Tumgik
#it's way cooler outside... but i like the comfort of my own room so :
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Part 2
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jake x reader
Part 3
warnings: tension, angst, fluff, slow burn, eventual 18+
word count: 2.5K
summary: You move into a new apartment, with an unexpectedly attractive neighbor.
notes: Okie dokie, here's part 2. This was obviously an idea I had a couple of weeks ago, but life has been fun and chaotic, so here it is now! All my Love, MM
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It’s the 4th of July, which means you have the day off to do literally whatever you want. You lay in bed, eyes still closed, listening to the birds outside your window. You can see the sunlight through your eyelids, filtered in from the blinds. It’s still early, which hopefully means the beach won’t be too busy. You had just gotten a new swimsuit that you were very excited to try out, but the idea of going to the beach alone freaked you out a little. It has been a couple of weeks now since you moved. You have some friends in the area but they’re mostly busy, so you’re stuck with a dilemma. You can either go to the beach alone and deal with the countless friend groups and families laughing and having fun together or… you can see if Jake wants to come. 
It had been a couple of days since you ran into each other in the basement. You two had been living your separate lives. You heard when he was home, walking around his floor, playing his guitar, watching tv, hanging out with his friends, as you’re sure he heard you. The comfort of knowing someone else was in the house made living on your own easier, even if it was on a different floor. Maybe this can be your chance to get to know him better. Maybe even become friends. A new friend, now that would be nice.  
You stretch your arms above your head and hoist yourself out of bed. This’ll be a fun day no matter what. You grab your phone on the way to the kitchen and text Jake.
Y/N: Hey, any fun 4th of July plans?
You continue on with your morning routine, making breakfast and starting to pack some essentials for your day at the beach. Drinks, snacks, sunscreen. You hear Jake strumming his guitar lazily as you move about your apartment, stopping momentarily. Your phone buzzes on the counter. 
Jake: Not at the moment. What’s up?
Y/N: Want to go to the beach?
Jake: What time??
Y/N: Like, 20 minutes? Come on up when you’re ready.
Jake: Awesome.
Well, that was easy. You had assumed Jake would have other plans. He always seemed to have a stream of people coming in and out of his apartment. You’re surprised he answered at all, let alone said he would come! This’ll be fun. You go to change into your swimsuit, throwing loose-fitting clothes on overtop. As you slide into your sandals and pack your book into your beach bag, you heard a knock on your back door. 
You casually walk over, opening the door for your neighbor. In front of you stood Jake wearing a fun American flag sailor cap, a short sleeve button-down shirt that was mostly open except for the bottom two buttons, pattern swim trunks, and old birks. You just stood there for a second, taking him in. 
“Hey,” He gave you a smile, “Is the hat too much?” Looking slightly out of place, he fidgets with the guitar on his back and tugs at the cap on his head. 
“No! It’s hilarious! Come on in, I’m just finishing up,” Jake follows you into your kitchen, watching you grab the rest of your things and finish packing up your cooler. Going into the fridge you feel Jake watching you as you reach for the drinks. You turn to put them into the cooler and make eye contact. He averts his eyes, pretending to be scanning the kitchen.
“I brought a couple of snacks and drinks, if you have any more room in there,” Jake comes up next to you, throwing his backpack on the counter. 
“Ya, of course. There’s still room,” You agree as he pulls out a couple of White Claws, a pack of gummy worms, and a bag of chips. He reaches across you to fit it in the cooler along with your things. The air feels thick, but you must be imagining it. 
“Okie dokie! Let’s hit the road!” He smiles, picking up the cooler before you can protest and walks towards the front door. You stand there for a second watching him walk out of your apartment. You shake your head a bit to clear it. Friends. You’re trying to make friends. 
As you drive to the beach, Jake gleefully chats with you. You laugh and smile along as he tells you all about his brothers and the little band they’ve started together. You learn he has an older twin named Josh and a younger brother named Sam. The fourth member of the band is their friend, Daniel. Jake says he is just like a little brother and they all always hang out together. Those must have been the people you see coming in and out all the time. 
“Okay so wait!” You laugh, wiping a tear from your eye, “You’re telling me he ‘fell’ through the screen door because you quote ‘bumped him too hard’? YA, very likely!” 
Jake is smiling from ear to ear, “No, I swear to god! It was fully his fault. I would NEVER do something like that!” He watches your reaction as you continue to wipe your tears. 
“You two sound like a handful!” Your eyes are on the road, but you can feel him smiling at you. You wonder what it would feel like to have his eyes on you like that all the time. Nope! Friends y/n, friends!
You two get to the beach a little after 9. There are still a number of spots in the parking lot left, but you can see that it’s going to be a busy day. You unload the car, grab all your bags and towels, and proceed to trudge out onto the sand. 
The water on the lake is beautiful today. A lovely deep blue. The air is hot and muggy but has a slight breeze, which cuts through the heat every so often. Families and friends play in the waves and chatter around you. Jake finds you a perfect spot to sit, a little further off from the crowd. He unfurls the blanket he’s brought and you watch as his exposed chest moves under his open button-up. How can he look so soft and so sculpted at the same time? He makes eye contact with you cocking an eyebrow and giving you a half smirk. You look down cheeks turning red, as you continue to unpack your bag, grabbing your book and sunscreen. 
 Jake plops down next to you on the blanket, swinging his guitar off his back. You start to apply your sunscreen. Jake watches, eyebrows knitted together in thought. As you continue to apply sunscreen to your arms and legs, Jake picks up the bottle and squeezes some into his hand. “May I?” He asks as he gestures to your back, looking slightly sheepish. 
“Sure, thank you” You agree shyly as he shifts so he’s sitting slightly behind you. The first touch of his hands makes you jump.
“Sorry! It’s a little cold” He grimaces, as he starts to rub the lotion into your back. 
You focus on your breathing as he continues to cover your back. The calluses on his fingers, the smoothness of his palm, how gentle he’s being. Jesus Christ, knock it off! You’re trying to be making friends here, thinking like that won’t get you anywhere. You look out across the water as he travels lower down your back, freezing as he moves your straps, so as to not miss any spots. 
“Ta-da!” Jake exclaims, patting your shoulders platonically, before moving back to his spot next to you. He wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his chest and arms before grabbing for his guitar. 
“Thanks” You smile over at him. He looks proud of himself as he pulls his guitar over his lap and starts to strum. You Grab your book and flip onto your stomach, enjoying the soft strumming of Jake's guitar and listening to the waves and the birds. 
An hour or so passes as Jake continues to play lazily and you finish the chapter you’re on. You look over, watching his face. His eyes were slightly unfocused, gazing at some unknown location far off in the distance. His mouth was turned up in a lazy smile. His shirt was now fully off, and as your eyes scan down his body you start to notice more of his figure. He is built in a relaxed way. You can tell he’s strong. His arms are defined and his muscles flex along with his playing. He barely bobs his head to the beat of his unknown tune. You clear your throat quietly and his eyes shoot to yours, his smile growing as he sees you already watching him.
“What’s up?” He asks never stopping his tune.  
“You’re pretty good. Has anyone ever told you that?” You’re being genuine. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone so flawlessly continue a melody.
Jake blushes, momentarily tripping up his melody. “Thank you. I’ve been playing for a little while now.” He smirks a little but doesn’t keep eye contact.
“Oh ya? For how long?” 
“I mean since I can remember. My family is big into music. My dad has a band, so my brothers and I started one back in high school.” He looks a little nervous as he tells you that last part. “We actually play at some dive bars around town, if you ever want to swing by.”
“I would love to!” You give him a reassuring smile. You’re intrigued by the type of music his band might play. Based on the melodies he’s been playing around you, you’re assuming some type of folk or jazz music. 
Jake looks over at you excitedly, “Really?! We have a show again this weekend in the flats if you want to swing by!” He’s practically bouncing in his seat next to you. 
“Yes! I’ll be there. Just tell me the time and I’ll head over!” You laugh at him as his smile widens. You’re sure if he smiled any harder he’d start shining. 
After a couple of hours, you and Jake are laughing and chatting like old friends. You learn that he loves pirates and has a passion for film, which he shares with his brother. He learns that you are also from Michigan, and your extended relatives live around where he’s from. “That’s so fucking cool! I wonder why we never saw each other growing up!” 
“I don’t know. I mean, I’d only be there for holidays and a couple of weeks during the summer. I’m sure we saw each other but didn’t know it!” You’re sure he must have been visiting his own family and doing fun things away from Frankenmuth any chance he got. But, you know a large reason he probably never saw you was because you were shy. You always locked yourself up on your grandparent's property, playing on the quads, exploring the woods, and watching movies with your cousins. You rarely went into town, and if you did it was only to go to the waterpark at Zehnder’s or to one of the bowling alleys nearby. 
As the sun dips down in the sky, you collectively decide you’ve probably had enough sun for today. You pack up your things and walk back to the car, tired from the sun and happy from the great day. As you drive home Jake grabs the aux and starts playing you songs he thinks you would enjoy, explaining each ones meaning. Testing the water to see what you like a don’t like. You make it back to the house and unpack your things,
“Thanks for hanging out today Jake, I had a really good time.” You smile brightly as you walk towards the house. 
“Of course! Me too,” Jake pauses “Would you… would you want to play a game or something? We can just keep hangin out until the fireworks this evening.” He looks at you nervously.
“I would love to! I just assumed you had other people to go with.” You look a little confused but you’re happy for the extended company. The idea of chilling with Jake for the rest of the evening is nice. You are a little tired though. “Cool, well I’m going to take a shower real quick, but you can come on up whenever you’re ready. I have some board games in the living room that you are more than welcome to look through while I get cleaned up.”
“Sounds good! I was gonna jump in the shower quick too, so you have some time.” Jake gives you a little eyebrow wiggle before heading to his door. 
Jake POV
Here’s the thing. Jake did have plans today. He was actually waiting for Josh to pick him up. But, when his cute new neighbor sent him a text asking if he was busy, he immediately said yes. After their first interaction in the basement, Jake had been itching to figure out some way, any way, to get to know you better. He had been coming home early to try and catch you as you were getting your mail. He purposefully told you to only use one set of garbage cans (he claimed it was for convenience) but he hoped he would run into you while you were bringing your trash down. 
The entire day Jake had been sneaking glances at you, watching your quirks and mannerisms. How you scrunched up your nose when you got to a part in your book you didn’t like. How you methodically reapplied your sunscreen. Every time he saw you catch him staring he would look out into the horizon, pretending to be somewhere else, but he was thinking of you. He took every opportunity to make you laugh. He had never heard such a beautiful sound. If he could bottle it up and keep it forever he would. 
The drive back home had been torture. The car had been filled with your scent, increased tenfold by the smell of lake, sunscreen, and heat that radiated off of you. You had loved every song he had played for you, becoming more animated at the songs you had known and getting excited at new songs he was helping you discover. How could he not want to hang out more with someone who had a fantastic ear? As you two reached the house, he had become more and more anxious as he realized the day was ending, so he said something not even he was prepared for. He asked you to continue hanging out. And when you said yes, he was more than excited. 
Jake didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had taken a special interest in you. The house was old and had its quirks, but that meant that he could also hear a lot more than normal. Every so often he could hear you humming or singing to yourself while you made dinner. Sometimes he could hear you loudly laugh at a show you were watching. And once or twice he had heard other things… Jake was just happy to have an excuse to spend time with you today. And now! Now. All he could think about was you showering right above him. 
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cool-cowboy · 2 months
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Summary:
In which an android Leon reveals some features to his model you were not aware of beforehand, then gives you a prime example of how he's better than a human man. I have no idea where this came from, just popped into my head and I figured someone out there would enjoy, so yeah, enjoy!
Tags:
Android Leon S. Kennedy, Obsession, Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Master/Servant, alternate universe, Dirty talk, grinding, overstimulation, forced orgasm, babbling, crying
Blurb:
“I just… Didn’t know you had… Those kind of features.”
“Sorry. You’ve never expressed feelings of lust before, only now your heart rate is picking up, perspiration levels above average... Would you like me to enable sexual interaction in the options menu?”
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“Leon, I’m home!” I tuck my shoes into their little spot beside the door, shucking off my jacket and leaving it on its hook, wandering through and into the family room, spotting him, standing perfectly still along the wall, blue neon swirling around his eyes, the only tell I get when an update is underway, other than his lack of response. I decide to leave him be, walking off into the kitchen, getting my things ready to cook supper, the lighting brighter than I like it in the evening, my trusty android friend not awake to employ my usual light and ambience settings, the quiet a little disturbing when I’m so used to the light music he puts on when I arrive home.
I cook in relative silence, making a meal for one, missing the chatter of my robot companion, curious to hear about his update, why it’s taking so long. It’s not traditional, the purpose I have for owning a device like him, usually they’re nothing but a housekeeper, someone to take care of the home and complete menial tasks, but I don’t find that useful, just enjoy having someone around, a friend, something like that. I’ve never assigned him a task, but he craves it, gives himself objectives if I can’t, tries his hardest to cater to my needs even if I don’t speak them.
I sit down with my meal, eating in quiet, seated at my little island, his chair empty, the space a little cooler than I like it. I’m bored, never used to quiet anymore, not with my constant companion making sure to keep conversation flowing, his devotion to me seeming more real than it probably is, his care programmed into him, but there nonetheless. He’s been speaking about feelings lately, if he’s capable, something that would usually get him sent in for a reset, but I don’t mind, and I do think he’s capable, his mind is superhuman after all.
“There you are.” He’s human, on the outside, looks perfectly believable, could walk around with me and have no one suspect he isn’t a normal man, the only difference what’s on the inside, some mechanical shit I have no idea how to explain, and AI that lets him know what I’m thinking, his intelligence unmatched, his mind full of anything I could ever want to know.
“How was the update?” He takes his seat beside me, straight-backed, his formality with his mannerisms something that took me a while to get used to, his speech slowly morphing to mimic mine, a comfort thing programmed into all androids to give a sense of familiarity, comfort with something often viewed as subhuman. His eyes glow blue, ready to rattle off the specs he’s downloaded, his voice a little more robotic than usual, his script taking him over.
“Update 16.2b, major tweaks under the belt, more realistic orgasm simulation, bugs fixed regarding the timed orgasm system, facial expressions refined, new commands available, more realistic erection phases, see more online at Update dot my android dot net.” I sit there, mouth gaping, not sure at all what to say to all that, never even thought about using my friend in that way, was never told I could, if I did want to. “Is something wrong?” I set my fork down, pushing my plate back, my appetite gone, some unwarranted butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.
“I just… Didn’t know you had… Those kind of features.” He looks at me, eyes flashing blue, scanning my vitals, something that used to seriously creep me out, but doesn’t bother me much anymore, it’s habitual, a way for him to see how I’m feeling, get truths I’m not willing to give.
“Sorry. You’ve never expressed feelings of lust before, only now your heart rate is picking up, perspiration levels above average.” I don’t say anything, embarrassed he can tell so much about me, know my curious wants against my wishes. “Would you like me to enable sexual interaction in the options menu?” I can’t answer, too busy freaking out in my head, his blue eyes back to normal, still seeking information, always, gaze flitting over my face, small movements of my hands, his inspection leaving me on edge.
“So… You can feel pleasure?” I’m curious, though I’ve never wanted to use him, in any capacity, just wanted someone around, company, not a lover, especially not one who’s not in control of their own actions, autonomy not something he has much of, other than the settings I could turn off to let him have a little free reign, giving him permission to mill about while I’m gone, do as he pleases. He’s staring at me, head cocked, brows furrowed a little, his expression terribly human, inspecting me, trying his hardest to deduce my thoughts, his pointer finger drawing out calculations absently on the countertop as they run through his head.
“Not technically, pleasure is a chemical reaction, my form is just a simulation. I do feel it, the receptors go off when I complete a task. It’s new in update 14.6a, meant to be a better drive to please the owner. I assume you mean sexual pleasure, though. I can simulate it, up until orgasm, mostly realistic, other than the secretion part.” I have no idea why I’m just now hearing about this, most people would probably jump on the opportunity to have a partner so in tune with their body, literally able to do a scan and know what you need.
“Do you enjoy it, though? You want to?” He looks at me, my eyes, not doing any scanning, just looking at me, giving me a few seconds of quiet anticipation.
“You’re important to me, whether it’s programming or not, you’re attractive and a pleasant person, so I'd guess it would be enjoyable to please you in a more personal way, but I know you mean it differently… It’s not a craving I have, to satisfy myself, I mean, only to please you, in any way you see fit.” I swallow, his eyes flitting down, gazing at my hands, fisted and pressed to my thighs. It’s a moral dilemma, using something so intelligent for my own gain, but I suppose it can’t be too terrible, he’d get the equivalent of an orgasm, plus whatever pleased feeling he gets from making me happy. “You seem interested. I will turn on sexual activity permissions in the options menu.” Damn his autonomy, I may have went too far, allowing him access to his own options, his eyes glowing blue as he sinks into his own brain, flipping on whatever part of him has been dormant all this time before returning to me, his expression normal, no different than my usual Leon, casual, doting.
“You did it?” He nods, scanning me, not at all put off by my nervousness, looking at me again, a little more intense than usual, trying to figure me out.
“How was work?” I wonder if I have to initiate it, ask him for it. It would be preferable, though I don’t think I’ll ever use this hidden feature if he doesn’t just jump me, but that doesn’t seem fitting, he’s too soft spoken, reserved.
“Good, I got a new account today, diamonds, the commission is gonna be insane.” He seems pleased, a little whirring sound similar to a hum rumbling in his chest as he stands, moving to take care of my dish, no prompt necessary. I used to feel bad about it, but he really doesn’t mind, lives to care, I guess.
“That’s great. I sent over the files you asked for, they’re under 6.24.5 in the main folder.” I nod, glad he could locate them, my own search not going very well, the information integral to a company I’ve been assigned. He sets the dishes out once he’s done washing, set neatly in their little drying rack, his body moving swiftly back around the counter, his hand ghosting across the back of my shoulders making me flinch, not used to any casual touches between us, the only contact he really ever initiates is caring for any wounds he detects, little cuts, things like that. “You’re aroused, would you like me to-”
“You don’t have to.” My cheeks are flaming, thighs tight together, embarrassment hot on my skin, the light aroused feeling flaring now that he’s brought attention to it. He steps beside me, turning my chair around to face him, slotting himself between my knees, a light touch on my jaw drawing my eyes up, light blue trained on me, his forwardness dizzying, unexpected when I’m so used to his usual self.
“You’re uncomfortable, I can release that tension.” He runs his hand down my neck, smoothing over my shoulder, his touch light, my small shiver prompting him to squeeze a little, the warmth of his skin unexpected, even if I did know it was there, another human feature to make him more real. “You don’t need to worry about if I’d like to. I do, you know I live to please you.” That gets me, his voice lower than usual, a rough, sensual quality to it, his willingness not unexpected, but still shocking. He has a hand on my knee, inching up, almost too slow to notice, his other sliding back up my neck to keep my eyes on him, eye contact something he's always been a fan of, picked it up from conversations and my own mannerisms, is now using it to ruin me, make me nervous.
“I don’t know…” It’s weird, to proposition him in this way, even if it isn’t my idea, allowing it is still on me, my commands headed without any pushback, unless my decision is stupid, then he tells me all the reasons I’m wrong. He hums, sliding his hand back into my hair, his palm a little rough, his eyes peering down at me, a little lower than normal, all of him drawing me in, his actions and words and expression undeniably sexy, which makes sense, considering he has the entire internet and more at his disposal.
“I have to admit, I am curious. It’s my nature, I guess, but I wanna try it, feel the way humans do, engage in something so sought after.” He’s very convincing, convincing enough for me to refrain from stopping him when he starts to lean down, thumb pressing under my jaw to tilt my head up, hand on my lower thigh squeezing. He takes his time, watching my reaction, leaning in slow, his chest heaving with even breaths, his lips parted, close to mine. “Grant me sexual autonomy.” He’s never asked, never expected any of his autonomy settings, other than this one, I guess, not that I mind, I’d prefer he had it, didn’t do anything out of his control, revert into his more robotic self to fulfill my wishes.
“Turn on sexual autonomy in the options menu.” His eyes flash blue, his body going rigid, only for a moment, before he’s back, looking at me, seeming eager, searching my eyes for any sign of disapproval, finding none. He runs his hand further up my leg, eyes cast down to the contact, his lips parted, almost awed.
“Your skin is… Soft. Feels fuzzy, you’re so warm…” His processes are going haywire, I can see it on his face, his mind racing to keep up with what he’s doing, digging through all the information he has to do a good job. “I’ve never felt like this before, this kind of pleasure is different, like it’s for me.” He’s not meant to have feelings, of any kind, but he does, in his own way, lets his mood depend on his helpfulness, even if I’ve urged and convinced him to see himself as his own being, he’s not wired that way.
“It is… I don’t- uh, It’s about you too, okay?” He hums, the low whir in his chest making me smile, one of the few things that reminds me he’s a machine. He moves, tentative, his hand slipping further up my thigh, fingers holding onto my hair, pulling gently when his lips meet mine, plush and smooth, his kiss gentle, unsure, none of the information he has able to tell him the best way to go about this. I move against him, setting a little faster of a pace, letting my hand slide up his stomach, his shaky exhale breathed against my lips.
“Tell me what you like.” He presses his forehead to mine, looking at me, lips and cheeks flushed, his hand hot on my thigh. He can’t take it, not being fully prepared for everything, having to figure things out as they come, his algorithmic brain not able to work through something he has no expertise on. “Don’t just look at me, tell me what you want me to be.” His brows are drawing together, analyzing, trying to figure it out before I even reply.
“What do you wanna be?” He has a personality, one to suit mine, of course, but he never asked for it, developed it, like a child growing up. I don’t want him to play a role, he must have some sort of instinct on how to act, how to be without me commanding him.
“I don’t know.” He’s never not known, he’s a genius, of course, knows everything there is to know, figures out anything he doesn’t. He looks pained, searching my eyes for an answer I can’t give, his hand tracing his equations into my skin. “All I know is I want you… I wanna see you fall apart, make you feel good, be the best lover you could ask for.” I kiss him, bringing my arms up around his neck, drawing him closer between my legs, his pleased hum making me smile, a good reaction from him, real, not asked for, just genuine feeling. His hand slips further up my leg, up to squeeze gently over my hip, feeling me, not looking to please, just letting himself do what he wants, exploring one of the few things he doesn’t know much about, his own form of pleasure. He follows my lead, moving plush lips against mine, the feeling insanely real, the heat of him a little higher than usual, his body heating up in response to my touch, my hands dug into soft locs of hair, pulling gently to separate his lips from mine, his mouth pressing to mine in one last, feverish kiss before he pulls back, eyes wide, wild with untapped pleasure.
“Is this okay?” He nods, swallowing, his lips parting to draw in heavy breaths, his hand sliding up my side, hot over my shirt, his warmth making me both soft and want to squirm.
“Yes, feels good. This is… I never imagined I could feel like this. It’s you, I’m not supposed to feel desire, this isn’t in my programming… Don’t reset me, I’ll be good, swear. I won’t deviate, I just… This is not in the script…” He seems stumped, frustrated at his lack of understanding what’s going on inside him, but I suppose he isn’t meant to have this much freedom, live like a normal person, other than the fact he has no need for a job, and is a machine.
“Leon? It’s okay to feel, okay? You’re not a toaster, yeah?” He laughs, low and rough, shaking his head, some of the robotic tension leeching from him. “Stop thinking so much.” He nods, eyes flashing blue, returning to normal when he blinks it away. “Sorry.” I didn’t mean to command him, but he doesn’t mind, it happens all the time, and he’s happy to oblige, anyways.
“It’s okay… Should we… Continue?” I gulp, and he leans back in, kissing me the way I like, learning quickly, as always, his big hand sliding up my back, fingers teasing at the hem of my shirt before slipping up my spine, my back arching at the gentle touch, his little pleased noise vibrating against my lips. The chair isn’t very comfortable, and my neck is straining from him standing over me, and he knows it, parting his lips from mine and tilting my jaw back down, forcing me to look up at him through my lashes, his expression sinful, eyes low, lips lightly parted, all of him hot, his skin warmer than mine. “You’re uncomfortable.” I nod, not very happy he paused to say that, but glad he cares enough to not leave me in discomfort. “I’ll take you to your room.” He pulls me up out of my chair by my ass, letting my legs drape over his hips, a sizable erection between us, one of his arms holding me up, the other holding my head still as he dips down, kissing at my neck, slow and sweet, his lips spit-slick. He’s walking, letting himself move through the space without looking, letting out a pleased rumble when I exhale a shaky breath.
“Leon, you don’t have to be so gentle…” He groans, the sound low and guttural, his lips pressing a little more feverishly to my skin, his hand squeezing my ass, the other slipping up the back of my shirt, smoothing up my skin, ticklish, making me arch into him, my chest pressed to his, his happy sigh hot on my skin. He leans me back, supporting my weight until I’m laid out on my bed, him on his knees between my legs, scanning, eyes flashing bright before he closes them, ignoring his instinct to run his hands up my thighs, peering down at my face, pushing up on the hem of my shirt, exposing my stomach, his lips coming down to skim up my thigh, one hand on the outside of my knee, holding it still, his lips warm and wet as he trails them up, his eyes on mine, his free hand finding my hip, pressing me into the mattress as he makes his way to my stomach, kissing across the waist of my pants, up toward my belly button, watching me, holding me still with gentle, nonaggressive pressure.
“I need you to tell me… Wanna be good for you… Feels good to make you feel good. I can’t figure it all out, you told me not to think…” He’s a little out of it, not nearly as composed as usual, eyes hazy, movements a little less practiced, but still confident, what information he does have allowing him to not be too unsure of himself. I push him, frowning at his questioning look, forgetting he’s a mostly immovable object.
“Get off.” He pulls back, sitting back on his heels, looking at me with wide eyes, flashing blue, then normal, none of the lust that was there a second ago visible, either put on pause or diminished due to my command.
“Sorry. I’m trying, I just don’t know-”
“Get on your back.” He does, drops down beside me, laid out flat, looking a little silly, considering I’ve never seen him in a bed, he usually sleeps standing, just shuts down for the night, doesn’t need any comfort. I turn over, taking a turn sitting up over him, one knee slotted between his legs, watching him, liking how unsure he looks, something I’ve never seen from him, one thing that separates him from a human. “You still want this?” I feel like I’m coercing him, even if I’m not, his mind far more developed than mine, if anything. I let my fingers trail up his thigh, his jeans rough on my fingers, his faux muscles tensing under my light touch.
“Yes. I’ve never wanted anything, besides this. It’s… Exhilarating, you’re so pretty above me.” My mouth pops open, not at all expecting his compliment, or his hand on my hip, pressing me down over his clothed leg, putting pressure on my clit, the action so forward I nearly gasp.
“Didn’t know dirty talk was part of the programming…” I watch my fingers, pushing up on the bottom of his tee, ghosting my fingers up the skin of his stomach, his abs tight and hot under my touch, his body reacting so intensely, wound up from such a simple touch.
“It’s not. You asked me to be honest.” I did, months ago, when he lied, about nothing important, but still, I see no need for it, at least from him. I nod, wetting my lips and leaning down, pressing them lightly just below his belly button, watching his face, expression back to the hazy, needy one he was giving me a few minutes ago. “Can I..?” He uses his grip on my hip to grind me against his thigh, pushing it up a little further between my legs, offering delicious pressure, the roughness of fabric between us a little shocking.
“Yeah. Do what you want.” He’s sat up on one elbow, watching me, kissing down, skimming my lips along toward his hip, my hand gripped to the waist of his pants, slipping down, fingertips gliding over his erection making him flinch, the low whirring coming back, rumbling through his chest for a few seconds, his hand gently rocking me against him. “Feel good?” He clenches his jaw, looking worried, brows drawn low and together, his eyes barely open, cloudy with lust.
“Yes, too good, I’m overheating, you feel so good, you’re hands are-” He cuts himself off with a choked noise, eyes squeezed closed and his head tipped back, my hand palming him over his pants, offering a little relief in whatever form of pleasure he gets, a strong one, judging by his reaction.
“Sensitive, huh?” He drags my hips a little rougher, eliciting a small, groaned out noise from me, seeming pleased with himself when I open my eyes, his lips pulled up in a little smile, eyes cast down at his leg between my thighs.
“You can turn down sensitivity in the options menu, would you like me to-”
“No. Don’t change anything, stay just like this…” I press my hand more firmly to him, grinding my palm into him, his hips shifting below me making me smile, his breathing a little erratic. His leg is trembling, only the one between my legs, vibrating almost, making me let out a shaky breath. “Wha- Are you-?” He huffs out a laugh, nodding, slamming his head back into the pillow when I grind my hand into him, rough, gripping him through his pants and jerking it, squeezing him, his low groan heavenly.
“Update 12.6a- I have lots of perks. No human can-ah- match up.” He punctuates his words by turning up the vibration, my body slumping, back hunched a little from how harsh it is, before he turns it back down, a little more gentle, other than how roughly hes grinding me against his thigh. “Let me take these off.” He pulls on the waist of my pants, deft fingers moving to unbutton them, undoing the zipper, his free hand coming down to ease them over my hips, his upper body sitting up, and arm around my waist pulling me up enough to get them down my legs, my feet kicking until they tumble to the floor. He takes it in, me sitting in front of him, his hands sliding up my thighs, thumbs teasing under the sides of my panties before continuing up. “You’re gorgeous… I’m so lucky, having a master as good as you.” I clench my thighs around him, gazing up into his eyes, loving the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing on earth, at least the only one that matters. He’s pushing up on my shirt, looking into my eyes as he eases it up, pausing until I lift my arms, giving him permission, letting him pull it up and over my head, his eyes dipping down as he tosses it away, his hands sliding up my sides.
“Don’t you think you should take something off?” He doesn’t reply, just drags my leg up over his hip, straddling me over him, his lips skimming my collar bone, his breathing quick, hands sliding around to drag down my back, resting just above my ass, grinding me into him, his low groan hot on my skin. “C’mon, let me take this off.” I pull on his shirt, and he relents, pulling back and doing it for me, going back to what he was doing, kissing his way down from my collar bone, sucking gently on the skin above my bra, taking my low sigh as my assent, sucking the skin into his mouth and using an arm around my waist to hold me firmly against him, his hand still on my hip working me into his erection, which seems to be getting bigger, slotted nicer against me, giving me intense friction, his jeans rough against my panties.
“Feels so good… You’re so good… Your heart rate is higher than I’ve ever recorded, your body is responding so nicely. Love making you feel good.” He moans, for real, the sound nothing like the whirring hum of his groans, more human, wanton and needy, enjoying himself. “So pretty… Is there anything I can do better?” He’s a little breathless, turning us over and easing me down onto my back, looming over me, one hand rested beside my head, the other gripped to the outside of my thigh, keeping it hooked over his hip. “Is there?” I forgot to respond, too busy staring at him above me, looking so big, strong, his strength never something I thought about before, other than that he was stronger than me.
“Just… Enjoy yourself.” His muscles relax, his expression soft, none of the usual intensity behind his eyes, his elbow bending to bring his lips to mine, his body heating further, not used to all this excitement, his body humming with quiet energy. He’s grinding into me, hips sliding perfectly against me, the drag along my clit drawing a low moan out of me. “Le- Take these off.” I’m pulling at his pants, working the button until he takes over, clumsily shoving his pants down his legs, letting his head tuck down into my neck to free up his other hand, kicking his pants off and onto the floor.
“You take this off.” He sits up on his elbow, nosing and kissing at the side of my throat, pulling on my bra. I laugh, his pleased whirring tickling me, his hand running down my stomach.
“You do it, bossy.” He groans, pressing his hand back behind me, unclipping it much easier than I thought he would, not bothering to sit up to pull it down my arms, his mouth running down from my throat, mouth closing over a nipple, tongue lathing over it, his eyes peering up at me, his eyes low and pleased. He moans, vibrating against me, sucking where his lips are latched to my skin, his hand running up my thigh to press his thumb to my clit, surprising me, his lips pulling from my skin when I flinch, eyes on mine as he kisses his way to the opposite side, rubbing gently up and down over my panties.
“Feels good? I hope so… Let’s get these off.” He sits up, gripping onto the sides of my panties, staring at me as he pulls them down, tossing them off to the side and settling back down over me, nosing my head to the side to mouth at my throat, pressing his lips to my pulse, bringing his thumb back to my clit, rubbing soft circles. “Mmh, there we go, I’ll take good care of you, make you feel so good you’ll never need anyone else. You’re doing so good, looking so perfect and letting me please you…” He kisses his way back up, pressing his lips to mine, wet and open-mouthed, not messy, but needy, rushed, his thumb moving a little quicker against me, giving a little more pressure, my legs starting to shake. “There you go, you’re nearly there, oxytocin levels are skyrocketing, go ahead, want you to finish, let me see how pretty you are when you really feel it.” I moan, squirming against him, my orgasm coming, his face pulling a little further back to look at me, smiling, his expression a mix of lusty and pleased. “C’mon, give it to me, want you to feel good, finish from my fingers-” He doesn’t mind my nails digging into my arms, just works me through it, thumb light on my clit, his eyes on mine, watching me squirm and tilt my head back, the sensation becoming too much, his thumb pulling away the second it does.
“Shit, let me have a turn.” I shove at him, huffing a laugh when he feigns being pushed over, laid out on his back in his underwear, waiting on me to give him direction. I run my hand up his leg, gripping the band of his underwear and pulling down, getting them off and getting rid of them before kissing my way up his thigh, looking at him, the anticipation getting to him, his lips parted, brows pulled down and together.
“I don’t need this.” It would leave a bruise on my ego, if I didn’t know he’s just being honest, not that I care if he needs it, only if he wants it. “I don’t want to waste your time, I don’t require any type of foreplay.” I frown, kissing his base, peering at him over his dick, which is hanging heavy over his stomach.
“Can you get off like this?” I wrap my hand around him, smiling when he flinches, his dick twitching in my hand. I work it over him, keeping it slow, waiting on his reply, his eyes hazy with swirls of blue, systems crashing briefly before he’s back, letting out a light moan, carding a hand through my hair.
“No, I- The orgasm simulation can only progress if I’m inside, and you’re finishing too.” I hum, stroking a little rougher, tilting my head at him when he groans, his hips shifting, the pleasure a little too much, his expression almost fearful.
“It feels good, though?” He nods, head leaning back and eyes closed, letting me do what I want, enjoying himself, just like I asked. “Good.” I wait until he’s opened his eyes back up to lick from base to tip, closing my mouth around him and sinking down, his heady moan mouthwatering, really, drool coating his dick when I pull back up, watching him, his eyes hazy, his hand pulling at my hair when I suck him in again, bobbing up and down.
“Nnh- hey, do you want me to- I can-” He presses his knee up between my legs, rubbing it against me, making me moan around his dick. “There… Perfect…” He sounds pleased, whatever tension was plaguing him loosening now that he sees himself as being of use, rubbing his knee against my clit, offering some relief from the arousal he’s sparked inside with this new, needier self. “Do you wanna finish like this? I understand the usual progression would have me inside by now-”
“Shit, okay. Let’s get to it, then, if you don’t wanna take your time.” I sit up over him, looking at him, shuffling my way up until I’m hovering over his lap, his eyes on me as he sits up, his hands on my waist, his chest heaving.
“You’re ready?” I nod, waiting patiently as he reaches down, eyes hazy, aligning himself and pulling me slowly down onto him by my waist, the stretch less than painful, more than comfortable, not quite as snug as he could be. I’m a little above his face when he bottoms out, eyes swirling with blue for a few seconds before he blinks it away, shaking the heaviness out of his head, looking up at me and coming closer, holding me against him, keeping me seated on his dick as he kisses me, sloppier, messy and needy, my arms wrapped around his neck, his dick twitching and filling me a little fuller, the odd sensation making me pull back to give him a questioning look. “A perfect fit.” He doesn’t seem bothered, so I let the disturbed feeling settle, attempting to pull up off him, but big hands hold me still, keeping himself seated fully inside, melded to the walls, truly a perfect fit. “Let me stay like this, just for a minute… I like this, being impossibly close, feeling you in a way not many people get to…” He goes back to kissing, running his hands down to grip my hips, lifting me slowly up, letting me drop back down over him, his low groan breathed against my lips.
“Can I-”
“Let me do it.” I sigh, relenting, his hands lifting me up and sliding me back down, slow, keeping eye contact, pleased I’m giving him the choice, considering how easy it is to get him to do whatever I want. He keeps the slow pace, staring at my face, seeming pleased, his expression a mix of pleasure and calculativeness, trying to figure out the best way to finish me off, I suppose. “I’ll speed up soon, build-up is important, I don’t wanna deny you what you deserve, wanna be good…” He’s moving too slow, giving enough to fill me up, but not to do much else.
“I already came, Leon, build-up is irrelevant.” He nods, furrowing his brows and speeding up, keeping his grip firm, not letting me bounce, but bouncing me, keeping his eyes on mine, a low moan passing his lips when I clench around him, his pace quickening a little more, slaps of skin to skin sounding in my room adding a layer of intensity, his thumb pressing back to my clit prompting me to let my head lean back, a low, drawn out moan escaping him at the sight.
“You feel so nice inside, so warm, squeezed tight around me… God, this is the best I’ve ever felt, you feel good too, oxytocin is increasing-nnh- how many more times can you finish? Three? I’ll give you three more, wanna see you near tears, all from how good it feels.” He’s feverish, losing his usual stoicness, speaking rushed and breathless, his chest heaving, his hand working me over him, squeezing the fat of my ass, angling his hips further up, the drag along my insides unexpected, making me moan and drop my forehead to his shoulder, sweaty, searing hot on my skin. I’m shaking, letting him work me over him, letting out pleasured noises along with him, his face now tucked into the crook of my neck. “You’re getting worked up quick… I won’t even need the vibration, you’re almost ready, so tight, making such pretty sounds for me…” He holds me up, pausing, leaning back on one hand and dragging my upper body along with him, thrusting up into me, much quicker than he could’ve worked me over him, making me whine into his neck, spit slicking his skin, his hips slamming up into me, hands slipping up to my back to hold me in place so he can fuck into me, his voice getting higher, whinier. “There, now-ah, this is one out of three, so- so you still have two more after this, need you to finish, wet my dick some more, you’re shaking so nice, good thing I’m strong enough to hold you still…” I’ve never heard him curse before, I guess he’s doing his homework on dirty talk mid deed, his background processes doing him well, his words before now not all that enticing with his usual wording.
“Did you-
“Yes, wanted to be good, am I? Shit, tell me I’m good, wanna be good for you, make you feel so good you can’t think. You’re all I think about, you know that? You’re everything to me, I need to please you, make you cum all over my dick a few times before I’m finished.” I moan, shaking embarrassingly violently, nearly there, his dick filling me a little fuller, thrusts a little more needy, rutting up into me, making me whine into his shoulder, orgasm approaching, his nonstop thrusts working me up. “That’s it, gonna make you feel good, please you, have you soaking me, out of it from how good it feels, cumming on me over and fucking over.” My orgasm is shocking, the second I clamp down on him he presses me back down, holding me as I squirm and moan into his neck, grinding into me, stretching it out, pulling out of me once I still, guiding me to lay on my stomach, my body slumping down, ready for rest, until I feel hands pulling up on my hips, lifting me up to rest on my knees, chest and side of my face still pressed to the sheets.
“What are you..?” He presses inside, keeping it slow, aware I’m still coming down from my orgasm, his hands gently rocking me against him.
“This position is good for deep penetration, and I figured your legs were getting tired.” He speaks plainly, like he isn’t on his way to giving me my third orgasm in a couple minutes, his hips speeding up a little once he’s sure I can take it, his hands squeezing on my hips, rough and warm and big. “I’ll know when you’re satisfied, I’ll initiate the orgasm simulation when you’re ready.” He speaks matter of factly, and it would be funny, if he wasn’t fucking me into my mattress, low moans escaping me, my mind swimming, fuzzy and mushy, his hips noisy against me, his upper body folding over me, an arm around my waist pulling me into hars thrusts, his noises muffled into my shoulder blade, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach. “Feels good? Well, I know it-shit- It does. Just- If there’s another-ah- something you prefer…” I let out a noise I hope sounds negative, succumbing to the numb, hazy pleasure, taking what he gives, his noises going higher, near the end of the line, if he could cum without having to initiate it, that is. “So- pretty-! You feel so good, pulling me in, letting me give you all you can-hah- take…” I’m nearly there, my third orgasm coming, the pleasure turning nearly painful, good in an awful, striking way, my legs trembling harshly, his fingers sneaking down to rub at my clit, his moan loud against me when I clench, muscles going tight, so close, my orgasm almost refusing to come. “Come on, quit holding yourself back, you can do it, you’ve had plenty of time. You’ve got it, you’re right there, just squeeze this sweet pussy on me, let me feel it, yeah, there you go, that’s it, fucking whining for it, you sound so damn good…” He fucks me through it, again, keeps his hold around my waist when I try to escape, the sensations too much, my low groan finally getting him to pull out, turning me over and giving me a break by capturing my lips, kissing me feverishly, pressing his knees up under my hips and leaning over me, his dick brushing agoinst me drawing a low whine out of me.
“No more, Leon, no more… I’m finished…” He pulls back, looking me over, eyes flashing blue, his look pensive.
“No you’re not.” He pushes inside, my low groan ignored, his eyes on me, watching me. “You think you can’t- handle more, but you can, can take this one and another, I’ll keep you cumming until you really can’t take it.” He doesn’t thrust, lets me finish coming down, kissing me and keeping a finger against my pulse, waiting for it to slow down before moving, both of us moaning at the drag of him inside.
“Just this one… I don’t want another.” I couldn’t take it, honestly, I’m already entirely fucked out, nearly unresponsive as he rocks inside, grinding up on his way out, my overstimulated nerves making me moan, painful pleasure still somehow enjoyable, even if I am trying to convince him I’ve had enough.
“No, you can take it. I know what you need, know you better than you know yourself.” He does, in a way, knows about my inner workings and psychology and the like, but I know this is killing me, tears in my eyes, his body too big and immovable for me to stop him from taking care of me, forcing me to finish the amount of times he sees fit. “Gonna make sure you’re satisfied, show you how good I am, how good I can be for you…” I’m shaking already, way too worked up, orgasms fading into a hazy pleasure, everything a blanket of hot and muggy sweetness, his lips meeting mine making me moan, his hips working into me, another orgasm well on its way with his relentless actions. “This one then another, okay? You can take it.” I pull him back, looking into his eyes, trying to focus, tears blurring my vision, my eyes half closed from how good it feels, how intense and terrifyingly good this is.
“Leon, begin-shit- begin orgasm simulation-!” He groans, head tucking down to my neck, his hips working more purposefully, all of him hot against me, a thumb working at my clit making me jerk, squirming away, but he keeps me still, working us both up, his noisiness gaining volume, making me almost worried the neighbors will hear.
“That’s- I wasn’t done, sneaky-ah- girl. Fuck, feels so good, love making you feel good, being good for my-nnh- Master-!” I moan, usually adverse to the title, but my hazy brain loves it, too full of him to really mind, letting him send me toward my final orgasm, if only to chase his, though that’s not the case, considering I have to get off for him to. “Shit, please, can’t-ah- Take anymore-! I’m fuckin’ overloading, you feel too good, squeezing me so tight, hot and wet and-Nnh-! Please, give it to me, let me please you one more time, it hurts, need you to cum, trap me inside and-” He whines, burying his face in my neck and fucking me through it, twitching inside the second I squeeze around him, his whiny moan drawing a pleased noise out of me as he slows, pulling out after a few more seconds, not moving to force anymore out of me, just kissing lightly up the side of my neck, easing himself up onto a hand to look at me, eyes flashing blue.
“Are you scanning for your performance right now?” He smiles, almost coy, pressing his hand to my skin, taking my vitals, not even trying to be subtle.
“Course. I meant it when I said I live to please.”
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html-nae · 9 months
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T R A P S O U L
42!Miles x fem!OC
Part 4 of the 42!Miles x fem!OC series
WC:777
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Love.
Love, by definition, is an intense feeling of deep affection.
Or
A strong affection for another out of kinship of personal ties.
Or
Attraction based on sexual desire.
It could be anything or everything you hope for.
Or
The feeling can haunt you.
Love or Lust? Is a question that the majority ask.
All of us ask.
Love is when you try to place them or it out of your mind. But you can’t. You can’t think of anyone or anything else. Just them.
If he danced, she danced. And if he didn’t
She still did.
I hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime. Or at least something you can call your paradise. Give it a chance Morales.
That’s the same advice Harmony would give him any time he felt stressed.
Say yes to me, I’ve got my eye on you.
Harmony never said those words out loud. She refused, she valued their friendship too much.
She was willing to stay if he left, just so he would have someone to come back to if he decided to return.
He stayed in her mind.
Just like Gwen stayed in his.
Just like Harmony stayed in Miles’.
Not her Miles. The other Miles.
The Miles that knew who she was. The Miles that would burn the world down just to make her happy. The Miles that would sacrifice anyone and everyone to keep her safe. The Miles that loves her.
He’d give anything to spend a few hours with her again.
Hours.
It’s been hours since she heard from Miles.
Don’t let him forget about me.
She didn’t want to relive this feeling of being alone. Harmony didn’t want to keep crying in the silk cloth of her pillow. She didn’t care how long it took.
All though she should've.
As long as she was with Miles, a smile adorned her face. He was her own personal sun. Always bubbly, but left her cold and alone at night. Just to pop back up again the next day and do it all over again.
Harmony hated to admit it, but she was scared.
It felt like he didn’t care.
Why am I still here?
She didn’t mean to be complacent with the decision he made.
But why?
Why her?
Did he think of her every night before he went to sleep or did he think of Harmony for hours on end?
Hours.
It’s been hours since she heard from Miles.
A knock sounded from her window.
Maybe he didn’t forget about me.
Harmony thought while throwing back the comforter.
Not Miles.
Miles’ suit wasn’t white.
Nor did it have a hood.
Or pink.
It was Gwen.
Harmony raised a brow and opened her window, the outside air was cooler than it was inside her room. It was almost 10 at night and the city was lively.
You could hear the laughter from where they were. You could see the fluorescent lighting from the neon signs that were still lit and wouldn’t be turned off until the sun came up the next day.
It was calming.
Calming would’ve been the word to describe the music that was playing on the record player a few feet away.
It would’ve been calming if the coolness against his face wasn’t coming from a metal gauntlet that covered the hand of the other version of himself.
It would’ve been calming if he wasn’t tied on a stiff punching bag. His back was aching.
Everything was aching, like it had been for hours.
Hours.
He’s been here for hours.
If he wasn’t glitching then he was begging for his escape.
Or he was taking blows.
His face was covered in dirt and more bruises.
He was exhausted.
Miles from Earth 42 didn’t bat an eye.
He was envious.
Envious of what Miles had back on Earth 1610.
He had Harmony.
He wondered if she was like his Harmony.
She shined like the patent leather on his new 11’s.
She read him like a book, like he was the Bible and she was the reverend.
Miles spent hours talking about his days as a youth to her.
Exposing all his demons and exposing the reasons he was the way he was.
While Miles was too scared to exposed himself, Harmony knew him better than he knew himself. She got him. She hugged him. Told him she missed him.
He fell in love for the first time.
And now that was all gone.
He was envious of everything that he lost.
Everything and anything he hoped for was gone.
Taglist:
@urmotherswhor3 @not-aya @ihavenousernamewhyy-2 @erensbbg @reneuv @notsaelty @blackwxdo @bajadotcom @delulu4yuta @soseoulol @literalawkwardsimp @m9rgaux @kimchikim @mama-2001 @shoyofroyoyoyo @littleshybunbun
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merovingianprincess · 11 months
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Life After Death - Aegon Targaryen x Reader
hey, this is literally my first time writing something like this. please be nice and feedback is appreciated. English is my first language but sometimes i am stupid I have seen another story similar to this but not exact, I have not copied anyone, i swear.
TW: death, grief
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon, nor do I claim to own any of them.
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It was becoming dark and getting cooler as you, Princess Visenya Targaryen, were ushered by Aegon's men into your own quarters alone, and your beloved mother and brothers were held outside in the courtyard of Dragonstone.
You didn't bother trying to bang on the door to get out, as you knew they had been locked and the fight had practically been lost. You could hear the clinging of the armor of the guards who were stationed outside your door on Aegon's orders. He demanded you be taken to your quarters, "To be dealt with later."
Sighing in defeat you sat down in a chair near the hearth, hands wringing together in your lap. Glancing towards the window, seeing the sun starting to set in the sky.
What could you do? Nothing. Your beloved dragon, Vermithor and his mate Silverwing, were being held down on Dragonmont, you silently prayed to any god who would listen to keep your dear dragon and his own lover safe. There was no way to get to the two large beasts, only hoping they would remain unharmed; though it would take a lot of effort for simple soldiers to kill two gigantic dragons.
You felt a slow breeze drift through your open windows, cool enough for you to consider wrapping up in a blanket, but you didn't want to move. There were a hundred thoughts running through your head. What was to happen to your mother, the queen? What about your dear brothers Aegon and Viserys? Your other brothers Jacareys, Lucerys, and Joffery were all killed off separately during the war.
It was painful and torture sitting with, what ifs? The seconds felt like hours drifting by, slowly, like watching a boat move across the water over the horizon on a day with no wind.
You began to pick at the loose thread on your black and red dress, thinking about how you'd need to repair it, maybe with some pretty embroidery, if you survived. Oh, but no. It felt so stupid to think of something like that when your mother and brothers were being held by Aegon's men. How could this be real life?
You jumped in your seat when you suddenly hear a dragon's roar, though not Vermithors or Silverwings. It must be Sunfyre, the thought makes you even more nervous, feeling yourself start to shake. You stood up to walk around hoping that would ease the shaking of your body, it did slightly; before you heard a scream. A scream that was bloodcurdling, it was haunting, memorable. Somehow you knew whose it was, though you wanted so badly to deny it, to not think of such a thing.
You found yourself sitting back down on the chair by the hearth, tears forming themselves in your eyes before they began to cascade down your pale face. You sat there like a statue, sitting up properly like a lady, hands folded nicely in your lap, with tears falling quickly, a few hitting the tops of your hands, one or two on your knuckles, your eyes trained down to the stone floor.
Then there were cheers, you turned your head slowly towards the window moving your eyes from the floor to the sunset, it was pretty. At least she died when the sunset was beautiful, you thought, trying to comfort yourself once again. Then you heard cheers from the soldiers and a triumphant roar from Sunfyre.
How dare they?! My mother just died and they cheer? You felt angry, you wanted to scream and throw things around the room. You also wanted to be held, mostly by the big arms of your stepfather, Daemon. He wasn't great at discussing feelings but he was good at comforting you when you were sad or had a bad dream, But, he was dead too. Aegon and Viserys, are dead by now. Everyone you loved was dead, all for a throne.
It was quiet again, your gaze had turned to the fire, the tears still slipping from your eyes, though not as many now. You felt numb and didn't want to cry anymore, you didn't want to feel anything anymore. You were ready to meet your fate as well.
There was a knock at the door, you stood up as it opened. Aegon walked in, with his hand on the pommel of his sword. His face was a bit flushed, but he looked composed, well as composed as one could be after destroying his own sister. You walked toward one another before stopping only two steps separating the two of you.
"Princess Visenya," he said giving you a small smile.
"Aegon," You responded shakily, trying to stop any more tears from reemerging. You told yourself you were going to be strong.
"I have put your mother to death by dragon fire." He said calmly, his hand tightening on the pommel of his sword.
"I gathered that when I heard a dragon's roar followed by screaming and then cheering." You replied, looking at him in the eyes.
He pursed his lips looking down at the stone floor and then quickly back at you. He reached the hand from his sword out and gently started playing with a loose tendril of your silver hair that was near your face. You want to swat his hand away but you were out of the effort for anything. You felt a sort of light tension coming from his person, he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it.
He shifted his gaze from the hair he was playing with to you once again. "I'm going to give you two options Visenya, that's it, I ask that you choose very carefully, okay?" He said, lightly raising his eyebrows.
"Okay." You lightly nodded your head, your hands playing with the rings you had on.
"You can either marry me and become my queen and I'll let your brothers live, or I can sentence all three of you to death the same way your mother died." He said, letting out a breath at the end.
Your eyes widened at him, "My brothers are still alive?" you asked with a hopeful smile.
"Yes," he said, nodding his head, letting go of the silver tendril.
You paused for a brief moment, you surely thought they too had died, you were expecting to die as well, maybe not the same way your mother had. But here Aegon was offering you and your surviving brothers the chance to live, though be his wards. You could become queen though, you weren't your mother's heir, it was Jacareys but you could continue her legacy. You could allow your younger brothers peace, something none of you had known in far too long. You fought with yourself internally, how could you marry the man who usurped your mother's throne and killed your mother? You thought once again to your brothers, they deserved to live.
"I will marry you Aegon," you said, looking up from the floor to him. He smiled widely at you. "But on a condition."
His smile faltered, "On a condition?"
You nodded your head.
"Visenya," he looked down in disbelief with a slight shake of his head, "I'm allowing you to live under far better terms than my advisors would even think of and you're wanting conditions?"
"No bedding ceremony. I do not want to be humiliated or bred like a showhorse in front of people." You spit out quickly before he could say anything else.
He looked back up at you. "That can absolutely be arranged Visenya, absolutely." He slowly and lightly put his hands on the side of your face, and he leaned down to give you a soft kiss on your lips. It was quick and your first-ever kiss, never did you expect it to be Aegon. He pulled back giving you a smile that you returned.
"I'm glad about the choice you have made, I must finish things up here on Dragonstone, we shall begin our return to Kings Landing in the morning. I will see that your brothers are being treated well. If you need anything please let one of the guards know, I will send a servant to give you dinner. " Aegon said, lightly grasping your hands, pulling them up to his lips for a kiss, before striding out of the room.
You stood there watching the doors close behind him, this time you did not hear a lock. You walked back over to the chair in front of the hearth, it was somehow still burning strong. Your mother had just died, Aegon has won the war and you were to marry him soon. You felt a rush of mixed emotions. You felt like a traitor to your mother and her supporters, you felt like you did the right thing in protecting your brothers and keeping them alive. But you would also end the war and bring about peace.
You were going to marry King Aegon II and be his Queen.
188 notes · View notes
batztrangem · 2 years
Text
Sweet Tea (Thomas Hewitt/Pregnant!Reader)
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Author's Note: I'm a simp. I'm a whole freaking simp. The only reason why I like the TCM remake and its prequel is because of Thomas. This oneshot idea has been in my head for months. It's a short oneshot and has a little bit of fluff. The reader is a pregnant person so....yeah. This is a pregnancy oneshot. There's not much for me to say. Also this has a lot of family talk about the Hewitt family. I know there's some discourse amongst the horror community on how each character is related. My research is based on the extended lore in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre comic books, not just the remake. Enjoy!
___________________________________________
I woke up to an unusually cold bed. My eyes were closed tight as I tried to block out the morning light. I pulled the covers closer to me in an attempt to get warm.
A cold front had moved through Texas the night before, and the temperature had dropped significantly. I knew it wouldn't be that cold outside, but it was definitely chilly in the drafty Hewitt household.
I turned around, reaching for Thomas to pull him closer. But instead of feeling his chest like I normally would, I was met with the sensation of cool sheets underneath my hands.
My eyes opened, and to my surprise, Thomas was gone. I sat up and yawned, stretching my arms as I did so. I looked around our room and saw that Thomas' work apron was gone from the spot he normally left it.
I got out of bed and got dressed. Once I was finished, I made my way downstairs. The floorboards of the old house creaked as I made my way down the hallway. There was a faint sound coming from the kitchen, which I decided to follow.
Luda Mae stood at the sink, washing a couple of dishes. Her grey hair was pulled back into a bun, and her glasses were on the very edge of her nose.
Over the years, Luda had become somewhat of a second mother to me. She was ecstatic to welcome me into the family. She never thought that Thomas would ever fall in love with anyone, so it was safe to say she was happy to see him in love. Looking back, I think she was also really excited to have another woman in the family. And now she was even more excited to have a baby soon running around.
Luda only had one biological child, and that was Hoyt. Thomas was like her adoptive son, but he had gained the label of "nephew" by Hoyt. Hoyt was much older than Thomas so he didn't view Thomas as a younger brother. Eventually, everyone just started referring to Tommy as Hoyt's nephew instead.
Luda also didn't have any grandchildren. Neither did her brother Monty. Their sister, Gloria, had a daughter and a grandson of her own though. It wasn't until I came along that she was finally going to get the opportunity to be a grandmother.
I leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen and placed a hand on my stomach.
"Luda, where's Thomas?" I questioned.
She glanced over at me and turned off the water in the sink. She dried her hands on her dress and turned to me.
"Oh, Hoyt needed his help with something. I think we got some trespassers last night. They're probably out looking for them," she said.
"Oh, okay," I said.
She walked over to the counter. On the counter were what appeared to be two small laundry baskets. However, I could tell just by looking at them that the contents of the baskets were not laundry.
I walked over to her and peeked into the baskets. They were filled with neatly placed mason jars. I picked one of the jars up and looked inside. They were filled with jerky. I couldn't tell what the meat was, but I probably didn't want to know anyway.
"Would you like to help me in the meantime?" Luda asked.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, nodding my head.
I placed the mason jar back into the basket.
"Help me carry these down to the shop," she said, gesturing to the baskets.
I nodded and took one of the baskets. I held it on my side with one arm, avoiding my stomach.
Luda and I made our way outside. The air was cooler than usual, but it was a comfortable temperature. It was a nice change to the extreme heat of Fuller, Texas.
It wasn't until my feet touched the cold dirt road that I realized I was barefoot. It didn't bother me, however. I just watched the ground as I walked, avoiding anything that looked potentially sharp.
We talked as we made our way down the long dirt road and onto the paved road. Luda's butcher shop wasn't that far from the house, but it still took a while to get there on foot. After about twenty minutes, we made it to the small butcher shop on the side of the road. We went inside and sat the baskets down behind the glass counters.
"Thank you, dear," Luda said as she began to put the jars of jerky on the shelves of the store.
I joined her, helping her stock the shelves.
"Now, do me another favor and take a couple of these down to Gloria and Henrietta. Then you can head back to the house," Luda said.
She handed me two jars of the jerky and sent me on my way.
Gloria was Luda and Monty's sister. I often referred to her as The Tea Lady. She was a very heavyset woman with short dark hair. She often sported a pair of glasses and a floral dress. She was softspoken and had a fondness for tea. She enjoyed making it and experimenting with new flavors.
Her daughter was Henrietta. She was in her late twenties and didn't resemble her mother at all. The only thing they really had in common appearance-wise is that their hair was short and choppy. Henrietta actually had more in common with her Uncle Monty. She was tall and lanky just like him. She often looked like she didn't eat much. Their house, which was a small trailer, was in between the trail from Luda's butcher shop to our house.
I approached their tiny trailer and walked up the steps. I knocked on the door and it creaked open slowly. Henrietta's sunken eyes looked through the crack, ensuring it was someone she knew before opening the door all the way.
"Hi, (Y/N)," Henrietta said.
"Hey, I brought you and your momma some jerky. Luda Mae made it a few days ago," I said, holding out the two jars.
She opened the door a little bit more and took the jars in her hands.
"Thank you. Wanna come in?" she offered.
I smiled and nodded. I walked in after her and closed the door behind me. Their entire house smelled like an odd combination of tea leaves and cigarette smoke. Normally the smell didn't bother me but because I was eight months pregnant the smell didn't agree with my senses.
"Momma, (Y/N) is here. Look what she brought," Henrietta said, walking into the kitchen.
Her mother sat at the table, reading a book.
"Oh, thank you so much, (Y/N). Be sure to tell Luda I said thank you as well," Gloria said, smiling.
Henrietta sat the jars on their kitchen table and turned back to me.
"Have you guys seen Hoyt or Thomas today? Luda Mae said we might've had trespassers last night," I asked.
"I didn't see them but I heard a chainsaw early this morning," Henrietta said, shrugging.
She walked back over to me and stuck her hand out, feeling my belly.
Just like Luda Mae was excited for me to join the family, so was Henrietta. Ever since I had met her she had become a shy sister-like figure in my life. She was also equally excited for the baby.
"Well if you see any trespassers come this way be sure to slip them some of that," I said, gesturing to a black ceramic jar on the table.
I knew the jar was filled with a special tea that they only ever served to strangers. The tea leaves had been mixed in with arsenic.
"That's momma's specialty," Henrietta joked, taking her hand off of my stomach.
"Speaking of my specialty, feel free to take you a box of tea. It's the least I can do to thank you guys for keeping us so well fed," Gloria said from her spot at the table.
Henrietta went over to the cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out a box of tea. She handed it to me and smiled.
"Thank you. I'll see you guys later," I said, turning to leave.
"Bye!" I heard Henrietta say as I closed the door.
I made my way back out to the dirt road and began walking back to the house. I slowly walked, mainly because I was already tired, but also because I took a bit of time to read the box of tea. I held the box in my hand as I read the back of the box.
A few minutes passed, and I was suddenly pulled out of my thoughts but the sudden sound of screaming.
"Help me!" I heard a girl scream.
My head shot up at the sudden sound. Down the dirt road, I could see a figure in the distance. I squinted my eyes a bit to better see. It was a girl, more than likely a teen, running for dear life.
"Help me please!" she screamed.
I paused and stopped walking. It was just then that the girl saw me from down the road.
"Run! Run the other way! They're coming!" she yelled at me.
The poor girl ran up to me. She was in hysterics, yelling and limping. I looked down at her leg and noticed a large gash in her thigh. She would be lucky if she didn't bleed to death from it.
"Come on! They'll kill you!" she exclaimed, thinking I was also in immediate danger.
The girl grabbed my arm and attempted to pull me with her. I attempted to pull my arm away to no avail.
"Get off of me, Jesus!" I said as I began to grow frustrated.
"You don't understand! They're coming! They'll kill us both!" she pleaded.
She pulled my arm again. This time she reached for my other arm, attempting to drag me by both my arms. In her state of panic, she twisted my arm as she began pulling me down the street. I pulled my arms away from her, and she grabbed them again.
She was so busy trying to save me that she didn't even notice the figure quickly approaching from behind her.
"I said GET OFF!" I yelled, pushing her back.
There was a sudden roar of a chainsaw, and the girl stumbled back, impaling herself on Thomas' chainsaw. Blood splattered across my face and clothes as the chainsaw tore through the girl's abdomen. Her body slumped over and dropped to the ground as Thomas turned the chainsaw off.
"Is that all of them?" I questioned.
He nodded his head and walked closer to me. His hand gently caressed my face. I could tell it was his silent way of asking if I was okay.I brought my hand up to his and patted it.
"I'm fine, Tommy," I said.
I leaned up, kissing him on the cheek. I then brought his hand down and placed it on the top of my belly.
"They're fine, too," I reassured.
He nodded again and sighed in relief.
"Well, then. Let's go home and get cleaned up. Look what I got," I said, holding up the box of tea.
We walked home, and I talked as we approached the house. Thomas sat down in a rocking chair on the front porch, noticeably tired. I made my way inside and upstairs. I took off my clothes as I walked into our bedroom, placing them in a laundry basket. I got redressed and then cleaned my face, washing off the blood in the bathroom sink.
As I made my way downstairs I decided to make some of the tea Gloria had gifted us.
Once I was in the kitchen, I boiled the water and made the tea. We lived in the south, so it was only natural that I made the tea sweet. I grabbed two glasses, filled them with ice, and then poured the tea.
I walked out onto the front porch and handed Thomas a glass.
"Here you go, sweetheart," I said quietly.
He took the glass from my hand gently.
There was no one around but me, so I reached behind his head, unbuckling his leathery skin mask. I leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. I then took a seat beside him in my own chair.
He took a sip from his drink as we both sat on the porch, rocking back and forth. I reached my hand across the gap between our chairs and rested it on his free hand. He took his hand in mine and held it, not letting go for hours.
______________________________
Author's Note: And that's all for now! It didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it to. It kind of sucks but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it!
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rj-drive-in · 2 months
Text
Surcease of Sorrow Department:
There may be new solutions to old problems.
FOREVERMORE © 2024 by Rick Hutchins
Before my Raven came, I thought that Poe wrote fiction. After it came, I thought I was all alone in the world.
It was bad enough in the weeks and months after Siobhan left and my existence had become such a silent vacuum of despair that I had to sometimes force myself to breathe. Somehow I managed to rent a small apartment after the house went up for sale, but I couldn’t muster the energy to furnish it. Thank god it came with a refrigerator. But there I sat and slept and brooded, on the bare floor, kept company only by the three cardboard boxes of my belongings. All of our friends had apparently been her friends only. No one ever came to offer me comfort or sympathy, or even a tuna casserole. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of abandonment that was the sum total of my life in those dark days.
What could be worse than that?
The answer to that question came in the middle of the night, in the late autumn after the divorce, as I sat against the wall, replaying conversations in my head for the millionth time. There was a lamp on the floor to my left and an empty pizza box on the floor to my right. The shadows cast by the yellow oval of light from the lamp were like looming gargoyles in an old silent movie. The sliding glass doors of the balcony on the other side of the room were like a gray mirror in which I could see my motionless body propped up like a hobo in the park. When I think of what I was like back then, it scares the hell out of me.
Then something hit the outside of the sliders, making me jump, probably the first time I had moved in hours. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything beyond my own colorless reflection. Now that I was paying attention, I could hear the wind outside, shifting the trees out back and blowing the dead leaves around. Something had blown against the glass, that was all. An empty pack of cigarettes or juice box.
I settled back with a sigh.
And then it happened again. It almost sounded like somebody was knocking on the glass. A feeling of fear welled up inside my chest and it was almost euphoric in its intensity. It had been so long since I had felt anything, I don’t think I could differentiate between dismay and joy, happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain. Or maybe I welcomed the threat. Maybe I hoped to end up as a story on the morning news, a shocking topic of conversation around the water cooler. That could my way out. That would show her.
Slowly, I stood up and carefully stretched the hours of stiffness out of my arms and legs. If I had been smart, I would have turned off the lamp so that I could have seen through the glass doors. But if I had been smart, I wouldn’t have been sitting alone in a bleak room without a wife or a future. For certain, if I had an ounce of brains in my skull, I would not have walked across that bleak room and slid the balcony door open wide.
But that’s exactly what I did.
Instantly, as the door opened, there was something large and black slapping at my face and I threw up my arms and fell backward onto the floor. A pitiful sob of horror swelled from deep in the pit of my stomach and before I had even hit the boards I had changed my mind about becoming a sad story on the news. I wanted this to not be happening. I curled up into a ball and prepared to beg for my life like the coward I was.
It wasn’t necessary. Whatever had hit me blew on past me and into the room. I heard it hit one of the cardboard boxes that I had never bothered to unpack. My knees and elbows were like jelly, but the animal instinct for self preservation grabbed me and spun me around in a crouch to see what it the hell it was. After weeks of not functioning at all, my mind was going a mile a minute. Maybe somebody’s black satin sheet had blown off their clothesline. Maybe there had been a blanket or a curtain out there on the railing that I had never noticed in my stupor. Maybe a dead branch, still festooned with brittle leaves, had chosen that moment to break off and fly across the yard through my balcony door.
But there it was, right on top of the cardboard box. I stared at it. It took me a minute to fully register what I was seeing. It was a crow, black as night and big as a breadbox, staring right back at me.
I rose slowly and shakily to my feet like an old man. “No way,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now. Please just fly the hell back out of here.”
Then its beak opened and the goddamn thing said, “Nevermore.”
*****
It wasn’t a crow, of course. It was a Raven. Just like in that old poem by Edgar Allan Poe that we all loved when we were kids. The first time I ever heard it was on some Halloween TV special, recited by Vincent Price. Then my mother gave me a book of Poe’s collected works for my birthday. I memorized it for a talent show when I was in junior high school. It even turned up in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
And now it was perched on a cardboard box in my living room.
It wouldn’t move no matter how hard I tried to shoo it back out into the darkness, so we ended up sitting and staring at each other all night. It was cold, but there was no way I was going to close that sliding door and cut off the bird’s one exit. In fact, I opened it as far as it would go, to give the thing all the encouragement and room I could.
The next morning, I went downstairs to get some help from my landlord. The apartment I was renting was the converted attic of a three-story house dating back to the 1890s when this area was well to do. The landlord, a middle-aged guy named George Damopoulos, lived on the first floor with his wife. I have no idea who lived on the second floor. I sat on the stairs till I smelled coffee coming from the first floor and then tiptoed down and knocked quietly on his door.
“A crow?” he asked. “No kidding?”
“Or a blackbird,” I shrugged. “Or a raven maybe.”
He grabbed his bathrobe and trudged up the stairs and into my apartment, me following close behind him. There were my three shipping cartons, my lamp, and the empty pizza box, and the open balcony door. But no Raven.
“No bird here, kid,” said Damopoulos with a chuckle. “Guess he flew the coop.” He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Maybe he’s one of them early birds and he went out for a worm, huh?”
“As long as he’s gone,” I said.
“You really should buy some furniture, kid,” he said as he left. “Time to get a life. I know about the divorce and all, but really.”
“I just need some time,” I said, closing the door.
The Raven swooped back in before I made it halfway to the balcony.
That’s how it went. Nobody saw the Raven but me. I contrived a couple of dozen ways to get people into my apartment so that somebody would see him, just to prove to myself that I hadn’t completely lost my mind. I ordered pizza delivery and Chinese food. I used Peapod for my groceries. I even bought a new refrigerator and a chair, just for the sake of getting some delivery men in there. But whenever anybody else was in the room, the Raven would disappear. And I mean disappear. I quickly found out that it didn’t matter whether the balcony door was open or not, which really scared the hell out of me.
And it was incessant with “Nevermore.”
Whenever I even thought about Siobhan, it would squawk, “Nevermore.” And it wasn’t just that. It would react to any depressing thought, and I had a lot of them. How my friends had abandoned me, how the firm let me go when I said I wasn’t ready to come back from personal leave, how my parents were both dead, how I had nobody in the whole wide world to turn to. “Nevermore.”
The thing was a vampire of self pity.
But the worst part was that I knew it had to be a figment of my imagination. Several times I tried to take a picture of it with my phone, but it wouldn’t photograph-- it wasn’t that I got a picture minus the Raven, I just didn’t get a picture. Before all this happened, I had worked as a family law attorney and I had seen more than my share of mental illness, but I had never heard of a case of Edgar Allan Poe Raven Syndrome. How could I get help for a diagnosis that didn’t exist? As a human being and as a mental case, I was truly all alone in the world.
*****
One of those cardboard shipping boxes contained my computer, which had gone unused in the months since I had moved in. I unpacked it and set it up on a small table that I bought at a used furniture store and began to Google desperately all through the day and night. Just as I thought: There was no information on cases of mental patients who hallucinated Poe’s Raven. There was plenty of information on Poe himself, of course, and his battles with depression and bipolar disorder and substance abuse, but no evidence that he had actually seen the Raven that he wrote about.
Where did you get your ideas, Mister Poe?
Like anybody who badly needed mental health care, the last thing I wanted to do was seek out mental health care. I was on the verge of breaking down and doing it when I finally found something. It must have been an old archived reference in Google’s database or whatever, because I got a 404 Page Not Found error when I clicked on the link, but the fragment that was visible on the search results page was the first thing that had given me hope.
It was a reference to a forum called The Plutonian Shore and the title of the link was “Anybody Else Out There Got A Raven?”
*****
I’m no expert on the Internet and I have only a vague idea of what the Dark Web or Deep Web is, but I know that there’s a lot of competition for attention. There’s thousands of petabytes of data out there with more being generated by the minute and if your site isn’t properly indexed it will sink under the radar like a lead balloon. Especially if it’s on a private server, and pretty much anybody can set up one of those these days. Still, if it’s out there, it can be found; all it takes is time and perseverance and YouTube self-help videos.
And, finally, after days of searching, I did find it. The forum’s web address was a series of sixteen apparently random characters, not something nice and easy like PlutonianShore.com, so it was clear that they weren’t seeking attention. But they weren’t completely dark. They were there to be found for someone who looked hard enough.
At first glance, it was a perfectly standard forum. The color scheme was gray and twilight blue, and the logo incorporated a stylized raven in the design. It was organized in the standard fashion, with sections for the discussion of movies, books, politics, sports, and science, among other sub-topics. But down at the very bottom of the main index page was a section called simply “Raven Research.” The threads inside were accessible only to board members, but the sub-heading said “Studying The Personal Raven Phenomenon.”
Suddenly I felt just like the guy who discovered King Tut’s tomb or the DNA double helix or the first exoplanet. This was a forum for people who had Ravens just like me. They were just like me!
*****
Registration was open, proving that they were keeping a low profile but not completely off the grid. It took me a few minutes to come up with a valid username, since all of the obvious Poe-related ones were taken– for example, a guy named Nevermore was the site administrator– and I finally settled on Mr Scream, because that really suited my state of mind. I used a cropped graphic of the Munch painting for my avatar. I submitted my registration profile, entered the CAPTCHA code, and got a message saying that my request would be reviewed by an administrator.
Then I waited.
I don’t know what I expected– that an administrator would be just sitting there, waiting to approve new members immediately? But it wasn’t long before I began to feel anxious. Maybe they wouldn’t let me in. Maybe it was one of those deals where you had to be invited by an existing member and they wouldn’t approve anyone who wasn’t on their list.
Behind my back, the Raven said, “Nevermore.”
Maybe they had procedures for vetting applicants. Maybe they had ways of checking my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles, and would reject me based on that.
“Nevermore.”
Maybe Siobhan was posting about me somewhere out there on the Internet and I didn’t even know about it. Maybe she was telling everyone what a bad husband I had been, how I never wanted to take a vacation, how I avoided socializing with her brothers, how I bought her the same Christmas present two years in a row.
“Nevermore.”
Maybe Siobhan was already a member of the forum.
“Nevermore.”
Okay, now I was just getting paranoid. I stood up and stepped away from the computer, taking a deep breath. This Nevermore guy was a real person out there somewhere. He probably had a day job, very likely a wife and family, some friends, some kind of life. He could be in a different time zone. He might not even check the registrations every day. Maybe he only did his administrator duties on the weekend.
The site was probably just a big joke, anyway.
“Nevermore.”
Please, stop, I thought. My head was aching and I realized that the heels of my hands were pressed against my temples like a vise. Please let me in. Please help me.
“Nevermore.”
Shutting down the computer, I crawled under the blanket I used for a bed and turned off the lamp.
*****
The next morning when I got up, I had no emails. Nor were there any after I made a cup of instant coffee or after I took a shower. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought: They had received my registration request, realized that they had been found, and changed the address of the site so that I could never find them again. In a panic, I brought up Firefox and clicked on the link I had bookmarked.
It was there, just as it had been yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The Raven said, “Nevermore.”
For the first time, I noticed an email link at the bottom the forum’s main index page. If you need to contact the administrator, it said. I could send them an email, check on the status of my application, make sure that it had been received and was complete.
But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to appear desperate. I didn’t want to seem crazy.
“Nevermore.”
*****
Finally, on the third day, an email from the site’s autoadmin address appeared in my inbox and confirmed my membership. The email welcomed me to the community and directed me to a thread in the social sub-forum where I could introduce myself and meet the other members. It outlined the structure of the board and gave me some tips on where to find certain topics and how to start my own.
My hands trembled as I brought up the Plutonian Shore main page and entered my login information. The page refreshed and there was my avatar and username at the top of the index-- Welcome, Mr Scream-- next to newly visible links to my account control panel and the member directory.
Now that I was logged in, the “Raven Research” sub-forum name had expanded to “This Ungainly Fowl– Raven Research.” I wanted to go straight there and immerse myself in whatever knowledge they had accumulated, but I didn’t want to be rude. The social sub-forum, which was called “Bird And Bust And Door– Sit Down And Relax,” was at the top of the menu, so I clicked there first to follow the instructions in the email. When I entered the “Welcome, New Members” thread, there was an announcement of my arrival, and already there were three welcoming posts from members called Monty Ado, Messier One, and Usherette. I answered each individually. Over the next few days, these greetings would expand to over thirty. Everybody was very nice. Maybe they really could help me.
*****
With my social obligations met, I dove head first into the research forum and didn’t come up for air until the sun was rising and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I was like a kid let loose in a candy store, excited and greedy and insatiable. There were dozens of threads, some currently active, some dormant for years, covering topics that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Theories about the origin and purpose of the Ravens ran the gamut from Christian theology-- they are manifestations of the Holy Spirit-- to Norse mythology-- they are the myriad offspring of Odin’s Huginn and Muninn-- to the Heinleinian World-as-Myth notion that a critical mass of Poe devotees actually made real the Ravens.
Of course, this was in contradiction to one of the most popular ideas, that Poe actually had a Raven of his own and his poem was no work of fiction.
There were many threads purporting to find evidence of Ravens throughout history, even in the ruins of ancient civilizations. Some, in the vein of von Daniken, included enhanced scans or tracings of hieroglyphs and bas reliefs from archaeological sites in Greece and Egypt and South America, among others. There were those who believed that the oral traditions of American Indian tribes included plentiful references to Raven hauntings. Others found a multitude of veiled or cryptic references to Ravens in more modern literature, from the Victorian Era to the Boomer years, in the works of everyone from Hemingway to Kerouac.
In a similar, but more sensationalistic vein, there was much speculation about which popular celebrities were in the closet about their Ravens, and which celebrity deaths were the result of Raven hauntings.
And I came across one odd thread, dated a couple of years before, from a newbie poster named Alcatraz, who claimed to be haunted by a pigeon rather than a Raven, and that his bird said “Kiss my ass” rather than “Nevermore.” It started off amiably enough, with the regular posters joining in on the gag, but it soon became evident that Alcatraz was a troll. When he didn’t get the reaction that he wanted, he became increasingly nasty. Eventually he was banned from the forum and the thread was locked.
Following this night-long binge, I was exhausted and my head felt full of mud, and I fell into a deep sleep, troubled by dreams of murmuring voices and sepia imagery. But when I finally awoke in the late afternoon-- my Raven staring at me, as usual-- I actually felt refreshed and ready to tackle the research forum again. After some coffee and a Hungry Man microwave dinner, I logged back in and began a more measured review of the threads.
*****
Over the course of the next few days, I studied the research sub-forum in detail, taking notes and using a feature of the board software to create a list of especially interesting topics (and, I admit, a few especially humorous ones). Each topic, of course, had replies and responses, not a few rebuttals, and sometimes very long discussions. But I still had occasional questions, and I posted them. The other members of Plutonian Shore were very generous in their responses, always quick to help a fellow Ravenite (as they called themselves), and never shy about voicing their opinions.
This was how I first met the Bird Sisters.
Everybody referred to them collectively as the Bird Sisters, but their real usernames were Bird One and Bird Two. They were a pair of elderly twins who lived alone together somewhere in Oregon and had been members of Plutonian Shore since its inception. They were very close and were always online together. It was very rare not to see their posts come in pairs. Any time I asked a question, no matter how trivial, they would always answer, even if it was to tell me they didn’t know, or to tease me about asking something silly. Other members would answer my questions, too, of course, lots of them, when they had something to say, but the Bird Sisters were online every day and they answered every single question I had. They were the unofficial and beloved hostesses of Plutonian Shore.
And, as I soon discovered, they were very active in the Bird And Bust And Door social section of the forum.
One day I logged in to find a flashing envelope icon next to my name at the top of the main index page. I clicked on it, remembering reading something about the board having an internal email system, and found that I had received my first private message, and it had come from Bird One.
It said, “You’ve neglected to post in the Tell Us Your Raven Story thread, my boy.” There was a winking smiley at the end of the sentence.
If Bird One said I was supposed to do something, I would attend to it immediately, for the sake of the affection that I had developed for the old lady. I went straight to Bird And Bust And Door and found the thread that she was talking about, pinned at the very top of the page. It was a very long thread, in which every new member had told their personal story of how they had gotten their Raven.
Now I was expected to do the same.
Reading through that thread took hours, and it was a grim and depressing task. No two ways about it, Ravens came in the wake of tragedy.
Most of the time, it was the death of someone close. Our administrator, Nevermore, who had created the board, had been serving in Afghanistan, talking to his commanding officer, when a bullet went through the man’s head. A member named Husky Hound had a newborn infant that seemed to be in perfect health, but developed a fever and had to be taken to the emergency room, where he died for no reason that anybody could ever pinpoint. Baker Mom had a teenage daughter who was in a car accident and bled out in the air ambulance two minutes before it landed. Weeping Guitar’s husband suffered a long and painful death from prostate cancer, living six terrible months longer than predicted. The Bird Sisters had an older brother who had burned to death in a fire more than forty years ago.
Estrangements were common, as well. There was no shortage of members who had suffered through nasty divorces, which was something I could certainly relate to. Many of our members were parents who were out of touch with their kids because of politics or religion or lifestyle choices. Jennifer Juniper’s daughter was part of a millennial UFO cult. Sunflower’s kid had joined an anti-government militia. Cat Lover’s daughter had literally run off to join the circus. Sometimes it worked the other way around, too. Borealis had lost touch with his dad when the old man flew to the Middle East to join al-Qaeda.
Then there were the attempted suicides. Only two board members fell into that category. Zero Sum had not gotten a Raven when her husband died, nor when her daughter disowned her for remarrying to a Black man, nor when her second husband divorced her. But then she sat down in the shower and slit her wrists. When she got home from the hospital a week later, there was a Raven in the bathroom.
The other attempted suicide had gone ominously silent five years earlier.
I really didn’t want to tell my story, but how could I not? So I opened a reply box and began to type, figuring I could get away with a brief, sarcastic summary. After all, it was a story as old as time, right? But in the end it all just flowed out of my fingers, the whole thing, in painful detail: How Siobhan and I had met at a Fourth of July cookout, lived together while I went to law school, got married when I graduated, bought a house when I got a job, and got divorced when I let the job take over my life. How I was great at working toward goals, but not so great at knowing what to do when I got there.
As usual, the Bird Sisters were the first to respond, offering words of understanding and comfort and advice. Other members posted their support, too. Most of them, in fact, if not all of them. To be honest, it felt good to finally get things off my chest. I had been keeping a lot bottled up inside me all those months.
*****
After that, I became much more aware of how active the other sections of the board were. Aside from the social sub-forum, there were sub-forums on Entertainment, Sports, Politics, Science, Philosophy, and Creativity. Despite everything that these people had gone through in their personal lives, there were endless lively discussions about the latest movies and TV shows, contemporary music, elections and ideology, new discoveries in space, and current social trends. Many members delighted in posting their poetry and short stories and art and photography. There were even games where members had to answer trivia questions or figure out puzzles, or even create captions for specific photographs (usually of celebrities and other public figures). I had hunted down and joined Plutonian Shore for the Raven Research section, but that turned out to be the least active section of the board.
One rainy spring afternoon when I got home from yet another botched job interview, I logged in as I did every day and went straight to Bird and Bust and Door. This was where most members checked in on arrival and I had gotten in the habit of doing the same, just to say hello and to see what everyone was up to.
That day brought some bad news, however. Bird Two posted that Bird One had had a severe asthma attack and had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. She was going to be kept overnight for observation and hopefully released the next day. I added my sympathy and well wishes to all the responses already there and, sure enough, by the next afternoon Bird One was resting comfortably at home.
Unfortunately, she continued to have trouble breathing and was back in the hospital two days later. This time she was diagnosed with pneumonia. I learned that, in spite of being twins, Bird One and Bird Two were very different. Bird One was overweight and suffered from a number of allergies, while Bird Two was lean and athletic and apparently immune to just about everything (including, she strongly hinted with a sly wink, venereal diseases). But this had all happened before and Bird One was expected to be fine after two or three days of bed rest and antibiotic therapy.
The next morning, I checked in over coffee, anxious to confirm that Bird One was feeling better and to send along my daily greetings. But her sister had posted just a few minutes before I got there. She said that Bird One had responded well to the antibiotic infusion at first, but then had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and had died shortly after midnight. She said that Bird One had died.
It was shocking, and I was deeply affected. I had to read the post ten times before I was ready to believe it. That nice old lady who had been so helpful and kind to me was dead for no good goddamn reason. Part of me was overwhelmed with grief, while part of me was amazed that I was so affected by the death of someone I had never met face to face. Yet there I was with my forehead resting on my keyboard, crying.
It was the first time in forever that I had cried for someone besides myself.
*****
Needless to say, everyone at Plutonian Shore rallied in support of Bird Two. It was impossible for any of us to attend the funeral, of course, so we held one online in the social forum. We all expressed our condolences and our respects and shared our favorite stories about Bird One-- all the times that she had said something or done something that seemed so simple, yet had such a big impact on our lives. It must have been repeated a million times how much we would miss her.
Bird Two was now all alone in the world and we were all determined to be there for her like she had always been there for us. We got her telephone number and took turns calling her, so that she wouldn’t feel so isolated. Several people who had been through a death in the family before helped her with the arrangements and all of the endless details that had to be dealt with afterwards. A couple of us figured out where her nearest supermarket was and made sure that she always had groceries delivered when she needed them. Someone had the bright idea to set up a GoFundMe page to help her with expenses. Without Bird One’s social security check, her income was essentially cut in half and she was going to have a hard time making ends meet. Eventually she was going to need to move to a smaller place.
It was a bad time, a very bad time. But we managed to get through it.
*****
And that’s pretty much how it’s been in our little community. Things got better, then things got worse, then things got better again-- just like real life. A couple of members from Wisconsin, Nathanial and Kathryn-- some people actually used their real names on the board, which had never even occurred to me when I signed up-- had grown pretty fond of each other and decided to meet up in person. Soon after that they were married, and soon after that they had a kid. Their Ravens now perch side by side. 13th Apostle was officially ordained, but he still posts every damned day. Yaz’s short film about Cthulhu on Jupiter won a Rondo award.
The bad? Samhain was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had to have a double mastectomy and reconstruction, and months and months of painful chemo. It was a miserable stretch, but she made a full recovery and is now having a second childhood to make up for lost time. And poor Greensleeves had a stroke and spent most of a year in the hospital and a very bad nursing home. But she’s home again now and doing well, although she still can’t drive. No more members have died, thank god, but several have lost their parents. We’re all getting older.
Yeah, we’re all getting older. Sometimes I think about how long I’ve been at Plutonian Shore and I just can’t believe it.
Personally, things have improved for me a lot. I got a nice job at a small family law practice in Braintree, which earned me a lot of pats on the back from everybody on the board. I moved to a bigger apartment closer to work, and the Raven followed, still chiming in with the occasional “Nevermore” when my thoughts turn dark. I decided to buy it a perch, which everybody thought was hilarious. A couple of them followed my lead.
One time around Christmas, I ran into Siobhan down at the plaza. We talked for a minute, asked how each other was doing, but we really had nothing to say. I felt like I was talking to somebody from another life and it didn’t hurt me at all.
In the meanwhile, research into the whys and wherefores of the Raven hauntings has continued without interruption. Some new members have joined, each with a new theory that is just as crazy as the old ones: Ravens are the manifestations of Dark Matter. The world is really a massive computer simulation and the Ravens are some programmer’s idea of a joke. Oh, and the veiled references to Ravens in the media keep piling up: The Maltese Falcon was no falcon-- it was Dashiell Hammett’s way of telling the world about his Raven. And does Uncle Billy have a Raven in It’s A Wonderful Life, or what? The celebrity gossip is endless and hilarious. There is an ongoing twenty-page discussion about whether presidents get their Ravens when they leave office or when they’re sworn in.
But the truth of the matter is that after all this time, and all the theorizing, and all the research, we are not one inch closer to solving the mystery of the Ravens. Funny thing about that, it just doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore.
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karikarasuno · 2 years
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Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Word Count: 12.3k
Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Implied Trauma, Discussions of Grief & Death, Arguing in the middle of a Tropical Storm, Smut (18+ only), Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Body Worship
a/n: oh lord, it’s here, all done and i’m feeling stupid sentimental about it. what will i think about now, if not shouta aizawa? this was a journey and thank you to everyone that have been sending me such sweet words of encouragement and support, fr ily. happy bigbangacademia day, and i’m a little sad to see the summer end and am forever grateful to have been apart of this. pls check out all of the other amazing pieces bc i know i will be.
part one | part two | part three
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The bed is fuller. The space that you’re accustomed to is now being taken up and you’re confused. Your half conscious mind is struggling to comprehend how little space you have because it’s something you’re not used to anymore. Whatever, or better yet, whoever is laying beside you will not stop fidgeting. They’re limbs squirm beneath the bedsheets beside you and some of the comforter that you’re wrapped in is now being pulled in the opposite direction. 
“Eri, you’re going to wake her up if you keep worming around,” Shouta whispers, his voice stern but slightly amused at her antics. You can sense that it’s early morning. The sun has barely risen and the room is cooler than usual. Goosebumps light up your skin as a result. You bury your face in your pillow so as to not alert them that you’re already awake. And you keep from flinching when Eri’s cold feet press into your exposed calf. You smile, though, because you remember that she always runs cold. Much like Shouta does. 
Her hand brushes your shoulder blade next, her little fingertips pressing into your skin before she’s pulling away with a lighthearted, “oops.”
“Eri, seriously stop,” he laughs under his breath, probably pulling her body closer to his when she’s no longer cuddled into your side. This isn’t the first time Eri has snuck her way into your bed. After the raid on Shie Hassaikai, Eri was under Shouta’s care, and by proxy under yours. And when you weren’t staying on the campus she often went back to the apartment you two still owned. 
At the start, her sneaking into your shared bed was a result of everything that happened. Often startled awake by nightmares or afraid because she didn’t recognize the room she awoke in. You understood very quickly why she was placed with you and Shouta. When her quirk would flare up outside of her control, he was the only one able to stop it. But when her emotions got the better of her, you were there to help her through them. The two of you made a solid partnership. Any challenge solved in stride and with an ease that would make most people envious. Even you are jealous of the people that you used to be. 
“When are you coming back home?” She tries to whisper, her voice just above one as she readjusts again. 
“Soon,” Shouta answers, voice quieter than hers in an attempt not to wake you. 
“Can I stay with you again when you come back? I miss my room,” Eri says, the habit of calling the spare bedroom hers was immediate as soon as she moved in. It wasn’t the easiest transition at the time, but a necessity that the two of you had to adjust to rather quickly. Then it was almost odd not to refer to it as hers. 
“I don’t see why not. We love having you there,” he says, and you assume he tickles her because she giggles suddenly, her elbow coming out and accidentally poking your back. 
“Do you think she’ll be happier if I’m there?” And it seems like the question stuns the both of you. A silence that weighs a ton has the room feeling too small and the bed feeling way too overcrowded. There’s a moment of this silence that lasts an eternity, but you recognize it’s realistically only been a few seconds. 
“What do you mean?” The question is hesitant and small. He sounds almost uncomfortable and like he doesn’t actually want an answer. But if you’re being honest, you’re not sure you want one either. 
“Um, I just think she’s sad sometimes,” she starts, words very carefully chosen as her little body stills next to yours. “And the only reason I know what being sad looks like is because she taught me that sometimes I feel sad.”
You stiffen. You hope it isn’t noticeable, but your breath also stutters and you pray he isn’t looking in your direction or else he’d know for sure that you are no longer asleep. You hadn’t realized you’d been so obvious about how you were feeling, especially when you spent time with her. You thought you’d been so careful about masking it, but Eri was perceptive, far more than anyone gives her credit for. It makes sense though, having to read everyone’s emotions just to survive. It’s a miracle she turned out mostly fine with her daily routine depending on if whoever walked into her cell of a bedroom was in a good mood or a bad one. 
“Did she say to you that she felt that way?”
“No,” Eri replies, and your heart rate is picking up. There’s an overwhelming amount of guilt sticking to the chambers of your heart because of it. “Her smile is different and she’s always looking far away.”
It’s excruciating, the quiet that follows. You wish you were still asleep, wish that you were unconscious in some way in order to be ignorant to this entire conversation. Unfortunately, your recent streak of luck hasn’t been in your favor at all. 
“Oh, I know!” She gasps rather loudly and Shouta quickly shushes her before her voice drops into a whisper again. “You can take her out for ice cream. Remember when I was feeling sad that time and you took me to get some and I tried aaaalll the flavors on those little spoons.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Shouta says, and you now wish you could see the look on his face. If it matched his tone at all, you could perfectly imagine the sadness in his tired eyes and it stings. 
“That was my favorite day,” she adds dreamily. “I was so happy.”
The crew leave later that evening and you aren’t feeling so happy about it. After the conversation you overheard this morning in bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You and Shouta had been carefully tiptoeing around each other ever since, and you have the distinct feeling that he knows. He knows that you heard more than you’re letting on, but just like everything else, you avoid it. It’s a special skill the two of you have developed, where anything can happen and you won’t talk about it. And as much as you both like to pretend that everything is fine. That everything is normal. In every way that’s not true, so an explosion is bound to happen, you’re just too anxious to think about what that catalyst will be. 
It’s much easier to ignore what's wrong when everyone is around. The dinner the night before went better than anything you could’ve imagined. It was as if the old versions of yourselves were at that doorstep, and you didn’t have to worry about the eggshells that always seem to be littering the floor these days. You laughed, and for the first time it wasn’t strained or tight in your throat. And he smiled, so openly that you almost reached over Eri’s head to kiss him when you were seated at the table. 
But now the suffocating silence returned. And he’s back in the spare bedroom, lights off with only the blue light of his laptop illuminating his features. You had asked if he needed anything before you went to shower for bed. An attempt at bridging some sort of gap. He said no, that he is going to work on a few things and he’d join you as soon as he was done. It is the tiniest of steps, but it’s more than what you’ve been getting from him this far. And maybe you’d actually go to sleep together tonight. On your own sides of the bed with the foot of space between your backs. But at least it would be at the same time. 
You turn on the showerhead absentmindedly, undressing slowly as you go over this weekend in your head. Your mind is far off and you’re reminded that you guess you have a tendency of zoning out courtesy to Eri for noticing such a thing. You shake your head with a small laugh to yourself, forcing your mind to try and be present. Before you step into the shower though, there’s a crawling sensation on your foot. You don’t think much of it until you look down and see the largest cockroach you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing in your life. 
The shriek that leaves you is unintentional as you fling your foot out and watch as it flies to the other side of the bathroom. The only thing is, by flying you mean it has wings and it’s coming right back in your direction. 
The second scream is out of pure, frightened disgust, and really you can’t control it because it’s humongous. You yank the towel from off the rack next to the shower door, squealing again with stress as you corner yourself as far away from the insect as you possibly could. You weren’t thinking of Shouta when you reacted though, so him crashing through the bathroom door is the last thing you expect to see. The hair that was tied at the back of his head has more strands falling out of the hair tie than in it. And he looks genuinely worried, his body is hardened and ready for a fight. Years of hero instincts kicking into overdrive as he races to assess the situation. 
Except instead of finding the villain you’re positive he expected to find, it’s just you. Naked, vulnerable, and being antagonized by a roach you swear is the size of your palm. 
“Kill it,” you squeak out, finger pointing in the direction of your opponent as you glance frantically between it and your husband. Too on edge to keep your eyes off of it for long lest it come back to crawl all over you again. 
“Kill it,” you say again, your voice shaking but firm in your demand. 
“You’re kidding me,” he says, visibly relaxing as he slides the slipper off one of his feet and holds it steady in one hand.
“I wish I was, Shouta,” you whine, body shuddering with the memory of the bug on your skin. “Can you just kill it, please?”
And when his eyes meet yours, he’s hiding a smile. He wants to laugh, but knows he shouldn’t. You want to laugh too, but can’t help but still feel like you’re being hunted by something ten times smaller than you. Shouta creeps towards it, muscles still flexed as he stalks towards it with a hand raised up by his shoulder and you shield yourself behind his movements. It's crawling on the bath mat now, no care in the world, and you wonder if it knows that you’re so terrified. You wonder if it finds sick and twisted enjoyment at knowing you are thoroughly at its mercy. And when Shouta lunges at it, body lurching forward. The thing has the nerve to fly over his head and straight at you.
In that moment, you determined that yes, it does know and yes, it is just as sadistic as you think it is. You let out another high pitched scream, sharp enough to hurt your own eardrums as you throw your hands over your head and wave them about like a maniac. You hear a low chuckle then, completely entertained and under any other circumstances you’d scold him for laughing at you. But if this is what it takes to hear him so freely, you guess you’d fight a hundred cockroaches in the bathroom. Fine, maybe not that many. But enough to hear his laugh for a lifetime. 
He bumps your shoulder, then. His arm extends past your torso and he smacks his shoe against the tile and with a sharp crunch you know its dead. Which should be a relief, except you’re no longer concerned with the dead roach that interrupted your shower. You’re far more distracted by Shouta, who’s standing up straight now, his clothed arm pressing into your stomach and butterflies erupt there. Butterflies you assumed were long gone. 
“I got it,” he breaths, oddly proud of himself as he focuses his attention on you. And you know you’re flushed, breaths coming heavier with the unexpected exertion of energy, but even more so by your husband, who’s touching you. Yes it’s through two layers of fabric, but you can feel him in a way you haven’t in so long. 
“Thanks,” you exhale, arms limp at your side. You’re frozen beneath his stare, glued to the spot that his eyes are pinning you to and you’re lightheaded. In that thrilling, adrenaline fueled kind of way. 
Your towel slips when he shifts away from you, his forearm no longer holding it in place when he does. And before you can react with enough time to catch it, he pinches the coarse material between two fingers and hovers it just above your breasts. His hand is still a very conscious hair’s breadth away from your exposed body, the towel raised enough to keep you decent. 
“Any time,” he says before shaking the towel in a sign that you should probably take it from him. So you do, gathering it in both of your hands and pressing it into your sternum. You’re surprised when he doesn’t move. When he holds your eye contact for a second longer than necessary before slipping out of whatever tense atmosphere you created to clean up the roach in some toilet paper and then flushing it down the toilet. 
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t so affected by him. Lying if you waved off your reaction and watered it down to sexually frustrated attraction. Yet, you’d also be kidding yourself if you ignored the blush that stained his face. The red that is so deep, you know he tried to hide it on his way out with the hair that is now framing his face. You smile. And for the first time since you’ve arrived at this little house on the beach it's hopeful. 
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“Thanks for stopping by, Kirishima.” You lean a hand on your office door as you walk Kirishima out. He came over just as the lunch period began, a little rattled and incredibly antsy. He word-vomited for some odd minutes before you were able to calm him down enough to get him to tell you what was really going on.
“Thanks for listening,” he shrugs, his usual demeanor returning to him and he smiles up at you all toothy and bright. “I’m just really worried about him, y’know.”
“Of course, and I’m sorry you felt like you had to go save him,” you say, remembering the mess that occurred when some of the students snuck off campus to rescue Bakugo from the villains that kidnapped him. “It was dangerous, but I have to admit it was brave and I’m happy you guys got him out safely.”
“Yeah, seems like you’re the only one who thinks so,” he adds, a tad forlorn and obviously still beating himself up over it. But he shakes himself of the thought, features reconstructing once again to the cheerful smile he always seems to wear. “Anyway, sorry to bother ya!”
“Not a bother,” you say, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “and I’ll try to talk to him.”
“You’re the best.” He smiles again, and it’s sweet, before he heads off to eat with whatever remaining time he has left in his lunch.
It’s not for lack of trying. As soon as Bakugo was returned safely and he had some time to come to terms with being freshly kidnapped, you tried to get him in for a session. Even went as far as scheduling him and having Shouta tell him that he needs to come to the meeting. But he didn’t show up. And you weren’t entirely surprised. 
He’s training. It’s all he’s been doing since he got back, and you understand why. He wants to be stronger, to not have to be put in such a vulnerable position like that again. But he has a tendency to bottle things up, and eventually, especially in his case, he has a recurring theme of ‘exploding.’ His quirk is quite aggressive, so it only makes sense that the way he copes with things manifests in a similar fashion. And it’s not like you want to change him, you just want to talk to him. 
But he’s good at avoiding you. A little too good and it’s frustrating. 
Your day ends late. Like it has been for the last couple of weeks. It’s already dark out when you leave your office and you text Shouta about dinner plans but he said he was going to miss it. Late night training session with Shinsou, probably. And you’re genuinely happy Shinsou is getting the training he deserves, he works so hard and you don’t want to see his potential go to waste. But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you missed your husband.
After the USJ attack, you were glued to Shouta’s side as he recovered, but once he was all healed and cleared to tackle work again, he hit the ground running. So seeing him was only ever in passing and you missed him. It’s not like you could entirely say you hadn’t been doing something similar, though. I mean tonight alone you are leaving your office hours later than you should’ve been. 
The sun has long ago set, the campus quiet, but the evening is nice. There’s a gentle breeze that accompanies you to your room, the leaves rustling beside you as you stroll. Deciding that you can take your time since you don’t have any plans other than to relax once you get there. There’s a crunching in the distance, though, and the hairs on your arms stand up. Since all of the recent attacks, you’ve taken it upon yourself to brush up on your self defense, even going as far as training your quirk to have some kind of defensive behavior. So you activate it in your palms, the blood rushing through your body now pounding in your ears and you try to remain calm. But it's hard. 
You quiet your steps as you creep closer to the sounds, phone already set to dial for help in case you need it. But when you round the corner, peeking around a particularly thick tree trunk, you see Bakugo. He’s perched on a flat rock that’s elevated a few feet off of the ground. His legs are dangling off the edge and he’s resting with his face in his hands and elbows on his knees. You don’t want to disturb him, he’s clearly trying to sort something out, but your intuition is telling you that now is your chance to try with him. And that this will absolutely be your only one. 
You disable your quirk, shutting off your phone screen in the process as you step around the tree and into the small clearing. He hears you immediately, his head shooting up from his hands as his eyes narrow into angry slits. 
“It’s just me,” you say, holding your hands up in surrender as you continue to close the distance between you. He’s tired. His usual combative energy is only a fraction of what it usually is and he turns his face away from you to look into the density of the woods. 
“What’re you doing here?” He even sounds just as tired as he looks, and you’re not sure if he’s even aware that the walls that he’s built so thickly around him are starting to erode. To thin enough for you to see straight through him. 
“I was heading back to the dorms before I heard a weird noise coming from over here,” you say casually, stopping a few feet away from where he’s sitting to observe him.
“So you head towards the suspicious sound? I’ve seen people in horror movies make smarter decisions than that,” he scoffs, but the usual bite is gone, even the bark is dialed down to an unrecognizable degree. 
“Good thing I didn’t stumble upon danger then, just you,” you say, taking another small step forward towards the small boulder. He doesn’t slide away from you, though, so you use that as a sign to close the space a bit more and lean on the rock next to him. 
“How are you doing by the way?” You ask, maybe not being as sly as you want to be, but you also don’t know when you’ll set him off and if he’ll storm away from you like he has before. He shakes his head in irritation though, dropping it to look at his feet before he shrugs. He’s exhausted. You don’t know if he’s been sleeping. Or even eating properly. Clearly something is off enough for Kirishima to ask you to look into it. 
“Why d’you care?” He responds, tone gruff and annoyed, but laced with a sadness that claws at you. 
“Because I do.” It comes out more forceful than you intended, the words coming out with a harsh edge. Almost offended.
“Only because it’s your job.”
“No,” your brows furrow and your hands come up to brace your body weight on your palms in order to sit next to him. “It's my job to listen. But I don’t get paid to care about you. I care because I want to.”
“Why?” The question falls from his lips seemingly without permission. Regret writes itself all over his face as he twists away from you. There’s no way you can tell what’s going through his head, but you recognize it. The insecurity and self-doubt. It’s familiar to you. 
“I don’t need a reason.”
“Well,” his voice dies off, his eyes still focused on the ground beneath his feet. “Maybe I do.”
“I find it hard to believe that you just care outta the goodness of your heart.” Bitterness drips from his tongue, his face twisting into his signature scowl. “That’s some stupid shit Deku would say.”
You wait a second before you respond, letting his words marinate for the both of you. It’s rare that you’re ever really at a loss for words. Rare that you don’t even have something small or encouraging to say. But Bakugo is tough to crack, and when he does, you realize that you are woefully unprepared for it. 
“Bakugo-”
“It’s fine,” he mutters, waving a hand in your direction, but still avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine.”
“You wanna know something?” You decide to go the personal route, maybe for him it’ll work.
“Do I gotta choice?” He huffs out, arms crossing over his chest indignantly.
“You always have a choice,” you chuckle through your nose, only continuing when he gives you another half-hearted shrug. “When I was your age I remember how much it sucked. I couldn’t get a handle on my quirk, every day was just another pile of shit I had to jump over, and no one ever took me seriously. Life sucked.”
He doesn’t respond, but he’s listening. “And obviously our lives are nowhere near the same, and I know that all us adults are always spouting the same crap over and over. It gets better. You grow and move on. Life won’t be dictated by who you are as a teenager. Blah blah blah.”
He glances your way, not turning his head but his eyes flicker towards you and it encourages you to keep going. “But in all honesty, life doesn’t just get better unless you want it to. I respect you so much, even if you run away from me every time you see me in the halls.”
“I don’t run away,” he argues, glaring at you.
“Right, you just got better things to do,” you tease, smiling at him with your lips closed, but amused nonetheless. 
“Exactly,” he grumbles.
“Seriously, though, if you need me to give you a reason as to why I care. It’s simple. It’s because you care. About becoming a hero. About your friends. And since you care so much, it’s hard for me not to want to care with you.” 
Your response settles over him, the chirping of grasshoppers is filling the silence and you gaze up at the twinkling stars against the deep sky. Leave it to Bakugo to find one of the only places in the city with the clearest view of the constellations. It’s almost impossible to see anywhere else because of the light pollution. But here he is, sitting just beneath it as they all wink at you from millions of miles away.
“I still have nightmares.” It’s almost stolen by the sounds of rustling leaves and chirping. He mumbles it into the back of his hand as he wipes at his bottom lip, but when you turn your head to face him, he knows he’s been caught red-handed.
“About that night and being restrained,” he adds, almost unwillingly as he continues to avoid your avid stare. “It’s pathetic, really. Feeling so helpless. Like I’ve worked this hard only to be just as weak as I’ve always been.”
“You’re not, though. You’re anything but weak and going through that experience doesn’t mean that all the progress you’ve made up until now is void.”
“Still, I fucking hate it.” The aggression you're familiar with is trickling back into his voice again. And you’re relieved. The fight is beginning to return back to him and all those weeks of you pleading with him to come in for a session no longer feel pointless. Because this was the moment you were waiting for. 
Bakugo throws his hand out towards you suddenly, palm facing towards the sky and you fight the urge to lean away from him. Initially not understanding what he was asking for, but it’s an invitation. One that you’re so shocked he even gave to you.
“Are you sure?” You ask tentatively to make sure you’re not misunderstanding his gesture.
“Yeah,” he replies, arm still outstretched towards you and his fingers flex before he relaxes them. “I just want to remember what it’s like to not always feel this way.”
You take his hand in earnest, feeling his calloused palm press against yours before asking, “And how do you want to feel?”
He finally meets your gaze, eyes hardened with determination. “Like myself again.”
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Spending your early mornings drinking your coffee with Koi on the back patio has become routine. And one of the few treasured parts of your day. When you initially packed for this trip you expected the heat to be unbearable, but mornings are always surprisingly so pleasant. You rest your upper body weight against the wooden railing, Koi sitting so properly beside your elbow with his tail swishing contentedly. He’s funny, somehow memorizing your schedule enough to wait patiently by the sliding glass doors every morning for his breakfast. And as you stand and watch the last few traces of the sunrise, he always accompanies you, sometimes nuzzling his little head against your knuckles and purring. 
“Hey,” Shouta says from behind you, a fresh mug of coffee in his hand as he stands just before the step to come outside. 
“Hey, stranger,” you respond lightly, tossing the greeting over your shoulder as you continue staring at how the sky burns orange against a blue, cloudless backdrop. 
“What’re you doing out here?” He asks as he takes that first step forward. Resting his mug along the railing to pet Koi, who is now sniffing his fingers intently.
“Koi and I do this every morning,” you say, staring at how cute the cat is rubbing up against Shouta so aggressively.
“You named him?” 
“Course I named him,” you laugh lightly, pulling your robe tighter around you. “I feed him every day so he has to have a name.”
Shouta shakes his head, feigning disapproval as the cat stands on his hind legs and stretches out on his chest. “Koi?” He asks you, eyes sliding over to watch for your answer.
“Yeah.”
“It suits him,” he nods, scratching behind his ear as his purring grows louder.
“I thought so too,” you smile at the pair, scrunching your nose in amusement when he headbutts Shouta to rub against him. The three of you stay like that for some moments. And it’s comfortable, so much so that you almost forget why you’re here in the first place as you watch the sun come up. You both finish your coffees in each other’s presence. The silence that you used to dread with every fiber of your being is somehow different. Still tense and full of words unsaid. But different, and you can’t quite put your finger on why that is. 
You don’t want to be the first to leave, not to prove some point, but because you refuse to lose a quiet that for once isn’t riddled with awkwardness.
“Hizashi called.” It’s abrupt. Louder than you think he intended and rushed out. When you look over at him to confirm that the words were actually said from his lips, he’s inhaling deeply. His eyes are closed and his brows are pinched. Almost like he ate something he didn’t like.
“That’s surprising,” you say, treading lightly, the sounds of crunching eggshells already ringing in the distance. “He’s usually not up this early unless he has to be.”
“I don’t think he slept, actually.” He sighs, sounding like he didn’t get any sleep either. He drags a hand down his face, his hair loose from the usual low bun he has it in. And you give him the space to continue if he chooses to. Not wanting to take a mile from the inch he’s given to you.
“Oboro’s anniversary is coming up. Time doesn’t seem to be slowing down for anyone.”His gaze is set on the horizon, his posture rod straight as his thoughts finally travel from his brain to his lips to your ears. 
This is the first time he’s mentioned Oboro since the Kurogiri investigation. The nail in the coffin of your marriage that sealed his distance and buried your relationship six feet under. He shut you out after that, snowed himself in with just his grief to keep him company. You thought he just needed time, some space. But time was unforgiving and space forgets nothing.
Your first attempt at shoveling out the snow he hid behind was only met with an icyness that stabbed at you. 
More time, you reasoned. More space, you justified. He’d come around soon. Until he didn’t.
“He wants to plan something for it, but I don’t know.” Another drawn out sigh, and his shoulders curve forward as if he’s trying to protect himself from something.
“Well, what do you wanna do?” Your eyes are trained on his every little action, clocking the way he seems to be struggling to open up, actively fighting his urge to close you out again.
“Run away,” he breathes out a cynical laugh through his nose. Shaking his head and grimacing.
“Isn’t that kind of what we did?”
“Mmm,” he hums, gripping the railing in two strong hands until the wood creaks under the pressure. “But everything seems to follow us everywhere, doesn’t it?”
Us. Follow us.
“You know better than I do that there are some things you can’t run away from. Some things that you have to stay back and fight, even if you don’t want to.”
“I can’t do any more funerals.” And really who can? The universe should put a cap on how much tragedy one person can experience in a lifetime. Because no one can carry this around alone, especially if they are unwilling to share that burden with someone else. He doesn’t continue. You don’t blame him either, so you know this is the end of the conversation. No sense in wringing out a dry washcloth. 
“Then how about we do homemade pizza?” You redirect the conversation, okay for that one to be over but not yet ready to lose him to the spare room.
“Like-”
“Our second date,” you nod and he visibly relaxes at the memory, petting Koi absentmindedly as he thinks it over. “I can go to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for dinner.”
“If I’m remembering correctly,” he starts, pausing thoughtfully, “you burned the hell out of that.”
Your jaw drops in offense, your eyes widen as he purposefully keeps his eyes focused elsewhere. “Do you have so little faith in my ability to improve?”
He bites back a small smile, but it peeks through when he sees the look on your face. His features are softened and he looks… relieved. A silent thank you reflects in his irises. 
“And also I am not taking all of the blame for that,” you huff out, standing up straight and crossing your arms over your chest. “Because if I can remember correctly, someone set the temperature 50 degrees too high.”
“Sounds like something only an idiot would do,” he teases, smiling broader at you. Your heart does jumping jacks, your stomach somersaulting. This might just work. You and him. Maybe this is fixable, not beyond repair like you were starting to convince yourself it was. 
“Just go get the ingredients,” he says softly. “I’ll wait for you.”
There’s flour covering every inch of the marble top island. You’re also covered in a ridiculous amount of it as you knead the fresh pizza dough into a ball. After your conversation this morning, the fog started to clear. And while you couldn’t see him clearly, you could at least make out the shape of him. Not close enough to touch yet, but there regardless. 
“This is a disaster.” Shouta walks in from the bedroom, glasses propped on his head to keep his hair from falling in his face. He’s unsure of what to think, funny skepticism written all over his face as he scans the kitchen. The toppings are spread out all over the counter. Too many options, but you wanted to make sure you weren’t missing anything. Not that it matters because Shouta always asks for extra cheese on top of whatever else you add. 
“Not a disaster, just a bit of a mess.”
“I can’t see what color the counter top is,” he argues, walking your way and looking closely at how you press your weight into the dough before you start flattening it. 
“It’s mostly white, so,” you shrug, pressing your fingers into the dough to help flatten it before grabbing the rolling pin. “You gonna help me or just watch?”
“I prefer watching,” he says without missing a beat, and when you send him a glare he’s smiling before pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “What do you need?”
“Finish rolling this out for me while I preheat the oven and chop some of the veggies,” you point the pin at him for him to take so you could go wash your hands clean of flour and flakes of dried off dough. The music you have playing low in the background adds a layer of romantic intention that was not purposeful on your part, but is starkly reminiscent of your second date. You try not to overthink it when you go to change the playlist, drying your hand on a washcloth before grabbing your phone to scroll through Spotify. As you go to change the playlist, though, the song ends and blends into the next. Your thumb hovering over the shuffle button when the first few chords of your wedding song starts to fill your kitchen. 
Discomfort makes you freeze, and you refuse to look Shouta’s way. This probably seems like you did it on purpose, like you’re trying to send him some message about the two of you and you’re at a loss of what to do. You feel so outside of yourself that you can’t even move. 
“I swear I didn’t do that on purpose,” you explain, the need to prove yourself to him is taking over your mouth as the words fly out into his direction. 
“The song?” He asks innocently, as if he isn’t having the same existential crisis you are. “It’s the one we danced to at our wedding.” 
Casual. Like this alone didn’t set the house on fire and you’re standing in the middle of roaring flames. Which means you’re definitely overthinking it. Unless Shouta is doing what he does best and playing it cool. Perhaps for your sake. 
“It’s a good song,” he adds smoothly, and when you chance a look at him over your shoulder he’s already got the dough into a perfect circle. Lithe fingers folding over the edges to make a crust. “I chose it for a reason.”
You remember how nervous you were that day. A small ceremony with the friends you made here and your mom flew out alone just to see you get married. Shouta had bought her a ticket without you knowing. That was his first surprise to you, but the next was this song. You chose almost everything else, but he insisted that he choose the song you danced to. And it wasn’t until he guided you by the hand into the tiny space at the venue to dance that you heard it. A song that you knew well, but the last one you’d ever think he would pick. He wasn’t much of a music listener, he held no strong opinions on it. So of course he went with the one he always heard you humming most Saturday mornings. The song you introduced to him accidentally after your first night together. When he awoke and you were making the two of you breakfast. 
“Here.” He interrupts your trek down memory lane, standing directly in your line of sight with a glass half full of red wine. You accept it with slightly trembling fingers, and you hadn’t realized that your palms are sweaty, your vision a bit blurry. “What toppings do you want?”
You blink away the blurriness as you take a too big sip of your wine. He’s still watching you, eyes so obviously trying to read you, but for what? You don’t know. You clear your throat, smiling to hide whatever weird surge of emotion was building up inside of you. “Anything sounds good as long as there’s extra cheese.”
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Midoriya sits across from you. On the edge of the sofa with his fingers intertwined and resting on his lap. You meet most weeks with him for an hour, and always in the early morning. He doesn’t need that period in the day to fully wake up. Once he’s awake, his mind is overflowing with thoughts so you find it most beneficial to meet with him right before the school day starts. 
He’s still wearing his scarf securely around his neck, the temperature dipping drastically low overnight and you’re glad for the space heater you invested in a few years back. As soon as you came in you turned it on, and it is currently the only sound in the room. A sort of brown noise the muffles around your office as you stare at Midoriya and concern yourself with his uncharacteristic silence. You’ve only exchanged greetings, and that was after he was five minutes late. Which is also unlike him. He’s usually waiting outside your door before you even clock in for the day. But this morning you were exceptionally early. Not having slept at all when Shouta didn’t return to the small room you share.
Maybe the both of you had bad nights then. 
“Midoriya.” He flinches. Like he forgot he’s here with you, and not alone in his dorm. 
“Sorry.” You don’t understand what for, but when he meets your eyes it's with sincere apology. 
“It’s okay.” You say it slowly, with an emphasis in the hopes that he knows that you’re being genuine. That he doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong things here. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“Kinda defeats the purpose of a counseling session though?” He’s confused because you’ve never given him this option. The option to sit quietly with each other as he processes his thoughts. 
“Not necessarily,” you say, closing the notebook you use to take notes and setting it aside. “If you just need a second to gather your thoughts we can do that. Or if you want to throw out some of the stuff that’s going on we can sort through it together.”
He pulls out his journal at that point, opening it and flipping through it to the last page that has writing on it. It’s one of his hero quirk journals, the most recent volume, you assume. His eyes scan over the page frantically and you realize that this page is dedicated to himself. You heard about the incident at the beginning of the semester during the joint class training session. When another bit of his quirk manifested. You knew he was struggling with controlling it, and that he was frustrated when he couldn’t get a handle on it as quickly as he wanted. 
“What’s that?” You ask, leaning forward some to get a better look at what his eyes are staring so hard at. 
“It’s uh- it’s a quirk analysis. About my own quirk and I,” he’s pausing, his mind moving far quicker than his mouth. He can’t keep up. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, not really understanding what he means. 
“Your quirk. I remember in class once when you were explaining it, that you had a hard time controlling it. That sometimes it felt too big for your body and that every time you learned something new about it, it was like another setback for your progress.” 
“Is that how you’re feeling?” You see where he’s coming from now, swiftly identifying the eye of his storm. 
“I think so,” he whispers, eyes still looking down at the pen scratches on the page. “I mean my quirk has always been too big for my body, but it’s like every single time I master one thing, another thing pops up and I’m starting to think I’ll never figure it out.”
You nod encouragingly, hoping that he will go on. This is a recurring theme in your sessions. Midoriya has doubts, but he’s too headstrong to quit. Every challenge is conquerable, all problems must have a solution. And that amazes you sometimes, his emotional maturity at a level that most of his peers aren’t on, his assessment skills scary accurate. But on the other hand, he has an odd fixation with having to save everyone. To the point where it can cloud his judgment, where he puts himself in a position that’s too dangerous for him to do alone. He has the will of a thousand soldiers that has gotten him out of trouble until now. But you’re afraid one day that army will dwindle down and he’ll realize that it’s actually just him. An army of one. 
“But I know that I have to. I have to figure it out and soon because so much is happening and I can’t be the only one who falls behind. Not when things are only going to get worse.” He rambles, those thoughts spiraling in his head spilling out and you let them crowd the room. Take up the rest of the empty space. “A war is coming. All Might has been out of commission for months now and if I can’t improve what if we lose?”
“Why do you think the battle against the League of Villains hinges on your success? On the mastery of your quirk?”
“Well because,” he hesitates, holding something back. “I made a promise that I intend to keep. I can’t fail.”
You know he’s not lying. Mostly because he’s a bad liar. But he’s keeping something from you and that you’ve always sensed from the beginning. “You won’t fail, but you can’t succeed solely on the intentions of a promise you made. It’s gotta be more than that.”
“Like what then?” His eyes are round, his stance turning defensive and there’s a trace of fear in his voice. “If I lose someone when I know I could’ve saved them, what then?”
It’s a loaded question. One that you have been asking yourself for months now, but not having the heart to actually answer. Because you genuinely don’t know what then? If you lose Shouta because of your own faults or inconsistencies or doubts, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. But you also can’t see a solution.
“You don’t really know if you can save someone until that moment comes. It seems like an unanswerable question.”
“But if I know myself and what I’m capable of, it shouldn’t be. I should have an answer, so why is it keeping me up at night?” He’s pleading, but not with you. He’s annoyed with himself, tears of frustration gathering in his lash line and his hands are balled into angry fists. You rise from your place across from him, rounding the barrier of your coffee table to sit on the cushion next to him. 
You also hate that you don’t have an answer for him, knowing that it’s your job to guide him to a resolution on his own, but you’ve hit a wall. His emotions are so strong, so passionate that even without the physical touch you need for the activation of your quirk, you’re overwhelmed by him. So much so that you can hardly keep your composure, his frustration seeping into you and you’re absorbing it like an abandoned sponge. 
“We’re only human, Midoriya. We don’t hold the answers to everything, we don’t have the ability to save everyone,” you say gingerly, allowing the words to find their way into each of your resolves.
“We have to try,” he’s facing you, eyes round and bright and with such resounding faith that it stuns you. “It’s the least we can do.”
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Sleep comes easier. Welcomes you in its comforting arms without the fear you’re used to. Dinner was wonderful, the wine helping you through it, loosening you up exponentially. The conversation didn’t come like it had before, but it was as close to normal than it has been since you got married. And after polishing off your third glass, you were a giggling mess. God, and it was so nice to just feel like that again. To clean the kitchen together, him drying the dishes as you washed them and then you two tucking yourselves into bed at the same time. 
So when you wake up, the room still as dark as it was when you went to bed, you’re confused to find you’re alone. Empty. And you hate yourself for expecting it not to be. Expectations that you said you wouldn’t have anymore. You know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, instead twisting around to find your phone, curious as to what time it is. It’s close to 8am, which doesn’t make sense. One, you slept in later than you usually do, but also it’s so dark you can only make out the outline of the furniture around you. That’s when you notice a weather alert notification. There’s a storm right above you, and not the standard summer thunderstorm. It seems like a tropical storm is heading straight your way, flood and strong wind warnings popping up alongside the other alert. It’s set to arrive within the next few hours, so you get yourself out of bed to prepare for it. 
As soon as you step outside you already feel the fierce winds, they’re so strong your clothes are whipping around you, your thin pajamas pressing to your skin as you carry Koi’s breakfast in his little bowl outside. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Fear spikes in your chest, a particularly strong gust of wind snatching the lip of the bowl and forcing you to lose your grip. This can’t just be the beginnings of the storm. You refuse to believe it as thin sheets of rain start to fall. It’s only been an hour since you received that warning and yet the rain is here, the winds are frightening, and Koi is not where he always is. 
He’s not waiting for you in front of the glass door, nor is he at the bottom of the patio steps where he sometimes lounges. You’re panicking, your heart in your throat and you’re choking on it. Where could he be in a time like this? You rush down the few steps leading to the beach, your hand gripping at the railing so you don’t lose your balance. The sand sticks to your exposed feet, your eyes scanning the beach as you rush over to the beach grass that has only grown since you arrived. 
“Koi!” You scream over the whistling wind, attempting to make kissy noises in order to let him know you’re there. You’re crumbling, somehow this is the last straw for you. You keep screaming for him, yelling his name over and over until your voice feels raw. 
“Get inside,” Shouta yells from the top of the steps, you can hardly hear him over the intensity of the rising winds. The waves are crashing harder against the shore and everything is just so loud you can’t even hear yourself think. 
“I have to find Koi.” Your voice tremors, lightning cracks in the distance and thunder follows a few seconds later. It’s getting closer and your time is running out. 
“You have to come inside, it’s pouring,” he says, descending the stairs two at a time until his feet meet the sand. He doesn’t move closer to you though, he stays a few feet away and it hurts. Even worse than it ever has before seeing him so far away from you. “It’s only going to get worse.” 
You feel crazed, your hair flat against your face and neck and your clothes are drenched and see through. Why is he so far away? 
“You don’t think I know that!” Your voice comes from the top of your lungs, stealing you of any breath you had left as you shriek at your husband. “Why do you think I’m standing out here trying to get him to come inside?”
“He’s going to be okay.” His reassurance is anything but that. His reassurance is swallowed by the torment of nature and it’s only begun to boil over. The loneliness, the desperation, the fact that he won’t fucking touch you. 
“And what if he’s not?” Your voice cracks, your head is full, and you're aching all over. “What if I spent all this time just for nothing to be okay?!”
The step he was in the middle of taking towards you stops. Is that really where his effort ends? Feet away as you’re screeching at him to be near you. “I need you to come inside.”
The waves are more violent than they were before. You’re unsteady where you stand and you don’t know if your brutal onslaught of emotions are to blame or the rain slashing diagonally and shattering your equilibrium. “I need to try. I can’t lose an-,”
Anyone else. Not like you’re losing Shouta. It’s too much. 
“Koi!” Your voice is being drowned out by deafening noises. You’ve gotten so used to quiet that you’re overstimulated, your thoughts are fragmented and all over the place. So chaotic that the storm is just the soundtrack to your misery. 
“Koi!”
“Get inside the house! You’re being ridiculous!” He snaps, anger evident and there’s two full steps towards you. But you take two away. 
“No! I won’t,” you sob, hands coming up to grab at your hair as it clumps together with the water it’s absorbing. “Don’t act like you care about where I am all of a sudden!”
Emotion. Emotion. Stupid fucking emotions curdling like spoiled milk inside of you. Rotten and old and undesirable.
“Are you-?” He cuts himself off, taking two more steps toward you. Another two steps back. “You don’t think I care about you?”
No. You don’t think that. But you feel it sometimes. Feel that sickening feeling slither in every time you wake up alone. Every time you eat dinner by yourself in the dark. Every time you take two steps towards him and he leaves the fucking room.
“You don’t even touch me,” you gasp out, your hands moving to clutch your chest and you try to regain your breathing. “Why?”
Lightning strikes. The sand scatters. And the hair on your arms stands up. 
Thunder shakes the ground. The patio wood creaks like it’s about to tear off the side of the house. Too much. And you’re losing all control. 
“Because I-,” he’s thinking and he’s hesitating. And you’re so angry. “I can’t.”
“But, why, Shouta? Why can’t you?”
“Because then you’ll know!” He lashes out, arms spread wide and his shirt is soaked through and sticking to him. “You’ll know everything. All the shit I’m not ready to tell anyone because it’s so fucked I don’t even want to deal with it!”
Water is in your eyes, dripping onto your lips. And you faintly taste salt on your tongue. 
“And you have this ability to know even the deepest parts of me and that’s terrifying.” The distance is closing at a rapid pace. Your feet are moving and you can’t keep up. Not until feet turn into inches and he’s right in front of you. 
“Then turn it off, Shouta,” you’re begging him to give you something. Anything at all. “Turn it off like only you can, please, just-”
You’re shaking, your body freezing because of the rain and the wind and the frigidity of yearning desperation. “Just touch me.” 
He reaches for you, his hand hovering over your cheek and you could almost feel it. The warmth of his palm, “you don’t have to be terrified of me.”
His fingers graze your cheek and you close your eyes. Only for it to be ripped away when distressed yowling cuts through everything. You whip your head around and see Koi, tail between his legs and fur so wet it makes him look skinny and underfed. A hysterical laugh of relief releases from your chest and you’re running towards him. You wrap your hands around his little body and he lets you hold him to your chest as you whisper soothing words into his flicking ear. 
Shouta’s waiting for you by the steps, right where you left him. “Can we go inside now?”
And you nod, rushing up the steps in quick succession. The ground quakes when thunder rumbles and Shouta is reaching around you to slide the door open for you. It’s even colder inside, the fan dispersing cool air that pricks your wet skin. You release Koi and even though he’s never been inside he darts beneath the dining room table to hide. 
The door shuts behind you, the lock clicking into place. The quiet is back. And it’s haunting. 
“It never ends. The pain. The thinking. The what ifs. They don’t stop.” He’s filling it with words that you’ve been dying for him to say since the beginning. They’re not nice to hear. But it’s the only way either of you are going to heal. “And I never wanted to burden you with that. You deserve better than this version of me. You deserve more than that.”
“What if that’s not what I want? Did you ever stop and think that I just want you. Whatever version of you that you’ll give me, I’ll have, Shouta.” 
He shakes his head like he disagrees. Water taps against the hardwood. Ticking like a metronome. 
“But-”
“I love you. I’m in love with you,” you raise your hands up to hover by his cheeks, still not sure if he gives you permission to touch him in the way that you so badly want. “And if you let me in, we don’t have to be these versions of ourselves alone.”
His hands are grasping your wrists in a firm hold. So tightly it nearly hurts, but you are so shocked by the gesture your knees go weak and you gasp. He guides your reaching hands to his face and he presses them onto his cheeks like he depended on it. The breath expelling from his body like he’s been holding it in for centuries. 
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his lip quivering before he sucks it into his mouth. “I can’t seem to get anything together anymore. I try but I only feel like I’m disappointing you. I’m so tired of disappointing you.”
“It’s okay. I’m here,” you’re saying it to not only convince him but yourself. That this is happening. That you are really touching him, palm to cheek. “I’m sorry. For not fighting for you the way that I should’ve been. For getting in my own way. I’m sorry.”
He’s dropping his forehead to yours, his hands traveling up your wrists to cup where yours are caressing his face. 
“We can fix this?” He’s whispering across your lips. 
“Yeah,” you give him a watery smile, “we can.” 
Sparks are flying behind your eyelids when he kisses you. The house shakes again from another wave of thunder but you can’t even register the ground beneath your feet because he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he needs you, wants you, loves you. 
It’s like the first one all over again. The butterflies in your stomach giving the storm outside a run for its money. You can’t breathe, he’s stealing each one greedily for himself, but you can’t stop. Not even when the urge to inhale is making you lightheaded. 
He’s walking you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the arm of the couch and you’re sitting on it. And even then he doesn’t break the kiss. Just as desperate to keep it going as you are. Your hands are still pinned to his cheeks by his large palms. But you pull at them so you can touch him elsewhere, wanting to feel every inch of his skin beneath your fingertips. 
He releases them, but only to trail his fingers down your arms and up to your neck. He’s gentle, even though the kiss is so forceful. He’s touching you as if he’s practicing a language he hasn’t spoken in too long. Relearning all of the basics first until he’s confident enough to move forward. He’s writing sentences down your spine, reading your reactions as if he hadn’t known these words all along. 
His fingers find the edge of your top, the fabric grossly wet on your sides as he starts pulling the fabric up and over your head. “You’re soaked,” he says aloud, the shirt ten times heavier in his palm. 
“Haven’t heard that in a while,” you breathe with a teasing sigh as the shirt makes a thwapping sound onto the floor over his shoulder. 
“Funny,” he smirks the tiniest bit, finally pulling back from your lips to admire your naked torso. His fingertips are dancing up your curves, ghosting over the goosebumps he’s lighting your body up with. He stops just below your breasts, your nipples already pebbled from the cold. He looks into your eyes seeking permission. The same permission you’ve already granted him.
“Please don’t stop touching me,” you plead, bracing your hands against his pelvic bone to steady your swaying body. He moves again, this time to cup your breasts in each of his palms and he squeezes. Not too tightly, but enough to have you arching into him and sighing. 
You busy yourself with his white t-shirt, slipping your hands beneath it to feel his firm abdomen against your hands and gathering the wet fabric on your wrists. You almost forgot how perfect he felt beneath your hands. Almost forgot that he seemed to be carved out just for you to explore. You can tell he’s trying to be patient with you, but you’ve spent months holding back and your patience has long ago thinned into nothing. You use some of your strength to push him away to give you enough room to stand. You’re tugging his shirt over his head as he protests with a laugh, but you can’t stop yourself. Too eager to control much of your actions as you undress him. 
“Hold on,” he’s grabbing your wrists again to stop you from pulling down the waistband of his pants. “Let me do it.”
“You’re taking too long,” you admit, realizing that your breathing is ragged and your vision tunneled. 
“Am I?” He asks, voice dipping into amused condescension.
“Yes,” you say with finality, your hands still restricted by his.  
“Fine.” And he’s lifting you by the back of your thighs and dropping you onto the couch cushions. Shouta grips your drenched shorts and pulls them down your legs and you’re now completely naked before him, legs parted and more vulnerable than you’ve been in forever. His fingers are slow again when they map their way across your body. Intent on making you squirm. 
You’re dying to rush him, to hurry this along in some capacity. But you don’t because this feels too good to let go to waste. Your eyes flutter closed and you imagine each of his touches like a burst of neon color in the dark. His fingers are on your inner thighs now, and you almost close them around his hand. An odd shyness coming over you. You expect his fingers to continue their route to your core. You’re already prepared to feel the roughness of his fingertips part your folds, but instead what you feel isn’t rough or dry. But soft and wet. 
“Oh,” you gasp as your eyes shoot open. His head is between your thighs, and his eyes are now closed as a groan rumbles through his chest and straight against you. “Fuck.”
His tongue works through you, licking and tasting and appreciating. He’s so focused, but not on the building pleasure in your body. He’s selfishly taking, ripping whines from your mouth and exchanging them for moans of his own. Your hands find their way into his hair and you tug him closer to you. His mouth is enveloping you, and when his lips find your clit he’s sucking it into his mouth with urgency. 
It’s been too long without having him this way. So long that your abdomen is tensing and your legs are tightening around his head. He doesn’t stop sucking and licking and moaning. The vibrations staggering up to your head and sending you into a lust-fueled spiral. You roll your hips down against his face, hard and stuttering. Your head falls back against the couch with a soft thud and you whimper when he flattens his tongue and allows you to use him. 
You’re kissing the cusp of your release, toeing the tightrope of your orgasm. “Shouta, m’gonna-” 
Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip tightens in his hair. You don’t want to, though. Not yet. You want to be full when you do. You want to draw out this pleasurable in between space for as long as you possibly can. “St-stop,” you almost regret it when he pulls away immediately. His eyes full of concern as he stares up at you.
“Are you okay?” He’s rising to his knees, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your thighs as you yearn for the edge of the cliff you were just about to fall off of. 
“Yes, I’m okay,” you say, breathless and needy. “I just want to feel you.”
You shove him lightly, rearranging your bodies so that he’s sitting down and you’re straddling his hips. He lifts them to push down his sweats, struggling when they cling to his legs, but settling once they fall around his ankles. You grab his cock in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft as you pump him a few times. His head is bright red, precum smeared across the tip and glistening in the fractures of grey light filtering in from the curtains. 
His head rests on the back of the couch, his cheeks red from arousal and he's holding your hips in a vice grip. His moans are caught in his throat and his eyes are open just enough to watch you line him up with your entrance. You want him, but this feels somewhat new. Like you’re starting over from the beginning. Fresh and new and expectant. 
You sink onto him, shuddering at the burning stretch he’s causing. There’s a pause halfway down, a moment for you to adjust and he’s squeezing your hips tighter. His nails digging into your skin and almost piercing flesh. 
“God, I missed you,” he says through clenched teeth, shallowly thrusting upwards until you place your hands on his chest to keep you from falling into him. You drop down suddenly, taking all of him inside of you in one go. “Holy shit,” his voice is gravelly and hoarse. And you thought you were close before, but you’re face to face with an intense pleasure now that you’re afraid might be too strong. Too big. Too consuming. 
“Shouta.” It’s broken and needy, and your hips grind down when the sticky clinginess of your tone echoes.
“Don’t say my name like that or I won’t last,” he whispers. And it sounds so dirty. So filthy that when your clit catches the hair at the bottom of his shaft it throbs deep in your belly. You’re bouncing in his lap, leaning forward so you’re chest to chest and breathing in the air that he releases in heavy puffs. It’s not real, this tormenting lust and unwavering love. It’s hard to believe that this is real and that your husband is in your arms. 
One of his hands rises to the back of your neck, cradling it as his fingers wrap around to apply pressure to your pulse points. Your head is fuzzy, your limbs filling with white noise as you continue fucking yourself on his cock.
“Do me a favor.” It’s not much of a suggestion, there’s very little room for choice in his statement as he squeezes his hand again and he groans roughly when you clench around him in response. 
“W-what?” You stutter, hands now holding onto his broad shoulders for stability as you wait for what he needs. Ready to give him– mind, body, and soul– whatever he asks for. “Come.”
Your vision whites out, ears narrowing in on the command, and you couldn’t refuse him even if it was the only thing you wanted to do. You shatter. The pieces of your physical consciousness dispersing into dust around the two of you as you do exactly as he says. You fall forward, no longer able to hold yourself up. You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his scent through sighs of satisfaction. 
Your walls pulse around him as he starts thrusting to make up for you. They’re short and harsh and you wrap your arms around his neck to keep from jostling around too much. He’s close enough for you to feel it. His dick kicks inside of you when you clamp down especially tight. “Shit,” he hisses out, hugging you against him when he comes. Both of his strong arms around your waist and your senses are saturated in his smell and build. If this is where you could choose to be for a lifetime, including all the moments that have culminated until now. You’d choose it a million times over. 
His fingers trace your spine again, drawing tiny figures down each vertebrae. There’s the sneaking silence that seems to always wiggle its way into your relationship tickling the edges of your moment. But it’s not like the others. It’s not intrusive or unwanted. It’s like a warm blanket, thick and cozy and familiar. 
“You wanna take a bath?” You say into his neck, your lips brushing the sensitive skin of his collarbone and he shivers. 
“I’d like that,” he replies, hands dragging down your sides in an intimate embrace. You sit up, body sluggish and heavy. There’s an odd soreness in your hips that you like, a pleasing ache in your bones that only serves as a reminder of what you’d done together. He helps you up when he sees the little grimace on your face. Kisses your jaw when you flinch as he pulls out. “Come on then.”
He’s settling you onto your feet, using the leverage he has on your thighs to follow you. The storm is still monstrous outside, the house built to withstand weather like this. The foundation is solid. Built on healthy ground and rooted into place. When you enter the bathroom, you flick the light switch on, but nothing happens. The bathroom remains dark, only lit up by the window beside the porcelain tub. 
“Seems like the lights went out,” you say, heading towards the bath to twist the nozzle onto its hottest temperature. The water fills it in a thick stream, steam quickly curling around the metal faucet. 
“I’ll be back,” Shouta says, and before you could ask where he’s off to, he’s already gone. You twist the other nozzle to cool down the too hot water. Warmth meeting your fingertips as you sway them in the water. You’re more relaxed than you have been in ages. Your shoulders are not as heavy, and the cracks in your heart seem to be mending, even if bruises still remain. 
“Here,” he interrupts, arms full of every candle he could find and a lighter dangling between two fingers.
“Where’d you get those from?” You laugh, standing up to grab some of the candles from his hold and placing them along the windowsill.
“In the guest bathroom,” he smiles, setting the rest on the counter top as he lights them one at a time. You stare at his reflection in the mirror, his hair is partially dry but frizzing in the places that were rubbing against the texture of the sofa. The facial hair that he’s prone to keeping closely cropped to his face is a bit grown out now. And you can’t stop yourself from appreciating him until you glance at the tub and notice that the water is dangerously close to the edge. You hurry to shut it off, the water hot but not unbearable.
You stand beside it to wait for him, eyes never leaving his form as he comes your way to light the other candles. When he’s done he rests the lighter on the windowsill beside the last candle. And when he faces you, it’s with teasing amusement. “Are you gonna get in?”
“After you.” You gesture to the tub invitingly with a smile. His expression turns suspicious but he steps over the lip of the tub anyway, eyes on yours and with trained agility. He melts into the water with a low groan, and it’s safe to assume that the temperature is just right. He scoots all the way to make room for you in front of him, but you shake your head no. Instead you tap on his shoulder and urge him forward with tender hands. He’s confused, but follows your lead. 
The water is really nice, the soreness in your muscles soothed almost upon impact as you slip in behind Shouta and frame your legs on either side of him. You cup some water in your hands to rewet his hair, wracking your fingers through it to get out any tangles that developed. The yellow glow of the tiny fires create dancing shadows around the bathroom, basking him in a pretty orange. You get him to recline into your arms, sliding his body low enough so that his head rests right on the curve beneath your shoulder. 
This is one of those moments forever is always talking about. One that supersedes the concept of time and hangs it there until you’re ready to snatch it up and store it in your memory bank. Somehow, your breathing patterns have synced up and you cuddle him into you with such force you’re convinced he’d disappear. He wheezes out a chuckle when your hands press into his sternum and hug him tighter. A subtle sign to loosen your grip. 
“I don’t know where to start.” His hands are back on your thigh, closing them around his torso as he speaks. His fingers are kneading the fat there as he thinks.
“What do you mean?” You drag your nails softly though his chest hair, hoping it serves as wordless encouragement.
“I mean,” he pauses, finger still massaging you, “there’s so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know how to.”
“You could start at the beginning.” You sketch little figure eights as you speak, his body dissolving even more into your embrace. His weight should be too much for you, but you’re positive that you could crawl inside of him and still feel like it wasn’t close enough. 
“That’s the problem,” he mutters, head lulling to the side so that his ear is flat against your heartbeat. “Which one?”
Your hand stops what it’s doing, instead you open your hand, palm down as you find his heartbeat. You don’t need your quirk to understand his feelings. You don’t need to rely on it to trust that he will tell you everything that he wants in due time. You rest your cheek gingerly on the top of his head, counting each of his heartbeats and catching them in your hand. You’ll cherish each one. Keep them tucked away safely in a lock only he has the key to, and giving them back to him every time he needs it. To remind him that even when he’s not committed to himself. You always will be. 
“Well,” you kiss the top of his head, “we have the rest of our lives, so start at the beginning of yours.”
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aggressivelyaverage21 · 2 months
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Chapter 3: The Amber Price of Whiskey
She's a badass, she's a lightweight
.... enter one Ava Silva
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“Do you have a mirror under there? This is some Vegas magician shit you’re pulling.” 
Suzanne peered out the screen door to the patio, where Mary and Shannon sat across from each other, evidently playing cards. A modest pile of beer bottles collected to their left. Mary slammed her cards down on the table. 
“I’m just good!” Shannon, tall, fair, and smiling, laid her cards face down onto the table and leaned in with a smile. 
Mary huffed and picked up her cards. “Chief? That you in there? Shannon’s cheating at cards again.” She turned back to Shannon. “And what am I, ‘o for seven, ‘o for eighteen now?”
“Stop cheating, Shannon,” called Superion. 
“The next time I win, you’re cleaning the fucking toilet is what you’re doing,” Mary muttered.
Just then, a door closed somewhere in the house. Rather than Beatrice, Lilith walked into the kitchen. Lilith was tall and stern, with distinctive cheekbones and a delicate bone structure. It was modelesque in a way that could be intimidating. This wasn’t helped by the most severe case of resting bitch face Suzanne had ever seen—outside of her own, of course. 
Lilith greeted her with a nod before opening the fridge. What she was looking for, Superion didn’t know; it was empty but for a beer called Alhambra when she’d just grabbed the water bottle. 
Lilith closed the fridge, beer in hand. She nodded towards the whiskey. “I don’t know how you can stand that with no ice.”
“ This is for cooling off,” Superion held up the water. She held up her whiskey in the other, nodded toward it. “This is not.”
“Just drink beer like the rest of us, Chief, and you’ll get both at the same time,” Miguel said, sliding onto the stool next to Superion. He held out his hand toward Lilith and she obliged, tossing a beer across the kitchen. He caught it easily.
“Mmm. But then I’ll have to look like you.” 
Just then, Beatrice walked through the living room and into the dining area. She’d caught the tail end of the conversion, so at face value, this was a wild thing to say. Miguel wasn’t Beatrice’s type, but she had eyes. The guy was fit, and not un attractive. 
But you know what? Somehow that made it even funnier. 
Beatrice continued into the kitchen comfortably, eyes settling on the beat-up yellow YETI cooler at Superion’s feet. On top, it had a dirty piece of duct tape labeled CANTINA in thick sharpie marker. Beatrice grimaced, amused. Almost every unit she’d deployed with had something similar, though the YETI was a step up from the beat up old Igloo held together by duct tape and dreams they’d had in Syria.
Miguel raised his head to look at Beatrice. “And you must be our little Sparrow.”
Mary leaned her chair back to more clearly see from the backyard into the apartment, hand over her brow to shade her eyes. “Hey, if you’re here to fix the air conditioner, it’s right around the corner. Thank you very much. Thank you for your service.” 
Ah, ball busting, a tradition as integral to this job as much as any other. Beatrice ignored her and leaned on the back of the sofa. She did, however, fight a smile when she heard a thud followed by a whispered “ What ? I was just fucking with her.”
Superion set down her whisky glass and cleared her throat. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. That out there is my QRF team lead, Shannon. That across from her is Shotgun Mary.” She gestured to the shirtless blond to her right, then to the woman cracking a beer open by slamming it against the counter. “This is Miguel, and that’s Lilith.”
“We’ve met,” said Beatrice to Lilith. She offered a respectful nod toward the fellow Marine. Former Marine? Beatrice never could tell; some people said you could never be a former Marine. Beatrice tended to agree. “Villaumbrosia.”
They’d worked together a couple of times in Kuwait. Lilith was precise, meticulous, and to the point. A bit more abrasive than Beatrice usually preferred in her coworkers, but trustworthy and reliable overall. Lilith returned the nod. “Kline.”
The door shut, and everyone turned to see a short-haired brunette kick off her shoes, grocery bags in hand. “And I’m Camila” 
Lilith set her beer down to help Camila with the grocery bags. Mary opened the screen door and came inside, moving counterclockwise around the kitchen bar and gathered crew to get to the fridge. 
“Why Shotgun Mary?”
“Take a guess.” Snarky, but alright. Beatrice had earned that. Also, if it was anything like the other nicknames or callsigns, it was probably something incredibly stupid. 
“Beatrice, can I get you a beer?” Superion stood and made like she was moving toward the kitchen.
“Just water, please.”
“Water,” sniggered Mary, not enough under her breath to not be a goad. Despite her protests, Camila sent a water bottle Beatrice’s way via air mail. It only narrowly missed Superion as she ducked out of the way. 
Much to Beatrice’s relief, she didn’t bobble the bottle at all as she pulled it from the air, smoothly twisting the cap off as she raised it to her lips. Yikes. It was never a good sign when water tasted sweet. She should probably get on the hydration train fairly soon or she would be regretting it tomorrow, drinking today or not. “When do we start?”
“His family keeps an apartment here,” Superion answered, idly twisting her back as she moved around. Beatrice didn’t blame her—she felt stiff from the plane ride too—but each twitch as Suzanne subtly stretched a certain spot implied the woman had an old injury. “We have eyes on it. When she moves, we move.”
“And where does he stay?” Beatrice obviously had said she didn’t have a problem using this woman to get to her father, but it would be infinitely easier if she could just access the target with little to no fuss.
“That’s the million dollar question you’re here to answer.” The reply was provided with some satisfaction, like Superion was sure that she’d made the right choice with Beatrice.
Just then, Mary walked up to Beatrice, face smiling—practically a picture of compassion.
“Let’s see that,” Mary chided, taking the open water bottle directly from Beatrice’s hand and slamming a beer in its place. She looked Beatrice in the eye, set a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t doesn’t get drunk with me. Bottoms up, Babygirl.” 
KEEP READING
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hajimio · 2 years
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iwaizumi’s mother will tell you he was born at night.
she’ll tell you he was born with the lingering scent of summer rain, and that’s why he’s always enjoyed the way it smells and begged to play in it as a child. she’ll tell you he was born in the midst of lightning bugs that he started to insist calling ‘fireflies’ at age seven, because he said that fire was cooler than lightning. she’ll tell you that he was born in the dimming lull of midnight, and that’s why he’s always been stubborn but warm—mellow but comforting.
iwaizumi’s mother will tell you a lot of things regarding her son and his birthday, and he’ll deny them all and roll his eyes and tell her mom, you’re being a little dramatic, until she swats the back of his head.
but the most important thing she’s told you, is that he didn’t breathe when he was born, and maybe that’s why she notices him holding his breath around you.
and you’d never noticed it much before, but it was on the eve of his twenty-second birthday that she told you, and now, on the day of it—amidst the air of dusk and the sweet memories of his childhood home—you’ve begun to see it a little more.
you’re both outside now, and the fireflies have begun to light up his yard, and there’s still a bit of smoke coming from the campfire iwaizumi set up earlier.
“so,” you say, at ten at night on iwaizumi’s birthday—twenty hours after his time of birth twenty-two years ago, “how does it feel?”
he laughs, in the gruff way that he always has, and pokes a stick at the fire.
“feels like i’m still nineteen.”
his mother would tell you that he’s still holding onto those teenage years. she’d say that he’s hardly ever going to let them go—that he still reminisces about parties at oikawa’s and driving with the windows down and the music too loud in makki’s beat up civic. she’d say that he’ll hold onto being a teenager until time passes him by, she’s sure.
you don’t know if you agree with that one.
“you look older than you did then.” he eyes you. “i meant the tattoo, and maybe the eyebrow slit.”
“it’s a scar,” he says, as he always does, and you laugh.
“sure, from a volleyball net.”
he leans over to swat at your arm, you lean into it and catch his hand in your own. his breath hitches. you remember his mother’s stories.
“maybe i was talking about the gray hair i found last year,” you begin, and you feel the way he tries to twist his hand from your grip at that one. you don’t give in—never have. “maybe you’ve gotten more since then, should we go check?”
“god, babe, shut up.”
maybe it started as pulling his arm away from you, but now he’s pulling you into him—taking your shitty lawn chair and all—to let your nose rest against his chest (and, perhaps more pertinently, to shut you up). 
you twist yourself in your chair and in his grip to face the fire and the lightning bugs, as his mother calls them, and his little sister, but never hajime. you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, can feel the breath as it moves through his lungs. 
and though he breathes easier now, it’s just as his poor mother said yesterday. he’ll fall victim to it all and his breath will hitch when you lean in—when you kiss his cheek, when you brush your hand over his shoulder in passing.
it’ll hitch when you’re looking at old photo albums, when you find a picture of him and oikawa catching bugs and you say he’s never changed. it’ll hitch in the dining room late in the evening, when you spend too long talking with his mother and she tells you how happy you’ve made her son. it’ll hitch when no one else is watching—when you whisper confessions like prayers into his skin, when you kiss him and say you love him simply because you can and it’s true. 
“i’ve never seen so many fireflies,” you say, and iwaizumi’s chest pauses.
it starts again.
“they’re common out here,” he replies. “used to put ‘em in jars as a kid. my sister always hated it. said i was hurting them or something.”
“they’re nice.” you turn, letting your eyes fall over his face as you narrow your gaze at him. “kinda remind me of you.”
he furrows his brows.
“dick.”
“i didn’t even say anything bad!” you reply, and you try to shove yourself off him and away from your chair, but he grabs you by the waist saying something about babe, babe, fire, don’t be stupid-
he pulls you back into him, and back onto your chair, and looks down at you.
“okay, so what did you mean?”
“i don’t know, they just-” you look back out at the fireflies, the way they float by the ground and leave little trails of light to follow them, and then you look back at your boyfriend—who’s holding back a smile and creasing his brows a bit, but who loves you. you know that. “i’m always gonna look at fireflies and think of you.”
and there’s a lot of things you don’t tell iwaizumi—a lot of things you may never tell him except in the written sentences of your vows, the ones you’ll paint in smudged pen ink and won’t ever say aloud.
one. you watch him from the windows of your apartment when he comes home from class, and that’s when you call him, that’s when you tell him you missed him too much to wait until he came through the door.
two. you’re awake for what he tells you when he thinks you’re asleep. you try not to listen, but he says your name like you’ve given him something more than just love, so you always tell him you love him first thing the next morning. to make up for it all. or to try to.
three. you loved him weeks before you told him.
but you will tell him this—that fireflies will always remind you of him. you will not tell him that you used to call them lightning bugs too, that you called them both as a kid, until the words mixed into lightningfly because lightning was cooler than fire, and flying was cooler than being a bug. 
but he won you over.
“guess i’ll just have to be there for all the fireflies, right?” iwaizumi says, and you decide that, one day, maybe you’ll tell him the third of your secret confessions. before your vows, if he’s lucky.
“guess so,” you reply. “can’t let myself miss you too much.”
“no,” iwaizumi says, and you’re sure you love him more now, at twenty-two, than you did yesterday. “no, you can’t.”
your breath steadies under his voice, and you realize that perhaps you get a little breathless beneath him, too—that maybe his dear, poor, and wonderful mother is right about some things and only half about others. or, and perhaps this is more correct, that when she tells you something about iwaizumi, she’s telling you something about you, too.
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bauhausluvr · 6 months
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a lot happened today, good and bad, and im still processing it. but i'll try to retell it all below. warning: this will be long and graphic
major tw for self-harm
so i had class with M and everything was fine, I even got to talk with her a few times which i was really happy about. but later when we were doing our own thing, she got really fascinated with this one student which made me want to cry because i was jealous she was so intrigued and spent so much time with them. this student is also so much cooler than me so i understand why. i got super upset at myself for feeling this way, so with very little thought i left the room to go to the bathrooms and consequently slash my arm up
i had new blades and i was in such a state where i wasn't thinking so i wasn't careful with how i cut, i just wanted to do some damage, and i ended up bleeding much more than i usually would. once i saw how much blood there was on me and on the floor, i realised i had to stop the bleeding and used a bunch of paper towels to make it stop. eventually, unluckily for me, i ran out and spent a long time just rinsing my arm under the water (which in hindsight definitely prolonged the bleeding), but i couldn't go to the next stall for paper since there were people outside and it seemed to keep being taken.
had i not gone in the stall with barely any paper left i probably would've avoided this, but this led to me having to ask the people outside for paper and since i was kind of panicked i was saying i had a medical emergency, so this led to them getting a teacher down to check on me and basically the whole process of first aid coming down to bandage my arm n setting a welfare meeting for another day since this was at the end of the day.
what i didn't expect however was M to come down as well. i felt super embarrassed and ashamed once i saw her face, i didn't know how to react. but once she heard I was harming myself she came in to comfort me, even calling me her 'baby' when coming down and hugging me. i hugged her back tightly and sobbed into her shoulder, it was so comforting.. she has such a motherly charm its crazy. she soon revealed she also used to self-harm, even at work, which made me feel so much more at ease since i felt extremely bad about myself as i feel like i should've grown out of these feelings by now, but i clearly hadn't.
after all the paperwork and talk was done, i went back to her class to get my stuff back and found she edited my work and added her own little charm to it while i was gone (we were just playing around with an editing program) 😭. since everyone was gone by then i asked to talk w her alone and ppl kept coming in the class, so M grabbed my wrist gently and led me out somewhere where only us two can talk
i basically thanked her for her hug and all her kind words, and was sorry that she had to witness me at such a state. following this we talked for a little bit about her own struggles with self-harm and having to be sectioned, and about her thoughts on me which, i wish i could remember all the details, but i was so messed up i only remember it partly. regardless, it was lovely to hear and definitely what i needed at the time.
one of the best parts of this whole aftermath conversation was when i not-so-jokingly said i have mommy issues and she laughed saying "I KNOW" 😭😭😭. i was rlly taken aback by that so i stuttered and asked what made her come to that conclusion, and she basically just talked about stuff like my conservative mother and catholic upbringing which i brought up to her. she later said that she had her own struggles w her daughter and how she kinda sees that in me, to which i hesitantly said "i kinda wish you were my mum" and SHE SAID "me too right now" ?!!??"! IDK HOW I DIDN'T IMPLODE RIGHT THEN..
during this whole conversation we hugged so many more times and it was kinda awkward at one point cuz her lanyard got stuck on my cardigan LMFAO but it was so healing and awesome to talk w her about all this, even if i wish she didn't have to witness any of it. there's so much more i could say but if i gave all the details then this post would be 10x longer. obviously i didn't mention why i cut in the first place, and i'm contemplating even doing so to anyone cuz i don't want her taken away from me.
with all that said despite all the horrible stuff, something good came out of it and i'm grateful for that, although i worry it deepened my attachment to M even further....which honestly was inevitable at this point anyway.
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rosegardeninwinter · 2 years
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Peeta and his mom being unnecessarily cute, for @andretries, who also just moved to a new home 
Peeta positions his laptop to face the red Japanese maple outside his window, rather than the panoply of half-unpacked cardboard boxes stacked high in the living room of his new apartment. His mother’s FaceTime icon appears on his screen a second before her face does. She’s sitting in his childhood bedroom, a mug of tea in her hands. 
“Hi, Mom,” he says, a strange, pinched feeling suddenly constricting his throat. He can almost smell the pumpkin candles she will be burning now that September is here. 
“Hello, my sweet boy,” Marta Mellark says, the sentiment more in her words than in her calm tone. “Are you all settled in?” 
“Hardly,” he laughs. “I’m just hoping to have a table to eat at by the time Katniss gets here.” His girlfriend is flying up to move in with him next week, once she does her last week at her soul-sucking job. “But it’s so pretty here,” he says. “Way cooler than home.” 
“We’re in the fifties at last,” Marta tells him. “Not that your father needs it to be properly autumn before he starts baking with cinnamon in everything.” 
They laugh. Bara Mellark’s affection for autumn is almost unrivaled. 
“Lot of October weddings planned?” 
“A few,” Marta says, nodding. She glances over somewhere Peeta can’t see, distracted by a noise from offscreen. “Oh, someone wants to see you,” she says, moving to sit on the floor as the family dog, Zeke, sticks his big nose up to the camera. “I think he heard your voice.” She strokes the dog’s fur. “He misses you.” 
“I miss him too,” Peeta says, clearing his throat as the homesick feeling wells up. “I miss you all.” 
Marta’s brow knits in sympathy. “We’ll come to visit as soon as we can,” she promises. 
“It’s a little silly,” he says, wiping his eyes. “You’d think I’d be over this after college. I’m twenty-four.” 
“I don’t think it’s silly,” Marta says. “I cried my eyes out when I moved out of your Grandma Elise’s house — and I was getting married.” 
“I’m sure Dad felt really great about that,” Peeta jokes. 
“He understood,” his mother says, shaking her head. “And so do I.” 
Peeta nods, and swallows. It will get easier, he knows, especially when Katniss gets here, and they’re building their new life together, but it’s nice to remember his highly competent mother is human too, comforting to hear that she gets it. 
“Is there anything you want me to send you in my next care package?”
“Aw, Mom. You don’t need to do that.” 
“I wasn’t asking your permission, son,” she says. “Is there anything you want me to send?” 
Peeta rolls his eyes fondly. “Some of Dad’s cinnamon cookies,” he suggests. “And a candle,” he adds. “I want this place to smell like home.” 
“Cookies and candles,” Marta says. “I can do that.” 
“I love you, Mom,” her son says. He wraps his arms around himself like they used to do when he was a little boy, and either one of his parents was on a business trip. “And I’m giving you the world’s best hug right now.” 
Marta Mellark smiles and wraps her own arms around herself. “I love you too, sweetheart — and I’m giving you an even better one.” 
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sakinotfound · 2 years
Note
Okok so i have a request inspired by two things: 1 That post with all the smiling Naruto Manga icons (😭💖) 2 You mentioned to me that your works lacked Naruto fluff so here I am!! I'm gonna be a bit vague about this one but basically anything you want to write with giggly Naruto and gender neutral reader. Maybe some kisses here and there bc I'm a sucker for that stuff but other than that let your creative juices run wild!! Once again, don't doubt yourself bc you're a splendid writer and ik it!
a day spent with naruto
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credits: the account where i got these images from is deactivated but here's the link to the post where i got them from.
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pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x reader
genre: fluff, fluff, so much fluff, established relationship
synopsis: spending time with Naruto and realising how much you love him
warnings: sleeping in the same bed
a/n: kwjzhshzsh i absolutely loved writing this. aaaaaahhhh thanks for this request my favourite dear lovely anon. i love your requests and constant praises. keep 'em comin', don't stop 👀👉👈❤️
again sorry for the wait :(
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the sunlight peeked through the thin pink curtains casting a pinkish-orangish glow on the walls.
it must be around 2 or 3 p.m., the world was busy outside, people were going about their lives under the scorching heat of the April sun but inside the cool walls of your bedroom, two teenagers were sprawled on the bed, so deep in their slumber, they didn't have any clue of the world outside.
the blond's mouth was slightly open with a little bit of drool trickling down, he was laying on his side, legs sprawled out as scissors and a hand holding on to his pillow. 
you on the other hand are laying down on your stomach, making a seven with your legs, holding onto both sides of your pillow and deep in your dreamland.
this was a ritual at this point. ever since you were kids your mothers would put you both to bed around this time as they went about their day. it was only natural that as almost seventeen year olds you still followed the same. a lot of things had changed from what you used to do as children but this remains the same. 
sleeping on your own is great but nothing could beat it and you would be lying if you both said sleeping like this wasn't the best sleep you ever get. you two sleep like babies when with one another, with no care in the world.
even though you two do sleep with no care in the world, your hand comes out to hold Naruto's instinctively as you feel Naruto's hands searching for yours. his mouth leaves heavy sighs and slight groans, he is restless, he is anxious, he is scared.
your conscious self doesn't know that but subconsciously you know. you know sometimes Naruto gets nightmares. you know he gets restless and so out of reflex and muscle memory alone his hand reaches for yours to seek comfort and you are, like always, ever ready to wrap him in your warmth. to tell him he is safe, he is with you and you will do whatever it takes to protect him. and whatever it takes to see that award-winning smile he flashes your way.
his smile seems like the cure to every problem and it makes you smile too. it's that contagious. your shoulders relax but your heart beats faster. it flutters inside your chest, you feel butterflies in your stomach, it makes you so very happy.
as you hold onto his calloused hands and give it a gentle squeeze, Naruto's breathing audibly lightens up. he isn't groaning anymore. he just lets out a sigh which sounds like a snore and with that he is back in his deep sleep, this time dreaming of ramen and some more drool sticks to the fabric of the pillow now.
the sun has set now and the room looks more towards the light bluish side. sky outside is a beautiful shade of dull blue and pink. the room is a lot cooler now for the a/c is switched on for way too long and that makes you feel like peeing so you get up, hurrying inside the washroom.
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Naruto told you about his dream where he saw a totally new recipe of ramen and it tasted very good. so the blond suggested that you both make it at home. that's how you two ended up at the grocery store to buy the ingredients.
you asked him to make a list of the ingredients he knew would be used but he said there's no need for a list and he knows all of them by heart. upon reaching there, it was a different story. since he didn't have a list, whatever item came up in his mind he dragged you to it. so you both were all over the place. running around getting stuff which you could have gotten in one go but well Naruto is Naruto.
you just rolled your eyes playfully and let out a laugh. "and that will all be 730 ryo." said the cashier.
"whoops i left Gama-chan at home!" Naruto says as he pats his pockets.
"knew it." taking out your wallet, you paid for the stuff.
"i am so sorry y/n-chan." Naruto looked genuinely apologetic and you could practically hear him cursing himself and calling himself stupid for forgetting such a basic thing. "i promise, i'll pay you back as soon as we reach home."
you let out a soft laugh and ruffle his hair. "it's alright cutie. i got it." taking the bag of items you placed a light kiss on both of his cheeks. "let's go, hmm?"
Naruto's face flushed red and he croaked out a 'yes'. your aim wasn't necessarily to make him flustered but more so to steal one of his cute shy smiles he gives whenever you kiss him out of the blue. he was your shy baby boy and you loved him for it.
the walk back to home consisted of Naruto blabbering about - well - everything. he has way too much to talk about and you have way little. it works perfectly. 
today though, you noticed how much you're appreciating Naruto. it was more than regular though, you seemed to notice even more details about him. it made you smile. 
"alright!" Naruto announced. "we're going to make a new discovery tonight. we're going to make revolutionary ramen!"
"hey! you learned a new word huh? i see you are working on your vocabulary, Naruto?"
"yeah…" he rubbed the back of his neck, pink dusting his whisker-laden cheeks.
"uh-uh, no need to be embarrassed. s' a good thing. i am proud of you, okay?" you cupped his cheeks and looked down to meet his down-casted eyes.
he looked up to you and nodded. "can i?" he nodded and you kissed his lips. he kissed you back, holding your face within his warm hands. your kiss oozed love, because that's what you were filled to your brim with. love. so much love. all for this cute blond sunshine you have gotten to yourself. and you thanked the Gods everyday for him.
you could see the same emotions swirling in those bright blue eyes of his and that made your heart skip a beat. he planted a quick peck against your lips one last time before tightening his ninja headband he was wearing for- well God knows why.
"tighten your headbands and roll up your sleeves because chef Naruto Uzumaki has arrived! here with me is chef f/n l/n who would be assisting me in my mouth-watering ramen recipe."
his signature foxy grin was plastered on his face as he sent a thumbs up towards the wall as if there was a camera there, pretending this all was a cooking show.
letting out a laugh you too got into the character and spent the rest of the night making ramen, creating a mess of the kitchen and announcing names of the ingredients and steps as if telling it on t.v. 
no matter the hell you have created out of the kitchen, the time spent with Naruto and the ramen you two made in the end was worth it all.
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darksolace18 · 1 month
Text
Loving Nature
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Nature/WindGod! Park Jimin x reader
Warning : Slight lonely aspect.
Masterlist
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People found me odd.
Not in the "weird-emo-nerd" way, no.
It's just that when people got to know my little quirk, yeah it pretty much caused weird glances to be passed around.
My mom especially, was extremely concerned about my well being. Living alone sure made her feel a tad bit nervous for me.
But, I explained her the reason why I did so, which resulted her in laughing at me and continue to stuff my face with my all time favourite home cooked food.
What can I say? Saying that the nature looks after me can make people shoot pitying glances of how "lonely" I had gotten to depend on something so abstract or disgusted glares about how I had finally lost my mind.
So I preferred to keep this small little secret with me, away from the prying eyes of my colleagues.
Thankfully, working as a writer and an editor at the local newspaper publishing company surely made earning easy. Most of the time I could work from home, and who doesn't like to work in the comforts of their own house with the cool breeze?
Living in the outskirts of the city, surrounded by lush greenery had turned the air much more cool and pleasant compared to the dusty and polluted city air.
My allergies would always spike up whenever I had to visit the city. So from a young age, my parents and I had been living in this house.
Now that they deemed me fit enough to live by myself, they left this house for me to settle into and went to live in the city, spending their rest of the years travelling and utterly in love.
I would often visit them and they would keep on insisting that they send me cooked meals because apparently, I turned thinner and thinner with every visit. Which was absolutely not the case.
And as a answer, I would always say that it would be easier for the wind to just sweep me off of my feet then and carry me away to a beautiful forest like in fairytales.
But...doesn't it feels too much of a coincidence when the wind picks up a little whenever you feel down...or random playful gusts of wind would just invade your house when you would feel happy or sad?
Exactly.
I started noticing these odd circumstances and honestly, I thought i was being delusional. But when, one day a very pretty looking leaf from the forest near just floated into my house and right infront of my keyboard when i was stressing on my deadline, yeah that did it.
I was not afraid. Why would I be? The nature was kind to me.
I would often find small tree sappling right outside my windows and birds flying through and sitting on my shoulder, chirping away merrily.
The gnawing feeling of loneliness, that would often disturb me at the start of my solo journey in life, just washed away.
Often, days would go by with me talking to absolutely no one. It has once resulted in my voice turning hoarse.
But now, I have a companion. I have nature.
Everyday I would go up to the terrace that my parents set up so beautifully for me, sit on the hammock with a warm drink and chatter along about my day, accompanied by smooth and soft music.
Getting replied by soft yet concentrated forces of wind as it whispered incoherently, but still in a calming manner.
Nature seemed to communicate through wind.
Hence, i always kept my windows open and hair down. Even at night.
During Summers, the wind would always blow a slight but cooler temperature to dry my sweaty skin inside my bedroom as I slept, decreasing my electric bills a whole lot.
But winters were a bit tough. So I resorted in wearing extra layers and blankets during those times.
Thankfully there would be no snow floating into my room through the window, so I didn't have to clean it up much.
But, even though I was happy, still work was often stressful.
And during those times, I wish for someone to talk to who would actually reply to me in words.
It was one of those glum days today. Work sucked the blood out of my body, leaving me extremely tired yet stressed.
I did not have the energy to even prepare a drink. I just wanted to sit down.
I lazily walked up to my terrace, dragging my feet. This time, I didn't sit on the hammock. Instead chose to sit near the edge right infront of the view of the forest.
My knees were pulled close to my body, arms wrapped around them.
The view was fantastic.
It was a full moon night, the moonlight illuminated my terrace greatly in silver light along with the far off rustling forest, making it look like a soft carpet of velvet.
The breeze started to blow softly and steadily, makinga small yet melancholic smile carve into my face.
"Are you real?" I ask out. The breeze stops.
"Are you real? Am I delusional? Tell me this whole time this wasn't a figment if my imagination" My voice was extremely low, I don't even know that if the wind heard it.
The breeze still did not blow.
"I guess......I really am delusional as people deem me to be" I speak out, voice small yet stiff.
I sniff and stand up, staring right at the moon.
Before turning away.
"Don't go" a voice so soft, so low that it might have just been missed by me.
The wind seemed to blow again, as the whispered carried itself again.
I gasped, it couldn't be, it just couldn't be
"Come back to me, please" The same voice, but this time clearer.
I was afraid to turn around, to break whatever delusional imagination I had came up with.
A smeel of fresh earth and water invaded my nostrils. Th wind carrying the scent softly weaved through my hair, it felt natural, familiar.
"please, turn around" the voice yet again pleads, but this time, I do turn around.
Standing infront of me in silvery white robes which glowed softly, was a person. His soft smile and crescent eyes felt oh so beautiful.
It felt like a forbidden spell was pulling me in.
My eyes raked across its body, even though it shouldn't.
His body was covered in dark spots in some places, making me frown.
"Do you still think of yourself as delusional now?" The voice spoke up.
".....who are you" I couldn't help but ask.
He just smiled and took a step closer to me. He gently put his parlam forward as yet another small gust of dusty wind collected itself on his palm, twisting and turning like a tornado.
"I'm the one whom you have spoken to for so long, and wished for to reply" he says
Tears were starting to accumulate in my eyes. I couldn't hold it in. It was hard.
He smiled and softly held my face, even his touch felt light as wind, and gently wiped my tears away and brought me into a hug.
"You will not believe for how long I wanted to talk to, to reply to you with words. Please don't cry, talk to me. I'll answer you". He says, crawling my sniffling self.
"why....why me. Why not anyone else?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"The winds chose you, my moon. The world has polluted me, made thesoil, the wind, the atmosphere toxic. Most of the civilisation doesn't pay attention to nature, only a handful of youth to preserve it. But even then, you stood out. You always talked to plant, and talked out loud as if the wind listened. And the wind did. The wind liked listening to you, I loved listening to you. Now, you can forever talk to me." He says and I could absolitely feel him smile making me smile.
"okay....what should I call you then?" I ask, pulling myself away from his hold tolook at his beautiful eyes.
"You can call me by my human name, moon. It is Jimin, Park Jimin"
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lulubelle814 · 5 months
Text
Just Dizziness - Chapter 22
Arriving back home, we settled back in my room to resume the movie marathon.  This time she put on I Saw the Light.
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When the movie ended, it was noticeably late.  Rather than end the night, we decided to put on one more movie.  Sarah suggested Thor Ragnarok, and I agreed.  It was my favorite Marvel movie.  When Odin told Thor and Loki that he loved both his sons, it made me cry more than usual.  The look on Loki’s face was both sad and haunting.  All I wanted to do at that moment was hug and comfort him.
When the movie and mid/post credit scenes were over, both of us were tired between the late hour and the over abundance of amazing goodies nibbled on throughout the movies, and I was fast asleep before Sarah could even make it off the bed.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of thunder.  I attempted to stand up, but a dizzy spell said otherwise causing me to fall back onto the bed.  But that’s when I spotted something that seemed a little out of place tucked just a little under the pillow.  Slowly reaching for it, I managed to pull it out.  It was a familiar looking soft, long sleeved blue sweater.  Bringing it up to my face, it felt amazing and smelled of that citrus and musk I loved so much, but I wasn't sure where it came from.  Maybe it was a surprise from my bestie, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  It was good timing too as it was unusually cold in my room, and I pulled it on over my thin t-shirt.  
It was a little large for my somewhat small frame.  Had I lost weight?  I wasn't sure, but right now, my entire world revolved around this amazing sweater with the smell that reminded me of him.
Laying back down, I was able to easily fall back asleep.
The next morning, Sarah came in to wake me up so that we could both get ready for her appointment.  She noticed the sweater and had no idea where it came from but didn’t want to rock the boat because it seemed to make me happy.
“Hey sleepyhead, time to get up.  The appointment is in about 3 hours, but check in time is 90 minutes ahead, and it’ll take us most of that time just to get there.”
It was a cooler day out today allowing me to wear the blue sweater.  Pulling on my favorite black leggings and a pair of flats, I met her out in the living room.  Sarah was not allowed to eat before the tests, but she grabbed leftover croissants for me to eat on the way and then for her to eat afterwards.  
I noticed she seemed a bit wobbly this morning.  When we made it outside, I gestured to a taxi.  “It will be a nice walk.”  She began to take off and started to stumble.
“Taxi, now.”  I gave absolutely no room for argument.  Sarah didn’t look like she felt great this morning.  Maybe she just didn’t sleep well last night or was coming down with something.  Her breathing was a bit off, but I refused to let her miss this appointment.  The itch in the back of my brain was going crazy.  I had to know one way or the other.
The taxi pulled up to the hospital about 20 minutes later.  Helping Sarah inside, she checked in early for her tests.  The gentleman behind the desk took one look at her and called for a nurse and a wheelchair.  “You don’t look so good.  Let's see if we have a bed so you can lay down.  If we can get the tests started early, we’ll let you know.”
They were indeed able to find a spare bed, and the nurse had a doctor come round to check in on her.  “It’s a good thing your friend had you come in early.  I’m going to run a few extra tests if that’s ok?  Our cardiologist will be here shortly, but I’d like to run a few routine tests just to be safe.”
Sarah agreed and submitted a urine sample.  The phlebotomist then came by and drew a few vials of blood.  Soon after, the cardiologist came by to run his own general tests.  “It looks like we can go ahead and have someone take you to get that MRI done.  Dr. Fell sent me his notes as well.  With your current symptoms, I’d also like to do a coronary angiogram, an ECG, and an EKG just to rule out other possible issues.”
“She’ll do it.”  I responded.
“I guess I’ll do it.”  Sarah confirmed and squeezed my hand.
By the time someone came to take Sarah for her tests, her breathing was noticeably worse, and she was becoming a bit pale.  “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.  Plus, I’m surrounded by doctors and nurses.  What could go wrong?”
She was wheeled away.  The nurse that took her advised that the tests would be done in succession and shouldn’t be more than 1.5 - 2 hours.  So when it came upon hour 3, I was getting worried.  They finally came back, and Sarah was very out of it.
“What happened?”
“She crashed during one of the tests, but we don’t know why.  We were able to bring her back around, but only just.  Once we get the results back, we’ll know how to proceed.”
They parked her bed and put on the breaks.  Once they left the room, I crawled right onto the bed next to her and gently hugged her from the side.  ‘I should have made her come in sooner, should have made her go see that damn doctor sooner,’ I thought to myself.
The cardiologist finally came in about an hour later.  “Her results have started coming in, and I’ve pinpointed the source of the issue.  It appears she has a rare congenital heart defect that would even make a heart transplant extremely dangerous if she were in perfect health.  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  Unfortunately there’s nothing we can do but make her comfortable.”
I turned away from the doctor and cried into Sarah’s shoulder as the doctor administered some pain medication before leaving.  
I could feel her breaths getting more and more shallow, her heart beat getting slower until it stopped altogether.
“There’s nothing you could have done.”
I cried hard, ignoring the voice.
“I had to show you.  You needed to know that you couldn’t have changed anything.”
Finally looking up, I saw her standing at the end of the bed looking at me, dressed in the same clothes from 3 years ago, the last day I saw her alive.
“When the hospital called and told you I was gone, I know you spent all this time blaming yourself thinking you could have changed something, but I promise nothing could have been done.  You have to stop blaming yourself.”
“I can’t,” I finally responded. “You can.  You have to.  I’ll always be watching over you.”
“You swear?”
“I swear it.  And what’s more important is you have to go back.  You can’t stay here.  He needs you.”
She disappeared from the room along with her body on the bed, leaving me completely alone.  I laid on my side, crying my heart out until I had no more tears left, falling asleep from the overwhelming emotional exhaustion.
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Chapter 23
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pigeonwhumps · 1 year
Text
Home for Christmas: Going Home
Sanctuary masterlist
AMOW day 2: home for Christmas
Yeah this isn't comfort at all lol.
Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @amonthofwhump
Finn takes 643 home for Christmas.
Set towards the end of her retraining as a Romantic.
869 words
CWs: BBU, pet whump, lady whump, dehumanisation, conditioning, nudity, noncon, ableism (very brief), creepy whumper, intimate whumper
Finn whistles as he opens the door to 643's room. He has a whole schedule he needs to follow to test her skills in the outside world, and he's very much looking forward to it.
643 slips onto her knees when she sees him enter, looking up at him from under her lashes. He strokes her hair and then puts his fingers to her mouth. 643 parts her lips, sucking delicately on his fingers for a minute before he pulls them away.
"Good girl. You're good at this, I'm sure your owner will be very happy with you."
"Thank you, sir."
"It's time to test your skills in the real world, so you're coming home with me for the holidays. And I have some proper clothes for you. Here, put these on."
He sets the clothes he's brought down beside her, not looking away as she changes into the lacy, dark red lingerie set he bought for her. She looks delicious in them and although he doesn't see her body for nearly long enough before she pulls the long, faux-fur coat over herself, that's alright. He'll have plenty of time later.
He's pleased to see that she doesn't try to hide her body from him anymore. That's good. It's nice to have her a bit shy, goes with the stutter, but she can't pull away too much.
"Good girl. Now put this on too." 643 shrugs on the orange high-vis vest with 'Pet in Training' written in black on the back. It doesn't look too good on her, but he doesn't mind. He'll take it off when they get home. And then she'll be all his for Christmas. He steps up to her and pushes her neck down, caressing her skin as he attaches her leash. She leans into his touch delightfully.
"Come on. Let's go."
643 stands smoothly and follows Finn out of the room, hands behind her back. Finn signs her out and sits her down in the passenger seat. She keeps her eyes out front, hands in her lap.
"You haven't seen the outside world much before, have you, 643?"
"No– no, sir."
"Hmm. You know, I can't decide if your owner would be better off keeping you in the bedroom or showing your beauty off in public. At least in the bedroom you couldn't make an escape attempt."
643 stiffens. "Please, sir, I– I wouldn't leave, that was– that was months ago, I wasn't trained properly, I wouldn't want to– to leave now, sir."
"Hush, it's okay, I know." He strokes the back of her neck with a smile and she leans into it, turning slightly to nuzzle into his hand. Oh, she's perfect. "I know. We're nearly there now."
_
When they reach 643's handler's house, 643 waits for his instructions before following him out of the car, head bowed. She's not supposed to be looking at the house without permission, and she won't.
Her heart's still hammering from the talk about escape attempts. Does her handler still think she'll try to leave? She wouldn't. She wants to be owned, she knows that now, she needs to be. She wants to be useful, to be used, it's what she was made for. Why would she leave? She wouldn't survive on her own anyway.
She follows her handler into the house, standing perfectly still as he removes her bright vest and fur coat, caressing her arm as he does so. It's cooler without it, but that's okay. She doesn't like the feel of the coat, and as a Romantic, she won't be wearing much for her owner anyway. Her handler says they'll want to show her off. He unclips her leash, too.
"This way. I need to relax for a bit before we go out later, and I have just the idea." He leads the way into the living room and sits down on the sofa, and she kneels at his feet, looking up at him attentively. She flutters her eyelashes slightly – he always likes that.
"I see you want my attention, and you'll have it, 643. But first, what do you think of the Christmas decorations?"
643 looks around. There's a fake tree in the corner decorated with lights and tinsel in the corner, and more tinsel strung up around the room. A paper star hangs from the ceiling.
The sight of the decorations brings tears to her eyes, and her head starts to hurt, although she has no idea why.
"They're very– very nice, sir."
"Hmm. We'll need to improve your compliment skills before you're sold, I think. And you need to hide those tears better. But that's okay, we have time. Take off your clothes and come up here, position 35."
643 strips and climbs onto the sofa, lying on her front and stretching her legs out, folded beneath her, her most valuable parts wide open and vulnerable. She feels a finger tease at her and as it touches a sensitive spot she lets out a soft moan.
"So reactive. Tell you what, if you behave well at the restaurant tonight I'll pleasure you properly. How's that?"
643 nods and manages a strangled, "Thank you, sir," as the handler teases her some more.
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cyborg-franky · 2 years
Text
Comission!
Thank you for commissioning me <3<3 @fire-fist-ann
Ace x OC SFW Word Count: 1,032
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Alyona loved the sound of the rain outside, the way it patters against the deck, hitting the sails and rolling down the fabric. Standing out there, the wind in her hair, cold water kissing her skin as she stared across the ocean, feeling safe and fearless as she watched the waves slosh around, getting higher and swotting at the Moby.
At night it soothed Alyona, just hearing it against the porthole of the room, she focused on it, allowing it to rock her to sleep. Almost there Alyona thought as her eyes fluttered closed, a serene smile on her lips as her breathing slowed, sleep tugging at her, making her limbs heavy and her mind settle.
Well, Alyona had been this close to being swept off her feet by the sandman until there was a series of sharp rushed knocks at the door. Alyona groaned and sat up, the knocking grew in urgency making her feel panicked and rushed.
“Coming!” she yelled, annoyance sharp in the zoan’s tone as she slipped on the robe that had been hanging slung over her chair, hugging it close to her body, crossing the room, opening the door and seeing Ace.
He offered Alyona a sheepish smile, his hand still raised, ready to rap his knuckles against the wooden surface once more. She quirked a brow at the fire user, seeing how his hair was soaked, drips running down the limp strands of black. His freckled cheeks were damp from where he’d been outside.
“What the hell, Portgas?” Alyona used his other name, indicating she wasn’t exactly pleased he’d decided to come and punch her nice early night in the face.
“So, I was talking to Marco,” he started and gripped the doorframe, neither of them making a move to grant him entry to her room.
“He said my anxiety is because I have too much on my mind.” Alyona’s expression softened when Ace looked behind her, unable to bring himself to make eye contact with her, she could tell he was struggling with his emotions right now.
“So I told him everything, how I feel..”
“Feel about what?” Alyona asked knowing that could be a can of worms when it came to someone as troubled as Ace.
He let out a sigh, running a hand through wet hair, she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy how the raindrops slowly trickled from his hair, down his body. No shirt, rain or shine apparently Alyona thought as she watched the commander stand at the door.
“Ah, well,” he hummed and shifted on the spot, Alyona fixed him a look.
“You.” He cleared his throat
She stared at him for a while, blinking, she was taken aback, to say the least. She opened and closed her mouth, gripping the fabric of her robe she tugged it closer for comfort as a whirlwind of thoughts ran through her mind. He had feelings for her? That was great! She had been fighting her own ones for Ace for what felt like far too long.
Alyona wanted to play it a little cooler than Ace, knowing she had the upper hand right now but her heart had longed for him. She’d talked to Marco about it many times and the poor phoenix would still humour her despite the exasperated expression on his face as tired eyes blinked at her as she gushed, spilling her feelings daily to him in his office.
“Uh, you’ve been staring into space for a while..Aly?” he asked and waved a hand in front of her eyes, she focused on him and shook her head, trying to straighten her thoughts, bring him the answer he was clearly seeking
“And ah, what about feelings for me?” she asked, feeling so shy at this moment, not her usual boisterous and loud self.
“I think I love you and I’m scared because your my best friend and you work for me, if anything was to fuck that up.. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I lost what we already have.” He admitted dark eyes flicked up to meet green ones as she carried on blinking at him.
“Ace…”
“Hey, can I please come in? I don’t wanna feel like everyone has their ears pressed to their doors to hear my utter rejection, yeah?” he said and watched her step back, enough to let him in.
He mumbled his thanks, hearing her shut the door, she sat on her bed, hands between her legs, feeling her palms sweaty at his confession to her. She was so scared she was going to be hurt, it had taken her so long to trust anyone, to find her place in this wonderful family.
“You don’t have to like me back, I swear I won’t make it weird...” he said with a half-hearted chuckle, leaning on her desk.
She watched the puddle at Ace’s feet forming as the water that drenched the commander was dripping on her bedroom floor, Still battling the turmoil in her mind she jumped back up, grabbing a towel from her stack of clean laundry and threw it over his head. He made a noise when she started to towel dry his hair.
When he battled her attempts to try him, letting the towel fall around his shoulders he looked at her, pleading, needing the answers, he was pretty sure he was close to a breakdown as she left him dangling at the end of the line.
“Alyona?”
“Ace…”
It was all she could do before she realised, this was the moment, this was the perfect time to allow herself these feelings, she was safe and cared for. No one on this ship was going to let her get hurt. They were her family, and her friends and Ace were here for her, she could tell him, right?
She threw her arms around him and let out a sob, her emotions welling up inside as she nuzzled her cheek against his freckled one.
“I love you too Ace!” she felt strong arms around her waist, feeling his lips kiss her cheek as he let out a sigh, relief washing over him as they held one another.
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