hips as we entered his bed room. I smiled at his kindness, remembering how I promised I’d go to some late night movie with him this morning. It was showing in Russian and he was just itching to sit through 3 hours of it to translate it to me.

“I love you.” I hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, as my arm snaked around his neck in order to pull him into a hug. His movements stuttered just a bit before he returned the hug back to me.

“I love you.” He counter, squeezing me into him. “Now tell me, how many glasses have you had?” He teased.

“One.” I answered, laughing at the face he gave me when he pulled away. “Only one, I swear!” I defend myself with a smile. It wasn’t thag hard to get him to realize I was telling the truth, I wasn’t big on drinking and I’d be damned if I let myself get wine drunk.

“Y/N Y/L/N, showing affection to little old me?” He raised his eyebrows. “What did I ever do to deserve it?” He joked.

"Why wouldn’t I be affection towards my loving, sexy, intelligent, boyfriend?” I teased with a playfully frown.

"Have you met you?" He smiled from my response, his arms wrapping around me a bit tighter.

“You know... I like kissing you.” I spoke slowly, my eyes falling to his lips no matter how hard I tried to get them to stare into his sparkly green eyes which always seemed to stare right into my soul.

“I like kissing you too...” his cheeks turned pink from the compliment.

“Hugging you is pretty nice too...” I further my compliments, my voice turned sultry and smooth as I tried my best to be seductive. I never really pushed the idea of sex on him, I was too scared that he’d reject me and I’d ruin everything. Now I’m starting to think that maybe everyone was right? It’s been a long time since I had sex, and it’s probably been longer for him. And we’ve been dating for a while now... maybe now is the time? “Hugging you and kissing you is really nice.” I murmured as his lips pressed into mine once more.

“I enjoy hugging and kissing you too.” He smiled back, a bit confused but he didn’t seem to mind. His large hands moving up and down my back. Right now, in his mind I was probably just basking in him right now. In mine, I really wanted him to catch the hint that I needed him to fuck me.

Our lips pressed together again, this time sending tingles down my spine. We slowly moved back until I had Spencer on the bed, with me straddling him as our lips moved in sync. He smiled against my lips as his hands moved down to my thighs, gripping them a bit harder than usual. This was it. This was them position we ended up in every single time we made out, only this time I was hoping for somethingother than just a heated make out session. His tongue swiped at my bottom lips gaining instant access before his was in complete control.

Spencer William Red had me wrapped around his finger and didn’t even know it. It’s been 5 months, yet even before I had the privilege of being his girlfriend I would’ve done whatever he asked of me. I was and still am completely ready to be used at his disposal.

“Are you sure you’re not tired?” He mumbled against my lips, slowing the pace before things could get too heavy.

“Not at all.” I hummed, leaving one last peck on his lips. I debated on what to do for a few seconds as my eyes wondered over his beautiful face. “I- I uhm, I have a question.” My voice came out soft, and gentle which wasn’t usual. Whenever I spoke, usually it was with confidence, and had no problem talking about uncomfortable topics but this... this was a whole new world.

“What’s wrong?” I watched the content look on his face dropped into more of a frown.

“I-” my eyes got caught in his, sparkling from the dim light in his dark green painted room. “I don’t know...” I used my fingers to brush a piece of his hair before his ear. He was truly magnificent to look at, from his cheekbones to his perfect nose, everything about him was just... pretty.

“Talk to me.” He frowned further, his hands careful not to move further than where they already were.

“Do you not want to... like...” my eyes narrowed a bit watching his confusion take place. He was one of the brightest people I knew yet he was still so clueless. “...touch me?” I sounded like an insecure teenage right now, and I honestly didn’t care. This conversation could go a number of ways and I’d rather take everything right now that go another day or week or month thinking that sleeping with me was a repulsive idea to my own boyfriend.

“You- I- what?” His eyes widened, and I dropped my arms from around his neck. I would’ve gotten off of his lap, but his hands were gripping tightly on to my hips in a way that made me want to throw myself at him. “You mean like...?” Goddammit Spencer, how fucking clueless are you?

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” My face was just as soft as my tone. I could see the shock taking effect as his brain worked as quickly as it could to fully understand what was happening at the moment.

“I- uhm, I-“ he stumbled, and for a second I swore my heart broke into a thousand many pieces.

“You know... just forget it, it was a stupid question anyways-”

“No!” His voice came out strong and willful. “No I just- I wasn’t expecting that, I guess.” He explained and I nodded. “I-I- do want to... uhm... have a- sex with you, y/n.” His face was showing a variety of emotions and I’m sure mine was too. “ I just...”

“Don’t want to catch a disease?” I joked, which he apparently didn’t find very funny. I couldn’t help it though, it’s too awkward in here for my liking.

“I don’t want you-“ he stopped to think for a moment, “I don’t want you to be underwhelmed.” He explained, my mouth dropping at his confession. He was scared he wouldn’t be able to pleasure me? That’s was... horribly sweet of him. Not that I expected anything less from Spencer himself... that was just very unpredicted.

I wanted to tell him about all the past guys who never even got close to getting me off, but I don’t think that would make the situation any better. Honestly, right now, just the thought of him touching me could’ve got me off. Even if he couldn’t get me there, I’d fake it. I’d fake it really fucking good just for him because so am completely wrapped around his finger. Well, I wanted to be at least...

“I just want to be with you, Spence.” I spoke, watching the light smile form back to his lips. He was conflicted for a second before nodding his head. His light green sparkly eyes then turned dark, his pupils dilating as our faces grew closer until I could feel our breaths mixing together.

“I love you so fucking much.” He hummed, just before connecting our lips again. I felt the butterflies in my stomach going crazy as his hands moved to my face, pulling our lips together again.

He tasted like the white wine he enjoyed at dinner earlier. It was an odd choice but one I could definitely get behind, only if it was on his tongue. His signature scent of vanilla coffe and some expensive cologne swirled around in my nostrils driving me absolutely mad. My hips moved against the fabric of his pants, grinding against him releasing only a bit of tension from my own body. His hands working quickly to unbutton my jeans and blouse, exposing my black laced bra hiding underneath. I let out a tiny giggle as his back collided with the soft duvet, leaving me right on top of him, making it much easier to grind down on him.

His hands moved to my hips, guiding me right where he needed me. My hands traveled from his jaw all the way down his chest, unbuttoning what I could until I got to his belt. I gasped as my back suddenly hit the duvet, giggling again as I felt Spencer smile against my lips. Spencer struggles to carry a gun properly so, flipping us over was a very impressive move coming from him.

“Literally, just beautiful.” He mumbled on my lips before pulling away to look at me.

My cheeks burned a bright red, as I watched him study my own body. His body rested in between my legs, and his hands slowly traced over my skin. He sent me a sweet smile, and I thought of 100 jokes I could make right now but I figured it wasn’t the moment. I lift my hips as he tugged off my jeans and shirt tossing it somewhere across the room, ditching his own shirt. Now I was laying naked, waiting for him to touch me, well, everywhere. My eyes caught onto the faint six pack that’s always hidden under his own shirts, and I swear if I could I’d stare at it forever.

“Like what you see?” I teased, watching a smile spread to his lips as he rolled his eyes.

“Kinda, yeah.” He nodded, bringing his forehead down to rest on mine. His hands moved to my side, taking his heavy grip on them. My leg propped up on his side, giving him a bit more room to work.

“Kinda?” I raised an eyebrow at the reply and he shrugged. My breathing halted at the feeling of his hand playing at the band of me black panties.

“I’m sure I’d like it much better, if you had nothing on at all.” I felt my stomach go into full on cartwheel as his hand slipped under the band of my panties. His lips pressed a light kiss to my forehead, before he went down to my neck. The heat from his hand hovering above me sent the most explicit images to my head. Every time my hips bucked into his hands, his lips found a spot to suck and nip at earning light moans.

“Please Spence.” I whimper, feeling his lips curl into a smile against my neck. He pressed some more antagonizingly slow soft kisses as he made his way back to my lips. He hovered for a second before our lips were moving again, his lips muting the sounds of my moans from his finger circling around my clit.

“Shit.” He muttered against my lips, as he ran his finger up my soaked slit, teasing my entrance just enough to collect just juices on his fingers. My hips grind up into his hand, begging for more of him.

His fingers sped up as he massaged my clit, sending a deep tingle throughout my body. He pulled apart from our kiss, and I released a loud moan. His fingers already finding their way into me, curling to touched that right spot inside of me. My hands grip at the sheets and pillows as he begins to pump in and out of me. I felt the tension in my stomach tightening as he brought my closer to where I was so desperately needing to be. He left a trail of sweet kisses down my body until he reached the band of my panties.

“Oh fuck-” I moaned out, catching a glimpse of what he was doing to me in the body mirror across the room. I could see my panties pushed to the side as his fingers fucked into me faster by the minute. I could’ve came at the sight right there, but picked up on where I was looking. His head turned to the mirror watching as I squirm under he touched when he pushed into me a bit harder than before. He sent me a devious smirk before turning back to his current project. “Oh my fuck- right there Spence- god!” I moaned loudly as I felt his tongue lapping up my slick, playing with my clit as he sped the pace of his fingers. My back arched off the bed as the euphoric high of the orgasm I was about to reach shot through me.

“Cum for me, Angel.” He murmured against me, sending a vibration right to my clit. Without warning I spilled everything on his fingers. I let out another string of curses as he removed his fingers only to replace his digits with his tongue, sucking everything out of me.

“You taste even better than you look right now.” He hummed, as he sucked my juice from his fingers. I put on a lazy smile, as my arms wrapped right back around his neck. He brought his lips down to me, giving me a good taste of myself.

“So pretty damn good?” I joke, earning a tickle at my sides. “My turn?” I prepared myself to be flip over again but instead I was hold down in place by the brown haired man.

“Normally I wouldn’t object but I really want to be inside of you right now.” He commented, my eyes widened a big at his bluntness before nodding my head. He slipped off his boxers, pumping himself above me a few times. His tip grazed my clit twice earning a moan from the sensitive sensations. I could tell he was enjoying having me completely at his mercy. I was enjoying it too. “Are you Ready?” He asked and I nodded, eager to feel him inside of me.

Without another word he slid into me slowly until he bottomed out. I gasped at the stretch and sting I felt as he entered. I felt myself convulse around him, causing him to tense over me. He stayed buried in me, allowing me to adjust to his size. I had half the mind to make a joke about him being such a gentleman but I kept it to myself.

“You can move.” I he gave a nod, as he pulled out earning a light moan from my throat. For a split second a saw a flash of evil cross his eyes. There was no pretty Sparkles in his eyes, they were now fake and filled with lust as his eyes raked over me.

He slammed into me, hitting the exact spot where I needed him. He kept a fast pace, hiking my leg up to his side again hitting into me at a deeper angle. His lips attached to mine in a hungry manner, as if I was just there for his own comfort. My back was arched off the bed as I get the knot forming in my stomach threatening to come undone once more as I cried out multiple profanities in his kiss.

“Oh fuck, y/n.” He moaned out bringing me right to the edge, my walls clenching around him as he picked up the pace. I let out the loudest pornographic moan of his name as I came undone. He fucked me through the euphoria as his own thrust began to stutter.

Our breathing was heavy as he pulled out and released his load on my lower stomach. I gave him another lazy smile, seeing as I didn’t have the energy for much else. Once he as finish he collapsed on the bed next to me, pulling my body into his. I could hear his heart beat racing through his chest... or was that mine? I was sure to be 8 different types of soar in the morning, and right now I was on the verge of actually passing out.

“You’re incredible.” I breathed looking to my equally as fucked out boyfriend. His long strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, driving me slightly crazy.

“I don’t think we’re going to make that movie.” He laughed, making my smile grow.

I looked to the alarm set by the bed. “It’s only 11:30, we totally make it in time.” I spoke, remembering his excitement about this film earlier in the day.

“Yeah, but I have much better things to do actually.” He mentioned with a light shrug, brushing a few strand of hair from my own sweaty forehead.

“Like?”

“You.”

I smiled at the group of agents all hovering in the bullpen, probably talking about their weekends off. It was rare we ever got a whole weekend to ourselves, so whenever we did we made sure to take full advantage of it. I mean... I certainly did.

“Morning guys.” I smiled as is at down at my desk which Morgan for some reason thought was a chair.

“Morning sunshine!” The muscular clad man greeted me with a smile. “How waa your weekend?”

“It was really good actually.” I shrugged, noticing the expecting looks I recieved from the group. I noticed Penelope coming out from her office in the corner of my eye. She caught a quick glimpse of all of us, and her senses caught on quickly before she changes her route and made her way down with a giddy smile.

“You seem happy.” She walked up with a grin on her red painted lips. “You’re not a morning person... you never smile this early.” She stated. “Did you have sex?!” She spoke right to the point, taking me by surprise.

“I- uhm... what?”

“Yes? No? Did you at least talk to him about it?” She pushed, my cheeks turning red at the questions.

“Yeah, we did talk about the whole sex thing.” I gave in, knowing eventually they were going to find out everything on their own, either from me or Reid.

“How’d it go?” JJ asked, her and Emily catching onto the conver as the two of them moved to the front of my desk.

“Am I invited to the party this time?” Rossi spoke, as he walked down from his office, joining our group cluster.

“They talked about it!” Garcia cheered to him, and his face lit up as if her was actually proud of me.

“You did not tell Rossi!” I gasped

“Yeah we did, Hotch knows too.” Emily spoke, “now, what happened after you talked about it?!” She dismissed it, in hopes to get more information.

I sat in disbelief for a good few seconds before shaking my head. I knew they lived for the office gossip, I was the same way. Things like office gossip made us feel regular, considering the crazy and gore that came with the job. In all honestly, I hadn’t minded it all that much.

“It went well...” I shrugged

“And...?” Rossi spoke, waiting for more of the story.

“How well?” JJ asked, a smirk taking over her lips. They all stared intently as they waited for me to reply.

“I mean... we had sex.” I mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear. “...a lot”

“Seriously?!?” Garcia squealed.

“I- was it- was it good? How’d did it happen?” Emily asked, and I felt the heat rushing to my cheeks.

“Uhm...” I tried to think of less descriptive words than the ones popping into my head. “It was really good... like amazing actually.” I scoffed, laughing at the noises each of them made.

“So did you actually-”

“Yup.”

“And he’s the first person to ever make you-” I raise a brow at Morgan, putting slip finger to stop him mid sentence. He honestly looked in disbelief that Reid, of all people, could satisfy me after all these years.

“I said non of my ex boyfriends.” I clarified. I watched as Emily’s smile grew impressed, and Morgan and JJs jaws dropped at the confession. Garcia simply just squealed again, and I can’t even describe the look on Rossi’s face.

“Morning guys!” Reid walked in, a bright smile on his face chasing the rest of us to giggle at his brightness. He was usually in a good mood on mondays, but this was just a whole different type of mood. I had my ideas on why, but I didn’t have to say them out loud.

“Morning loverboy.” Morgan smiled at the new nickname. I haven’t seen him since early early this morning. We decided to part ways, mainly because anytime we looked at each other ended up in us having sex on whatever piece of furniture or appliance was nearest. Surprisingly he didn’t even mentioned a single thing about the about of germs and bacteria we could’ve spread either. Reid gave us all a wide smile before he walked up to my desk. He leaned down to height, placing a stern yet soft kiss to my lips. He usually went for the forehead or the nose, which all of us were aware of.

“How was your weekends?” He asked, looking to his friends happily.

“How was yours?” Garcia smirked, as she rest her elbow on dereks should. I felt my cheek glow hot again.

“It was... really good.”

“Oh we know.” Rossi mumbled, earning a dirty glare from me as my jaw dropped a little bit. The old man sent me a innocent smile a shrug, before Reid caught on.

“You know...” he spoke, giving me the same right lip smile he does when he really doesn’t know what to say.

“They know we had sex.” I spoke quickly, and his eyes widen a bit as he finally realized.

“Oh.” He spoke, fixing the satchel on his shoulder. Spencer was never very public with past romances, so I don’t know how he’d react to this. “I mean... I had sex with my girlfriend, what’s the big deal.” He shrugged, not seeming to mind too much. My eyes widened a bit, as I felt his arm snake around my waist pulling me into his side.

“You know what?” Rossi spoke, standing from his seat. “He’s right. He’s an adult, as are we. So stop acting like a bunch of children!” He scolded the group of adults hanging around us like a bunch of lost puppies. I smiled and nodded agreeing with the man. Reid gave him a thankful smile, before pressing another kiss to my cheek and going to his own desk.

Rossi stood in front of me as he watched the other back off, with eye rolls and huffs.

“Did you at least use protection?” Rossi teased, but for some reason thag caught my attention. Our attention. Sudden flashes from all the events that took place over these last few days flooded our minds at the exact same time. My body stiffened for a second before I grabbed the files stacked up on my desk to work from home. We hadn’t used a single condom all weekend. Everyone’s eyes were wide and I moved quickly, scrapping everything into my arms before I looked to Reid with an equally as fesrful look on his face.

“Text if you need anything.” I mumbled before practically running out of the office with Spencer close on my heels.

We were totally screwed

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #derek morgan #agent hotchner #reader x spencer reid #aesthetic #teaser #wattpad

[intheticklecloset]

What You Miss (Dr. Stone)

Summary: Gen decides it's high time Senku got something that he misses from the old world to repay him for all he's done.

A/N: I AM SO EXITED TO SHARE THIS ONE!!! My first Dr. Stone fic!! I love this anime so freaking much and I can't wait to write a whole bunch more for it! For now, please enjoy my full-length fic debut into this fandom! Enjoy!!

Word Count: 2,013

@skribblz for convincing me to give Dr. Stone another try and for all of the amazing fanart she's drawn for me recently!

@giggly-squiggily for the major Dr. Stone writing inspiration! Check out her stories; they're amazing!

~~~

“What is it, Senku?”

The question surprised the scientist, who turned just as Gen came up on his left, watching him with that soft smile and mischievous glint in his eyes. Senku quirked a brow at him. “Nothing. I’m just resting my shoulders. They hurt sometimes when I work for too long.”

“No, I mean…what is it you miss?”

Senku stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

Gen looked out over the water and the village. “You’ve worked so hard to bring back so many things that modern society has lost. You make cola for me, and all those crazy things that don’t seem possible for the villagers. But you never make anything for yourself. Isn’t there anything you miss?”

“Heh.” Senku rolled his left shoulder with a slight groan. “I don’t care one millimeter about material things I’ve lost. My only concern is bringing back what humanity worked so long to create to make a better world.”

“Then what about non-material things?” Gen asked, eyeing him closely, curious. “Your father?”

The words stopped Senku for only a moment before he switched to rolling his right shoulder. “My father is long gone. Nothing to be done about that now.”

“Come on. Surely there’s something you really wish could be brought back from the old world. What is it?”

Gen was persistent, Senku had to give him that much. He paused for a long moment, deciding to consider the question seriously. Finally he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Honestly, Gen? I miss laughing.”

That certainly wasn’t what the mentalist had expected. “Laughing? But you laugh all the time.”

“No, you know what I mean.” Senku’s eyes softened as he looked out at their view of the village. “I mean watching a video that’s so absurd you can’t help but bust a gut. Watching your classmates make simple chemistry mistakes that literally blow up in their faces. Humor. Real laughter. I don’t get much of that out here.” Senku smirked. “I don’t remember the last time I really laughed at something. I guess that’s what I miss, if I had to choose.”

Before Gen could reply, there was a loud crashing sound from somewhere behind them, causing them both to turn and look just as a cloud of dust rose up in the air behind the observatory.

“Well,” Senku said, turning to walk towards the ruckus, “I’d better go see what that was.”

But Gen stayed put, watching him, already thinking of a way to pay Senku back for everything he’d done for this stone world.

*

Some weeks passed, and Senku forgot all about his conversation with Gen, losing himself in his work as he always did. He didn’t notice the subtle looks he got from the mentalist every now and then, or if he did, he didn’t let on. He simply went on as usual, working and directing and gathering materials for the next project to tackle.

Then, one night – when he was particularly exhausted and ready for bed – Gen pulled him aside.

“Senku,” the mentalist said, “I have something for you.”

“Okay?” Senku yawned. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, so I need you to put this on.” Gen held up a strip of cloth that was meant to serve as a blindfold.

Senku hesitated. “The last time I wore one of these, you surprised me with an observatory for my birthday. I hope you haven’t done anything quite that extravagant again.”

Gen put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Extravagant? Me? I would never.” Then he smirked and held it out. “Just take it. Trust me.”

The scientist waited only another moment or two before taking the offered cloth and tying it over his eyes. “At least I can put it on myself this time.”

“It will make the surprise that much more surprising.” Gen took his arm and started walking. “This way.”

Senku could tell from where they’d begun their path and the trajectory of Gen’s leadership that they were headed to his lab, though for what he couldn’t begin to guess. It didn’t help that he was tired. All he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and pass out for the night. But he didn’t resist as his friend helped him find the table and sit on it.

“Now, keep that blindfold on for just a bit longer, Senku,” Gen instructed. “Positions, everyone.”

So there were others here. Senku could hear the shuffling of a few pairs of feet – probably four or five, probably consisting at least of Chrome and Kohaku. He couldn’t tell who else. Then – without warning – he felt hands grabbing his arms and legs, gently but firmly pulling him down so he was lying on his own lab table, his wrists and ankles pinned to each of the corners.

Suddenly he grew nervous. “Whoa, wait a minute here. What’s…?”

Then he felt another set of fingers sporadically poking up and down his ribs, making him gasp aloud. He tried to curl up, but his other friends (presumably) were holding him too firmly for him to do more than squirm. He gritted his teeth against the traitorous snickers that threatened to bubble up out of him.

“W-What is g-going on here?” he managed, sounding strained even to his own ears. “Guys—”

“You said you missed laughing, Senku,” Gen said sweetly from somewhere above him seconds before he felt a weight settle on his hips, further trapping him. “We’ve all decided this is the best way to go about helping you with that.”

“This w-wasn’t what…I’d had in mihihind.” Senku pressed his lips together, really struggling to hold off his mirth against the light tracing along his sides. He breathed rapidly through his nose as though hyperventilating, limbs shaking.

“Ugh, you are so stubborn.” Gen huffed. “Time for some drastic measures, everyone. You know what to do.”

Suddenly there were fingers everywhere – from his underarms to his stomach to his knees and even his feet – and Senku gave up the fight. What was the point? They already knew.

“Nohohohohoho,” he giggled helplessly, submitting to their hold but squirming all the same. “Guys, come ohohohohon…”

There was a huge smile in Gen’s voice. “There we go! Just took a little coaxing, didn’t it, Senku? Now, to really get you laughing.”

“Thihihihis is chihihihildish,” Senku protested, jerking when Gen squeezed his sides harder. An actual laugh slipped out of him, and the knowing hum his friend gave him in response sent a shiver up his spine. He could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. Was he blushing? Senku didn’t blush. Another squeeze drew another bark of laughter, followed by a warning and pleading, “Gehehehehehen!”

“Just testing~” Gen giggled. To whomever held his arms he said, “Try some spots up there. See how he reacts.”

“W-Whahahahat is this?” Senku sputtered, grinning despite himself. “An expeheheheriment?”

“Of course! A ticklish experiment, to learn where our dear Senku is most sensitive. That way we can make you laugh all the time!”

“Thihihis ihihisn’t what I meheheheant and you knohohohow it.” Senku tried pulling his arms down to protect his armpits, but whoever had him held him tight, not allowing him any leeway.

“I know. You two at the bottom, try some spots. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good one right here…” He squeezed Senku’s sides again, earning a surprised yelp and even more helpless giggles. “…but we’d better cover all our bases.”

Someone squeezed at one knee and someone scribbled under the other knee; Senku could tell it was two people because of the difference in hand size and roughness.

“Guys, quihihihihihit teheheheasing me,” Senku grumbled as best he could through his snickering.

“Oh? It is rather surprising you haven’t asked us to stop yet,” Gen observed, kneading his thumbs into Senku’s ribs. “Is it because you like this?”

“I alreheheheady said I m-mihihihihiss lahahahauging. And you seheheheheem determined to p-puhuhuhuhull it out of me by fohohohohorce, so why wahahahaste time? I’m tired. Just gehehehehet it over wihihihihihith.”

Gen chuckled. “As you wish, Senku~”

Some silent cue must have been given, because the next thing Senku knew there were hands all over his most sensitive spots, digging harder than before, drilling with purpose, and finally he lost the battle against his own laughter. It burst out of him in a surprised cry, followed by long strings of genuine cackling.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! WAHAHAHAHAHAIT, NO!!” He squealed, jerking the hardest when his sides became the focus of their ruthless tickling, unable to see any of them to know who exactly was seeing him so helpless like this. Not that he really cared. It was no secret he wasn’t the strongest person among the villagers. Even some of the children were stronger than he was. Still, he doubted any of them had been subjected to this kind of childish play for so long before.

“There you go!” Gen encouraged, and for the first time the scientist could hear some giggling that undoubtedly belonged to Ginro, followed quickly by a shushing Kinro. So now he at least knew who his attackers were. “Doesn’t it feel good to laugh again? You said you missed this, didn’t you?”

“GEN!!” Senku cried, going steadily crazy from how defenseless he was against the purposeful squeezing of his sides. He even snorted once in his hysterics. “GEN, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“But you like this, don’t you?” Gen teased, messing with him just because he could now. “You didn’t say stop until all of us were tickling you. Can’t take so many people going for your sensitive spots at once?”

Senku had to admit, the laughing was making him feel tons lighter than he’d felt since waking up in this stone world. For once it felt good to not be in control, to actually laugh rather than just smirk or chuckle at something. He’d really, truly missed this simple pleasure.

Still, one more squeeze along his sides broke any further resistance down. He couldn’t take much more of this. “STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, GEN!! I’VE HAHAHAD ENOHOHOHOUGH!!”

Gen hummed thoughtfully, then released him. “All right. I believe you.” Moments later the other hands released him as well, and Senku went limp on the table, gasping for breath and still giggling lightly, shakily reaching up to pull his blindfold from his eyes.

Thankfully it was after dark, so he wasn’t blinded by the sun upon being able to see again. Still, he could see the beaming smiles of four of his friends, whom he had all guessed correctly: Chrome, Kohaku, Ginro, and Kinro. And of course, Gen at the head of the pack smiling at him as he climbed off and stood nearby with the others.

“All of you,” Senku managed, “are pulling double duty tomorrow for this.”

“What?” Ginro whined. “That’s not fair! It was Gen’s idea—”

Kinro shushed him quickly. “Enough, Ginro. I’m pretty sure he was joking.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Senku groaned as he sat up but couldn’t wipe the smile from his face no matter how hard he tried to. “Don’t think you suddenly have permission to tickle me all the time. This was a one-time deal, got it?”

Chrome grinned. “You got it, Senku.”

“But it was great to hear you really laughing for once,” Kohaku added, smiling and winking at him.

The others agreed before the scientist waved them off, and all of them left beaming and chatting with one another as they retired to bed for the night.

Senku finally got his own smile under control and leveled a stare at Gen, who looked back at him innocently.

“Are you mad at me now?” the mentalist asked breezily, though a hint of nervousness underlined his tone.

Senku watched him for a long moment, then smiled again. “Nah.” He hopped off the table, unsteady on his feet for only a moment before he straightened with the help of both the furniture and his friend. Then he, too, left the lab, calling a soft, “night, Gen,” over his shoulder as he went.

Gen swelled with pride, vowing to make sure Senku never missed laughing again.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #dr. stone #dr stone #senku #gen #sengen #chrome #kohaku #ginro #kinro #stone world #surprise #wholesome #playful #tickling #ticklish #tickle

[fific7]

Into the Darkness / Part 3

The Darkling x Reader

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s literally just lemon zest 🍋 ... I have a vision of Ben Barnes in his black Kefta and riding boots permanently stuck in my brain right now. Attempting to write it right out of there.

Warnings: 18+ please due to NSFW content. Some dom/sub interaction, being restrained, coercion, questionable consent (thankfully it takes place in a fantasy universe), sexual content including oral, rough unprotected* sex. I don’t mention her actual age, but Reader is not underage.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

[My GIF]

“Moi soverennyi... why have you woken me?”

“Why do you think, little dove?”

You realised that this was to be your life from now on.

His hands pulled you up from your prone position, and you found yourself crushed against his body. You knew this was done on purpose - firstly, so that you knew he was naked and secondly, so that you felt his erection against your thigh as he did so. Which you did. How long had you slept? It was probably longer but you felt as if it was only a few minutes, and yet he already wanted to - what had he called it? - fuck you again? You were still sore from earlier; your throat and between your legs felt rubbed raw.

“Turn around and get on your knees.” His voice sounded harsh for some reason, so you rushed to obey although you wondered at his tone. Maybe he didn’t like appearing needy for you, this would after all be the third time he’d had you in the saints knew how many hours. As you were thinking this, your head was pushed back down into the pillows, meaning you were now balanced on your knees and elbows with your bottom in the air.

A long finger was pushed inside you from behind and you cried out in surprise. Another finger joined it immediately and you yelped again. “Be quiet! You make too much noise, woman.” You felt his thumb moving onto the area he’d concentrated on before, rubbing circles onto it, and once again you felt pleasure rippling through you. His fingers started moving in you; coupled with what his thumb was doing, you couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable. You were breathing very shakily.

Suddenly it all stopped, only to be replaced by his hard length abruptly sliding into you without any warning. You screamed, but he’d anticipated this and had pushed your face right into the pillow, virtually silencing all your cries.

He began thrusting into you, grinding against you without mercy, the fingers of one hand digging into your hips, while the other hand kept your face buried in the pillows. You felt him remove it, “Keep your head down,” he said as he did so. His hand went to your breasts, squeezing, massaging as they hung heavy above the mattress, pulling at your nipples and making you squeal. “Will you be QUIET!” he hissed in your ear.

It felt incessant to you, was he never going to stop? He was loudly grunting this time with the effort of pounding into you. He got to make noise, but you didn’t?

You heard his long-drawn-out groan and felt relief, knowing what it meant. Once again, the warmth spread inside you and he pulled out. You felt his juices running down your legs this time, cooling as they hit the air and your skin. You slowly stretched out your back and leg muscles, and lay down gratefully on the bed. The sheets were sticky, you noticed with distaste. You felt the mattress lift slightly; he’d got up and was heading to the door.

You caught a glimpse of his naked body as he walked across the room - tall and lean but nicely muscled. The door was unlocked and he left the bedroom; you supposed he was going to re-dampen the washcloth. He returned, and sure enough you felt the warm washcloth making its way over you. He’d also brought a second washcloth and was attempting to clean up the sticky areas on the sheets.

Perhaps the action of washing you had sparked something; just as you were relaxing into enjoying it, he put his hands under your knees and pulled them up, opening your legs as he did so. You’d started squirming, feeling very exposed and uncomfortable, when you were dealt a stinging blow onto your right thigh. “Stop moving!” he ordered. Gasping, you looked into his angry face but ended up giving another longer, louder, gasp as he quickly shoved his now-erect-again cock fully into you.

You hadn’t even noticed him getting hard again. How long did it take for this to happen in men, you wondered? There was so much you didn’t know. Then you realised that he’d lifted your legs right up and placed your ankles on his shoulders.

This gave him a whole new angle to thrust into you from; he was making the most of it, his pace so fast and each deep thrust forcing a pained moan from you. You were still very tender, but that didn’t seem to have any impact on Kirigan at all. He was obviously extremely keen to continue his ‘training’ of you to accept him at any time, at any place.

For some reason, this time he didn’t finish inside you, leaning back so that his cock slid out of you, spilling onto his stomach instead. However it soon became clear why, when he told you to clean it all off him. You’d reached for the washcloth but he shook his head at you, so you dropped it back onto the bedside table.

Instead, as he’d intended, you’d used your tongue to lick him clean, meaning that all you could taste was his now-familiar salty/musky tang as you lay under the covers, staring up at the ceiling with him lying beside you.

Listening to his shallow, even breathing, wondering again why you’d ended up in his bed as his only ‘companion’.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d eventually fallen asleep, and when you were shaken awake again some time later, you weren’t surprised this time. You looked at him as he leaned over you, and were surprised when he kissed you, tongue easing into your mouth.

He pulled you onto your side, and you felt his cock between your legs. He thrust into you, one hand going to your breast and the other to your thigh, pulling you against him. He moved his fingers to where he disappeared inside you, finding that spot with his thumb and rubbing it over and over, making you jump. His pace was slightly slower this time, his thrusts less punishing. Once he’d released inside you, he continued rubbing at you, massaging your breasts and kissing you until you climaxed. You remembered to thank him as instructed, and he’d stroked your hair as if you were a pet.

This time, as soon as he slid out of you, he more or less fell asleep immediately. It took you longer, as you now had an extremely painful ache between your legs which was difficult to ignore. In the space of a few hours, you’d gone from untouched virgin to having been fucked five times in a row without respite, and it was taking a terrible toll on your body. Your throat still burned, and your hand went between your legs trying to soothe the heat which burned there, and you finally drifted off to sleep.

When you next opened your eyes, it was brighter in the room. He was still fast asleep, but almost as if he’d sensed you were awake, his eyes flickered open. He gazed at you, reaching over and stroking one of your breasts, before rolling your nipple between his fingers. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over and letting his tongue lazily run over the nipple and surrounding area, before starting to bite at it. Then he moved to your other breast, beginning the same ritual.

You jumped again as he bit down. “Would it be correct to say that you like my breasts, moi soverennyi?” you asked, staring back at him. “A lot?”

He laughed. “Yes, it would be.” He sat up properly, placing both hands on them and grasping greedily at them. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’m obsessed by them. They’re so... full and soft, and a perfect fit for my hands. They’re partly why you are here.”

You sat up a bit. “I’ve been wondering about that... why I’m here, I mean. I did not know you before I was brought to your quarters.”

He toyed with your nipples as he said, “Ah, but I happened to see you in the Camp about a month ago... coming out of your tent in the early morning. In just your trousers and undershirt. You were not aware I was watching you. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t study your body closely in the dawn light, through your thin shirt. Your breasts - what I could see of them - looked perfect that morning. I couldn’t get that vision of you out of my head. And now I have you, in every way. I can touch you, kiss you, fuck you, whatever I want.”

Grabbing one breast again, he kissed your nipple, lapping at it. He looked up at you, grey eyes looking softer than usual. “I’d say that makes me a very lucky man.”

You were silent, absolutely amazed that you’d caught his eye over all the other Grisha women.

He continued, “I’d sent the Oprichniki to bring you here the morning you deserted. I’d decided by then that I needed to make you my companion, only to find that you’d disappeared. But luckily you were in the first place they looked.” He laughed, “You didn’t make it particularly difficult to find you.”

You’d been turning over all he’d just told you in your mind. “You said ‘partly’ why I was here?” you queried.

He nodded, “Yes. I also checked your medical records. You are young, healthy and fertile.”

Your mouth dropped open at the implication.

He said, quite matter-of-factly, hand sliding from your breast to your stomach, “In addition to fulfilling my needs, you’re going to have my child.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were in his tent at the Camp, several days after his revelation. Things had progressed pretty much as they’d started. He’d schooled you in various other sexual positions, had eaten you out several times, and shown you various other things he liked you to do while you were sucking him off. He’d praised you as a quick learner, and continued to take you pretty much whenever he pleased.

He’d finally noticed how chafed you were, and had brought you a balm from the medics. It had helped a little, although not with your sore and over-used vagina and throat.

There were no shackles now; he knew you wouldn’t jeopardise your family by trying to escape. You were even allowed to venture outside. While you were in his tent, you wore a linen robe or more likely nothing at all. But you’d been given a black Kefta to wear when you did leave the tent, the Grisha woman who’d brought it to you giving you a strange and - possibly jealous? - look.

The black Kefta had confused you and so you’d questioned him about it, about why it wasn’t blue.

“Because you belong to me,” he’d answered shortly. “This proclaims that you’re off limits to other men.”

Now it made sense. You’d seen the stares and side-long looks as you walked through the Camp, had heard the whispers. One thought came to you, so you voiced it.

“Your little Sun Summoner had the same, I hear.”

He laughed, “Are you jealous?”

You vigorously shook your head, “No!”

“She wore it for the Winter Fete, that’s all,” he shrugs. “You get to wear yours all the time. And it’s different to hers. Much more splendid. Everyone now knows who you are.”

You glared at him, “And who am I exactly?”

“My consort.” He began undoing his fly, “Come here and kneel down.”

You knelt in front of him. It had taken very little time for you to learn that he liked you rather than him to free his cock from his trousers before you sucked him off, which is what you did now. He slid it into your mouth, as usual keeping his hand firmly on the back of your head so he was in control of you.

You’d also quickly learnt to make almost no noise, as you were no longer servicing him in private.

He moved back from you after a few minutes, leaving your mouth unexpectedly empty. However you’d noticed that in the past couple of days, blow jobs now usually ended in sex. He moved to the large chair in the corner of the tent, sat down and beckoned you over to him.

You went to him and he gestured to his lap. You obediently straddled him, taking his cock inside you as you did so. Moving on him, you saw his head going back, his eyes closing, jaw clenching and hands groping your breasts. He came fairly quickly, no doubt due to the partial blow job, and you slid off him, walking to the other side of the tent to pour a basin of warm water from the large metal jug sitting on a low flame, and a washcloth.

You ran the cloth over him, tucking him back into his uniform trousers before seeing to yourself. As you stood to take the basin away, he caught your wrist, looking intensely at you.

“You’ve learnt well, in a very short space of time. You’re being a very good girl.”

“I thought I was a woman?” you snarked, and he laughed, “Fine...woman, then.” He ran his thumb over the skin of your wrist, “You’ve been taking my cock so well, and you like it rough now, don’t you?”

You nodded dutifully, “Yes, moi soverennyi.” In fact, you didn’t particularly, but you had to keep this dangerous man happy.

“When is your monthly cycle due?” he suddenly asked you. Blushing deeply - this was not something you usually discussed with men - you answered, “About 10 days’ time.” “Make sure to keep track,” he instructed you, “it shouldn’t take long for you to get with child.”

You could believe it. Since you’d been brought to him, he’d been on you constantly. You felt as if you were permanently hobbling around; in addition to oral sex, he usually fucked you three or four times a day, which, according to more gossip you’d heard in the past, was not usual except maybe between newlyweds on their honeymoon. Which you & he definitely were not.

But you’d surprised yourself by having some kind of feelings for him. You were in fact jealous of his ‘little Sun Summoner’ as you called her, although he’d confided to you that they’d never had sex. He also told you that while he had felt a connection with her, she’d ruined that when she’d run off and disappeared from his life.

You’d asked him what he’d do if she returned, and he’d shrugged, “Nothing. She is dead to me.” But you wondered if that was true, or if you’d be cast aside for her.

You seemed to have accepted that you’d be with him for a lot longer than you’d initially expected. Especially if you did become pregnant. He had become more tender with you lately, kissing you when you least expected it or running his fingers down your cheek. One morning, you’d awoken to find him gazing at you and stroking some strands of hair off your face.

But he could still be arrogant, harsh and demanding, meaning that you did your best to keep him pleasured. He would still take you without warning; he’d once shoved you up against the wall of an empty corridor in the Little Palace, undoing your trousers, moving your underwear aside and pushing inside you right then and there. He’d been thrusting into you like a madman, and as usual you felt like it went on forever. You were petrified that someone would see or hear the two of you, in fact you still weren’t sure they hadn’t. But you’d acquiesced as always, and let him have his way with you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Ten days later, he asked if your period had started. You confirmed that it had, that morning. “Well, we shall have to try even harder, shall we not?” Inwardly, you groaned. You definitely wouldn’t be able to walk if that was the case.

He didn’t leave you alone even for those few days, just carried on fucking you when the notion took him. His stamina was quite impressive. He’d even left a strategy meeting he was attending a mere half hour after he’d had sex with you, spent 10 minutes rutting on you, before fixing his slightly dishevelled uniform and returning to his meeting.

He’d also had you brought over to the large tent where he and his senior men held these meetings. One of his men took you to a side entrance which led to a little area screened off from the main space, containing a plain table and chair.

He’d arrived a few moments later, striding over and bending you over the desk, putting his hand over your mouth and pushing roughly inside you from behind, grunting quietly and thrusting into you for some time. His mouth was next to your ear, and he gave his signature long low moan as he came. Then he was gone without one word spoken, before you could even stand up and turn round.

A few minutes later, the same Oprichnik who’d brought you over to the tent arrived, smirking, to take you back. His eyes had run over your body quite blatantly and when you arrived at your tent, you’d said, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell General Kirigan how interested you were in my well-being.” The smirk and roving eyes were instantly replaced with fear, and he hurried away from you.

You couldn’t deny Kirigan made it plain that he found you totally desirable, which understandably did wonders for your self-confidence.

However, this back-fired on you. You were now on nodding terms with Ivan, Kirigan’s second-in-command. He was another dangerous man, who you also wished to stay on the right side of. One evening, you were sipping at a small glass of kvas when Ivan came into the tent. He was looking for his commanding officer, who was in one of his interminable meetings.

You asked if he wished to wait for him, as he shouldn’t be long in returning. He accepted and also took a glass of kvas with you, growing more conversational as the time passed. He regaled you with tales of some of his & Kirigan’s exploits, and you’d been laughing at one he’d just told you when the Darkling came striding into the tent. Ivan leapt to his feet and stood at attention.

As he took in the scene before him, Kirigan scowled ferociously at both of you, barking out, “What’s this! I leave for an hour, and you’re sniffing and drooling round my woman like a dog in heat, Ivan?”

Ivan’s face reddened, and he shuffled his feet guiltily. Like most of the men, he found you very attractive. They all knew that Kirigan was fucking you, and he had in fact been thinking what a lucky bastard he was when the man himself had arrived.

“No, moi soverennyi! I assure you... I was waiting for you and I merely spoke of some of our past campaigns.” Kirigan sneered, “Which caused her to laugh? Is what we did so amusing?”

His glare turned to you, “Is it?!” You shook your head, “No... well, it was just Ivan mentioned that you happened to rip your trousers once when you...” but you stopped talking when you saw the expression on his face.

Ivan hastily took his leave, saying he would update him in the morning instead.

The Darkling looked at you with icy eyes. He took off his Kefta and threw it onto one of the chairs, and began unbuckling his trousers. “Take your clothes off, and get on the bed.”

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#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #shadow and bone #ben barnes #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling fanfiction #the darkling into the darkness

[wendimydarling]

Weakness

Title: Weakness

Summary: Syverson and his wife get into an argument, and he shows her bratty ass how to mind.

Pairing: Syverson x First Person Reader

Word Count: 2017

Warnings: nudity, manhandling, penetrative sex, tickling.

A/N: Last request of the year, folks... I’ve got a full plate!

Could you please do a tickle fic with syverson where u guys have a fight, but then when he comes to bed late at night you tickle him to get him to talk. But then he gets annoyed at you and ends up tying you up and tickling you as a punishment, though it ends in fluff and giggles at the end? Love ur fics!

Enjoy!

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“How many times we gonna have this argument?”

I had zero desire to do this tonight but I stood there anyway, arms crossed, nostrils flaring. Everyone in the bar was cowering away from Syverson’s intimidating hulk of a stance, but not me. I’d been with him for too long.

The guy that hit on me was far in retreat but once again, I’d been embarrassed in front of everyone by Sy taking it too seriously. He was so protective and for the most part, I didn’t mind. But I consider myself a woman that can defend herself without the aid of a man, and when said man comes in and threatens to maul any man within a ten foot radius of me, my intimidation factor gets undercut by about fifty percent.

Syverson also had his arms crossed, his legs regulation width apart and back ramrod straight. His size alone was enough to terrify most women, and even some men, but not me. I was far too pissed. Sy furrowed his brow.

“I’ll not have anyone hittin’ on my woman, especially not while I’m there to defend her,” he stated firmly. I rolled my eyes and threw my hands in the air.

“We’re goin’ in circles, and I ain’t doin’ this in public, especially not tonight,” I snapped. I grabbed my clutch and walked out the door, hailing a passing taxi and getting in before I could change my mind. As I gave the driver my address, I looked out the window and saw Syverson standing there, his mouth set in a stern line. A pang of excited fear shot into my belly; I had just left my husband at a bar. 

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Syverson made it home about twenty long minutes after I did. They had to have been the most agonizing minutes of my life, and that included the time he suddenly lost phone reception once when he was on tour. I got ready for bed while I waited for him to come home, but I knew sleep would evade me. Back and forth I paced, straightening the décor on our shelves and brushing my hair before finally coming to rest on the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest. 

I heard a car door outside and adrenaline coursed through my veins; the front door slamming shut near made me jump out of my skin. My body was rooted to the mattress, fingers fidgeting with the lacey hem of my cotton nightgown nervously. Sy entered our room, glanced at me briefly, then tore off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper as he barricaded himself in our bathroom without a word. I was in so much trouble, and my heart sank down into my stomach. Why of all nights did we have to do this tonight?

It wasn’t long before Syverson came back into the room, scowl still stubbornly etched on his face as he removed the rest of his clothes. He caught my eye and held it in silent warning; I didn’t dare look away. His belt was drawn out of its fabric station slowly and my ass clenched in apprehensive dread, but Sy just dropped it to the floor. My annoyance catapulted over my fear.

“Ya just not gonna talk to me then?” I snapped, shooting him my own glare. Syverson still didn’t speak, simply shucked his legs out of his pants and boxers and climbed under the covers, rolling over so that his back was facing me. That was the last straw.

“Sy…” I drawled, dragging a fingernail down his spine. He rotated his shoulder and huffed, but didn’t turn over. Determined, I tried again, spidering my fingers over the back of his ribs. Syverson spun around with surprising agility for a man so large and in a flash my wrist was seized. 

“Best not start somethin’ ya can’t finish, little lady,” he warned, shoving my hand away. He closed his eyes and settled back into the bed. Anyone else would have heeded Sy’s warning, but not me. I needed to talk about it. 

“Come on Sy, talk to me,” I pleaded. He just grunted. I assessed the situation, surveying his body for my plan of attack. His big arms protected most of his torso but the blanket had ridden down when he flipped over, and I could see the sharp point of his hip bone cresting through the waves of hair that graced his skin. Bingo.

I crawled on the bed carefully, sneaking a hand beneath the blanket to where Syverson’s warm girth lay nestled between his thighs. He grunted again but shifted to grant me more access; he never could say no to a blow job, no matter how mad he was. I straddled his chest and palmed him softly, smirking as he fell straight into my trap. Instead of leaning over though, I drilled my fingers into the deep pockets of his hips, relishing the way he immediately started huffing and throwing curses my way.

“If ya ain’t gonna talk to me then I’m just gonna tickle ya,” I drawled, scribbling my nails over his sensitive flesh. Sy grunted and jerked but he couldn’t quite get his hands around my torso to reach, the tickles confusing his brain and causing him to lose focus.

“Hmmm… still don’t wanna talk?” I teased, “Fine then, perhaps I should move to yer feet.”

In a flash my ankles were yanked out from under me and I was rolled underneath Sy’s heavy frame, his nimble fingers finding purchase beneath him on my sensitive ribs. I squealed and scrambled for his hands, kicking at him as I tried to stop the tickles. He just climbed on top of me and flipped around to straddle my hips, instantly immobilizing me and removing any notion I had of making it out of this alive.

“Ya think ya can just leave?” Syverson growled, pinning my arms above my head with one hand and returned to digging his fingers into my rib cage. I squealed again and fought to escape, but his thighs were an iron vice around my hips and his rough hand effortlessly held my wrists, locking me in place so that he had all the room in the world to punish me for my behavior.

“Ya thought this was over just cause you were done with it?” His fingers drilled faster, their ferocity matching the scowl on his face as I laughed helplessly.

“Try again, little lady... we ain’t over ‘til I say so.”

With that, he reverted back to his silence. I screamed and pleaded with him but he ignored me, tickling any skin he could find. When he ran out of skin to tickle he simply created more, rucking up my nightgown to gain access to my belly and navel. I laughed and wailed but my cries met a stone wall; I was too ticklish for my own good, and Syverson was mad. 

He tore my nightgown completely off me and grabbed my wrists, and I took the brief moment to gasp for air. My respite was short lived however as I noticed his intentions; he was pinning my arms beneath his knees.

“No, Sy NO, PLEASE!!” I protested, pulling uselessly against his brute strength. I knew his game, I knew where he was headed and I didn’t want it. 

“I’m sorry,” I begged him. Sy stared at me, hands on his knees, glare still firmly lodged on his face.

“I told ya not to start something ya couldn’t finish,” he said coldly. His hands travelled slowly behind him, resting along the supple flesh on my thighs.

“I know, I--KNOW,” I gasped, kicking at him. Syverson shuffled my body as I spoke, spreading my legs and trapping them between his folded knees.

“Ya just... ya wouldn’t talk to me, Sy. I didn’t want to go to bed upset, not tonight,” I admitted, gazing up at him with round eyes. I struggled under his weight, trembling as his fingertips grazed along the inner tendons that connected my legs to the rest of my body. Sy gave me a look that said I better keep talking, so I continued to explain.

“I don’t need ya to defend me all the time,” I said softly, not wanting to look at him. I knew his face would show that he was hurt, and I was right.

“That’s what I’m here for, bug,” He whispered, staring at my heaving chest as he traced circles along my sensitive loins. I shivered. God, I wanted to reach out and hold him.

“But what about when ya aren’t here?” 

Syverson’s head snapped up to look at me, fire and pain flaring in his eyes. I could see that it hadn’t occurred to him that I still got hit on when he was overseas. Remorse and understanding fell over his features, and he nodded in submission.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Still, ya need to pay fer leavin’ the bar without me.”

His fingers picked up their pace and my face scrunched up in agony. I wasn’t gonna get out of this by distracting him, and I was left with no choice but to accept my punishment. Still, I had to try.

“Sy, no don’t--” I managed to get out before he was squeezing those tendons between his thumbs and fingers, pinching every last ticklish nerve along my thighs. I thrashed and screamed, the highest-pitched squeals tumbling from my lips as he laid waste to my secret weakness, fluttering his fingers all over my mound. Time lost all meaning; had it been five minutes? Ten? I didn’t know, all I knew was that instead of tickles, my tortured pussy desired nothing more than for him to split me open and fuck me into the next century.

“NO MORE!” I begged, “SY PLEEEHEHEASE!! NO MOOOHOHORE!!”

His fingers froze and Syverson cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Ya gonna try and fight back?” he questioned, positioning his elbows on either side of my head.

“No sir,” I breathed.

“Who do you belong to?” he growled. My eyes softened and I gazed at his face, desperate to touch him, to comfort him.

“I belong to you.”

“Good girl.”

Sy released my arms and I wrapped them around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as he did the same to me, thrusting into me to be as close as he could. He was hard as a rock, it took no more than five seconds before he was bottomed out and we two had become one flesh. It was an old song and dance and yet every time still felt like the first.

 Syverson held me close as I clung to him fiercely, my tears weaving a wet trail into my hair as his embrace coiled around me, suffocating me in the best of ways.

“I’ll be back before you know it, bug,” He crooned against my cheek, but I could hear how choked up he was and I lost it. I would never get used to him leaving.

“You better be,” I sobbed, never wanting this night to end. Tomorrow brought pain, and separation.

“Now now, no tears,” Sy shushed, cradling my face in his hands and wiping the salt that threatened to stain my face. He thrust into me, hard and wanting and I gasped, pitching my hips to meet his. My cervix was on fire, the slightest movement would send me barreling over the edge into bliss. I saw a glint in Sy’s eye, one that told me he was about to be devilishly mischievous and my arms were brought to rest above my head, fingers interlocked with mine, and kisses alighted on my nose and neck as his lips found their way to my ear. 

“Keep your arms up, bug,” he ordered, his fingertips spidering softly down my arms. No, I thought, squirming my hips and then gasping in shock as pleasure rocked through my center. Not this. Anything but this. His voice came searing into my mind, sealing my fate with one phrase.

“Yer gonna learn not to start somethin’ ya can’t finish.”

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