#sweet words and love confessions are ash on his tongue

[t-tomuras]

Sanemi Shinazugawa who’s afraid to love, who believes his love is a curse he wouldn’t place on another person ever again because anyone he’s ever loved slipped between his fingers.

#sweet words and love confessions are ash on his tongue #affection burns his throat like bile rising #love feels more torturous than any wound #that paints his body in jagged scars of lightened skin #oh tragic boy we could’ve been great

[elryuse]

THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOWERS

WONYOUNG X MALE READER X GAEUL

TAGS : LOVE TRIANGLE, CHEATING WONYOUNG, LIGHT YANDERE GAEUL, ANGST, HAPPY END, FLUFF

The city lights blurred past the taxi window, a kaleidoscope of neon mirroring the turmoil within me. Each raindrop hitting the pavement echoed the hammering in my chest. Wonyoung was gone, not physically – she still shared our apartment, a ghost haunting its familiar walls – but emotionally, her heart stolen by a cruel mirage.

Sunghoon. The name felt like a curse word on my tongue. He was everything I wasn't – loud, flashy, the center of attention. Wonyoung, my sunshine, my Wonyoung, had been lured by his supernova glow, leaving me in the cold, desolate space he left behind.

We were the perfect couple, or so everyone thought. Public appearances, stolen kisses on award shows, our social media a testament to a love people envied. But behind the curated feed, cracks had begun to show. Her lingering glances at Sunghoon, the whispered conversations during interviews I couldn't decipher.

I buried my head in the sand, clinging to the illusion of our happiness. Until the day I saw the message. A careless text left open on her phone, a single sentence that shattered our carefully constructed world.

"Meet me tonight, baby. Can't wait to see you again."

The phone slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the coffee table like a gunshot. The once-sweet scent of her perfume in the air turned suffocating.

Days bled into weeks, a hollow space where Wonyoung used to be. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored. The guilt gnawed at her, I knew, her apologies echoing in a phone call that replayed on a loop in my mind. But the words, laced with a desperation I no longer recognized, rang hollow.

My saving grace, my lighthouse in this storm, was Gaeul. Wonyoung's best friend, always a presence on the periphery of our relationship. Now, she was the constant by my side, a silent pillar of support.

Nights were the worst. Sitting in the living room, the echo of our laughter bouncing off the walls like a cruel ghost. Gaeul would sit beside me, a warm presence against the chill that enveloped me. Her hand, a grounding force.

One night, as sobs wracked my body, a flicker of something new sparked in her eyes. Not pity, but a hesitant understanding. A silent confession we both acknowledged but couldn't yet voice.

Wonyoung returned, a broken bird with tear-streaked cheeks. Her apologies were a torrent of words, a desperate attempt to rewind time. But the pieces of our love were scattered, impossible to reassemble.

My heart, once overflowing with love for the girl with sunshine hair, was now a barren landscape. The thrill she craved had left her empty, the excitement a fleeting mirage.

Gaeul was different. Her love was a quiet flame, a steady warmth in the storm. Her eyes held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a quiet strength that complemented my own.

As Wonyoung packed her things, a ghost leaving the life she'd built, a flicker of hope ignited within me. It wasn't the same fierce love I once held for Wonyoung, but it was a spark nonetheless.

Looking at Gaeul, her hand resting on mine, I finally found the words that had been lost, choked by sorrow.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I think… I think I might be falling for you."

The rain outside had stopped, replaced by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds. A new beginning, fragile but hopeful, stretched before me. The love I once had for Wonyoung, a vibrant flower, might have wilted, but from its ashes, a different kind of love bloomed. A quiet love, a steady flame, waiting to be nurtured.

Timeskip

The scent of jasmine, once a sweet reminder of Gaeul's calming presence, now made my stomach churn. It clung to the air like a ghost, a stark contrast to the cloying perfume that filled the apartment when Wonyoung reappeared.

"Y/n," she breathed, her voice trembling like a teardrop. She stood in the doorway, my name a soft plea on her lips. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The Wonyoung I knew, the vibrant sunshine girl, was gone, replaced by a fragile wisp of a woman desperate for redemption.

"Wonyoung," I mumbled, unsure of what to say. Gaeul was away for the weekend, visiting her family. A selfish part of me, a flicker of the love that still flickered like a dying ember, welcomed this unexpected visit.

"Can I come in?" she pleaded, her voice a mere whisper. I hesitated, the image of Gaeul, her hand intertwined with mine, flashing in my mind. But Wonyoung's watery eyes were too much to bear.

"Just for a bit," I muttered, stepping aside.

She moved like a wisp, collapsing onto the couch I used to share with Gaeul. The scent of jasmine mingled with the heavy perfume, creating a suffocating mix.

"I miss you, Y/n," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "I miss us."

My heart clenched. The memories flooded back – stolen kisses in backstage corridors, whispered secrets under a blanket of stars. But that time had passed, replaced by Gaeul's quiet strength, her unwavering support.

"Gaeul..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Gaeul is kind," she said, her voice laced with something bitter. "But she doesn't understand you like I do."

She took a step closer, her hand brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, a betrayal of the fragile peace I'd found with Gaeul.

"We could try again, Y/n," she whispered, her voice husky. "Forget Sunghoon, forget everything. We can be like we were before."

Her words were a siren song, a desperate attempt to rewind time. The Wonyoung I once loved stood before me, but the ghost of Gaeul's hurt loomed large.

"Wonyoung..." I began, searching for the right words.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, framed by the entrance, a dark cloud behind the veil of her hair. Her face, usually radiating warmth, was set in a mask of cold fury.

"Gaeul," I stammered, the air thickening with tension.

Wonyoung, sensing the shift in atmosphere, whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What's going on here?" Gaeul asked, her voice devoid of its usual gentleness. It was a voice I'd never heard before, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

Wonyoung, flustered, stammered an explanation. But Gaeul cut her off, her gaze fixed on me.

"Y/n," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The question hung in the air, an accusation disguised as concern. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she clung to the words "everything alright" like a lifeline, was unsettling.

"Yes," I lied, my voice thin. "We were just… catching up."

Gaeul's gaze never left me. It was an intense scrutiny that made me feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. The jasmine scent, which once offered solace, now felt like a suffocating prison.

Wonyoung, sensing the hostility, opted for a graceful retreat. Mumbling a quick goodbye, she practically flew out of the apartment, leaving an unsettling quiet behind.

Gaeul turned to me, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions. The love, the possessiveness, the anger – it all swirled together in a terrifying cocktail.

"Don't let her manipulate you again, Y/n," she hissed, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The Gaeul I knew, the comforting presence, seemed to have vanished. In her place stood a woman I didn't recognize, a woman consumed by a love that had turned possessive.

The night that followed was a blur of accusations and justifications. My apartment, once a haven of peace, became a battleground. The love triangle that had started with Wonyoung's infidelity had now morphed into a suffocating web of possessiveness, with Gaeul as the spider at its center.

As the sun peeked through the blinds, casting harsh light on the wreckage of the night, I knew things couldn't go on like this. My once cozy apartment, filled with shared laughter and the scent of Gaeul's jasmine tea, now reeked of tension and the cloying perfume Wonyoung had worn.

Gaeul sat on the couch, her back ramrod straight, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Gone was the gentle touch that used to comfort me, replaced by a cold, unyielding demeanor.

"Gaeul," I started, my voice hoarse. "We need to talk about this."

She finally looked at me, but not in the way I craved. Her eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, were hard and calculating.

"What is there to talk about, Y/n?" she spat. "Wonyoung just waltzes back in after breaking your heart, and you're ready to fall for her all over again?"

"No," I said, trying to defend myself. "I just... I don't know what happened last night. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her lips turned into a thin line. "Sorry doesn't fix things, Y/n. You need to make a choice. Me or her."

The ultimatum hung heavy in the air. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have issued such an order. This possessive stranger felt like someone I barely recognized.

"Gaeul," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "We haven't even…"

"Haven't even what?" she snapped. "Haven't confessed our feelings? We've been there for each other through everything, Y/n. Isn't that enough?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the facade. But the possessiveness remained, a dark cloud clouding her love.

The truth was, it was enough. Gaeul's unwavering support had been a lifeline during the storm of Wonyoung's betrayal. Yet, the way she was acting now felt suffocating. Did I love Gaeul? In the aftermath of Wonyoung's heartbreak, maybe it was a form of gratitude, a comfort zone I'd settled into.

"Gaeul," I tried again, "I need time."

Her eyes narrowed. "Time for what, Y/n? To run back to Wonyoung's arms the moment she bats her eyelashes at you?"

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "Time to figure out what this is, between us. This possessiveness… it scares me."

The anger in her eyes flickered momentarily, replaced by a flicker of sadness. "Is that all I am to you, Y/n? Just a possession to be claimed or discarded?"

My heart ached. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have spoken like this. The love that bound us, now twisted by her possessiveness, threatened to unravel completely.

"Gaeul, you're not just a possession," I said, trying to reach her. "You're my friend, my support system. But… but this isn't healthy. We both need space."

She stood up abruptly, her movements jerky and tense. "Fine," she spat, the word laced with hurt and anger. "Have your space, Y/n. Just don't come crawling back to me when you realize you threw away the good thing you had right here."

With that, she stormed out of the apartment, leaving me alone with the ghosts of the night and the deafening silence in its wake.

The following days were a blur. Neither Gaeul nor Wonyoung contacted me. The space I'd craved felt more like a desolate wasteland. The apartment, once a haven, felt empty without the comforting scent of jasmine tea or the familiar warmth of Gaeul's presence.

As the days turned into weeks, a strange realization dawned on me. My feelings for Wonyoung, once a passionate inferno, had dwindled to embers. The betrayal had left an indelible mark, a permanent scar on our relationship.

What about Gaeul? The possessiveness that had initially scared me, now felt like a twisted reflection of the love she held for me. A love that, however distorted, was genuine.

One evening, I decided to take a chance. Armed with a bouquet of jasmine flowers, I stood outside Gaeul's apartment, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

After a long wait, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

"Y/n?" she said, her voice thick with surprise.

I held out the bouquet, the jasmine flowers radiating a comforting scent. Gaeul's gaze softened, a flicker of recognition replacing the initial shock.

"Gaeul," I began, my voice rough with emotion. "I messed up. Big time."

She didn't say anything, but her eyes held a silent invitation to continue.

"I was scared," I confessed, taking a deep breath. "Scared of losing you, scared of letting go of the comfort you offered. But my fear twisted your love, turned it into something unhealthy."

The vulnerability in my voice seemed to resonate with her. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

"I don't want Wonyoung," I continued, my gaze meeting hers with newfound clarity. "The woman I miss is the one who brought me jasmine tea in the mornings, the one who held me through the night when my heart ached. The woman I love is you, Gaeul."

A hesitant smile bloomed on her face, as beautiful as the first flower peeking through winter's frost. She stepped closer, the scent of jasmine mingling with the warmth of her body.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Can I… can I kiss you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, a silent permission. As our lips met, a spark ignited, a gentle flame rekindled by honesty and second chances. The kiss wasn't fiery or passionate, but filled with a quiet understanding, a promise of a future built on trust and love.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of apologies, forgiveness, and cautious exploration of this newfound love. We talked for hours, peeling away the layers of fear and misunderstanding.

One evening, as the city lights twinkled outside our window, casting a warm glow on the apartment once filled with tension, I knelt before Gaeul, holding a small velvet box.

"Gaeul," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "You were my friend, my rock, and now you're the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, a radiant smile breaking through the dam. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with happy tears.

The following year, surrounded by friends and family, we exchanged vows. The jasmine scent filled the air, a symbol of love, comfort, and a second chance. As I looked into Gaeul's eyes, brimming with love and joy, I knew I had found not just a wife, but a partner who understood the complexities of love and was willing to work through them.

The love triangle that had threatened to tear my life apart had ultimately led me to the one person who truly mattered. And with each passing year, the love we shared, nurtured by honesty and trust, only grew stronger.

#ive gaeul #ive wonyoung #ive starship #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #apreciation post #update #yandere #angst #kpop fluff #wonyoung #kim gaeul

[fe-fictions]

Felix x Byleth Commission

(When your husband wants to call you by a pet name, but he’s too heckin’ shy to do it!)

It was a pattern that Felix had noticed, but it did take him quite a while. Sometimes he would be walking past Sylvain, who would be raining compliments and pet names down on his loved one.

Then he would hear Ashe’s shy “my love’s” and “darling’s”, followed by Ingrid’s forceful “sweetheart” here and there….though it sounded more sarcastic than anything else.

What really did it for him, though, wasn’t hearing the Boar’s frightening use of the term “My Beloved”, nor Annette’s constant showering of sweet names for her favorite person, but hearing Dedue say…actually, really say…”Honey”. 

It was then that Felix realized a terrible truth. He did not have a single pet name for his own wife.

Of course, the only person he would dare reveal this information to was someone kind enough not to tease him for it…too much.

“You don’t have any pet names for the Archcbishop?” Mercedes, who was cleaning the empty infirmary, stared at him.

Felix couldn’t bear to look back- he knew full well she was amused with his admission.

“No. I’ve never really thought about it. I mean…even when we were courting, we didn’t call each other pet names! She’s always just been Byleth, you know? At least, after she stopped being the professor.”

“So the closest you’ve gotten to giving her a loving name was her title as an educator?” Mercedes’ hand covered her mouth, hiding her tittering. “Oh, Felix!”

“Come on, I told you that because I thought I could trust you! Don’t go and make fun of me now!”

“I’m not making fun, I promise!” She giggled, “I just…didn’t realize this was something you were worried about.”

“I wasn’t! At least, not before!” He argued, crossing his arms.

“Why the sudden change, then?”

“I just…well, everyone else seems to call their partners by some sort of stupid nickname, but I don’t. B-but that’s not a big deal, right? It’s not like you have to have some sort of pet name to prove you love somebody!”

“Well, no, I suppose not. It’s really just another way to show that you care about someone, and that you let your guard down around them enough to do something cute and affectionate like that!”

“I let my guard down around her- I-I married her!” He protested, “A-and we hold hands and hug and…and do a lot of other embarrassing stuff! Do I have to add pet names to that list, too?!”

“You don’t have to, Felix. It’s just another way to show Byleth that you love her. But it sounds like she already knows well enough. Besides, it’s not like you don’t ever tell her how you feel, right?”

“I do.” He huffed, his confession backed up by the fact that the blush reddening his cheeks was darker than ever.

Mercedes smiled gently at him, patting his shoulder. “Then you should not trouble yourself with this. You’re doing a fine job as is.”

“You’re sure Byleth will be okay with it?”

“You could always ask her yourself, you know.” She hummed, “It’s good to communicate about these things every now and then.”

“Hmph.” He leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples as he considered her words. It was true, it wasn’t a necessary thing to show how much he loved you.

And he did try and tell you that he loved you, though more often than not he did that through sword fights and late night trysts. Perhaps he ought to express it more directly, with his words.

“Are you ready for lunch, dearest?”

Felix jolted when he heard a voice at the door, finding Mercedes greeting her husband with a grin.

“Of course, darling. I was just finishing up a chat with Felix. I’ve been waiting for you to come.”

He wasn’t sure if she could feel his sharp glare on her back, but if looks could kill.

Even Mercedes and her husband could let such titles slip from their tongues with ease! Was he the only one afflicted by this ailment of the heart? 

That’s what he presumed, at least, until he remembered his wife. You didn’t call him pet names, either. If you did, then he would definitely have followed suit and done the same. This wasn’t a problem with him, it was a mutual respect for each other, naturally! 

If you really wanted him to call you by a pet name, then he would! But since you did not want such a silly thing to happen, then clearly there wasn’t any need for it at all. 

That’s what he told himself, at least.

It would only be a matter of time before it was put to the test.

-------------------------

“Byleth, you’re going to be late to bed again, if you don’t stop now.”

“It’s not that late.”

Felix stepped into your office with a mildly annoyed glare, finding you buried beneath piles of documents as usual.

You held your finger up, crossing your “sword” with his as he rounded the desk to meet you.

“Every night I come in here and say that, and every night you reply with the same thing. When are you going to learn to stop at a healthy hour?”

“Whenever you stop having faith that I’ll stop myself. I’m waiting on you to come get me, you know.”

“If I knew that, I’d have come here a lot sooner.” He scoffed, plucking the quill from your fingers. “Enough dawdling- let’s clean this up and get you to bed.”

You gave him a soft smile, which he was sweet enough to reciprocate (he did love it when you smiled, after all).

“Thank you, Felix.”

“No problem.”

A simple transaction of words; no fluttery, fluffy little bits that would leave room for pet names or drawing attention to the lack thereof.

Instead, he moved from shelf to file in the room, taking the documents you gave him and put them where instructed.

Everything was peaceful and still, sleep just moments from taking you both.

“All right, that should be the last of them… oh, wait. Could you take this one for me? It just needs to go in the cabinet, over there.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, love.”

Felix froze.

His mouth dropped, clutching th epapers tight in his hand. 

“...What…what did you say?”

“Hmm?”  You didn’t look up from your work, as though you did not realize the words you just spoke. “I thanked you for your help. Do I need to say it again?”

He shook his head, quickly turning before you could see how white his face had become, drained of all color.

A million thoughts whirled in his mind, struggling to maintain appearances while the panic filled him.

Had you always called him that? Was that the first time, or did he just never notice? Had he ever called you “love” before? Surely he had, hadn’t he? If you said it to him, it had to be in his vocabulary, too!

But no. 

No.

That would be too good to be true. Of course he’d never said it to you. Otherwise it wouldn’t have rocked his entire world to hear you say it.

Numbly he put the papers where he was instructed to do so, and then took his leave.

You were polite enough not to say anything. It was pretty clear he was bothered about something, though. Knowing Felix, he’d take his time coming around to telling you what it was precisely.

When you made it to bed, Felix was already under the blankets. It looked like he wasn’t going to be particularly interested in discussing anything tonight.

You relented and allowed it, instead coming to bed just behind him. You wrapped your arms around his back.

His breathing was slow, suggesting sleep, but you could feel he was still tense. He was trying to sleep and failing miserably.

“...Is there something you want to talk about?” Your voice breaks the still darkness in a gentle, patient manner.

His hand tightens over yours, but he shakes his head. 

“Nothing. It’s…I’m fine.” He replied quietly, kissing your fingertips. “Thank you.”

You nuzzle into him, “You know if you aren’t fine, for any reason, you can always tell me.”

“I know.” Felix turned over in bed, pulling you into his arms so you could cuddle properly. You smiled into his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

It was notably a little quicker than usual.

It seemed he was a lot more stressed than he wanted to admit, you thought with a frown.

“Hey…Byleth?”

“Yes?”

“...I love you.”

“Oh…” You blushed, burying your face in his chest. “I love you too, Felix.”

“Hm. I know.” You could hear the victorious smile in his voice. “Good night.”

You both dreamed sweetly, that night. Felix seemed to forget his worries, if only for a moment. Such was the effect his wife could have on him, after all.

If only it could last forever.

-------------------------

Unfortunately, Felix’s strange behavior only seemed to grow more and more cryptic the longer time went by.

He became particularly distant, unwilling to really engage in long conversations outside of what seemed to be casual small talk or something to do with work. 

Any time you would thank him or ask him for something, he would suddenly get very tense or awkward, as if he were bracing for some sort of insult or uncomfortable reply.

Sometimes he would relax, but depending on what you said, it seemed to make him more tense than before.

What was more perplexing was that your husband would sometimes say something very sweet to you, or try to start a conversation of some sort. 

But before he would finish what he was trying to tell you, he would taper off and then dismiss himself quickly, or would just stall and deny having anything more to say if you tried to prompt him to finish.

It was so very bizarre.

You wanted to get to the bottom of it, but every time you tried to take him aside and ask about it, he just wouldn’t give you anything to work with.

Therefore, it was time for an investigation.

By investigation, of course, the reality meant asking Annette what was going on.

“You two are so close,” She giggled behind her tea cup at your observation, “Surely there’s something he’s not telling me that he’s shared with you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not so, Professor. Who could be closer to Felix than his wife? I mean, Sylvain is a close second, but I really don’t think I can hold a candle to you!”

“I guess you have a point, but…Sylvain just dismisses my questions as Felix being his usual awkward self, and Ashe, Deduce…a lot of the other Lions haven’t noticed anything odd.”

“I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change in Felix, but I’m not surprised the others don’t have a clue. But I will say, he is a bit more…stiff.”

“Right? I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed!”

“He seems hesitant when he talks, too. Every now and thenI see him whispering something to Mercedes, or going to the infirmary for some sort of talk with her. Just the other day I saw him leaving, storming out with a blush on his face!”

“Hmm…” You tapped your chin, brow furrowed in thought. “What could he be asking her about in there, I wonder? Something that would make him blush?”

“Well…I didn’t want to speculate too much, but…when I asked Mercedes what Felix was up to, she just said he was asking for some sort of romantic advice.”

“Why would he be asking a medical cleric for something like that?”

“I mean, she is a doctor…and she is also a woman…so she would probably know a whole lot about, uh…that sort of thing, you know?”

“That sort of-” You paused. Annette’s face was bright pink, but you managed a poker face despite your crumbling insides. “Y-you really think he’d ask about that sort of thing? With Mercedes?” 

“He trusts her! And she’s very smart, and cares about both of you! I’m sure she thought of it as some sort of duty to the Archbishop! You know, a happy Archbishop means a happy Fod-”

“We can stop there.” You managed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay, then I guess that’s the most plausible theory we have. But it still doesn’t make sense, I mean….I am happy. Felix makes me very happy. I don’t think he’d need to ask for that sort of advice like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s worth asking him.”

“He shoots me down before I even have a chance to pick up on anything.”

“Then Mercedes is the place to go!” Annette decided, “I know she’s going to be taking a break in about fifteen minutes, if she’s on her usual schedule. Why not go and ask her what’s going on?”

It was an excellent idea, and considering it was also your only lead, that was your next destination. Mercedes greeted you as warmly as ever, but when you explained to her what was going on, she seemed the opposite of worried.

As a matter of fact, she ended up giggling as though you had said something quite funny.

“I can’t believe it! He still hasn’t figured out how to say it to you.” She grinned, placing her hand atop yours when the confusion and worry doubled on your face.

“What is he trying to say?”

“Recently, Felix noticed that all of his friends and comrades seem capable of giving each other pet names and cute little nicknames whenever they speak with their partners.”

“...Uh huh.”

“But for whatever reason, he’s never been able to do that with you! And he told me just a few days ago, that he thought it was fine because the two of you never called each other affectionate little names. But all of a sudden, you had called him ‘love’!” 

Your brow furrowed; when had that happened? A few days ago? And that was something that Felix, the grumpiest, most stoic Blue Lion you’d ever met, was worried about?

“Regardless, it made him feel even more alienated than before, and he was so worried that he had not been showing you how much he loved you, especially compared to everyone else. So he decided, just all of a sudden, that he just had to call you pet names too!”

“But I don’t need him to…especially if it’s so hard for him…” You trailed off, absolutely flummoxed. You didn’t realize this was something that weighed so heavily on him.

“Still, he and I have been practicing the last couple days, just trying to find a cute pet name that he could call you that wouldn’t leave him so embarrassed he can’t speak. And I thought we settled on one.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise before he has a chance to say it to you, first! You ought to go ask him about it. I’m sure it’ll be easier to pull that sort of thing out of him if he realizes you’ve noticed a change about him.”

It was certainly a fair point. But really, you were just a swirl of emotions and thoughts. To think that your Felix would be so overwhelmed by those kinds of thoughts, it made you realize just how much he cared about you.

To think he could be so very concerned about something like that, just for you.

-------------------------

That night would be the night you confronted him.

You waited in the bedroom that evening, awake long after the moon hit its peak in the sky. No doubt Felix was trying to train his nerves away in an attempt to appear normal to you.

When the door quietly opened, you were ready and waiting.

Felix wiped at his face with a towel, setting the sword quietly down in its scabbard by the doorway. 

He looked over to the bed; confusion flashed across him when he didn’t find you in bed. At least it didn’t turn into worry, because he spotted you sitting in the arm chair by the window.

“Byleth?”

“Welcome back, Felix.” You smiled softly, standing from your seat. “I was waiting for you to finish up.”

“I’m all done, now.” He nodded to you, undoing his belts and fastenings while he walked to his dresser, in search of his far more comfortable night clothes. “Any, uh, particular reason why you were waiting?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” You replied calmly, moving to sit at the foot of the bed while he changed. It didn’t take him long to swap his clothes, shifting to the washroom to wipe away the day’s stress.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Well, yes and no. I’m all right, but I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?”

There was the little tense twinge in his voice. He stepped back into the bedroom, hairbrush in hand. He passed it over to you, taking his seat in front of you on the blanket’s edge. 

You sat up on your knees and gently removed his hair tie, drawing his hair down carefully before you started to brush through it.

“Well, for one thing, you didn’t even cross blades with me when you came in.” 

You put your index finger over his shoulder, which he quickly met with his own. You returned to brushing his hair.

“And you’ve been awfully distant, lately. A little more awkward than usual. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I know you’re worried, but I promise, I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said last time. So I did a little investigating, and I talked to Mercedes about it.”

He swiveled around, face pale.

“You talked to Mercedes?!”

“And she told me what you’ve been doing.” You continued, unfazed. Your poor husband covered his face, the blush apparent even in the darkness.

Gingerly you lifted from the bed and put the brush aside, face him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and settled into his lap, despite him still unable to look at you directly.

“Is that really what you’ve been worried about, the last few days? Wanting to call me pet names?”

“It’s so stupid.” He mumbled behind his hands. 

You took hold of his wrists and pried them away patiently, nudging him to look up at you.

“It’s sweet.”

“It’s not, though.” He shook his head, brow furrowed as though deeply troubled. “Any husband should be able to call his wife by some sort of nickname, even if it’s just something to be dismissed or something you don’t even have to think about! I mean, you called me by a pet name, and didn’t even think twice!”

“I don’t think ‘love’ counts as a pet name.”

‘It’s a term of endearment.” He huffed, “Another thing I’m really, really bad at, as a husband.”

“So…what do you want to do about it?” You tilted your head, “Mercie mentioned you had a name picked out for me, already. You’ve been trying to say it, right?”

“Y-yeah, but, I mean- it’s pointless now, isn’t it?”

“If it’s something important to you, it’s not pointless. You want to express yourself. I think that’s incredibly sweet, and very, very precious of you.”

“It’s not precious- I’m not some cute little puppy that’s ‘precious’! I’m just a fool of a man. Can’t even call my wife ‘darling’ or ‘dear’.”

“Is that the pet name?”

He went still again, the blush reddening deeper.

“W-what?”

“Darling? Is that my pet name? Or is it ‘Dear’?” 

“It’s…! It’s…i-it might be both…I just…I wanted to at least try one of them first, and then if I could swing another, I wanted a back-up.”

“I think they’re both adorable.” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Felix stiffened slightly, but melted into your kiss as he always did.

His hands came around your waist with a soft sigh, breaking apart to find the pink dusting your cheeks now, too.

“You think so, huh?”

“I really do. Heehee…I’m ‘darling’ to you? I’m a darling person in your heart?”

“You’re my wife. What else would you be?” He dismissed you, “It pissed me off more than anything that I couldn’t even force myself to say it, when it’s something I think about every day.”

“My goodness,” You laughed, kissing him again and again. “I don’t know why you were so worried about not being able to express yourself. You’re awfully good at making my heart skip a beat.”

“You’re teasing me. We both know your heart doesn’t beat.”

“It’s a turn of phrase, dear.” You replied with emphasis, making him stutter and look away. 

It was just too much to bear. He really was a precious man.

You pushed your sweet Felix down, hands on either side of his handsome face. He looked up at you expectantly, enjoying the sudden twist of the evening.

“I love you very  much, Felix. But you don’t have to call me by pet names if you don’t want to. I know just how much you care about me…tonight just made it even more clear.”

“You really don’t mind?” He asked you quietly, “If you want me to call you something, or give you a nickname, or…I don’t know. If you ask, I’ll do it.”

“I would never force you.” You kissed his forehead, gently pressing your hips to his. “But I wouldn’t be opposed if you called me ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ every now and then. And if you really want, I could do the same for you.”

“That might not be so bad,” He hummed, though his breath quickly hitched when you rolled your hips into him, much more firmly.

“Shall we start tonight, then?”

It didn’t just start, that night…you had him busy until dawn, and there was no end to the sweet nothings and heated calls of your new pet names throughout.

Which also brought a whole new meaning to the names whenever you ‘lovingly’ teased him by calling him one.

#felix #byleth #fe 16 #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #felileth #felix x byleth #commission #fluff prompt #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!byleth #fem!byleth #f!mu #ughhhh sweet felix is just SO SWEET #makes my HEART SO HAPPY

[embarrassingggggg]

Their first kiss is soft and sweet and quiet; it’s a surprise to neither of them.

It could have happened any time in these past few months, Eddie supposes - after he took a baseball bat to his bedroom walls, after Buck stepped into the mess and took on the role of partner and secondary father and, well, everything. After Taylor threw Buck out of his own loft, and he stepped into Eddie’s home with a duffle bag and a sheepish expression on his face.

After Eddie didn’t ask him to leave.

It’s not a surprise one warm evening after dinner when Eddie wraps Buck’s wrist in his hand and tugs him in, slots their mouths together like they do it every day.

Buck sighs and cradles Eddie’s face in big hands like he’s precious, like he’s delicate and special and loved in a way he’s never felt before. It steals Eddie’s breath away.

They kiss and touch and smile goofily at each other all night; curl up on the couch and indulge in the new closeness.

When they go to bed, there’s no question that Buck won’t need to sequester himself to the sofa ever again. Eddie welcomes him into his sparse, empty bedroom and for the first time it feels warm. They kiss over and over - unhurried because this is it, for both of them, forever. There’s no rush, it’s just the beginning. Eddie tries to learn Buck’s mouth by heart; the shape of his soft lips and the taste of his tongue. Their whispered confessions and promises follow him into sleep.

In the morning, Buck’s shift starts a couple of hours earlier than Eddie’s. They cook together, dancing around Eddie’s little kitchen. Christopher watches with a smile on his face that’s almost too knowing. He doesn’t blink when Eddie leans over the table to kiss Buck just because Buck is there and beautiful and he can.

Buck hugs them both goodbye. He kisses Christopher’s hair - almost hesitant, giving Eddie a wide-eyed look like he’s not sure if he’s allowed, but all Eddie does is smile at him. He wants Buck to feel like Chris’ dad because he is, has been for longer than any of them realised.

Chris goes to grab his bag and Eddie takes the moment to curl his hands around Buck’s narrow waist, to lean up into a kiss that makes him want to hold Buck here and never let him leave. Buck makes soft, wanting sounds against his mouth and grins at him when he leans back and Eddie can’t help but chase him.

“You know we’re working together in like, two hours, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m not so sure Bobby is gonna let me kiss you up against the truck,” Eddie dips his head to press a kiss to Buck’s collarbone, the side of his throat, the notch of his jaw.

“Not so sure your kid is gonna be too happy about it happening in the middle of your kitchen either.”

“Our kid,” Eddie squeezes Buck’s waist and leans back to look him in the eye. “Our kitchen.”

He’s not mistaken; Buck’s eyes go shiny and liquid at the words. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Buck ducks his head, that bashful thing he does when he’s pleased and not sure what to do about it. It’s sweet. Eddie swallows back the words before he realises he doesn’t have to anymore.

“You’re sweet,” he murmurs after a moment. He slides his hands up Buck’s broad back and curls his palm around the back of his neck, brings him in to press their mouths together. “And you’re going to be late.”

“Okay,” Buck still looks a little dumbstruck by Eddie’s words, but he’s smiling, cheeks pink. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Eddie doesn’t let him go, but he does turn his head to call out to Christopher: “Chris, say goodbye to Buck!”

“Bye Buck!” Christopher calls from down the hallway. “See you when you get home!”

“Bye buddy, have a good day at school!” Buck beams back at him.

Another kiss; hurried, Buck leaning to grab his duffle at the same time.

“Hey,” Eddie hesitates a second but thinks fuck it and adds, “Love you.”

It’s not the first time they’ve said it - in fact they both did several times last night, but it’s the normalcy of it that gets Eddie. The fact that he has someone he can kiss in his kitchen, someone who will come home to him tonight, someone who will smile and say, ‘Love you’ right back.

Buck blushes brilliantly. “I love you too,” another sunshine smile, another peck to Eddie’s lips and he’s out the door. “I’ll see you later!”

“See you!”

Eddie closes the door and leans against it, brimming full of light and warmth.

How I love this fic here’s the whole story it’s fucking good!!! :

[ajanuarylove]

𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 🌙

I need you to know what happened in that toilet stall is something my heart won't ever forget. I didn't know your name then and I still don't know your name now. Your face is a hidden moon swallowed by midnight clouds, a mask hiding your godly beauty from the world like a lost boy dancing behind the stage curtains at an opera. You turned me into crystal roses, dangling like charms from the sky when you confessed that you wanted me, needed me, to talk dirty to you. Filthy and rough. To tell you how our bodies would feel while I railed you over a balcony ledge on a sweaty Paris evening and sprawled your legs open across the bonnet of a Bentley at sundown, but your thundering stardust spilled too quickly down my shaking hand, the criminal words only halfway up my tongue and like a ghost, you swept yourself away. Hiding from my sight while I stood there, my breath turned to ash, in the now empty space, the walls glimmering with the golden love you left behind, the floor vandalized in sin, the feel of your hardness graffitied all over my soul. The air smells of chemicals and hot, musky breath as I wonder how a stranger offering such sweet candy to an innocent flower can be so beautiful yet wildly tragic.

My mama warned me about boys like you. Taboo and dangerous. Hook up culture and No Strings Attached. Yet, you comforted me like warm amber lights and La Vie Est Belle as you gripped my thighs from behind like a plea for me to melt every part of my body into your skin, to sink into your ribcage and stitch myself onto your cardiovascular system. I tried so hard to grasp just a glimpse of your face, but you have mastered the art of hiding your guilty pleasure love from the world.

I hope you are well, strange boy with the body of a sweet angel. I will forever think about our moment in the sun. A part of me was left behind with you in that gym restroom. A first for a boy too ashamed to live his truth and a first for another boy still looking for someone to love him the way he deserves to be loved.

@ajanuarylove_

#bad romance #in my feels #lover era #gay poetry #lgbtq poetry #sexphotoslove kinky sex romantic hot freaky freak sexy couple goals romance babygirl relatable lust kink daddy couple loyalty aesthetic rela #tumblr poetry #deep thoughts #gay love #billie eilish #instapoetry #gay couple #lgbtq community

[sykilik101]

Belonging

The elderly rays of the sun spilled through Ash’s window, casting twilight shadows that were beginning to fade into a darkness that matched the approaching night. Silence filled the room, save for the soft whir of the air conditioner and Misty’s breathing. She was warm atop him, the top of her head tickling his chin. His fingertips grazed the skin above the waistband of her shorts, and he savored the way she gently wiggled in response to his touch.

“You’re not asleep, are you?”

“No, but I could fall asleep like this.”

Ash grinned, his chest swelling at how she gently squeezed his shoulders. He kissed her hair, breathing in her shampoo and nearly chuckling when she began rubbing her foot up and down his. He began tenderly scratching her lower back and earned a soft mewl from her.

“Keep doing that.”

When Misty first confessed her love to him, the first thing he’d done was ask her to pinch him. The sharp pain was momentary, but the look in her eyes when he said he was happy he wasn’t dreaming was eternally ingrained into his mind. She’d kissed the spot where she’d pinched him, and before he could finish blushing she'd already pressed her lips to his. In the moment, more than love, he felt admiration for her. He’d considered himself a fairly courageous person when it mattered, but the bravery she showed in pushing through her shaky voice during the confession, in pulling him close with quivering hands, wooed him in ways that to this day he’d never conveyed to her.

Of course, in spite of his reputation for romantic density, he’d seen this coming a mile away. Maybe it was the realization of his own feelings that had made him hyper attuned to Misty, but the signs of her own enamorment had become obvious and pervasive. It was the lingering hold on his hand when he guided her through darkened caves. It was the ruby hue of her cheeks that he’d once attributed to anger, but now he could only see as fluster and embarrassment. He could even swear he’d seen her heart light up her eyes when he’d cradled Togepi while Brock tended to her ankle after she’d tripped over an errant hole in the ground.

Yet, despite the implicit affirmation of her feelings, he still hadn’t found the courage to share his own with her. Something had held him back; fear was part of it, but as he explored his thoughts, it was uncertainty that revealed itself as his biggest obstacle. He knew that with a confession to her, it would mark a shift in their dynamic. His hand would find a home in hers more often than before, and the mouth that had always chided and mocked him would murmur sweet nothings into his ear. Campfires would be extinguished much later as their private conversations would carry on longer into the night. To the fullest extent of the word, she would be his girlfriend, and he, her boyfriend.

Would he have been ready for that? Would she?

Would she have even cared if she wasn’t?

“You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

Her eyes found his; those eyes, viridian and gleaming in the light of the fading sunset, hypnotized him with the energy of their half-awake embrace. “Why do you say that?”

Her face was so close to his, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. How had she so dramatically gone from his best friend to the love of his life? She was it; even with a mere handful of dates behind them, even as the phrase “She’s my girlfriend” still felt unfamiliar on his tongue, he couldn’t imagine anyone else making his heart skip the way she could, all from a glance.

“You know, I didn’t know I liked you right away. It took me a long while to realize it, but once I knew, I…” He swallowed back the lump in his throat, hoping his nerves would sink along with it. “I could tell that you liked me, too.”

He was pleasantly surprised when she reacted not with shock or annoyance, but with a gentle smirk. Her fingers wrapped up and around his ear, tracing her thumb along the edge. Ash wondered, for a moment, if she could feel how much warmer it was growing at her touch. “Really?”

“Yeah, and…even though I knew I liked you, and I could tell you liked me back, I didn’t really know what to do. I know that people kiss and hold hands and stuff when they date, but doing stuff like that with you…I wasn’t scared, but I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Playfulness seeped into her smirk, her body swaying gleefully as she touched her fingertips to the ends of his hair. “So you made me do the hard part when you could’ve done it yourself.”

Hubris had been a folly of his for years, one that Misty had tempered throughout their travels, but that sting of restraint still nipped at him as he glanced to the side. “That’s why I think you’re brave. You didn’t know how I felt, but you wanted to tell me anyway. And…we’re together now because of that, so, you know…” He felt his cheeks start to go flush, enough that he convinced himself she could see them glow in the dark. “Thanks, for being brave when I wasn’t able to.”

Misty’s hand gently pressed the side of his face, willing his gaze to meet hers. She let the silence hang in the air, breathing against him and letting her foot come to a halt. Her eyes softened, and her mouth curled into a smile before she pressed it against his. The kiss was slow, languid; they were practically motionless, but the millions of nerve endings in their lips picked up their miniscule movements. He wasn’t sure how long their kiss lasted, but eventually Misty eased away, reconnecting their gaze.

“You know, I wasn’t as brave as you think.” Both of her hands cupped his face, her eyes shimmering. “You’re weren’t so secretive about your feelings, either.”

Ash’s mouth twisted awkwardly, his eyes widening. “Really?”

She nodded, and Ash’s eyes traced along the final thread of sunlight adorning her face. No teasing, no quip waiting in the wings; only love. She returned her fingers to his shoulders, settling back into him as the sun, finally, fell under the horizon.

“Really.”

This was commissioned by @pokeshipperryan​, so big props to him for the request (and for making this idea as easy to write as possible)!

#Pokeshipping #Ash x Misty #SatoKasu #AAML #Ash Ketchum #Misty #Pokemon #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Getting commissioned to write a fic is super sick #10/10 would do again

[saintshigaraki]

ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)

title: youth by daughter

pairing: dabi x f!reader 

words: 1.7k

excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief? 

a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.

tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard 

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

MDNI

He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow. 

(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be. 

He’s a self-important bastard like that.)

When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light. 

(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away? 

You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.

It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)

He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in. 

He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored. 

He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around. 

You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules. 

(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.

On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)

He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules. 

But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail. 

He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used. 

Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality. 

(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.

But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?) 

It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day. 

(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all. 

He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)

He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone. 

But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate. 

(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm. 

His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going. 

Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine. 

You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi. 

Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure. 

Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it. 

When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack. 

Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours. 

He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own. 

It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)

“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.” 

It’s not a question. 

You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark. 

(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)

With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.” 

The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath. 

It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones. 

It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making. 

Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.” 

You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury. 

He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage. 

You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting. 

Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on. 

You didn’t expect him to deny it. 

(He could be right, though you doubt he is.

You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first. 

You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right. 

You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done. 

Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder? 

Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.

But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)

“Dabi-” you start. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.  

“Dabi-” you try again. 

But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is. 

He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should. 

You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really. 

Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him. 

It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then? 

You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it. 

It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment. 

But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy. 

What a monster it’s made of him. 

a/n part two:

thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’ 

i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.

#bnha x reader #dabi x reader #bnha smut #dabi smut #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabi imagine #bnha x you #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #bnha x y/n #bnha imagine #vicwrites #vicwritesbnha #vic.thirsts

[bloomyagi]

beautiful, beloved, mine (m)

summary: you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.

pairings: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: pro heroes au, characters are aged up 20+

warnings: smut, dry humping, shouto comes in his pants, sub!shouto, he’s a good boi for you, he loves you very much n wants to be your baby

length: 2,447

notes: can u tell how much i love him pls -

.

.

.

“Can I be yours?”

Shouto Todoroki, ranked third pro-hero in Japan, has his strong arms braced around your head. In all your years of friendship, he has never been anything but exceedingly polite. He is well-behaved, thoughtful and sharp. He is guarded, though not intentionally, not anymore—it is reflex, a shield he has never really learned to lower. A reminder of his childhood.

You think he’s drunk. He must be, beautiful dual-coloured locks dishevelled, black button-up half-open and exposing his gorgeous collarbone. You watch, unwittingly, as a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, biceps flexing.

The dimmed lighting unfairly accosts you with his devastatingly handsome features and muscular body. And his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes are alight with something fierce and intense. They are also clear, glowing, almost, in the dark.

The two of you are somehow on the balcony, shut away from the rest of the world, the bass and the sounds of life fading in your little bubble until all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, the warmth of his breath, the heat of skin and the fluttering of your heart in your throat. The cement wall digs into your back.

No, you correct yourself. He isn’t drunk. He’s barely tipsy. He doesn’t like to drink, rarely acquiesces to Kirishima’s insistence of shots.

He doesn’t smell like alcohol. His scent has always been calming, detectable under the thin layer expensive cologne he uses—he doesn’t like perfumed smells either, only uses it on nights like these, when he’s obliged to look the part—that fresh, cool scent. Of clean sheets, laundry detergent.

Still, this is out of character. Todoroki has never once crossed a line with you, with anyone. He’s quiet, reserved, though he smiles more now, the forming dimples in the corner of his eyes a living testament to his character growth. He treats others fairly. He is not unkind, honest and straight-forward. He is many things, and with the way he’s gazing down at you now, you are suddenly reminded of Midoriya’s hushed remarks earlier.

“You can’t see it, but Todoroki-kun treats you differently. He thinks about you, what you’d like and what you like. He cares about you so he’s careful around you. He wants to cherish you. He’s cold because he uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. This is all new to him.”

“What is?”

The number one pro-hero had looked at you strangely. “Being in love.”

Midoriya is indisputably Todoroki’s best friend. Still, his actions are baffling. Why you? Why now? No, you couldn’t see it at all.

“Todoroki, are you drunk?”

“No. Though I required a little … liquid courage, as they say,” he rasps. He’s so close. His voice, so deep and husky, has you biting your lower lip. His gaze falls immediately.

He doesn’t touch you. The way his arms flex, hands clenching and unclenching, and his stiff posture tells you he wants to. He’s visibly restraining himself. Waiting, watching. Hoping.

“You never … why me?” You say softly.

“I could not. I wanted to, so badly. I have always wanted you. I always thought it was impossible for someone like me—to find someone I would want to share my life with, given my upbringing and dysfunctional family. But then things changed, got better, and then I met you.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I found wordless comfort in your mere presence. I found I could be emboldened, empowered, changed by your words. Every day I wondered how I could be worthy of you—if I could ever be worthy of you. Then I realized it was you … it would not matter to you, so long as I was honest with who I was. That is just the kind of person you are …” He shuts his eyes. His lashes are so long, you note absently.

“I am touched by your existence … I find joy in your spirit, yearning for your embrace, for the heat of your skin pressed against mine, I crave it … these foreign desires, they elicit something dark within myself,” he continues, breathing a little ragged now.

“This need, this desperation, like fire spreading in my veins, uncontrollable and hungry … I feel restless, itching for something, someone … Now I finally understand. I feel like I want to—to devour you. It is no longer enough, seeing you as I do, being as we are, mere friends … I want more, need more. With this desire to monopolize, I fear I have become … insatiable,” he trails off, turning his face to the side in shame.

Oh. Shouto Todoroki is in love with you, you realize with a jolt. He longs for you. For your companionship, your wit, your soul and your body. Your heart.

You reach up with a trembling hand to touch his jaw, guiding him until he looked at you once more. He doesn’t resist, pliant and eager as he leans into your hold.

“Only if I can be yours in return,” you say.

He lurches forward, knees nearly giving out as he slumps in your arms. “Oh, thank god, I … I was anxious I would have ruined everything. I knew it was unlikely they would be reciprocated, but I—I had to try,” he gasps. “This desire, it was consuming me.”

“Todoroki …” You thumb his cheekbone. He sighs faintly, body curving over yours as he presses close. “Call me Shouto, please …”

“Shouto.” He makes a strangled noise.

“Again. Please. You must understand, I have longed for this for so long …” He pleads shyly.

“Shouto,” you whisper, stroking his cheek. He’s so unexpectedly adorable. So, so adorable.

“My apologies, darling. I know I’m taking liberties, but I’m weak … I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation. Not while you are here, in front of me like nights when I dared to dream… So beautiful.” He nuzzles your palm.

You flush at his term of endearment, at the rawness of his tone. He has laid himself bare, singing his truth like a Shakespeare sonnet.

“You woo me like you’re waxing poetry … does this often work with others?” You murmur. You think you’re in real danger of melting.

His eyes fly open in alarm. “No. Never. It has only ever been you. I speak only from the heart, I have never—never done this before, am I explaining myself poorly? I am often told my words could use some more tact …”

Your heart swells.

“I’m just teasing, Shouto,” you say softly, combing a hand through his locks apologetically. “Your words are beautiful, I’m touched, truly.”

He relaxes, curling closer in your embrace.

“You don’t know … how I dream of building a home with you, of sharing all my firsts with you, cooking and setting the table with you … breakfast after long nights, filling the space between us with laughter and joy. Sleeping next to you,” he slurs. And then he goes on plainly, “How I fist myself every night thinking of the swell of your hips, the curl of your lips, your sweet, enthralling scent …”

You inhale sharply. Part of you is entirely taken back by the dual-haired hero’s use of uncharacteristically vulgar descriptions. His words drip over you like a honeyed aphrodisiac. Sweet and addictive.

“May I?” He draws closer, hands releasing you to brace against the concrete behind. Your body shivers involuntarily, missing the heat of his palms immediately.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Shouto dips his head, beautiful heterochromatic eyes watching you carefully for any sign of hesitation or indication you wanted to stop. Ever the gentleman.

This is who he is, you realize. Respectful of your boundaries, honest and, with you, gentle. He eyes flutter close when his lips touch yours. They’re warm, sweet with a hint of the alcohol he consumed earlier. Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, the kiss unhurried, savouring each moment.

Then you open your mouth, tongue touching his. And Shouto falters. He groans throatily, your nose tickling at the scent of ash. Ah. He’s losing control. He jerks away quickly, right hand enclosing over his left.

“Don’t tempt me,” he rasps, blush rising.

You snag the rumpled collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Kiss me again.”

And when you guide his hands over your hips, he grips them tightly and crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Spit runs down your chins, messy and sensual.

Something hard presses against your inner thigh. You push his legs apart and shove your leg in between. He chokes, eyes rolling back.

“Ngh—!” He gasps. “More—hngg—please!”

You pull back to survey him. He chases after you, lips slick and swollen.

“Shouto. You like this?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath sharply, eyes flickering. And then—

“Yes,” he whispers, a whisp of flame flaring on his left.

Your core clenches over nothing at his needy, humiliated tone.

“I like this too,” you confess, trailing a hand over the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the way the muscles clench.

Shouto mewls, chest thrusting forward when you pinch his nipples experimentally through the cotton. “Ah—ughh—yes!”

“Can you come like this?” You wonder absently as you twist his perked nubs harshly. He moans brokenly, hips jerking.

“I—I d-don’t­—kno—hah,” he pants, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to focus. Pleasure clouds his senses, head fuzzy and vision hazy.

“Can you get off here, like this?” You ask softly. “I want to see you come undone.”

Shouto blinks blearily at you, nodding eagerly. “Hng—yes, wanna be good for you,” he slurs. Oh. My. If you weren’t dripping before, you certainly are now.

He stumbles a little as you push him against the wall, switching positions. He’s barely standing at this point, leaning heavily against the cement as he gazes up at you with glazed eyes. He looks utterly fucked out and utterly delectable.

You undo the remainder of his buttons, holding him back firmly when he whines, pawing at the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

“We still have to walk out of here,” you remind him, giggling. His only blinks at you blankly as if to say and? Too gone to think of the consequences.

“This view is reserved for my eyes only,” you murmur, nails scraping against his nipples. He gasps, back arcing. “Yes, yes!” He agrees mindlessly.

He grinds against your thigh desperately, the weight of his cock heavy and hot. He throbs at every touch.

“Kiss—kiss, please,” he whines, reaching for you. You oblige, internally fawning over his cuteness.

His hips move faster, chasing release as he moans and keens into your mouth.

He parts from you with a gasp and wet shlick. “Feels so good—sho good—hngg,” he babbles. His asymmetric temperatures intensify, the heat of his left searing you and the chill of the right piercing you.

“Oh—I’m—I’m c-cu—” he cries out, gripping you tightly as he fucks himself against your thigh urgently. You push your leg against him harder, nails digging into his stomach.

“Come for me Sho,” you murmur, biting his lower lip. His mouth parts in a silent wail, head tossing as his eyes roll. His body shudders, something warm seeping into the fabric of your jeans.

With a strangled groan, he sags against you, exhausted and spent. You stroke his hair soothingly, brushing back the sweaty locks and peppering chaste kisses over his face as he comes down slowly.

Faintly, you register someone calling your name.

“Oh, Midoriya. Over here.”

Shouto is too out of it, still coming down from his high, his soft moans tickling your ear

“Oh, there you are! Have you seen Todoroki-kun? I—oh!” He squeaks loudly, spinning on his heel immediately and covering his reddening face.

What a sight the two of you must be. A perfectly debauched Shouto, shirt falling over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his glistening skin, raised lines over his bare chest that appear angrier in the darkened lighting, slumped over you, body trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The One for All user pales when he spots the noticeable burn the size of a palm on the wall behind your head.

“Uh—neverminditwasn’timportanthahahaohsomeone’scallingmegottagobye!” Midoriya practically screams in your face before bolting from the scene in the next beat.

Shouto manages a tired chuckle as you blink in the wake of his dust.

“You’re surprisingly shameless,” you remark when you turn back to him.

His wry smile slips, letting out a weak mewl when you squeeze his cock over his slacks teasingly. He’s already chubbing up, hips rolling slowly against your touch.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m insatiable when it comes to you, darling,” he murmurs, cheeks dusting.

“Then let’s continue,” you say, helping him stand. He valiantly tries to salvage whatever is left of his shirt, but it’s hopeless. He gives up, letting it drift apart, sculpted abdomen and chest in full view.

“Hmm. I quite like this view,” your palm rests on his stomach, smiling when he jolts at your warmth.

“My place or yours?” He breathes, pulling you flush to him.

“Yours, I think. I’ve been meaning to try out your new jacuzzi,” you rest your cheek against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on his pec. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and you can hear the rapid fluttering of his pulse. He’s—nervous?

“I built it for you,” he confesses, burying his face into your hair. “After you mentioned how much you wanted to try one, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I only know that I went out the next day to hire a contractor and expand my bathroom. I suppose part of me nurtured a hope I’d one day pluck enough courage to ask you to come over and give it a try …”

You pull away, looking up at him in disbelief. He laughs dryly at your expression.

“Yes. I know. It sounds as irrational as it felt. I still haven’t used it yet.”

“Then …,” you hesitate. And then you say shyly, “Then if you’d like … we could try it today? Together?”

“I … yes, I’d love that,” Shouto swallows thickly.

You take his hand as the two of you start to make your way back. He squeezes your hand once.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly. The corner of his heterochromatic eyes crinkle, lips curling into a gentle beam. He looks radiant, beauty amplified by his dishevelled and unkept state. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”

#shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha imagines #mha imagines

[shorkbrian]

Mommy please

My and @seijoh and @confessions-of-a-yandere-freak and @implexedactions were thirsting and I have so many thots to think about KIRISHIMA always and forever I 🥵

This was supposed to be a short thirst but it’s half thirst half drabble im sorry I couldn’t help myself Kirishima’s just too hot to contain.

(NSFW/mommy kink/noncon)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Big beefy Kiri is so sweet, so kind and polite and the perfect gentleman. Always offers to take you on dates, showers you with flowers and gifts, tries to hold your hand and kiss your knuckles every chance he gets.

Even if you don’t want him to.

He never gives you a chance to tell him no, to ask him to stop, to push him away. Kirishima shows up at your apartment with roses clutched in his hands, a bright smile on his face as soon as you open the door.

You can’t get the words out to ask him to leave, cause he’s crashing into you, shoving the roses into your hands as he kisses you, mouth hot and wet.

Pushes you around, manhandles you like you’re nothing. By the time he lets you break away from the kiss, his hand is down your shorts, knuckles brushing softly over your panties, pressed up against your clit.

You wanna tell him no, tell him to stop and go home and leave you alone, but then he’s kissing you again, sharp teeth nipping at your lip until you open your mouth to let him explore inside, his technique messy but enthusiastic. 

Kirishima is so strong, it’s easy for him to lift you into his arms, asking you sweetly to wrap your legs around his waist while he slowly grinds his clothed bulge in-between your legs, making you gasp at the pang of pleasure that shoots through your stomach on each grind.

And then his mouth is on yours again, and he's stumbling towards your bedroom. The man pauses occasionally to shove your back against a wall to steady you so he can hump against your pussy, both of your clothes beginning to spot with precum and wetness.

There isn’t time to tell him no, his presence is so overwhelming and it’s so hard to catch a breath with him attacking you so lustfully with his lips and hands.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your scrabbling at his arms, half wanting to be let go, half wanting for him to pull you closer.

You know this isn’t right, what he’s doing isn’t right - it never is, hasn’t been from the beginning. There’s no consent on your part, and Kirishima doesn’t care to ask.

His polite and gentlemanly exterior crumbles around you, burned to ashes by lust and desperation. Instead he turns into a demon, grabbing and humping and taking whatever he wants. Problem is, he doesn’t ask if you want it too.

Never gives into your timid requests for him to leave, always brushes it off as you being shy or embarrassed. At least, that’s what you hope. You can’t bear the thought of Kirishima purposefully fucking you knowing that you don’t want him too.

(He knows, and it hurts his heart. But why would he ever stop fucking you when it makes the both of you almost pass out from the pleasure?)

----

“Let me eat you out mommy, please?”

“Kiri I don’t-”

“Don’t be shy, I love you so much. It’ll feel so good, I’ll be so good for you. Please, please let me lick your perfect little pussy.”

He’s already stripping off your shorts, your hands doing nothing to stop him. Kirishima loves sitting you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees and throwing your legs over his shoulders before going down on you. 

The man goes on and on about how pretty you are, how sweet you taste, ignoring whispering “stop, please don’t”.

Kirishima does what he wants, and he only wants you.

When he starts licking broad stripes up your cunt, you can’t do anything but shudder and clutch at his hair, try to pull him away, push him back. It feels good, but you don’t want it to.

Kiri always stops when you pull his hair, looking up at you with glittering red eyes as he lips his lips, savoring your taste.  “Oh, sorry mommy, I forgot to put up my hair. Know you like to pull on it when you get too sensitive.”

And it’s tantalizing, watching his muscles flex underneath his shirt while he pulls his long hair into a ponytail before diving back between your legs. You try to clamp them shut, but he just laughs and easily wrenches them open, tells you not to hide from him, let him see your beautiful little body and make you cum until you’re shaking.

He does exactly that, holding onto one of your legs over his shoulder with one hand, the other kneading his cock through his sweats as he excitedly eats you out, licking and slurping and spitting onto your cunt. You’re usually crying at this point, begging him to stop and go home, leave you alone, you don’t want this, but Kiri never listens.

He does like the sound of your begging.

Kirishima makes sure you cum more than once, messily dragging his tongue over your thighs, lapping at your cum like he’s had nothing to drink for a week, a man with an unquenchable thirst. There’s all sorts of sounds, from his feral, unconscious groaning and growling to the slick, squelchy sound of him mouthing feverishly at your clit.

When he finally pulls back, panting and groaning with need, he blinks up at you, a wide smile dancing across his face.

“Thank you mommy, what a treat. You always taste so nice, wish you would let me spend all day in between your thighs. Thank you so much for letting me eat you out, you’re so good to me.”

The way he says it makes you blush - almost as if you had made him beg to eat you out, as if you had wanted him to do so.

You had begged for him to stop.

It’s not like he ever listens.

And then he’s standing up, shucking off his sweats and shirt before grabbing at your own shirt, pulling it off you before you can resist his big hands. You push yourself towards the other side of the bed, legs feeling like jelly from your previous orgasms, and you don’t get far before Kirishima’s dragging you back towards him.

“Don’t worry, I always make you feel good. I would never hurt my sweet girl. I just wanna feel you mommy, see how hard you made me?”

His cock is bobbing against his belly as he moves, precum slicking the length, smearing against his dark happy trail. He’s got a big dick. You always hate this next part.

Kiri likes to manhandle you while he fucks you, likes to feel how little you are compared to how giant he is. Sometimes he’ll pick you up, hold you in the air and bounce you on his cock while he watches your face, occasionally leaning to kiss and mouth at your neck.

Other times he’ll turn you away from him, push you into the bathroom before picking you up into a full-nelson, right in front of the mirror. In that position, both of you can see how his thick cock enters you, how blotchy your face gets with tears, how you’re almost hyperventilating from the stress and trauma of being violated. Kirishima always looks flushed behind you, knitting his brows together while he chases his pleasure, cooing at his “mommy” and how amazing you are.

When he’s feeling particularly playful, he’ll throw you on the bed, lift you into positions where he has full access to your body, play between sticking his cock in your pussy or tracing it around your mouth. He’ll flick his finger over your clit, mush down the little nub with his thick, calloused thumb and torture it until you’re a sobbing mess, crying and begging and pleading for him to stop, or let you cum - you’d take either at this point.

Today he’s feeling gentle, loving; he wants to spoil his mommy and make you feel amazing, 

So Kiri lays down on his back, pulls you over him and spends a few minutes just grinding his cock against you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pausing to whine and whimper at the delicious friction of your skin against his cock. He wants to cum, but he wants to make his mommy feel good first.

When the big man does lift you onto his cock, it’s hard for him to start out slow. He always tries to give one hundred percent, can’t hold himself back when he sinks into your tight heat.

You’re laying against him, head buried into the juncture between his neck and shoulder as you cry. But Kiri wants to see. So he pushes you up, holds you upright with his big meaty palms before he plants his feet on the bed and fucks into you so fast you almost scream.

Kirishima pounds into you so quickly on his lap that your tits are bouncing, and he’s addicted to the way the flesh moves before his eyes. He loves you, body, mind, soul - everything about you is perfect to him. He wants to be with you, wants to watch you and feel you and fuck you until he dies.

He makes you come again, slamming into your g-spot again and again until you’re clenching around him, bawling your eyes out as pleasure overtakes you. You don’t want this, it isn’t right, he’s a bad man.

Your clenched pussy drives him too close to the edge, and Kirishima is crying out, chanting, begging you to let him cum. 

As if you were in control.

The man isn’t necessarily expecting a response, lost in the fantasy of his beautiful little mommy ordering him to come in her little pink pussy, to clean her up afterwards while she grinds her foot against his softening cock while he licks his cum out of her.

It’s that thought that has him spilling inside you, choking up at the sensation of your warm walls milking out his cum.

You feel so good, he loves you so much.

He knows you don’t love him back, knows you hate what he’s doing to you, hate the pleasure he forces from your body.

But Kirishima can pretend you don’t.

He’ll teach you to love him.

#yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #yandere kirishima eijirou #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere kirishima #kirishima #kirishima x y/n #Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima thirst #bnha kirishima #tw noncon #what is this #mommy

[ddarker-dreams]

Sweet Talkin’. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

There’s been an abnormal amount of sirens tonight.

It should be unnerving -- and to an extent it is -- but this isn’t what keeps you awake. Not that, or even the dogs barking outside accompanied with an occasional derogatory yell. With a heavy heart, you can say that you’ve gotten used to all of that noise. No, it’s something different that steals you from the welcoming comfort of a deep slumber. 

The thing that truly keeps you up is the anticipation of what is to come. Or more precisely, who. 

The bright glow of your phone strains your tired eyes, but it’s your best shot at finding entertainment. Squinting at the blinding light, exhaustion seeps into your being despite your best efforts to ward it off. No matter how much caffeine you drink later on in the day, it’s not enough to to thwart your natural inclinations to sleep.

For most, nighttime is a relaxing time of day that’s coveted. It brings a time of solitude, to reflect and rest up for the next day. While you wish you could return to the days where you felt like that, it’s long behind you now. Instead, you evade sleep, in fear of what could occur when you’re in the defenseless state. 

An illusion of control is better than none at all.

“You’re gonna get dark circles under those pretty eyes if you keep staying up this late.” 

A deep voice rumbles from the entrance to your shared room, one that you instantly recognize. Even in your groggy state, your emotions heighten in his presence. Turning off your phone and placing it down, you stretch your arms out, a yawn leaving your lips in the process.  

So he’s back. 

“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble back, caring little for the teasing comment. After feeling around your nightstand, a click resonates, light illuminating your room. Once your eyes adjust, you spot your unwelcome visitor, who makes himself at home. Dabi walks towards you, your bed creaking under his added weight as he sits down. Untying his shoes, he throws them carelessly in the corner.

Sensing your staring, he looks over his shoulder and grins at you. “Awe, you miss me or somethin’? How cute.” 

A groan leaves your lips, and you reach to throw a pillow at him. He easily deflects it with a snicker, working on taking his shirt off next. At least now that he’s back you feel more inclined to sleep, knowing that he can’t sneak up on you. Splatters of dark vermilion catch your attention, mouth curling downwards into a frown. 

If there’s anything you’ve learned in your time with Dabi, it’s that you shouldn’t ask where the blood stains come from. Ignorance is bliss, right? It’s still an unnerving sight, especially since you know it isn’t his. 

The relationship you two share is nothing if not unconventional. His occupation -- if you can even call it that -- has him coming and going at unholy times at night. Sleep is difficult to come by, not knowing when he might make an appearance. It’s what leads you to stay up some nights, a preferable experience to tossing and turning with anxious thoughts plaguing you.

As long as you stay in your designated place, Dabi holds true to his promise of doing you no harm. Thinly veiled threats under the pretense of being your “roommate” lead you to the current day, an awkward routine settling in. For all it’s worth, it could be worse. You’re acutely aware of what Dabi is capable of, having seen the ashes of corpses blurred out in the news. 

Why he’s taken a liken to you is beyond you. It still beats dying, only by a sliver. 

“There are some leftovers in the fridge,” you tap your phone, reading the time. Three in the morning. Great, and you have work tomorrow too. “I think I’ll give sleeping a shot now that you’re back.” 

Dabi raises an eyebrow at this, a fresh shirt without blood stains now on. “You always sleep when I get back. It hurts my feelings. What, am I not good enough company?”  

‘If I’m being honest, not really.’

He grins at how you shiver, lazily crawling over to be by your side. His sudden presence fills your nose with unknown scents, ranging from smoke to burnt leather. Underneath is hints of his cologne, all mixing together to disorient you further. Dabi loves riling you up, testing the limits of what you can handle. 

You take a deep breath, hugging your knees to your chest. As long as you don’t let it get to you, it’ll be fine. He always gets bored eventually, leaving you to do as you please. That’s what you’ll aim for.

“It’s not that. I just have stuff to do tomorrow, and I don’t like being exhausted. It’s my long shift.” 

His trademark grin melts away, furrowing eyebrows and a grimace taking its place. Mentioning your life outside of him is a tricky battle, and you can’t help but regret mentioning it. Being in a sleep deprived state is a major disadvantage in your interactions with him.

“This again? I thought I told you to quit. Rent or whatever won’t be an issue, I’ll handle it.” Dabi scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder. His skin feels rough against yours, coarse hands rubbing circles into  you. You bite your lip at the sensation, hair on the back of your neck standing. 

“I... I like my job. Sure, it can be irritating at times, but it gives me something to do during the day. I’d go stir crazy without something concrete to focus on.” The words are heartfelt, unfiltered. When he responds in silence you worry you’ve made a mistake, upsetting him with your defiance.

He huffs against your neck, lifting his head and shooting you a displeased look.  His voice is a low murmur, one that reverberates into the core of your very being. “Always making trouble for me..." 

Dabi’s grip around you tightens, and you gulp thickly. With how casual he speaks to you, it can be easy to forget the major power imbalance. Instead of greeting you with insults, or worse, he lightly flicks your forehead.

You blink, baffled.

“Don’t most people hate their jobs? I figured you’d be jumping at the idea of having more free time, or whatever. So you can focus on other things.” 

It’s not a confession you were expecting, your cheeks flushing at the considerate nature of his words. While it’s true quitting your job is an appealing thought, it creates a semblance of balance within your now chaotic life. Helping you stick to a schedule, in the same way school used to. 

Now feeling confident in expressing yourself, your taut muscles relax into his touch. “I’m too tired to think about it properly, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you can stay up this late all the time without losing it.” 

Deflecting from the previous topic makes you feel better. If Dabi notices your intentions he doesn’t point them out, allowing you to take control of the conversation without complaint. He must prefer it over when you’d just shake and cry in his presence.

“You get used to it, sweetheart,” he drums his fingers against you, smirking. “I’ll make a night owl outta you yet.” 

Any implications in his words go straight over your head.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass. ” 

He shrugs at your indifference, removing his arms from your frame. The lack of enveloping warmth causes you to shiver, Dabi searching through his bag. You peak over his shoulder out of curiosity, his scarred hands settling on an object which he pulls out. 

It’s a copy of Animal Crossing, in all of its beautiful glory. You wipe your eyes, unsure if what you’re seeing is reality.

“W-what?” you guffaw before your brain has the chance to stop you, jaw agape and head tilted. Dabi places it on your lap, and returns to his previous position of holding you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes at your stunned state, relishing in your every reaction.

“Did I get the wrong thing? This is that game you wanted, isn’t it?” 

It had to have been a week or so ago. You lamented to him about not being able to afford this, not even realizing he was giving it any attention. To think he remembered, and acted on it for your sake... is a touching sensation. Maybe he is capable of selflessness after all.

The cute box art puts a smile on your face, one that Dabi stares at. 

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” you pick it up, looking at the back with wide eyes. “Did the cashier give you a funny look when you picked this out?” 

‘I really need to start thinking before I speak.’

He shakes his head at your blunt comment, not taking any offense. “I didn’t get it that way.”

‘Oh, well... better not ask more than necessary. There’s no blood on it so at least that’s a good sign.’

Wiggling free from his grip, you rotate your legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting your switch. An opportunity like this must be taken advantage of, and you’ve wanted to play this game for some time now. Dabi must’ve read your mind, and pulls you back to him with little effort before you get the chance. 

“If I remember correctly, you said you were tired just a few minutes ago.” 

He plucks the game from your fingers, and places it on the side furthest from you. What a cruel world this is, to have paradise so close and yet so far. You can’t help the pout that forms at his actions.

“The situation changed, I’m wide awake now.” you explain to an unmoved Dabi, launching over his lap to get your coveted game back. He picks it up, lifting it over your head with a chuckle. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

Defeat settling in, you retreat for now. A sigh leaves your lips, arms crossing over your chest. You should’ve known better, Dabi has made it clear to you that he wants your attention. Looks like you’ll have to wait until after work to get a taste of Animal Crossing. 

There’s a glint of mischievous in his azure eyes, one that you’ve seen more often than you wish. Dabi sighs in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Not even so much as a thank you for my efforts. That’s cold, babe. Real cold.” 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you, it means a lot.” 

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not what I was looking for. Try again, sweetheart.” 

A flurry of thoughts fly through your mind, all competing with one another to offer a solution. Does he want money for it? He should know that you’re not capable of producing that amount, or you would’ve bought the game for yourself. Dabi gives you a moment to think, before offering the answer to you.

He puts his pointer finger on your lip, maintaining eye contact while doing so. 

“Oh, t-that.”

“So glad to see that you’re finally catching on.” 

It could be the summer heat winning over your AC, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it did a few moments prior. You look down at your blankets, focusing on anything other than the person in front of you. This level of teasing is nothing new with Dabi, he always manages to fluster you. 

He sits, relaxed, waiting for you to make a move. There aren’t any other options that you can think of, so you give into what he wants. Moving closer to his face, you feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your hand twitches, pressing against his chest to offer balance.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilt your head, soft lips brushing over his own. All of your movements are hesitant, your entire body feeling like it’s on fire. Heart pounding violently against your chest, you move to pull back. Only to discover his hand on the back of your head is stopping you from doing so.

Dabi slants his lips back over your own, nibbling your bottom lip. You freeze, the unexpected affection leaving you incapable of reacting. It’s when you squeak that he finally loosens his grip, opening his eyes to take in your embarrassed countenance. 

All things considered, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. 

You cover your burning face with your shaking hands, feeling the warmth emanating off of you. He makes it even worse by chuckling, the low rumble filling you with indignation. There never is hope of catching a break with Dabi. 

“You might be the one with a fire quirk after all,” he leans forward, placing a hand against your hot forehead. “Mm... that look you’re giving me is too much. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point.” 

Fed up with his relentless teasing, you smack his hand away and purse your lips. He props his arms behind his head, letting you glare at him to your heart’s content. From his lack of reaction, you get the feeling he isn’t too intimidated by you. 

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you huff, returning to your side and pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t make a move to stop you, and you take the opportunity to lay down on your side. Refusing to look at him, you focus on the wall. 

Dabi pokes your cheek, which you ignore. 

He lets out a long sigh at your antics, joining you underneath the covers. You hear shuffling behind you, and can’t help but wonder what it is that he’s up to. Maybe he’s succumbing to his own exhaustion, and will let you sleep in peace? What a perfect world it’d be if that’s the case.

The thought is entertained for three seconds before you’re pulled against his firm chest from behind, toned arms snaking around your torso and staying there. His body is always so warm. It doesn’t help that you’re already embarrassed from before. Dabi grumbles something incoherent, placing his head in the crook of your neck. 

Accepting the situation for what it is, you stop moving. He reaches over you to turn off the light, and darkness surrounds you once more. All you can hear are your own labored breaths, and rapidly pounding heart. It might be impossible to sleep like this. 

You’ll call out of work for tomorrow. 

“... Dabi?” you whisper, voice soft and barely audible. He grunts in response, nuzzling further into your neck. For the past few months, there’s been a thought that haunts you at every turn. One that you can never find an answer to, and have been too frightened to investigate beyond your own musings.

It’d be easy to play this off as sexual attraction alone, yet a voice in the back of your head says otherwise. That what Dabi feels for you goes beyond that, into a sinister territory that you want desperately to avoid. Why is it he’s patient -- borderline kind -- with you, yet cruel to everyone else? None of it makes logical sense, his actions erratic and seemingly without reason.

Maybe you shouldn’t know. Still, you ask, against your better judgement. 

“Why do you like me so much?” 

You feel how he smiles against the skin of your neck, the sensation stirring up unknown emotions within. He squeezes you against him once, letting out a low hum as he considers your words. While waiting for him to speak, you hold in a breath. 

“Dunno. Just do,” Dabi offers a noncommittal response, one that leaves you greatly unsatisfied. It seems he’s not even aware of it himself, the effect you have on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” 

“... Alright, I won’t.” 

“Good. Now get some sleep, before I ask you to kiss me again.” 

#dabi my hero academia #Dabi #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi headcanons #yandere dabi imagines #yandere dabi #yandere dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere #my hero academia #my hero academia imagine #yandere my hero academia #commissions

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Caught In The Middle•

Summary: First loves always leave a mark, yours was Hitoshi Shinsou, and you were his. Life got messy, careers got in the way. You still find each other, you always find each other.

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: This is one angsty boi, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), crying during sex (not dacryphilia), a lot of emotional vulnerability.

Word Count: 4,012

A/N: I've been wanting to work on writing some more emotionally raw scenarios. I didn't do a lot of sexual dynamic in this, just two people loving and needing each other. Not my usual thing, but I hope y'all like it! Please let me know! Much love<3

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You wait where you always do, on a rotting old bench hidden behind several twisted, dying trees. The path in front of you leads to a pitiful little shack, held together by patch work and spite. It's a beautiful little place, though, despite the crumbling wood and the slight lean the whole structure has. It has its charm, it has its secrets.

The weather is soothing tonight, a starry sky above a lovely summer evening. It could almost make a pretty little painting, if it weren't such a dark secret.

You hear footsteps falling behind you, crunching the gravel as the tread. You don't turn to see who it is, you're not worried, you already know.

You hear the feet stop behind you, feel the strong presence, smell the warm scent he brings. Just being this close to him wraps you in something so peaceful, so easy to fall into. Strong, capable hands spread over your shoulders, thumbs rolling into every tense place within them.

You look down at your palms and feel the shame grip your heart when you see the dried blood there. It's a part of the job, at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Finally, you turn to face the man behind you. As always, you melt into the peaceful, enchanting feeling his gaze provides. You recall the timid, exhausted, beaten down boy you once fell for. His tired eyes and his lopsided smile, and his desperate need to help.

The memories contrast heavily with the strong, proud beauty before you. He stands tall, he looks aware, purposeful and brave. He still looks like he could use a few extra hours of sleep, but he no longer looks completely deprived of it. His beauty is the messy kind, but it enthralls you nonetheless.

"Hard work today?" Hitoshi asks quietly, a knowing look in his soft, amethyst eyes.

You nod, folding your hands into each other as his own work at your aching shoulders.

"It wasn't really hard. I'm used to it, it was just messy." You explain, trying to remain resolute.

He answers with a sigh, hands working at the back of your neck now.

"You don't have to do it." He tries.

You feel him pulling the strings of your chest as your eyes fall to the path again, unable to hold his sweet, honest gaze.

He's always had too much good in him, too much optimism, too much hope. That's why he makes a good hero though, a great hero, really. That had been the divide between the two of you, you couldn't trust like him, you couldn't hope like he could. It was simple when you were two high schoolers with simple ideas that made for harmless debates. In time, it became not so simple.

He acquired his hero's license after endless hours of hardwork and dedication, and you watched from the stands. A drop out who simply couldn't go along with the charade. There were never any hard feelings between the two of you, and you remained lovers for a while after, it remained as it was for a bit. Two kids too wrapped up in each other to care how heavily their morals contrasted.

After some time, after settling into your places in life, it became less simple. He found his spot in the hero charts, you found yours among other vigilantes desperate to expose corrupt heroes. This of course made any kind of simple public relationship less easy and less acceptable.

As he gained more of an understanding of your grey morality, and you gained more of an understanding of the depravity of his society, it became impossible for the two of you to live and let live. So you found your peace with the secrets you two could keep in the tiny shed down this path.

You had loved each other before all of this, you had loved each other in the back seats of cars, school dorm rooms and other secret places. Keeping yourselves hidden is something you both learned to do well, for the sake of maintaining whatever sacred connection you had stumbled upon together.

"You're thinking." He observes, removing his hands in favor of striding around the bench to seat himself beside you.

"I do that." You mutter, hands still fidgeting at each other.

You're both silent for a moment, calculating your next moves.

"I don't want to think anymore." You whisper, you fight the burning in your eyes and nose as best you can, willing the tears not to fall.

He takes a deep breath in, it's not steady, it's not composed, it's full of trembling and uncertainty.

"I don't want to either."

So, neither of you did.

You find yourselves where you always do, pulling at each other on the tattered mattress on the floor of the shed. Candles are spread throughout the room, just enough to bathe you both in a heavenly glow. A large lock holds the door closed, it keeps your secrets in, it keeps the world out.

His lips are delicate against your neck, his hands are steady on your waist, but the thudding of his heartbeat betrays him when he presses his body against yours.

"We can't keep doing this." He sighs against you. He says it every time, but he always comes back.

"You don't have to." You bring your hands up to cup his face, a mistake on your part as the look in his eyes crumbles your resolve.

"Toshi, please don't go." You beg, clinging to him as the thought rips you to shreds.

"I won't, god I won't, I can't." He confesses before pressing his lips into yours.

It's a mess of a kiss, nothing but need, desire and tears as you work against each other. Hands find clothes to rip off, hearts nearly escape their cages as delicate fingertips ghost across soft spots. It's a beautiful, well learned dance, something perfected over time.

His body rolls on top of yours, he nudges your legs apart with his knees as he settles between them. Every inch of your skin meets every inch of his, then the heat spreads, consuming both of you. Your skin boils as he rolls his hips against yours, you shudder and sigh and hold on tight.

"M-more, please, need more." You plead, your voice doesn't sound like your own. It sounds like it belongs to a lost, lovesick girl… maybe it does…

"Anything, I'll give you anything." He responds.

His mouth is hot and open against your flushed skin. His hands cradle the tuck of your waist as he paints your chest with sweet, sloppy kisses. He blazes a trail down your body, leaving nothing but ashes and glowing embers in his wake.

He moves a leg over each shoulder, the sight makes you smile, recalling the first time he found himself in this position.

"What?" He questions, a smile playing at his lips as he presses them into your thigh.

Your hand slips into his hair, letting yourself fall away from the worries of social structures, letting yourself fall into the little world you've created in this shed.

"Just thinking about the first time you tried this." You let yourself laugh a little when he rolls his eyes and groans. He really had tried his best, he just missed a couple of important spots, mostly one important spot, completely.

"I was learning, don't be a jerk." He continues kissing up your thigh until he reaches the crux of your leg.

"Plus, I got much better at it." With that, he casts you a devilish look before sliding his tongue sideways across your lips.

He teases your clit for a fleeting second before drawing back, watching the way your eyes flutter and your lips pout.

"You did, but you turned into such a tease." You gather more of his hair, involuntarily rolling your hips up a little.

He hums in response, sliding his hands up the outside of your thighs so he can gather the rolls of your hips.

"You make it so much fun." He gives you another gentle flick with the tip of his tongue, making you jump and whimper for him.

"Gorgeous." He sighs, drops his jaw then, lets his broad tongue loll out completely and licks a long, slow strip up your center.

"Oh fuck." You shudder as your back lifts slightly and your legs attempt to close.

"Keep them open for me, sweetheart." He tells you, the tender name makes your chest ache.

Before you can respond, he licks again, this time he closes his lips around your clit and sucks. You can't help the way you shiver and cry out, or the way your legs close around his head. It's too good, it's too warm and wonderful.

"Stubborn girl." He mutters before placing his hands under your knees.

He folds you up as he moves to kneel between your legs, the tops of your thighs meet your stomach and your breath catches as you watch him devour you with his eyes.

"Hold this." He squeezes your left leg.

You hook your arm around it, nodding as he lowers his torso back to your core. He keeps his hand on your right leg, and let's the other fall between your bodies so he can play at your slick entrance with his middle finger.

You bite your body lip as you clamp around nothing, teased by the presence of what could be inside you. You glance down between your bodies, eyeing the way his finger glides up to your clit so he can rub lazy circles against it. Most of all, you're hypnotized by how pretty his cock is.

"I know you want it, baby, just give me one, and I'll let you have it." He promises as he slides two fingers in.

His slow, calculated movements have your mind spinning and your body twitching. You open your mouth to ask for him to use his tongue, but he beats you to it. He drops his torso, keeping his hand locked on the leg he's got cranked up. You cling to your opposite leg when his tongue meets your clit.

His fingers drag in and out at a curve, bending inside you to reach the spot that makes you see stars. His tongue rolls against your sensitive bud, persistent and electric as he stokes the fire in your core.

You feel your body tighten up, your free hand grasps at his messy waves again, your body seizes. He bends you and bends you, working relentlessly with his fingers and his velvety tongue.

You're so close, so damn close, you feel it tickling your ribs, pushing tears from your eyes and in your trembling thighs.

You need more. You need something to push you over, you just need him.

"Toshi- please, I wanna- fuck baby."

As you whimper out your plea, he adds the slightest bit more pressure to your clit, and it rips you apart. You shatter and break in against him, crying out his name in broken praise, body rolling against him as he works you through it.

"That's it, that's my girl." He sighs as he watches the way your body moves against him, watches the way you writhe in the pleasure he gives.

"Fuckin' gorgeous." He breathes as he crawls up your body so he can take your lips into his own. You pull him into you with greedy hands, clinging to this moment, needing it to last, not ready to let it go.

"Need you, please, need all of you." The words come out like a sob, spoken mostly against his lips.

He gathers one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers as he presses it into the mattress, his forehead meets yours as he grabs his length so he can run the head against you.

"You've got me, you've got me baby." He promises before pressing in. He's done it countless times, in endless positions, but the feeling never ceases to leave you light headed.

You both lose yourselves completely, finally together, hidden so perfectly in your little haven. You feel so full, so loved, so complete.

"God, fuck, your cunt." He nearly cries, wrapped in your warmth, enamored by your body and the way it ticks for him.

He buries your face in your neck, squeezing your hand and releasing a broken moan as he rolls his hips into you.

His free hand comes up to hold your face, yours holds his wrist, desperate for an anchor as he splits you open so sweetly. Every nerve within you feels so tender and raw, everything about you aches for him, everything in you needs him.

You cling to each other like a lifeline as he builds a mind numbing pace, it's nothing hard, nothing rough, but it's deep, it's all consuming. You both moan and cry against each other for a bit, letting your bodies work, letting your brains stop thinking.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart, can I please fuck you, really fuck you, need more of you." He begs between messy kisses against your sweat soaked skin.

His request makes your skin ignite with white hot anticipation.

"Please- Toshi, fuck me how you need to, I wanna take it, I can take it." You let the tears fall freely, let them wet your cheeks and wash away any reservations.

As if you've unhooked the chain of a rabid animal, he growls against you and rips his hands from yours. The grab under your knees again so he can fold you just how he likes. He uses your body as leverage, holding himself up by the hold on your legs.

"You're so fucking tight like this." He chokes out as he adjusts his hips, pulling back slowly.

"Tell me you need it, tell me you need me." He says, it's not an order, not an exercise of control. It's a prayer, it's something he's desperate for, something he can't live without.

"I need it, baby I need you." You reach around your legs to hold his forearms, needing to be connected to him in every way you can, "I need all of you." You sob, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

He breaks then, seeing you all pretty and broken, hearing you beg for all he has to offer. With the last shred of self control he has, he bends to kiss you. It's slow, reverent, worshipful. It's everything you need to forget about everything that comes between you outside of this room.

When he pulls back, your breath is held, his body tenses and he finally, finally, let's himself go. He fucks you, he fucks you hard. His hips slap against your as you sob into the air, thanking him, praising him, loving him. The drag of his cock in and out of your quivering cunt is enough to reduce you to a sniffling mess.

He watches your face diligently, paying attention to how your lip quivers when he angles his hips upwards, admiring how pretty you look all flushed and tear stained. His hands gorge themselves on the backs of your thighs. Your body sings for him, only him.

"You take it so well, take it for me some more, just a little bit more." He gasps as you tighten around him, spun on by his praise.

All you can utter is one, desperate "more" as he ruins you.

"Fuck, baby, I'll give you more." He releases your legs, letting them fall to the sides.

He grabs your hips and hauls your ass onto his thighs. Braced on his shins, he fucks up into you with everything he has, and it pays off almost instantly.

You scream out, reckless and unashamed. It's too good to hold it in, the pleasure is too fluorescent, the love is too overwhelming.

"Oh god, come on sweet girl, give me all of it." He sounds almost frantic as his thumb finds your clit, he presses down perfectly, rubs it so sweetly, sending even more electricity through your entire body.

You reach out to him, one hand fisting the sheets, the other searching for him, desperate for something to ground you.

He grabs you immediately, tangling his fingers in yours as he did before. He lets his thrusts slow in favor of rolling them up into you as he plays with your clit, easing you through every pulse, making sure you feel every shock.

Slowly, he lets you wind down, paying close attention to every twitch and whimper.

"You're stunning, you're so fucking perfect." He bends down to kiss up your stomach, he slides his arms around your waist and brings you up slowly. You wrap your arms around his hips as he kicks his legs out in front of him. Your lips meet each other so gently, giving and taking flawlessly.

"More, please baby." It's the only request you have capacity for.

He smiles against your lips, his hands fall to your hips, guiding them so they roll against his. You whine against him as his head presses into some forgotten soft spot inside you, your hands claw at his shoulders as you let him direct your movements. More, you just need more more more, all that you can have while you still can.

"Good girl, my good girl." He pants against your neck, his hands slide up so he lock his arms around you again, so he can keep you close, so you won't slip away.

"That's it, just like that." He encourages as you pick up the speed of your hips. There's no real in and out movement, but there is the most steady rubbing of your most sensitive parts, and it's heavenly.

"More baby, just a little more." He coaxes.

Always more, you're always so selfish with each other, glutinous when you can finally indulge in this.

Despite your oversensitivity, despite the ache in your bones, you work harder. You roll against him, almost riding but not quite pulling yourself away from him to do so.

He shivers and moans beneath you so beautifully, you never want to stop, you want to stay like this. You want to keep working with him forever, making him feel like this, watching his pretty pink lips part and tremble as you provide him with his only release.

His fingers bite at your waist and his mouth gets needy against your neck. He just needs more.

"Take it, Toshi, take anything you need."

He looks up at you with such a searching gaze, with some kind of strange, broken wonder. He moves you both until he's leaning his back against the wall, still holding you like you might break.

"I have everything I need." He admits, pressing a long kiss into your shoulder, "I have it all."

Your hands thread into his messy hair, cherishing this slowed moment of tenderness.

"-But I want this." He sighs before planting his feet on the mattress so he can thrust up into you harshly.

One hand flies to the wall as you wail from the pleasure, the other stays in his hair, pulling at his roots as he fucks up into you.

"Like that! Just like that baby, holy fuck." You sob, letting your head fall so you can chant your praises against his damp hairline.

"You always liked it like this." He muses, somehow managing a chuckle.

You have always like it like this, the first time he did it left you begging for it for weeks. You were house sitting for one of his friends right after graduation, you took advantage of the empty house and fucked like rabits. That was before everything got messy, before everything you two have had to be placed under lock and key…

His thrusts hit you somewhere deep and achey, his arms cage you against him, and it takes little to no time for your body to wind up and shatter once again.

"I'm so close, I'm so fuckin close." He cries against your chest, "Help me, talk to me, please- help me." He begs.

This hand grabs at your face, forcing you to look down at him. Big, shiney tears are falling from his marvelous eyes. God, he's beautiful, your beautiful boy.

"Baby, please, let me feel it, I wanna feel it inside me." You answer, letting him slam his hips up into you as he chases his own end.

You let yourself cry against him then, really cry, with your whole body. Somewhere between sobs you mutter enough praises for him to unravel. He grabs at your back, digs his nails in as his hips stutter.

"Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna, fuck fuck fuck." He nearly weeps when he finally stills, hips pulsing up into yours as you both hit that rapturous wall.

You're both a mess of trembling ecstasy as you cling and shiver and fall. You're close enough to kiss, tears mixing as you share space and air. Your bodies roll and twitch as you work each other through every spectacular feeling, every shock and wave and pulse.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Hitoshi cries against your lips.

"I love you, all of you." You reply. You do, so much it hurts, so much it rips you apart when you lay down without him at night.

You catch your breath together, never letting go for even a second, bringing each other back down to earth. This is always your favorite part, the part where you settle, where you whisper sweet confessions. When you wipe the tears and feel so completely known and understood.

"Thank you." He whispers.

All you do is nod, placing a lazy kiss on his forehead. Your heart is so full, your mind is a blurry mess. All you know is Hitoshi, all he knows is you.

He rolls slightly so he can lay you on the bed next to him, setting you down like you're something sacred. You settle on your back as he settles on his side, propped up on one elbow as he runs his hand over your forehead, brushing the sweaty hair away.

You ease into the tender moment, meeting his eyes, listening to him breathe. You grab his wrist and bring his hand down so you can kiss his palm, thankful for the touch that makes you fall apart.

"'We can't keep doing this'?" You tease.

He looks down at you knowingly, eyes full of familiarity, full of safety.

"We have to, don't we?"

It's a heartbreaking realization every time. That there's no way out of doing this. There's no way for him to walk away from his duty, he's too good, people need him. There's no way for you to join him, not with all that you know, not with what you've done.

"I always will, as long as you will." You promise, fiddling with his fingers as his other hand falls to play with your hair.

"I always will." He says, "Anything for you."

It's almost like you're two lovesick teenagers again, making promises too big to keep, making plans too grandiose to achieve. It's all you have, though. A busted up old shed and some poetic pillow talk. It all settles in your chest and burns, as always, you just want more. More of this, more of him, more of what used to be.

"Do you think…" You falter for a moment, afraid of your own question, "Do you think we'll ever find a way? Do you think we can ever-"

"Yes." He wraps his hand around yours, "We'll find it. Whatever it takes. We'll have this."

Maybe it's a promise that can't be kept, something that will only exist here. For now, you have your little world, you have your locks and your doors and your secrets. You have Hitoshi, you have that sweet, lanky, mess that taught you how to love. As terrifying as it is, he has you too, all of you. He has for years, he probably always will. However it ends up, you'll have this, you'll have each other.

#hitoshi shinsou #my hero academia #shinsou #my hero smut #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou smut #shinso smut #pro hero shinsou #my hero academia smut #mha smut #my hero fanfic #mha shinsou #shinsou fanfic #hitoshi shinso x reader #bnha shinsou x reader #shinsoubnha #mha hitoshi #shinso hitoshi x reader #bnha shinso x reader #mha

[blossom-hwa]

inspired by a song from ‘the ballad of songbirds and snakes’ (I highly recommend the book!!)

(lyrics modified slightly to fit the story, and no copyright infringement intended!!)

wc: 2.4k ~ haknyeon x gender neutral!reader ~ nobility!au (ish) ~ triggers: blood, death (nothing graphic) ~ the boyz masterlist

prequels: don’t be silly | shattered

for @thepixelelf​​​ :)

[ birds in the heavens ] Lying on a field filled with smoke and ash, you drag in a long breath.

So this is what it’s come to.

You cough, pain shooting through your chest as the metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Just a few years ago, you never would have imagined this – a battlefield death, so far from home, a fall from grace…

No, not grace. Not you. He was grace. He was everything beautiful in this war-torn world, sunlight on the grass, stars in the sky, flowers in the meadow beyond the village, blue and red and pink and white woven in a wreath that you placed on his head with trembling fingers and a smile only he could put on your face.

Where was grace but in the curve of his lips and the scrunch of his eyes as he laughed? Where was grace but in the rough brush of his fingers to your smooth skin, worlds apart united for brief, beautiful moments in the touch of your hands together? There was a time when you thought you were grace, fine clothes and elegant dances and lilted words, but he was grace, truly, sunbeams personified, tanned hands rough from work deftly twisting grass together into a makeshift ring that fit perfectly on your fourth finger, a crude proposal in the eyes of anyone in your circle but so beautiful in your eyes, accompanied by a voice of sugar and honey, birdsong whispering between the blades of shifting grass, promises of a future where the warmth of his touch would never leave your skin.

What was the song he sang? Something about valleys and trains, roses and violets and red and blue…

A memory of his voice washes through your mind, a taste of honey sweet against the bitter ash coating your tongue.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

He used to say that he’d wait to hear the train whistle during the months he knew you’d be there. He said it took everything in him not to run to the station and blow both of your covers, he wanted to see you so much.

What wouldn’t you give to see him now?

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

A smile stains your trembling lips. Where the first verse was his, this one was yours. Only you could speak of mansions and true love and not be entirely joking – you used to promise him you’d build yourselves a house someday, a house where you could live together in secret peace, away from the prying eyes of your family and their spies.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

A sob racks your body, ash settling in your throat and mixing with the blood bubbling on your tongue. How were you two to know that the third verse he sang so teasingly, eyes squinting with laughter as he swore to you with honey-sweet seriousness that he’d love you to the end, would become truth? That he’d be imprisoned in that very jail and later killed, with you sent to the battlefield to die? You couldn’t even send letters, like in the song.

There’s a fourth verse to the song, a verse you’d sing together, but the sun burns overhead and seals your lips shut. Its rays sear into your eyes, scorching your heart with the guilt, the knowledge that you have no right to sing or even remember the verse, and it hurts, but you can’t look away. Won’t look away. It’s the sun, what he was, pure warmth and light made whole into one human being whom you were lucky enough to love – how could you let that go?

How could you let him go?

Tears spring into your eyes. They fall slowly, cutting tracks through the grime on your face. One hand struggles to rise, to wipe them away, but you can’t. You can’t. The tears… they’re him. What you have left of him. Tears, tears only, and the dried grass tied around your finger…

Your face burns under the sun. It’s bright, so bright, just like him.

You were so bright, love. The hand that tried to wipe the tears now aches to reach up to the sky, fingers enclosing around a ray of light in a futile effort to bring it to your lips, to kiss him one last time before the darkness blurring your vision takes you completely. Bright as the sun. I could never close my eyes to you.

Even if it burned.

An image appears in the sun, his face contorted in pain and agony as they dragged him to the center of the square. Two guards held you back as you screamed. Four more stood in front of him, guns raised.

The sun blazed that day, just like his eyes as they stared into yours with all the conviction of a man who knew he had done nothing wrong, the bravery of a boy who had been taught to love and only love.

Even when the one he loved could do nothing to save him.

The same sun flares overhead, witness to your love, witness to his death, and now, soon, a witness to yours. It shines unflinchingly, fierce, unforgiving – you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t.

I couldn’t. A sob rips through your bleeding body. Pain tears into every wound in your skin, but it can’t compare to the ache in your chest, the knowledge of a death you couldn’t prevent. I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

I failed.

The sun feels colder now, warm rays chilled under your confession of failure. It hurts to stare, to keep your eyes open even as cold fire sears anger into your wounds, but it’s penance. Punishment. Just like when they stripped your title and shoved you into war, a nameless foot soldier to be buried under a heap of other nameless bodies, retribution for loving a boy they believed to be beneath your station.

Beneath my station. If you could, you’d snort. If only they could see that the farmer boy they scorned to death was so much more than all of them. Than all of you.

Sunlight personified, sparkling in a blue sky without a cloud.

You blink. There are clouds now, of gray smoke from firing guns stained red from the screaming bodies falling all around you. But the sun cuts through it all to shine on you, cold, unforgiving in the knowledge that you failed to protect the boy who loved you to the end, even as bullets ripped into his body the way they now have ripped into yours.

I failed.

I’m sorry.

I failed.

Blood trickles down your face. Your eyes remain open, focused on the sun. They burn, but it’s nothing compared to the punishment you deserve for not keeping him alive the way you promised yourself you would.

I couldn’t. Another sob wracks your bloodied chest. Everything hurts. I couldn’t.

But then –

A face you never thought you’d see again leans over your ruined body, bright, visible, even as darkness further coats your eyes.

The sunlight grows a little warmer.

Haknyeon?

You couldn’t, love. A hand reaches out, caresses your bloody cheek with a softness of touch that almost makes you close your eyes. You couldn’t. And that’s okay.

Tears fill your eyes afresh. No, it isn’t, you try to argue with the vision that can’t be real but that feels so real, so frighteningly warm in this one moment. I couldn’t save you. You should’ve lived.

You couldn’t, Haknyeon repeats, eyes sparkling. He looks so healthy, so whole – no bullets in his chest, no blood running down his face. Your heart aches. It’s okay. Please believe me, love. It’s okay.

The softness in his voice makes you want to believe it, makes you want to fall into his honeyed words that flow, smooth, through your ears, soothing the pain throbbing all over your body. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, you try to argue through cracked and bloody lips that cannot speak. Don’t give it to me. I don’t deserve it.

His touch feels so real against your skin. It’s a good thing I’m not here to forgive you, then, he laughs, for there was never anything to forgive.

Blood bursts from your lips as ash tickles your nose and you cough again, this time curling into his phantom touch. Then why are you here, if not to condemn me?

A question remains in the air, unsung, unsaid, but heavy as the clouds of smoke settling on the field.

Surely you can’t still love me?

He shines, warm, light, brighter than the sun overhead. You hear the answer to your question in his next words even if he doesn’t say it and it hurts, hurts so much – you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve any of the love he still holds for you –

Close your eyes, love, Haknyeon whispers. Close your eyes. I’ll take the pain away.

Panic rises in your chest. You can’t. You can’t close your eyes, can’t lose sight of him or the burning sun, penance for your crime, the last sight of your lover that you will take as your soul slips away – you can’t let this gift go, this last vision – it’s all you have left of him besides the tears and the grass ring wrapped around your finger –

Close your eyes, love. His smile trembles, but his palm remains steady against your cheek. Close your eyes, and I promise you will still see me.

You blink unsteadily against the black spots dotting his face and the sunlight. Truly?

Truly.

The sun dances between the spots in your vision. To close your eyes and lose sight of the sky and of him, or to keep them open and take the image of him, smiling to your grave?

But it hurts so much to keep them open. Burns. And he said he’d still be there even if you closed your eyes against the burn, against the sun…

Maybe you will still feel his warmth, even if you give in to the darkness.

Slowly, slowly, your eyes flutter shut. Black washes across your vision and you almost panic – you can’t see him, he said you’d see him but you can’t and now you don’t have the energy to open your eyes once more – but then warmth settles on your forehead and, oh –

It’s him. His lips, kissing your grimy, bloody skin. And you can still see him, see his smile as he comes closer to cup your cheek with his hand once more, his palm warmer than the sun ever was.

It’s okay, Haknyeon whispers, words ghosting across your skin. I’ll take the pain away. Remember our song?

It hurts so much to breathe a few words from your lips, but for him, you manage. Yes, I do.

Sing with me.

And somehow, you know that if he were granted a last request at the end of his life, it would have been this. For you to sing with him one more time.

Who are you to deny him the last wish he never had?

Your lips begin to move, ever so slightly.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

His song buoys you on, lifting words from your throat even as the pain begins to blur, to fade, taking your voice with it.

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

You falter at the next verse, unshed tears choking your words, but he continues, fingers still stroking your cheek as his song filters through your ears, soft, sweet.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Bitter grief wells in your throat, mixing with the blood. If you couldn’t sing the last verse, there’s no way you can do the fourth. You can’t. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to sing the verse that you always sang together, soft under the sun in a meadow of flowers, holding each other close as you whispered the words into each other’s ears. You don’t deserve to say those words to him, I love you, because even when he loved you to the end, your love wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

Come, love. A hand takes yours, toys with the dried grass tied around your finger. Sing with me. Please.

I don’t deserve it.

Yes, you do. He kisses your forehead again, soft as a flower petal against your skin. You still love me, and I still love you. Nothing has changed.

But –

Nothing has changed, he murmurs. Nothing has changed.

Tears no longer spill from your eyes, but if you had the energy, you’d let them fall. Okay, you whisper. Okay.

Thank you.

You struggle to move your lips as the pain fades, disappearing into the touch of his skin against yours. But his voice stays strong, warm, golden as the sunlight still washing over your skin.

Roses are red, love, he sings. Violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you.

A last trembling smile spreads small across your face, lyrics lingering on your lips.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you…

His arms wrap warm around your shoulders, warmer than sunlight, and the last words whisper soft into your ear as the world finally slips away.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 well wish for the couple they deserve it)

#tbznetwork #destinyversenet #kpopscape #the boyz #tbz #haknyeon #ju hakneyon #juhaknyeon #the boyz haknyeon #the boyz juhaknyeon #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz oneshots #the boyz haknyeon scenarios #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz hakneyon x reader #haknyeon x reader #ju haknyeon x reader #angst #nobility!au #birds in the heavens #scriptura-delirus

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x trans reader #bakugou x trans male reader #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you #trans reader

[mxvladdy]

THE WAY YOU FILLED YOUR FIRST REQUEST SHOOK ME?!?!?!? YOU BLESSED US!? Would you mind also imagining how Mammon, Luci and Belphie would feel with a MC who's guarded with themselves and their feelings to avoid hurt, so they try to keep these brothers at a friendly arm's length as they don't believe the brothers don't really care about them? It would make me so happy, thank you so much!

EEEEK! Sorry for the wait. It took forever and a day to get enough time to seat uninterrupted and then try to edit ;.;

I hope you like it! Apologies if I didn’t get the prompt just right!

Mammon

He didn’t hide his disdain for his human protection duty when you first met. The fact that you kept him at an arm's length was a devil’s blessing. Good! He is a busy demon after all, he doesn’t have time for some human. At first.

Then he caught the feels and it’s all downhill for him at his ‘cool devil’ act. Not that you ever NOTICED.

He tries to flirt with you. Before you, he thought he was good at it too.

He’s never had someone so civil with his advances. You smile and laugh politely at whatever complement he throws at you. You might even give him a few back in a teasing, but clearly friendly manner.

You stress it heavily whenever he comes on too heavy with his advances. You stamp down whatever feelings he evokes and try to keep your line clean and precise in the shifting sand of your relationship.

He takes you out one evening after school, determined to get an actual answer from you over some made up snack he lied about. You don’t think anything of it, happy for an excuse to hang out. You walk and talk, not taking notice of his steadily reddening face as he keeps making swipes at your hand each time it brushes his.

You make an off-handed (get it) remark about the closeness and offer to walk behind this was bothering him.

He is miffed and throws out all semblance of “coolness”. Just flat out confess. Face flaming hot from embarrassment and sweaty palms now shoved into his jacket.

It was a blink and you’d miss it kind of moment. Mammon’s cheeks start to heat gradually. A staunch look of panic growing behind his eyes.

The words just slip off his tongue. His lips forming a sentence you were dreading. You didn’t quite catch it all; his declaration lost in the wind of the open market. You try to catch his gaze, to make him repeat himself clearly, for what purpose you didn’t know. You don't particularly want to hear it again, yet it would give you time to compose some kind of response.

He refuses to look at you. No matter which way you bob and weave beneath him, he dances around you. His face always looking in the opposite direction of yours. His gaze permanently pointing at his feet. The uneven cobblestone beneath his scuffed boots was suddenly very interesting it seemed. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that." You ask once more, grabbing on to the crook of his elbow.

He buries himself deeper into the flipped collar of his coat and whispers it again. "I-I like ya, ok? Like like like ya know?" He stumbles over his thoughts.

Now how in the hells were you supposed to dodge this? It had been easier to evade his blatant affections when even he wasn't admitting to them. "No, you don't." You step away with a dry chuckle. "Don't be silly." You back away shaking your head in denial. You were sure Mammon could feel your heart rate picking up. You need some space, more space than the street could give you. Somewhere away from your tall, sweet, white-haired problem.

"Oi!" He makes a grab for you as you turn to flee. He spins you around leaning down to meet with you face to face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are friends Mammon," You try to wiggle out of his strong, yet gentle grip. "You're just mixing up the feelings." Bullshit. With him touching you, your joint pack acted like an amplifier. You very much felt what he thought of you. The yearning from his newfound mental clarity mixes with the panic of your rejection. It makes a bittersweet taste bloom in your mouth, so hopefully yet reserved.

He was not so lucky. Your feelings felt like ash on his tongue, a sour tang of fear and self-doubt building on his sense. You were afraid of the inevitable, or what you presumed to be the inevitable.

  You were supposed to be friends then disappear forever once the school year was up. Him, down here, and you back to being just another nameless soul in the human realm. No need to get the storyline all tangled. "Hey-hey," Mammon speaks in a rush. "It ain't like that, really." He coos shuffling you closer till you are wrapped tightly in his soft leather jacket. He pours more of himself into the pack, opening himself up in ways he never thought capable of from his demonic form.

"I'm stupid." You speak into his chest. The warm reassurance of his unspoken pledge soothing you. It lessens the tight feeling of uncertainty that you had grown accustomed to.

"Ah- now, ain't that supposed to be my job?" The taste in his mouth dissipates slightly as you let out an indignant huff. He flinches as you poke his side hard between his rib cage.

"Told you to stop talking down on yourself Mammon."

The demon hums noncommittally keeping you close. He rocks you both from side to side, oblivious to the throngs of other pedestrians forced to walk around you two. "Guess I forgot. Maybe you could remind me? O-on a date?"

He smiles down at the little sliver of your face and eyes peeking up from the darkness of his jacket. He could damn near feel the smile trying to break from your forced scowl. "Just one?"

"Heh- don't bet on it."

Lucifer

Welcome to the ultimate game of pleasantry chicken. The two of you know this dance by heart, but your footwork isn't synching up.

Lucifer is trying to keep this whole debacle as professional as possible. You are an esteemed guest and pact holder for all of his brothers and himself. This should be business as usual. He totally has his emotions and growing frustration at your lack of interest in him in check.

Yup. He's fine. He's great; glad you two have such an unspoken understanding of your standing in his company and in the house. The same book, same chapter, same bloody page.

You are a good friend. Just. A. Very. Good. Friend.

He breaks first. Not that he will admit it. But the weekly coffee breaks become a bi-daily thing as he tries to court you. He draws these evenings out now. Have you finished your schoolwork? No, allow me to tutor you. Perhaps you would like to listen to this new vinyl with me tonight? It is a complete demon rendition of Wagner's Die Meistersinger. A classic, you’ll love it.

You take it all in stride. Thanking him innocently enough and going along with it. You buffer every little turn of phrase and slightly off-color hint of what he wanted from you with grace. So tactfully done he begins to doubt himself. You couldn’t be misconstruing his intentions right? He hasn’t doubted himself like this in a long time.

Diavolo catches on quickly to the kicked puppy look Lucifer tots around in your presence. He’ll tease, but try to help. He’s a decent wingman truth be told. “How has Lucifer been treating you? I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. He is a great friend to have, yes?” Kinda backfires when you agree that he is indeed a good friend. Oops.

He’ll crack one night over a glass (or bottle) of something strong he pulled from his study. You had slipped into his room unannounced asking for a quiet place to read before bed.  The interruption to his musings leads to him running his mouth and pile driving his pride into the ground.

He can’t say no to you anymore. He really should. You were hell bent on keeping him at an arm's length, so he should too. Lucifer watches you like a hawk from behind his desk. His ungloved fingers swirling the dregs of his drink. The cognac inside of it looking up at him, his scowl reflecting in the rich red liquor. Don’t judge me. He scoffs at himself, was he that far gone that he was arguing with his glassware? Should have switched to the bottle hours ago.

“Luci?” You say again waving a hand in his face. “You forget to sleep again this week?” Your smile was warm, a little twinkle in your eye drawing a heat to his collar that had nothing to do with the spirits. You sit on the edge of his desk in your sleepwear. The baggy shirt and sweats reeked of his brothers.

“No.” He lies pushing his desk chair away. “Did you need something?”

You shrug hopping off the desk. “Not really. Wasn’t feeling movie night. You ok if I hang out here? It’s nice and quiet.” You slink off to the couch in front of the fire before he could answer.

“You could not do this in your room?” Lucifer snips. He tosses back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet. He grimaces at the burn spreading across his throat. “I’m sure it is quiet in there too.” He catches your eyes looking over the back of the lounge. While everything lower than the bridge of your nose was blocked by the black velvet he could feel the frown growing on your face.

“Well, yes. But I still want some friendly company. Just not rowdy company, I thought you wouldn’t mind...”  

Devils. There was that word again. "You assume to know me?" He cannot hide the venom lacing his words. The liquor had dulled his senses enough that he could not hide his rancor.

“I’m-” You leave the chair coming around it to give him your full attention. This wasn’t like him. Not anymore at least. But you were used to the odd mood swings that plagued your companions. "I don’t assume anything about you Luci. But if you want to talk-"

“I don’t want to have some idle friendly chit chat.” He could feel the tantrum coming. “Have I not proven myself capable of-” His jaw snaps shut with an audible click that echoes across the spacious chamber.

“Of?”

A noticeable blush grows on his pale cheeks. “More.” He sighs deeply, he feels light-headed at the admission. Whether it was from the drinks or from going against his nature and swallowing his pride he couldn’t tell. “Am I not enough to be more than a friend to you?”

That takes you by surprise. You had speculated that he harbored feelings for you. Diavolo all but cementing the idea in your mind. But, this was Lucifer. It felt like just yesterday you were at each other's throats, before he recognized you as something other than a threat to his family. You wanted to respect that little bit of trust he had given you. “It’s not like I never thought about it.”

“But?” He perks up slightly hearing the unspoken word in your inflection. He could see your apprehension yet there was a shimmer of something else underneath. Something he could work with.

“I was- I am scared.”

“Finally, a reasonable response from being around demons.” Lucifer snorts.

“Hey! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.” He invades your space waiting to see what you would do. Run or stay. He would have his answer either way. You don’t move, instead, you wrap your arms around yourself. Guarding yourself yet standing firm. One of the many reasons why he admired you.

“I feel like we just became friends. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to mess this all up.” You confess. “I just thought it would be easier this way.”

Lucifer absorbs your words quietly, nodding at the logic behind them. “Messes are not something I generally like true, but," He reaches for you, careful of your defensive stature to lead you back to the couch. “If you are willing to iron out the bumps with me I’d like to see what we can make of it.”

If it meant he could have you he would take as much time as you needed.

Belphegor

It takes him the longest to notice that you were trying to keep him at arm's length emotionally. It was hard for him to see at first since you still readily accepted his invitations to snuggle and hang out.

He thought he was very blatant with his desire for you and your affections. The head pats and evening is the planetarium or his attic.

The fact that he had apologized for that little murder mishap. He thought that was a big bright neon sign. Yet you always seemed to try to invite someone else along to chill or leave quickly after an hour or so. As much as he loved his twin and tolerated his other brothers he was trying to get you ALONE.

He starts trying to see you outside the house now too. Lunch in the cafeteria? Pffft. You are going to eat and nap with him in the courtyard. After School activities? Could you help him with some council stuff instead?

Yes, he will go out of his way to do work if you are involved.

You are still too closed off though. You act around him like you do around any of the other brothers and it drives him crazy. You are just so friendly and cordial with everyone. How come he is the only one that becomes a flushing mess now?

He becomes your second shadow, almost as bad as Mammon. You start to get an inkling of his intentions when he starts wanting to sleep in your bedroom at night instead of his or the attic. You let him but offer up the couch or split the bed with a pillow.

He snoops when he gets desperate. Did you like someone else? Was that why you were constantly acting like his advances were just him being overly friendly? He doesn’t find anything, you act like this around everyone else too.

He gives up. Stops interacting with you entirely. He is 99% sure he can sleep through the next century without being bothered. Maybe he’ll get over you by then.

“Belphie? You up here?” The demon in question opens a bleary eye to his locked door. He should stay quiet, leave you hanging. Give himself some vindictive pleasure in snubbing you.

“Hai~” He rises from his nest of blankets and pillows. “Hold on.” Unlocking the door he opens it ajar. You smile around the large stack of books and binders in your arms. “What is that?” Please don’t say homework.

“Work you’ve missed sulking up here.” You confirm his worst fear. “Satan and I thought we would spot you a bit though.” Belphegor watches you struggle for a second to pull a folded piece of paper out from the middle of the stack. “We got most of the answers done for you. Now you just have to fill the worksheets in with your handwriting.” You wave the paper expectantly.

Hearing his brother’s name makes him sour immediately. How long had you been hanging out with him now? “Thanks, leave them at the door then.” He goes to shut the door and return to his dreamless slumber but it’s blocked by your foot.

“Ouch.” You wince hopping back on one foot.

“Idiot! Are you hurt?” He wrenches the door open crouching down to take a look at your sock-covered foot.

“Nothing I can’t walk off. Though my arms are getting sore- weak human muscles an’ all.” You hint wiggling the stack in your arms. He takes the work this time, still eyeing your foot. “Relax, I’ve stubbed my toe with more force than that before.” You whisk by him, using his brief moment of distraction to slip by.

“Did I invite you in?” Belphegor eyes you with a frown. He kicks his door close and dumps the pile of papers on his already over-encumbered desk. Hmm. How many days had he missed?

You ignore him plopping down on the still warm sheets. “Nope!” You pop the ‘p’ with a grin. “But that has never stopped you from sneaking into my room. So fair trade all around.” You pat at the bed, clearing inviting him to join you. “Come on. I’ll help you finish that work then we can chill.”

Oh, now you want to hang out. He felt a rush of bitterness wash over him.  “Don’t you have something better to do?” If this keeps up he’ll need another nap, alone preferably. “Doesn’t Asmo need a shopping buddy or something?”

“What’s gotten you all worked up?” You frown, hurt by his accusatory tone.

Belphie shoots you a wounded look. "We never hang out anymore." He sulks. "Alone, I mean. I'm tired of you always inviting Beel or someone else with us."

He glances over to you idly thumbing at one of the books on his desk. It's frustrating. This game of touch and go he accidentally got himself into. Ugh- why did this have to be so hard. "I want to spend more time with you. Just us, so why are you always avoiding that?" 

"I.” You look down at your feet dangling off the side of his mattress. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I just felt like- like things were going off the rails between us.” You weren't oblivious to his advances.

He cocks his head in confusion. "Mmm? What are you afraid of?" You read a flicker in his eyes, a haunting memory of cruel fingers around your neck darken his gaze. "Ah-"

"No! No that's not it!" You panic waving your hands up. Of course, he would immediately go to that. "I'm just worried. I know you like me, and-just what if things don't work out? What if you realize what a mistake this could be?"

Your admission gives him pause. So you knew this whole time? Not surprising; he wouldn't fall for someone stupid. "So, are you admitting to liking me back?" He feels giddy when you nod, covering your heating face with your hands. " Well then, what’s the problem? It’s not a mistake if we both are making it.” He grins slyly. “How can it not work out if the feelings are mutual.”

“But what if you are mistaken?” He wraps you up into his arms, flopping you both over onto his messy bed. He takes one of your hands and places it on the top of his head all while burying his nose in your neck.

“Please,” He yawns, feeling his body grow heavy. “I don’t waste my energy on ‘mistakes’.”

#obey me fandom #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #prompts! yay

[we-have-bangtan]

Fall together

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au

Warning: Swearing, smoking, mature content(no smut tho)

Synopsis: Jimin decides to kiss his bestfriend who he was in love with not knowing if she felt the same way.

-----------------------------------------------

Jimin sat on the terrace, the rain pouring down on him, the drops of water falling fast and hard on his back, his body drenched to the bone. He didn't flinch when the rain drops fell on him, he had adjusted to the pain. The cigarette he had been smoking earlier was nothing more than ash now, too drenched to keep burning. He recalled the events of today as he lifted his chin up, feeling the rain drops pouring on him. Yn pushed up against the wall, her chest against his own, his lips descending upon her, hot and needy tongues meeting to dance together, his hands on her hips and hers around his neck, holding onto him while he devoured her. She had moaned for him, the sound so sinfully beautiful, it had him hooked; and then she had pulled away from him, cheeks red and eyes shaky, lips swollen and panting. Breathless as she opened the closet door and walked out, putting on a facade as she joined the rest of the group as if nothing happened. He wondered how long she'd play with him, how long she'd pretend like his feelings didn't exist, he was putting everything on the line for her and here she was, refusing to accept the fact that he was in love with her. He knew why she was pretending, she didn't want to throw away years of friendship for one chance at being something more. He knew there was no going back from here, no going back to the way thing were, he never planned on going back either. He didn't think he could stand being just friends with her anymore, he couldn't stand around, watching as others try and maybe even succeed in taking what he wanted the most in his life away from him. He had hoped that she'd push him away, stop him, tell hi this was not what she wanted, give him a clear fucking sign that she didn't want him, he didn't want to be given hope if he didn't have a chance with her. And yet she had strung him along, making him think that he did have a chance when she had let him kiss her like THAT. Now he didn't know how to feel, he wanted to hear her moan again, wanted to feel the euphoric high that kissing her made him feel, and at the same time, he didn't know if he could do this anymore. What if she didn't like him like that, what if she left, what if she decided he wasn't worth it. It worried him, the though of her leaving. He hear the door to the terrace swing open, he didn't turn around, knowing who it was already. "Why are you here?" he asked her, he couldn't bring himself to not care, it had become a habit. "I was looking for you" she answered, walking closer so her umbrella could shade him from the rain. "Why??" he asked, pulling himself onto his feet. "Why not" she shrugged as he took the umbrella from her so they both would be covered, her small height wasn't ideal for this. "Why do you do this to me?" he groaned as she pulled out a napkin from her pocket, dabbing at his face. "Do what?" she asked, genuinely confused as to what she was doing that was driving Jimin up the wall. "This!" He said as he pointed to the space between the two of them. "How long will you keep stringing me along?, how long will you keep pretending like I'm not right next to you proclaiming my love for every chance I can ?" he demanded as he dropped the umbrella, pacing around as he spoke, never giving Yn a chance to say anything. "I'm not pretending" Yn said quietly, almost too quietly but Jimin still heard, "Then why don't you just tell me if falling for you is waste of my time, am I just riling myself up for heartbreak Yn?" he asked, stopping right in front of her to grab her shoulders. "Should I give up?" he asked as he stood infront of her, she reached out to push his wet hair out of his face, "Come back downstairs, you'll fall sick if you're here" she said as she turned around to leave. But Jimin was not ready to let this go, not today at least, "how long will you keep putting it off Yn, just tell me if I should give up and I will" he pleaded gripping onto her wrist to stop her from leaving , she didn't say anything, moving his hand from her wrist into her hand, pulling him with her, the umbrella forgotten

as she dragged him into the warmth of the building. "Answer me please" he pleaded as he followed after her, his hand still in hers, she ignored his words, making her way down to Jimin's apartment. She unlocked the door, dragging him inside his bedroom before coming to a halt. Her hair and clothes stuck to her body from the rain, hugging each curve like it was meant to. "Go take a shower, you'll fall sick" She demanded, pulling out clothes from the closet for the two of them, "Yn you can't do that, you can't pretend to care and then refuse to answer me" Jimin huffed as he grabbed the clothes from Yn's hands, spinning her around to look at him, desperation in his eyes. "But I'm not pretending to care" she replied, looking up into his eyes, it hurt that Jimin thought she was pretending to care, there had never been a time when she hadn't cared, she always cared about him. He looked at her, searching for any insincerity, anything that would make him love her less and yet, he found nothing, all he found was genuine affection, a tenderness that he had fallen for a long time ago, it just made him love her more and it hurt to love her more, not knowing if she accepted his love or not was a risk h had planned to take, but it was still hard. "Are my feelings a joke to you?" Jimin finally snapped, he was tired of playing this game, trying to get her to realize that he wanted more, that he wanted to love as more than her best friend. "Why do you do this? How could say things like that and expect me to not fall in love? why do you not realize that I am in love with you? And that kiss, that freaking kiss, why the hell did you not pull away, why didn't you tell me to stop? Why do you keep giving me hope that I actually have a chance with you? Why do you keep making me fall if you're not going to fall with me?" Jimin yelled in one single breath as Yn stared at him, his heart pounding and out of breath. "Not falling? NOT FALLING? ARE YOU INSANE PARK JIMIN? HOLY FUCK! NOT FALLING?? YOU GO AHEAD AND CALL ME OBLIVIOUS AND ALL BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU - YOU FUCKING HYPOCRITE, DO YOU HAVE ANY CLUE HOW HARD I FELL? I'M NOT READY TO GIVE AWAY NEARLY A DECADE OF FRIENDSHIP FOR LITERALLY ONE CHANCE AT SOMETHING MORE, WE HAVE SO MUCH TO LOSE YOU ASSHOLE, THERE IS NO GOING BACK ONCE WE TIP OVER THE EDGE. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO PRETEND TO NOT KNOW THAT YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME?? I NEARLY CONFESSED LIKE 9 TIMES IN THE PAST 10 DAYS AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO YELL AT ME, WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE HUH? AND THAT KISS, THAT FREAKING KISS, I DIDN'T STOP YOU BECAUSE I WANTED IT AS MUCH AS YOU DID, HOW THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO ASK YOU TO STOP WHEN MY TONGUE IS SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT??" she yelled back as Jimin slowly backed away from her as tears streamed down her already wet cheeks. Well that certainly backfired, Jimin thought as he tried to process everything she had yelled, waiiitttt, did she just say she fell?, "Wait did you just say you fell, like fell in love?" Jimin asked a fuming Yn. "Boy, I will crack you like a glowstick if you tell me you didn't listen to a word I've been saying" Yn hissed, but Jimin was too busy making his way forward to take heed of the threat, pushing her up against the closet door, caging her in between before capturing her lips with his own, he felt euphoria all over again. "I've been waiting so fucking long for this" He whispered, pulling away from her, their damp bodies pressed against each other as he looked down into her eyes. "Jimin we can't" Yn pleaded as she reached up to caress his face, her palm soft against his stubble, "Why not, I fucking love you, so why the fuck not?" Jimin asked, no, begged. "There's too much to lose, it could go so wrong JImin, it could destroy both of us" she mumbled as he brushed his nose against hers. Jimin pulled away, looking down at her, "You really think I didn't think of that? I thought of it every night, I thought of it everytime I saw you, I weighted everything before I decided that I'm willing to risk it all, you're worth the risk Yn, our friendship is

worth the risk because I can't see myself being just friends with you". He retorted, Jimin had never lied to Yn and he was never going to, he was going to tell her everything he felt. "You know what fuck this shit" Yn groaned, grabbing him by the collar and latching her lips to his, Jimin was very happy to oblige, quickly taking control. Their tongues danced in harmony, what started as a sweet kiss, prolonging into a heated make-out session, what dragged Yn out of the daze was the coldness of Jimin's shirt against her skin. She quickly pulled away, earning a whine from him, "Go shower, you'll fall sick" she demanded, pushing him off her and shoving the clothes she had pulled out into his hands. "Care to join me sweetheart?" he teased as she tugged on her wet shirt, "Woahh, slow down chim, you shower in a temperature that is more than the boiling water of hell, so no thank you" she answered, turning away from him to search through the closet for a shirt for herself. Jimin pouted like a child as he stormed into the bathroom, he seemed to remember something in the middle of undressing because he popped his head out of the door, shirtless and his pants unbuttoned. "Do not leave while I'm in the bathroom, we still need to talk" He warned before going back inside, Yn shrugged, it wasn't like she was planning to leave. She went to the bathroom in the guest room to shower and get changed into one of Jimin's shirts. Jimin was still not out of the bathroom by the time Yn ordered the two of them takeout. She had no clue what took Jimin this long. Jimin's mind was going into over-drive as he thought about all the possibilities that he and Yn wouldn't work out. He had even used a love calculator in the past and it had showed him a solid 69% but he didn't have much faith in that calculator, personally, he thought he and Yn were 100% compatible, but that was just his opinion. He had already thought of the names of his three kids and two cats, the location of their house and what colors the walls would be. He was brought back to reality when the hot water ran out. Never letting hot water run out at my place, he thought to himself as he walked out of the bathroom, drying himself off before putting on the clothes Yn picked out. He walked into the living room to see Yn chowing down a plate of jajangmeon and he felt a little guilty for making her wait. "What took you so long?" she asked as she gulped down the noodles, picking at the side dishes, "The hot water was too nice to get out of" he lied, joining her side as she passed him a plate of japchae too. The two of them ate in silence, stealing a bite of each other's food once in a while before settling down to talk. "So, girlfriend~" Jimin drawled, "Girlfriend??" Yn questioned, "What you wanna be the boyfriend? I'm okay with that." Jimin said with a thoughtful nod. "Don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself Jimin?" Yn teased, rolling from her spot to his before wrapping her arms around him, "At least buy me dinner first" she jested, "Yah, didn't you pay the delivery man with my money? technically I already bought you dinner" he defended, wrapping his arm around her. Yn decided to be bold, swinging her leg onto the other side of Jimin before placing herself on his lap, a mischievous grin on her lips. Jimin was very pleased. "Well then Boyfriend~" she started, Jimin's hands finding their way to her hips, gripping her firmly in place, humming encouragingly when he heard her call him boyfriend. "I need to get home, it's getting late" she finished, ruining the whole mood, "Very romantic" Jimin quipped with a roll of his eye as she tried to get off his lap, his hands firmly holding her in place. "I try!" her retort was paired with a flirty wink. "Well girlfriend, might as well stay the night since it is so late, can't have the love of my life go home when it's so dark outside" he continued, sitting a little straighter so there was less space between the two of them. "Cute, but that won't work, try again tomorrow when I don't have work" she answered as she wiggled to get

out of his grip, "Yn darling, you might want to stop wiggling if you don't want to cause me problems" Jimin groaned as he felt Yn's core grinding against him, holy fuck this woman would drive him insane. "So Jimin-ssi are you taking me home or not?" She asked as she finally managed to get away from him, gathering her things from all over the house, "Only if you kiss me goodbye" he bargained, Yn nodded, fair enough, she was going to do it anyway. Jimin happily whistled as he lead the way to his car, Yn's hand in his as she followed behind him, dressed in his shirt and the heels she had worn when she had come to his apartment. He felt giddy, praying that they would part for the rest of their lives.

--------------------------------------

END

-------------------------------------

#bts #bts namjoon #bts jin #bts suga #bts jhope #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #bts army #bts fantasy au #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #park jimin #bts writing #bts smau #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #jimin park #jimin mochi #bangtan sonyeondan #btsedit

[angellesword]

SAVE ME | KTH (14)

Summary: You were determined to kill yourself, but what would happen when instead of ending your life, you ended up summoning the devil of death?

Alternatively:

The Devil: I’m here to ruin you, I’m here to save you.

Genre: Demon au, e2l, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Devil!Taehyung x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: stabbing (this is the last time promise) kissing, oral sex (m. receiving.)

Note: Guys if you can, please listen to Samson by Regina Spektor while reading this update.

SERIES: CHAPTER 13 | FINAL CHAPTER (15)

"No. It's not enough."

His response was like a broken record, it kept playing inside your head.

It was too much—too painful.

You had to leave now. You had to leave before your tears started to fall.

It was too late.

Hot tears cascaded down your face as you pushed him away, refusing to be caged any longer.

You didn't know if he saw you cry.

Maybe he did.

Maybe that's the reason why he tried to stop you from leaving.

"It will never be enough." He paused for a second just to swallow thickly, "because kissing you isn't greed in the first place."

It worked.

You halted your steps, slowly turning to face him.

When you looked at him a few breaths ago, you felt like you were being burnt.

You even turned into ashes.

However, that feeling changed when he brought out his phone. He was talking to his virtual assistant while looking directly at you.

"Hey PD-nim," he started.

You and Taehyung were only five feet away from each other.

"What does it mean when someone is always in your thoughts? When you're sad when she's sad? When you have this...strong desire to touch her—no." He shook his head as if the last thing he uttered was completely wrong.

"I mean...it's fine if I can't always hug her or hold her hand. I guess I just want to be near her...to feel the comfort and warmth she's emitting,"

Taehyung chuckled lightly. His smile was big, eyes crinkling.

"I also want to stay alive," his eyes suddenly darkened, causing your heart to sink.

"It's not because I want to save myself..."

You felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for the next words he's about to say.

"But because I want to protect her."

Again, you turned into ashes—

"I'm one hundred percent sure that feeling is called love," the virtual assistant answered.

—but like a phoenix, you rose again.

"You are in love with her."

Taehyung wasted no time when he heard PD-nim's response.

He closed the gap between you two. The fire in his eyes was scorching, it was the only thing that could melt your cold, cold heart.

"Our first kiss doesn't mean greed," Taehyung cupped both of your cheeks.

He was done pretending. He was done trying to be logical.

It was time to admit the truth.

"It means love."

When he said this, you felt like the missing piece of the puzzle was finally found, completing the gap in your heart.

Everything made sense now.

Taehyung still needed to tempt people because he didn't satisfy his capital vice in the first place.

Greed was a sin.

Loving you was redemption.

Unfortunately, he couldn't be saved by the love he felt for you.

Love was a good thing and Taehyung was evil.

His sole purpose in this world was to spread hatred and bitter meanings.

He wouldn't survive by doing good deeds.

"Y-You know..." Of course you would stutter just as when you thought you could finally voice out what you felt.

Regardless of this, you still tried to speak.

"I was hesitating to tell you how I feel about you." You weren't lying.

When you realized what Taehyung had done to the girl at the flower shop, you thought that maybe you made a mistake.

Perhaps you didn't have feelings for him. Maybe you were just caught up with how perfect his mouth felt when it was crashing against yours, or maybe, just maybe, you were deceived by him again.

You were in denial.

You knew you weren't perfect. You had hurt so many people before—even now.

But it was all unintentional.

Taehyung was the only one who hurt people deliberately.

You hated this about him.

But as said, his confession changed your mindset.

Some people were forced to do things they didn't want to do because they needed to survive.

You knew this all along; however, you didn't fully understand it.

The missing puzzle you were talking about was what made you understand.

Some people were forced to do things they didn't want to do because they needed to survive, and that's okay. We just have to find grace with our decision.

"But you made it so easy, you know?" You weren't stuttering anymore. You even found the courage to also caress his cheeks.

Taehyung closed his eyes, relishing your soft touch.

"How can I deny my own feelings when the one who isn't supposed to feel anything sincerely admitted what he feels for me?"

Taehyung pouted his lips.

"I've been in this world since the beginning of time, love." He was saying that he saw how things started and ended.

He knew that the main reason why people were miserable was because they refused to accept things as they were.

They lied, always underestimating or overestimating things.

Taehyung didn't want to repeat the mistakes of people. He rather named his emotions than lose you for not doing it when he had the chance.

"I asked this device—" he raised his phone in the air "—to tell you how I feel because I thought you won't believe a devil like me."

You nodded in understanding. You were blinded by anger just a short while ago.

You really believed that he wanted to hurt people for fun.

"But I do, okay? I do love you and it scares me."

You could see in his eyes that he was truly frightened.

You bit your lip, allowing him to explain further.

"I'm not scared of loving you even if it's new to me. What frightens me is your reaction. I-I have no idea if you're going to accept me..."

It hurt when he looked away from you.

"Tae, listen to me..." You gently grabbed his chin, urging him to look at you.

"We're both scared. As in hella terrified." You laughed as you told him that Ji-hyo was actually the one who convinced you to talk to him.

Your best friend claimed that running away wouldn't do you any good, but for you, running away from your problem was easier. You could play thousands of scenarios inside your head, wondering what could have been if you only confronted him.

Facing your problem was the complete opposite of this. When you confronted him, there would only be one answer.

The answer was final. It couldn't be twisted. You wouldn't be allowed to imagine scenarios in your head because you already knew the right answer.

You wouldn't be able to escape it even if you wanted to. At least with the thousand scenarios, you could still change it if it turned out that you didn't like how it was playing inside your fucked up head.

But you were glad.

You were glad that you decided to face your dilemma.

You were glad that you were now nodding your head as Taehyung asked if he could kiss you.

"You don't have to ask, silly." You grabbed his face, initiating the kiss.

Taehyung giggled in between the intimate act.

He liked this feeling better. He liked kissing you in this narrow alley. He liked kissing you now that he was free.

The only thing he didn't like was when the counter pager inside your pocket buzzed, indicating that the dumplings you ordered were now ready to be picked up.

"Damn," Taehyung's nose wrinkled right after you pulled away from the kiss. "I wanna keep kissing you."

He was acting like a child, making you laugh.

"You can kiss me later." You winked at him as you pulled him towards the dumpling store.

You and Taehyung ended up eating one dozens of mandu while watching some boring netflix show.

You called it boring since you weren't really paying attention. Your mind (and heart) were busy fooling around with Taehyung.

"You feel so good," Taehyung grunted, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him off.

You were kneeling between his legs, looking so sexy and small. He swore his hard cock was bigger than your face.

You enjoyed rubbing it on your cheek before wrapping your tiny hands around his shaft.

You gave him a few pumps before taking him in your sweet, sweet mouth.

Taehyung kept his hands at the back of his head, allowing you to take control.

This was already so difficult for him. Touching you would only drive him crazy.

Joke's on him because he was already crazy. God. You were amazing. His stomach was contracting when you pressed the flat of your tongue over his tip, gathering his precum until it stained your mouth.

You sank your mouth down his full length, not stopping until your forehead hit his pelvis.

Taehyung's head fell back against the couch. You wanted to focus on his pretty face, but the tears in your eyes made it hard.

"Ah,"

Your pretty moans were what pushed him over the edge. He exploded in your mouth without a warning.

"You're lucky I can swallow," you chortled, attempting to wipe the remnant of his load on the corner of your mouth.

Taehyung grabbed your face lightly, stopping you from doing so.

He leaned closer to kiss you, tasting himself as he whispered "Wanna make you feel good too..."

Taehyung scooped you up, making you sit on his lap.

"Please," he kissed the base of your throat while you grind on his cock.

You shook your head.

"This all about you, Tae..." Your words were in contrast to what you really felt. Taehyung could feel how wet you were through your soaked underwear.

You wanted this. You wanted him so much. This wasn't about you. He was the one who deserved to feel good. He had been through a lot.

"Trust me, baby. I'm on cloud nine right now," the corner of his mouth quirked up before sucking bruises on your neck.

"R-Really," you whimpered, running your hands through his soft locks. "Is that why I'm on cloud nine too?"

You remembered your conversation with him from almost a year ago. His life was connected to yours and vice versa. You couldn't breathe when he was mad, and now that the pleasure was overwhelming him, you felt really good as well.

What he felt, you felt too. Taehyung froze upon remembering this.

"What's the matter?" The lust consuming you instantly boiled down to confusion.

Why did the devil look like something epic just hit him right in the face?

"I meant this in the sweetest way possible," Taehyung touched your back.

The scissors tattooed on your shoulder blade materialized in front of him. He was spent. He couldn't use his power after this anymore.

Taehyung was holding the black scissors now.

"Can you please stab yourself?"

The normal reaction should be to freak out—to get mad. However things were different today.

You understood what he meant.

He was testing a theory.

And so you participated.

Heaving a deep sigh, you stabbed your palm using the scissors.

You yelped in pain.

Taehyung held you, kissing your forehead.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

But you didn't know what hurt the most.

Was it your injured hand? Or was it the fact that Taehyung's palm wasn't bleeding like yours?

It only meant one thing.

"Our lives aren't connected anymore." He confirmed what you already knew.

You were aware that you should be rejoicing. You were finally free. He was finally free.

"I can go back to hell now..."

There was no reason for him to stay here. He simply went to the world of the living to protect you and to tempt people. Doing the latter only took a short period of time.

Taehyung always went back to hell right after corrupting the minds of humans.

In hell, he was safe.

If he was there, he wouldn't have to tempt innocent people just to survive. Hell was his home, it was where his powers became stronger.

"Yeah," your response was too late.

Silence was engulfing you for quite some time now. You were in a state of shock when he said that he could go back to hell any moment from now.

He had no reason to be with you.

"I have all the reason to be with you," but Taehyung believed otherwise.

He didn't want to leave you alone. He just admitted he loved you. He couldn't love you and then decided to leave you.

"Don't be silly, Tae." You buried your face in his chest so that he couldn't see the tears forming in your eyes.

"You have to go. You served your purpose already. You save me,"

You were no longer suicidal. You felt a lot better now. His presence helped you a lot. He made you realize so many things.

"The best thing to do is to leave me."

"But it's not the right thing to do..." His jaw tensed as he embraced you.

"I don't want you to die, Tae." You hugged him back. "I can't let my selfishness become your downfall."

You are my sweetest downfall. He wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

He didn't want to die too.

Dying meant he wouldn't be able to see you again.

He had to save himself so that he could continue to love you.

Taehyung loved you.

He kissed you once more just to show it to you.

You kissed him back to imply that you also loved him.

The kiss wasn't like the first time. It wasn't the same as the second kiss too.

This time, the kiss felt more intimate, hungrier, hotter...

He kissed you like it was the last time he would be allowed to do so.

"I love you, Taehyung..." You cooed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He didn't respond. He only kissed you deeper.

He brought you to his bedroom.

You let your bodies talk. The tension and the frustration were released through kissing your complexion.

Taehyung made love to you to make up with the time you lost and the time you would be losing.

He had accepted his fate.

"How does it feel to be there?" You asked as he collapsed beside you.

"In hell?" Taehyung moved closer to you, embracing your naked body.

You nodded.

He was silent for a while, like he found it hard to answer your question.

Moments later, he finally spoke.

"It feels like everything is..." He stared at the white ceiling of the room, "dead."

It was your turn to keep your lips sealed.

Your heart was aching, luckily Taehyung knew the right words to make you feel better.

"But here, I feel alive..."

It was reassuring to think that you were one of the reasons why he felt happy to be here.

But here, I feel alive... you kept repeating these words inside your head until you fell asleep.

You liked to think that you had a good sleep.

But you wished you didn't sleep because when you woke up, he wasn't by your side anymore.

#taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #demon taehyung #devil taehyung #taehyung demon au #taehyung devil au #taehyung roommate #taehyung roommate au #taehyung fantasy au #taehyung fantasy #taehyung x yn #taehyung x you #taehyung x oc #taehyung x reader #ficswithluv #taehyung enemies to lovers #taehyung e2l