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kasagia · 4 months

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Losing your memory

Pairing: Young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol! reader Summary: He used to be your Coryo. Now he has become the man you don't know. The Plinth heir. The future president of Panem. You pray every day to forget about the sweet boy you fell in love with, on whom you could always count. To forget who he was and lose the memory of the past. Just like he did. Well... not exactly. Unfortunately for you, he still wants to remember you. Inspired by: "Losing your memory" by Ryan Star Word count: 7,2 k ~•♤♤♤•~ Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

You've been avoiding him ever since you found out he was back in the Capitol.

A month ago, this news would have aroused great joy and ecstasy in you. Your Coryo is back home. He managed to shorten his exile and gain Dr. Gaul's favour again.

But the man who returned from District 12 was not your dear friend or lover. This wasn't your sweet Coryo, with whom you walked hand in hand to school. This wasn't the boy you shared your lunch with. This wasn't a boy who cared about your well-being above his own. This wasn't a boy who joked about snobbish children spoiled by the richest people in Panem with you and Sejanus at the end of the day. (Although he talked with them, trying to keep up good appearances—he used to call that one of the responsibilities of being Snow.)

The man who came back was Coriolanus. The new Plinth heir. The shell of someone you knew. The ruthless, cold pet of the mad creator of the Hunger Games you despised.

Sejanus' death didn't hurt you as much as the transformation of Coriolanus from the person closest to you into someone you barely even recognized. And from the tearful, sad, resentful, and disappointed stories you heard from Tigris, you had an accurate picture of the man who took your Coryo's place.

And you hated him with all your heart.

Especially after what he promised you when you stayed at his apartment for one snowy winter night.

You lay wrapped in the various blankets and quilts Coryo and Tigris could find. It was winter, and they didn't have much money for additional heating, so they mostly walked around the house in several layers and slept under piles of clothes.

You didn't know about that that night.

Tigris lent him her quilt so that he wouldn't have to be ashamed of the poverty his family had fallen into since you were supposed to come to sleepover with him after the argument with your parents.

Cuddling up to your blonde boy, you tried to fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat. You frowned at the sound of it being a little faster than usual.

You lift your head and look at him carefully. His gaze is distant and thoughtful as he lazily draws patterns on your back as he presses you against his chest.

"Coryo?" you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand tenderly and forcing those blue irises you have loved so much to look at you. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

He sighs long and presses a kiss on your forehead, the tip of his nose stroking your hair, as he is inhaling your scent. "I just... I just think about the fact that you deserve so much more. My grandma and Tigirs deserve much more than... this." he says with disgusting pointing at the room you were in.

"This..." you say, clasping your hands together and pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. "Is more than enough. You are all I need. And one day, when you are President of Panem or any other important figure in the Capitol, none of you will lack anything. This is a temporary state. You are too smart to be anything less than great, Coryo. You know it."

You see him hold back tears. He pushed your head onto his chest to rest his chin on your head. He is not crying. He almost never cries. But you know how close he is to it by the slight quiver in his breathing.

"I know I don't show it often enough... but you mean... everything to me. I can't imagine how I would go through these all without you by my side."

"I love you, Corio. Just promise me you won't forget this. What you went through, what you experienced. Don't forget your struggle. That's something you should never be ashamed of." he tenses at your words but leans in to kiss you passionately and hungrily. Putting all his unexpressed emotions into action and into that kiss that warmed you more than any blanket or radiator could ever.

"I promise. I will never forget how you kept me sane. When you were the only shelter I could go to and the only support that could bear the boundlessness of my troubles and doubts. How you were my only moonlight in the worst of my darknesses." you laugh softly, recognising part of his words.

"Quoting poets will get you nowhere, Coriolanus Snow." you say teasingly, rubbing your nose against him, at which he chuckles, licking his lips.

"Well... I've learned that in some situations, it gets me somewhere. And it's a very cold night tonight, don't you think? I can't let you freeze to death." he says as his hands go under your shirt—actually, his shirt that you stole from his closet.

"Well… I guess there's nothing left for me… but to place myself under your solicitous care." you sigh softly as he pins you underneath him, making sure the cocoon of blankets is still tightly wrapped around the two of you.

"I couldn't have said it better." he whispers and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath countless times. He pulls away just a little to say against your lips, "You're mine. We belong together. No matter what."

He makes you shiver as you eagerly agree to everything he says. You don't realise how, in the future, you will curse every single intimate, sweet moment you shared with him.

Ironically, you realise how deep he has gotten under your skin the moment he returns to the Capitol, and you have to avoid him, not when he is sent into exile.

It was probably because when he was gone, you were too distraught to bother leaving your room, opening the blinds, or wiping the tears that somehow kept leaking from your eyes to notice how almost every place reminded you of him. If you could, you'd go back in time and tell yourself there's no point in crying over the asshole he's become.

Although maybe you already felt that your Corio was leaving, and it was a way of mourning him?

Anyway, you saw him everywhere. Not Coriolanus. Coryo. He stalked you in the library, the park, the cafe near the academy that you two and Sejanus liked to go to, and of course the Academy itself. Kudos to your parents for not letting him into your house. At least he didn't pollute your room with memories of him.

Involuntarily, you wonder if he also sees you, for example, in every corner of his apartment. Or maybe he renovated it beyond recognition to erase all traces of his past?

You didn't know.

And you didn't want to know.

The information about him that Tigris gave you when you met her at your house when Coriolanus was at the university for classes was sufficient.

Just because it didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean you would abandon your only real friend. And just because things didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean she would stop (more or less subtly) encouraging you to go back to him.

"We talked about you." she says, making adjustments to your dress that she made for your birthday party thrown by your parents. Another one of the unpleasant responsibilities.

"You and your grandma?" you ask, trying to avoid HIM as a topic as much as possible.

"No. Me and Coriolanus." she says, pinning something to your waist—some decorative strip of fabric or something—you're not sure; you're too focused on the window and the bustling city as you are trying to ignore her words. "You know… I think… I think I saw in his eyes… the old Coryo. For a brief moment, but… maybe if you came back to him, he would come back to himself too."

"I'm sorry, Tigris, but I think he went too far on his path to simply go back to who he was. Surely not because of me."

"I understand… I just really miss him." she says it in a soft, broken tone, and your heart breaks at it. You hug her with all your strength, uniting with her pain that you also felt so deeply.

"Me too." you whisper in her ear as she cries into your shoulder.

Tigris was a very strong woman. She always impressed you. You wanted to be as strong as her. But even the toughest had to cry sometimes.

After all, there comes a time when even the snow melts... even if only for a little while.

You held him tightly in your arms as Corio cried into your chest.

His grandmother fell ill. Hard. Without a doctor, she definitely wouldn't be able to get out of this on her own, and they didn't have the money to pay for one, let alone the medicines.

Your boyfriend spent the whole day planning, thinking, and getting any money, but it was not enough even to buy the cheapest antibiotic.

However, you didn't expect that after you found out it all from Tigris and ran to him as fast as you could with the chicken soup prepared by your servants and all your pocket money, he would start crying.

Coriolanus Snow cried like a little baby.

You handed the money and soup to Tigris, who, after feeding up their grandma, quickly ran out with her to the doctor. At that time, you were holding your boyfriend in your arms in the other room, who simply fell apart from his helplessness.

"Shh… it's going to be okay, Coryo. She will live, falsify that stupid hymn and hate me for not being enough for you just as she used to." your attempt to comfort him didn't help. If anything, he only cried more, holding onto you tighter and tighter.

"I should be able to take care of them... I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. I'm pathetic and weak. I'm not worthy of being called Snow."

"Hey, my sweet boy, look at me. You are strong. You are the strongest man I know. You are looking after me all the time; you literally give me everything you have, the last piece of your food, to keep me happy, safe, and full when I forget to bring a damn second breakfast from home or don't have time to eat something. You love me, and I love you, and that's how it works. We care about each other. And I have never, ever regretted being with you. Because what we have… is more valuable than anything else in this world. I trust you implicitly, and I will always be by your side. You are not alone with your problems and suffering. Not as long as I am here."

"But for how long will you stay? For how long will you endure with me?" he asks, and after one look at those a little red from crying, beautiful blue iris, you answer without a shadow of hesitation.

"As long as you love me and I can trust you. As long as I breathe. As long as I am in your mind and heart. I am not going anywhere, Coryo. Money can be earned, but what we have... you can't buy it. What I feel for you is more dear to me than any treasure in this world and I will never exchange it for anything else." you promise, stroking his hair tenderly to help him calm down.

You should've then wondered why he doesn't agree with you then. Why doesn't he say that he also feels this way and that he also values you more than money, glory, and honours?

But he blinds you by telling you for the first time that he loves you.

And you cling to him, wiping the tears from his face with your lips and foolishly believing that your love is pure and eternal.

Like a driven snow.

You knew this day would come someday. The day you let your guard down. But you hoped it would take a little longer before you came face-to-face with Coriolanus.

You are completely unprepared for this. You just freeze like a deer in headlights when you see his face at the end of one of the university's corridors as he walks forward, looking for something in his bag. Before you can even think about running away, he looks up, probably feeling watched, and his blue, icy eyes meet yours.

You both stand there transfixed, looking at each other, taking in the changes in your appearance since the last time you saw each other, which was after you broke up with him, when you saw how tenderly he treated Lucy Gray and how comfortable he was around her. And after someone politely informed you that he had kissed her.

"Y/N!" Coriolanus calls out to you and takes a step towards you, but you quickly step back and run through the crowd of people to get away from him. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up that easily. He never does. "Y/N! Wait!"

You have no intention of doing so. You run as fast as you can, bumping into several students along the way. You don't even bother apologising; you just run, hoping that Snow will stop being hot on your heels. Which, by the way, was a miserable dream after how fit he was after his training and the time he spent as a peacekeeper.

On the way, you notice a woman's bathroom and immediately run into it. You lock yourself in a cabin, thanking God or whoever is up that you managed to get an empty cabin and hide in it. You hear his quick footsteps and the door opening, followed by the screams of other women in the bathroom. You sigh in relief as you hear him obediently leave the room.

You're not leaving, though. You are not stupid. You know he's waiting at the door for you to come out. You decide to wait here until the end of the break between classes and hope that he will drop the idea of continuing to chase you and talk to you, and he will attend the lecture instead.

As the bathroom begins to empty, you realise that the next lectures must be soon. You stand silently on the toilet seat, listening carefully, waiting for the right moment to emerge from your miserable hiding place.

Just as you are about to reach for the doorknob, the bathroom door opens. You shiver as you hear heavy footsteps echoing off the tiles of the empty bathroom. And you think that you can smell the subtle scent of roses in the air.

"Come on, Y/N. I know you're here. I just want to talk."

Said the snake moments before eating the bird alive.—you think, mentally mocking how gentle he was trying to present himself. As if he could still be your Coryo.

"I have time. I can play hide-and-seek with you, if you want to. After all, you always liked to play this when we were kids. And you always lost."

You roll your eyes, listening carefully to his footsteps. He was opening the first cabin. You were in the middle one—the one a little closer to the door (and him).

"We'll have to talk eventually. You can't avoid me and ignore me, no matter how good you are at it lately. Let's stop this ridiculous, childish behaviour and go talk over coffee and some of your favourite cookies at the cafe near the academy. Just like the good old days. Well, this time all your orders are on me. What do you say?"

You would have snorted if it hadn't immediately revealed your hiding place to him. How dare he invite you to the place where you, he, and Sejanus spent the most time? To the place where your first unofficial date was.

He wanted to manipulate you, to make you believe that your Corio is still there and lives behind the façade of the rich, arrogant asshole he has become. But you knew better. His eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Even without Tigris' help, you realised that he... was a completely different person. He turned into somebody you only used to know in the past.

"Seriously? Still nothing? So you prefer the hard way, then..." he says, opening another cabin. You wait patiently for him to come to yours.

You breathe as quietly as you can, trying not to let him know which cabin you're in. You listen to his slow, measured steps as, with the incredible confidence and calm that is typical of him, he opens each cabin door, moving inexorably towards you.

Your heart quickens, beating madly, when you see his shoes in the whole, under the cabin's door. He reaches for the door handle, and before he can open it, you push the door against him with all your strength.

You hear him curse, taking a few steps back in a daze and holding his nose. You take the opportunity and run to the exit of the bathroom as fast as you can, not looking back.

"Fuck! Y/N! Are you insane?!" he shouts, running after you.

You reach the door just in time and slam it behind you, sprinting out of the university. You get in your car and drive away with your tyres screeching. In the rearview mirror, you see him leaving the building and following your car with a furious glare.

"I can't believe you invited Snow." you huff, fixing your makeup in the mirror. Your father is buttoning his cuffs, and your mother stands next to you, also putting the finishing touches on her appearance. "You hated him when we were together."

"He is an ambitious and clever boy. Plinth did well to make him his heir. You should reconsider whether he really is that bad. This match would have opened many doors for us. Not only among Plinth's allies but also among Dr. Gaul. God knows how she favours this boy. Who knows? Maybe one day he will be president of Panem."

"If so, I will run away abroad." you say it bitterly, putting your lipstick back in your purse and adjusting the necklace around your neck to make yourself look perfect.

"Don't be stupid. Snow wouldn't be so bad for you. Since you are our only child, we must marry you well. Make sure your husband doesn't blow our fortune in a week. And Snow is a thoughtful boy. He wouldn't let you live below the poverty line."

"And he's quite handsome." your mother adds, straightening your father's tie. "Still, he's not a womaniser. I heard he turned down the... special attention of Crane's daughter and a few other Capitol's girls. I guess he's been alone since your breakup."

"Hmm. Great. He wouldn't cheat on me with other snobs in the capital, but he would fuck with whores in the district. The perfect candidate for a husband." you scoff, walking with them to the next room, where the photographers were waiting to take a photo of you together.

“Language, Y/N. You are a lady. Besides, it is not certain whether he and this Lucy Gray actually had something between them. After all, she's a woman from the district.” your mom says this, smiling for the cameras.

The flashes blind you a little, but with your father's and mother's hands on your shoulders, you somehow manage to keep your pose, fake, pretty smile, and opened eyes.

Your father thanks them and leads you out of the room and into the corridor leading to the great hall where the ball was to be held.

"And even if he did, it's good that he had some fun. It will make him appreciate the treasure that you are and see that you are irreplaceable." he says, taking the box out of his pocket. He hands it to you with a warm smile. "Happy birthday, my treasure."

"We've already given her..." your father shushes your mother. You send them a confused look as you open the medium-sized box.

You find a tiara there. A small diamond tiara.

"It will match your dress perfectly." your father says proudly. You nod and walk to the mirror to put it on, despising the object in your hands with all your heart. You may look like a princess, but you've never felt so... disgusted with yourself before.

This feeling intensified even more when, after a toast and receiving wishes from several of your friends and more powerful families, you managed to sneak out to the balcony. Not long after you, all the single, young men of the richest family on the Capitol entered, with Coriolanus among them. They each took a cigarette and started smoking, gossiping about the events of the week…

And their topic of conversation was exactly what you were afraid of when you got that fucking tiara.

"Have you seen this? I bet they're pure diamonds. Old Y/L/N wants to marry her off so much that he's using every trick possible."

"He doesn't need to do much. She is beautiful in her own right. But this character… it's easier to train a dog than such a stubborn cow."

"What Snow? Are you now regretting that the Capitol's Diamond slipped from your hands? I heard she wants nothing to do with you. How unfortunate that it happened at the moment when you started to count in the eyes of the elite, and now you really have any chance of grabbing this precious gem for yourself."

The Capitol's Diamond. You shudder, thinking about the nickname you've been given.

That's what they called you. The sole heiress to your parents' fortune. Diamond of the Capitol, the best match in the city, with a dowry greater than any other woman. Anyone who won your hand was guaranteed to reach the top and success with your family's connections, your charm, beauty, and brain. And these vultures knew it perfectly well.

You were curious how the new Coriolanus would react.

Your Coryo only took advantage of your position in society when he had to. He didn't ask you for money or for you to convince your father to whisper a good word about him here and there. Maybe it was because of his pride; maybe he really didn't care. You have no idea. But Coryo despised that term as much as you did. You wondered if that had changed as well.

"I'm still in the game." he replies evasively, sipping his drink. The others laugh and he frowns in displeasure.

"Sure. Because the way she ran away from you today when you approached her with a gift says exactly that." they mock him. You see him clench his jaw, glaring at them coldly as he considers his next move.

"Enjoy it while you can. Your good mood will end when our cat-and-mouse game is over and the Capitol's Diamond hangs proudly on my shoulder." you huff, shaking your head in disbelief. You come out of hiding, and all the men on the balcony tense up and look at you in surprise.

Especially Coriolanus. Suddenly everyone is staring intently at the garden of your estate, too shy to look at you. Except Snow. He drills a hole into you with his gaze as he thinks of a way to undo what he said.

"Gentlemen." you scoff, walking past them and ignoring Coriolanus' glare. "For your information, I would rather live in one of the districts than marry any of you. Enjoy the party." you add sweetly, walking back to the ballroom.

The party is in full swing. You are talking to Thomas, using a sweet boy in a shameful way—to scare other men away from you. Just as you expected, they started flocking to you like flies to a fire.

So you chose the least spoiled of them. Thomas was nice and funny; you had a good time talking to him, and dancing with him was even better.

He wasn't rich; he wasn't part of the cream of society. You were really starting to enjoy spending time with him. And most importantly... he looked nothing like Coriolanus. He was nice for the eyes, but his dark hair, eyes, and sweet, shy personality made him drastically different from your ex. So he was the perfect break from your dramatic love life. Boring, nice change.

You danced to a waltz with him. He held you gently, close but respectful, not invading your personal space. He was a perfect gentleman. The man of your dreams.

If only Coriolanus' icy eyes weren't focused on both of you like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble, you would be able to enjoy Thomas' company to the fullest.

You are with him at the buffet, sipping drinks, when suddenly the last person you expected to meet here approaches you.

"Mrs. Plinth." you whisper in shock as he stands in front of you.

She looks—probably the way she feels. Nice on the outside and devastated on the inside. The dark circles under her eyes cannot be fully covered by makeup, and the deep black of her dress is a clear reminder of what she is still going through.

You can't imagine the pain he's going through right now. And you wonder why the woman decided to join her husband for your birthday party. Since Sejanus' death, she has rarely left their apartment.

"Y/N. Can I steal you from this young man for a moment?"

"Of course." you say, not even looking in Thomas' direction as you and Mrs. Plinth walk to one of the empty living rooms in your mansion. You close the door behind her and point to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Or to eat?"

"No. There is no need, darling. I just… I just came here to give you something." she says, pulling a thick letter out of her purse. "I… the letters from Sejanus are still reaching us. The flow of information between the districts and the Capitol is… very heavy and long. Especially when the peacekeepers are now checking every one of his correspondence. He sent it to you. Or rather, he wanted you to send it to him. Or rather, he wanted you to have it, just in case he couldn't… I'm sorry."

Your heart aches with sadness, seeing her on the verge of tears. She probably has no one to talk to about her son except her husband. After all, Sejanus was a traitor of Panem…

"He was a wonderful friend. The best one somebody could have. I could always count on him. Thank you for... taking the trouble to give me a letter from him. That... means a lot." you say, fighting the urge to hug the woman. The Capitol is not famous for acts of tenderness, mercy, or compassion. You had to keep up a facade. Always.

You take the letter from her and walk her to the exit. You give her one sympathetic look—everything you could afford in your position—and close the door behind her.

You sit on the couch and open the letter with trembling hands, trying not to look too closely at the way he wrote your name on the envelope. You know that will remind you of how you taught him how to decorate letters in his first days at the Capitol. Because everything here had to be perfectly beautiful. Even the fucking handwriting.

A bracelet falls out of the envelope and onto your lap. It is not particularly beautiful or sumptuous. It is a simple strap holding a peg-shaped pendant with some black, crushed stone placed behind a piece of glass.

You place it on the coffee table and open the letter with trembling hands. You already feel that after all this you will have to fix your makeup, which you will probably ruin with tears, but Sej's letter cannot wait until the end of the party.

Y/N, If you are somehow reading this letter, it means that I am not at your 20th birthday party, which makes me very sad. (You know how I love celebrating in your garden away from these Capitol's snobs.) Coming back, you know that I wish you all the best (along with Coryo. He's too big of a stick up his ass to write to you, even though he misses you and can't stop thinking about you. Take pity on me and write to this stubborn idiot, because I don't think I can stand another tirade about you and your perfection. Seriously. Our boy is getting mad because of this despair. I don't recognise him at all.) So, my dear friend, I wish you the best. I don't have any trinkets, interesting books, sweets, or anything suitable as a gift here, so I hope you'll be satisfied with what I came up with. I am not a poet, so don't laugh at me. I shall hear... or not. I made the bracelet, which you've probably already seen, myself. And that stone that is inside (and I hope it survived) is coal. I wanted to give this to you as a symbol of who you are to me. Everyone sees you as a diamond, something precious and beautiful. But for me and probably other people close to you, you are something more. This shiny diamond facade hides carbon. A simple coal, an ordinary soul like many others. But you made something more out of that ordinary coal. You are a diamond. Indestructible, the most durable of all. The purest form, preserved among the other gems and stones of the Capitol, because that's what all these power-hungry assholes are—coals that have decided not to change, to choose what is easy for them. I hope now you can see why I liked that nickname for you, diamond. So I hope you always stay true to yourself. No matter what. That's what I learned here, and I want to pass it on to you. Although I hope that by then the three of us will meet again in the Capitol. Do not wait for us both, Sejanus P.S. I miss you too.

You fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. You wipe away the tears that remain on your cheeks with your hands and take a few ragged breaths, trying to calm down.

You freeze when suddenly someone's arms wrap around you. The scent of roses hits your nostrils.

You get up from the couch like you've been burned and push Coriolanus' arms away from you. The feeling of sadness quickly turns to anger and pure fury as you stare at Snow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you growl through a clenched jaw, extremely glad that there's a couch between you, or you'd hit him. And it was easier for you to explain your tears and smeared makeup than your red knuckles.

"Sweet, kind Plinth, giving you thoughtful gifts from beyond the grave. You love the dead Sejanus so much and ignore the living me. It must be hypocrisy on your part, don't you think? You accuse me of forgetting about Sejanus when you treat me so shamefully, worse than a dog. Should I die so that you can finally stop giving me the silent treatment and running away from me?"

"Believe me, you don't want to hear what I have to say to you." you huff, taking the bracelet and the letter. You hide them in the bodice of your dress and go to the mirror to fix your smudged makeup.

"You do not have to do that. Your boy isn't at the party anymore anyway." he says, standing so that you can see his reflection in the mirror.

"What?" you ask in surprise, turning to face him. You both stare at each other. In fact, you're only now getting a chance to take a good look at him. And you notice with dissatisfaction that the bastard found out from Tigris what your dress would look like, and he chose a suite so that both of you would match. "Where is Thomas?"

"Your little boy toy? Do you think he's enough of a distraction? That he can replace me? That he'll make you feel what I feel? Maby, that he can even protect you from me? Only I know you. I'm the only one worthy of your fucking attention and affection." you push past him, but he grabs your elbow.

"Touch me again and I'll cut off your hand and shove it down your throat." you growl, breaking away from his grip.

"Such aggression… I don't remember you from this side." he mocks you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You step away from him and cross your arms, staring at him defiantly.

"I will ask you one last time. Where is Thomas?"

"Let's just say that your mother and I caught him stealing your jewelry. We were merciful enough to solve the matter quietly. You will never see that garbage on the ball or any gala again. Certainly not on yours."

"Were you the one who framed him for this?" his silence and the calculating, self-proud look of the cat that caught the canary (or, in this case, the snake that choked the mouse) tell you everything. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you ask furiously.

You want to move past him, but he pushes you back, making you bump into the wall. He closes the gap between you in one step, pressing his chest against yours.

"You're mine. You've always been. You shouldn't lead this loser on or give him false hopes. We both know we will end up together."

"I broke up with you." you remind him, not caring about his intimidating attitude.

"A mistake I intend to fix." he says, leaning towards you.

His nose brushes against yours, and you shiver. You lift your leg, trying to kick him in the groyne, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees your sudden movement and grabs your thigh in a tight grip. If it weren't for the thick layers of material, he would probably leave bruises.

"You... you have nothing to fix. There is no longer us. I don't even know you anymore, Coriolanus."

"Don't." he growls at you angrily. You can see the desperation and madness in his eyes at the fact that you're using his name and that you wrote off your relationship. "It was always you. You were always mine, Y/N, and I was always your Coryo."

"Things are changing quickly. We are not the same, and now we have nothing in common, nothing to talk about."

"We have EVRYTHING to talk about. I still love.."

"DON'T!" you interrupt him. He freezes. You rarely shout, especially at him. That's why he takes a step back before putting on his impassive mask again. "Don't even say that. You have no idea what love is. Sure, you may feel attached and even desire me at some point, but you have no idea of unconditional, true love. So for old time's sake, leave me alone."

"What about you? Do you think you are so holy and blameless? That I'm the only bad guy? You lied to me. You promised you would stay with me, no matter what."

"I promised it to my Coryo. Not to you, Coriolanus. My Coryo died in District 12 with Sejanus—maybe even in the Hunger Games—when you let Dr. Gaul brainwash you in the name of fame, money, and position. You think that old hag didn't tell me why Sejanus is dead? That I don't know that your songbird has disappeared? That I would believe that Highbottom just got high or drank himself to death?" he clenches his jaw and fists at your words. You can see how furious he is, but he holds back, still controlling himself.

"Everything I did, I did for us. For you. For Tigris and Grandma." you laugh, wondering who he's trying to fool—himself, you, or both of you at the same time.

"No. You're doing it for yourself. Only for yourself, Coriolanus." he gets even more angry and pins you to the wall again. His cool blue eyes are raging with rage, and you try hard to push away the feeling of fear he has stirred in you.

"Do you want a reason to hate me? So you and Tigris can still gossip about my madness? Then maybe I should let this old man pursue her and sell her as a wife to one of them for good money."

"KEEP HER OUT OF IT! It's Tigris, Coriolanus! Tigris! The woman whose sacrifice you owe your entire fucking life to! A woman who went out of her way to give your ungrateful, selfish ass something to wear. Who sacrificed the love of her life in the name of maintaining the façade of Snow's wealth?! You can give a damn about me, Sejan, and even that little songbird of yours, but if you fucking ruin the life of your cousin—the only goddamn person who still cares about you—I promise you, in memory of OUR dead friend, that there won't be a fucking hole where you could hide from me."

You stare daggers at each other, both openly expressing your resentment towards the other. You have no idea why he still cares about you—is it because of your money, position, or some sick fantasy he has in his head, or maybe he actually still cares about you?

You don't think about it when a more important issue arises.

Suddenly, he grabs your face in both hands and pulls you towards him, greedily kissing you as he connects your lips after a very long time of separation. He caresses your lips with his and kisses you with such fervour as if he craves you like a hermit starving for water.

And for a moment, you feel like you were with Coryo, when all that mattered to you was the other one, when you could get lost in each other, forgetting about the rest of the world and the worries that were waiting for you.

And that's exactly what he's doing now. He makes you forget about anything but him.

You can't help but moan into his mouth as he presses his body against yours. When he releases his strong grip on your cheeks to grab you around your waist and press you against his body, his leg is between yours.

He kisses you more hungrily, groaning too at the familiar warmth of your body against him and the feeling of your soft, silky skin pressing against him. The scent of your perfume mixes, creating a perfect combination of roses and your favourite flowers. Your hands automatically go to his hair as you hold on to him and press him to you. You don't like the gel on your hands from his hair, but you ignore this new, irritating feeling by biting his lip.

You don't think at all. As well as Coriolanus. You both just kiss each other, your tongues joining, as you both let your desire for one another take control of the situation.

You only come to your senses when your lips break apart. You gasp, trying to breathe again, as he fucks your exposed collarbones with kisses. Your brain comes back to you as he leaves a hickey on your neck. He bites you, making you moan so needily that a wave of shame washes over you with his tongue, soothing the bite. You push him away from you and place your hand on your chest, trying to regain control over yourself.

"See? We belong together. There is no other way, Y/N. We are all we need."

"Bullshit." you gasp, trying to ignore the possessive, smug feeling blooming in your chest when you see his messy hair and your lipstick smeared on his lips. "Since you are that good in losing your memory, then forget about me too."

"I can't. I just can't. You think I haven't tried? That you don't haunt me every damn step I take? Everything I have and everything I know is saturated with you. With the memory of both of us. I forgot about what I had with that songbird and my friendship with Sejanus, but I simply CAN'T forget about you. I haven't spent a single damn day without thinking about you. NOT EVEN ONE. And I know you felt the same way. Do you know why I didn't kill that stupid boy who was clinging to you? Because I knew it would make you hate me even more. I was alone without you at 12, and you know how it ended. You are my conscience. Without you... there's nothing holding me back. Without you, there is nothing to distinguish me from the Hunger Games tributes. I have no borders, mercy, compassion, or anything that makes people human beings. And Gaul knows it. That's why she told you all of my crimes; that's why you're paranoid now that I'm someone completely different. But it's still me. I. Am. Still. Your. Coryo." he says it firmly, taking a step closer to you with each word.

"Don't turn me into a fucking cricket for your Pinocchio. I am not, and I do not want to be your conscience. I will not take part in your lies, games, and manipulations." you say as you both stare at each other, neither of you wanting to concede to the other in any way.

"I will have you. One way or another, but I will. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will have you by my side. Just where you always belonged. I promised you to be my First Lady. And I intend to keep that promise."

"You must become president first. And believe me, I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. Maybe you can't forget about me. But I can. I do not need you. I never needed you. How ironic to be able to lose the memories of everyone except the girl who will be the end of you, isn't it, CORIOLANUS?" you mock him, a smirk on your lips, making him a promise.

You walk past him, and this time he lets you go, knowing full well that he won't do anything more with you today. At least he got his kiss and a little taste of you, a reminder of the reward that awaits him when everything finally falls into place. When he finally has you in his arms and is at the top of Panem—his rightful place.

"The game has just begun!" he shouts after you, staring at you as you head towards the bathroom to touch up your ruined makeup. It gives you satisfaction to think that this bastard will probably have to clean himself up after your little make-out session, too.

You think that maybe Gaul was right about the Hunger Games being the whole world. But the reality was that there could only be ONE winner.

And among the people of the Capitol, only you and Coriolanus had a real chance of winning. It has always been like that. And even lost memories that do not want to go away so easily are proof of this.

Part 2

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malkaviian · 1 year

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expanding on the "luca was bullied" thing, because i knew i was going to give this guy some trauma eventually

#oc talk #kinda classic but he was always a shy and soft-spoken guy- and that made him an easy target for bullies who wanted to mess with someone #i imagine it wasn't an everyday thing though; more likely they would let him 'rest' and then suddenly attack #and it could turn very severe. but he never said anything to anyone because he thought it wasn't that bad and that he could handle it #things got worse when he started to be himself though-- he didnt felt comfortable using '''girl''' clothes yet but he would like #use cute stickers on his face or draw stars or hearts under his eye with eyeliner or have pink school supplies-- that type of stuff #so they saw him as even 'weaker' and well the bullying got worse to the point one day he came back home with a bruise #because he was beaten up after school. his dad got worried and immediately talked about with the director but luca was too scared to talk #so he just said it was an one time thing and that he probably deserved it-- alongside saying his pale skin probably made the bruise #look worse than it was; alongside not really specifying who were the ones that did it. honestly the school didnt really cared that much #so they just allowed him to stay at home for a week and then come back. but he was anxious that entire week about the consequences #plus his dad asking several questions about it bc obviously he was extremely worried!! but luca just avoided them all or give vague answers #when he came back not a lot happened in a month-- but he was always on the edge and tried to be as quiet as possible #until one day after school they grabbed him and locked him the boys bathroom; although the original idea was the girls bathroom #just to add an extra. they also told him not to make any noise and he did in fact stayed silent for half an hour #until he realized he was literally all alone and locked in a bathroom stall and started to cry. no one would listen anyway.#to make it short he was about to call someone he was somewhat friends with but his dad called him first as he was getting worried #after an hour passed and he still wasnt home. luca went sometimes to a shopping mall somewhat near the school to get something to eat #but he would always tell his dad about it so he wouldnt worry. and well hearing his son cry on the other side of the screen made it worse #even more bc luca was babbling and couldnt form sentences. after he calmed down a bit though he told him what happened #luckily everything ended up alright and he didnt had to spend the whole night in there but you know. the trauma was now there #and thats why hes claustrophobic now!#bullying tw

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 7 months

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Little Ghost

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Drabble

Thanks so much to @puff0o0 for drawing this and feeding me more ideas for GirlDad!Simon "Ghost" Riley.

(I didn't give the baby a name, I would've opt for Charlotte but idk what y'all want to name your children)

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

Your little toddler asking you, her momma for help. She had several drawings of her dad, you and her. She's been pointing non-stop while babbling at her drawing of her dad, with his mask on.

"Yeah love, that's dada.." You said to her with your head tilted, trying to understand what she was telling you. The little one whined in frustration, she wanted so bad to communicate what she wanted but she was only able to say a few words.

She had to demonstrate to you what she was referring to in the means of actions, she took her baby blanket on the couch and placed it over her head, somewhat resembling a mask.

You further encouraged her later on by giving her one of Simon's older masks and it seemed to have cheered her up, even though her head was too small for it and the mask's eye hole goes through her head perfectly like a shirt.

That's when you had the bright idea to surprise Simon, taking inspiration from the baby carrier you and your husband bought for your baby (he couldn't do anything but grumble about the fact that it was pink), you decided to make her a mask tailored to her.

It wasn't hard finding the materials, you already had a pink stretchy fabric from your old shirt and that plastic skull decoration you got from last Halloween. Oddly enough you got it because it was similar to Ghost's mask, it was time you repurposed it.

• ──── ✦ Time Skip ✦ ──── •

Ghost finally found himself home after being on a mission for almost two months, he opened the door, prying his keys off them and gently nudge it closed.

He looked around throwing his duffle bag on the ground near the shoe rack, he found himself smiling at the two pairs of shoes there. Yours and what he thought was the tiniest pink shoes, a space unoccupied at the right side to be completed by his pair of combat boots.

"Dada!"

Simon turned his head, looking further in towards your shared home to see his little girl stumbling towards him. Only to his amusement, she was wearing a pink version of his mask. Simon let out a chuckle, a proud boisterous one.

"Lovie, did you make that for her..?" Simon asked you after seeing you turn the corner to almost tackle him in a hug, the amusement in his voice still quite clear. You nodded your head before replying "Well I only helped, our mini Ghostie did most of the work". That earned you a forehead kiss from your husband.

He lifted your little one up after she looked at him and said "Up-py dada, uppies please", her tiny arms gripping his shirt while he carried her. The little mask reminded him of the time you surprised him with baby mittens with skeleton hands printed on it.

You kissed both their cheeks sending your little one into a fit of giggles while she tried to kiss her momma back. Simon just stared at the sight, feeling happier that he's home to his family.

Yeah he's definitely going to bring that pink mask along when he takes the little one to see the Taskforce again..

(The Taskforce interacting with little baby Ghost...)

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #dad!ghost #dad!simon #cod fluff #cod headcanons #cod drabble #cod mwii #simon riley x plus size reader #ghost x plus size reader

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usedpidemo · 6 months

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Shangri-la (Oh My Girl Yooa)

Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.

—————

“What the?”

What welcomes you inside the bedroom takes you by complete surprise. It’s the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers. She had been very vague about the whole ordeal, skittering around the details. she was completely straightforward about one thing: to get fucked. That’s the main selling point.

Her inviting tone, her sultry expression, her lust—it’s still freshly imprinted on your mind from an hour ago. You’ve heard those words—their many variations—a handful of times, but hers is by far the most enticing and the sweetest sounding:

“Wanna have sex with me tonight?”

—————

Admittedly, it was never on your bucket list to attend a concert, let alone a group who sings primarily in foreign. It was supposed to be just a kind gesture for a roommate.

He’s your resident nerdy K-pop fan, the kind that gets bullied in real life and on the internet. He’s the full package; posters on the bedroom wall, a book full of photocards, and a shelf of albums and lightsticks which he considers as his sacred temple. You were never meant to go beyond a toe’s dip into this unhealthy obsession he’s engrossed himself in; completing his homework was enough exposure.

If there was one takeaway from your observations, it was quite obvious: the girls are really hot. And that’s all that you needed to convince yourself to go.

Besides, you were his roommate—and his only friend. Out of the kindness of your heart, you have an obligation to be there for him, at least until you graduate.

For the most part, the show was entertaining. Again, the girls were pretty attractive, and they were dressed in outfits that flaunted their bodies exceptionally well. Your friend’s relentless screaming accustomed you to the crowd’s energy, which was no joke. Even in a small, intimate venue, there were several moments where you felt that the place might collapse off the audience’s deafening shouts alone. At least you came prepared with noise canceling earplugs.

It’s not a huge surprise when he suddenly vanishes after the show. He’s been in and out of sight the whole time; getting freebies, merch shopping, taking numerous bathroom breaks, to the point where he just straight up forgets he left his phone with you before running off again.

To make things worse, it’s the dying moments of the night, when everyone in the VIP section, the two of you included, gets to greet the members for only a brief passing moment. He’d been acting like his entire life has been building to this moment, completely neglecting the fact you were his ride home.

Of course you’re not entirely sure about who’s who in this group. Six equally pretty girls, all wearing the exact same shirt and short skirt combination, down to the colors, with equally warm smiles. You didn’t have enough time to familiarize yourself with each of their names; the internet in the area has been failing you for hours. The staff was strict with phones the closer you approached them. It didn’t help that everyone screamed through their introductions, too.

Unsurprisingly, nothing substantial came of your interaction. A series of repetitive, awkward bows and near-silent whispers of “hello.” You’ve been putting off Duolingo for months, and it showed. It should have been a forgettable affair, considering the hundreds of people they’re greeting just from tonight’s queue alone. It’s not like you particularly stand out from the rest of the crowd; a casual shirt and jeans combo that’s indistinguishable from the dozens in attendance, and you don’t have anything on you that screams ‘overly dedicated fan.’

So when you’re pulled aside by the same staff closely watching the queue during the meet and greet, asked to head backstage as part of some secret lucky draw, you’re not surprised. There’s an age-old superstition that states that you’re more likely to meet celebrities the less you’re familiar with them. It rings true, and you have first hand proof.

You’re led to this singular door in what’s basically an unused narrow hallway. The kind that criminals use to trap their victims. Definitely safe. The staff member instructs you to head in before leaving you there alone. Nothing more, nothing less.

Instead of your friend, you find one of the members you just met, waiting on the other side. You have so many questions, but she she gives you another to entertain:

“You wanna have sex with me tonight?”

Much to her amusement ,you’re taken aback. At first, you’d think she was pulling some kind of prank. By the way she smiles and laughs, it’s a reaction all too familiar to her, like this is some kind of cliche. It’s not a surprise to hear those words from any girl, knowing your experiences at college parties and bars, but from a traveling singer? Simply put, it’s quite ridiculous.

“You’re joking right?” you say, hand close to the door you just entered, ready to make a beeline for it. You glance around the enclosed, compact space, searching for any possible hidden cameras recording the scene.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. “Not at all. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you do this all the time?” you ask, her reply not easing you in the slightest. Your hand inches a little closer to the door. It’s not like she’s going to hurt you; if anything, her thin figure’s probably what should worry her if you dare to even breathe heavily on her, let alone touch.

“Yeah. Every stop. You look really cute,” she says, reaching her hand out to you. “And you look like you can give me a good time tonight.”

There’s something flattering about her words, coming from an idol singer, complimenting you that hits a chord harder than other girls. Her sincere tone, doll-like eyes twinkling, and expressive lips certainly help. It’s alluring—devastating—to a casual like you; how much more to someone who worships her.

Then, here comes the killing blow:

“So, what’s it going to be?” She kisses you on the chin, wrapping her arms around your neck. It’s not suffocating, not in the slightest, but you might as well be entangled by them. Her eyes, sharp and fiery, are daring you to say otherwise to her seemingly coarse question.

Leaning your head against her shoulder, her scent and soft skin prove to be intoxicating. You can’t get enough. That hand you’ve been pressing on the door is no longer there; it’s coiled around her back, taking inventory of her slim waist and arched back, then teasing at the fabric of her shirt. Even if she wasn’t the girl you just watched perform on stage, she’s too gorgeous to turn down. And it isn’t like you’ll find your friend, anyway. Perhaps this is your way of getting back at him for being insufferable all throughout.

“Here?” you ask, whispering in her ear, playing with fire.

She holds you by the cheek, tilting an eyebrow. Shaking her head, she drags her tongue on the ridge of your ear. “Somewhere nicer.”

—————

It’s only you and her in the backseat of one of their vans, windows tinted and the front closed off that it’s safe to assume that the driver can’t hear you—perfectly convenient. He probably doesn’t know you’re even there.

It’s inside the car that you finally become familiar with each other. YooA, or as she’d prefer you to call her, Shiah, and you have this light bulb moment where you put it all together. You bring up this collection of photocards in your friend’s book holder; you recognize her face on some of the cards. She laughs. Heartily. Her face lights up, honored at the thought, and it’s a sincere look. Other artists would simply wave it off and move on, but she appears intrigued by the effort to obsess over her.

She calls it a bias, and you call it an obsession. In the other’s eyes, you’re both strange. To you, it’s unhealthy and strange; to her, it’s part of the appeal, part of the culture.

So it’s all the more surprising when you admit you’re simply there because of him, that you would have looked the other way otherwise. And in response, she has this warm, wholesome smile; she doesn’t appear offended by your candidness. You don’t know a thing about them, other than they’re delicious eye candy.

“So this is your first foray into K-pop? I hope it was a good one,” she says, flashing you a cute pout. “That means a lot for all of us.”

Yeah, you nod, your eyes wandering down her slim body, draped in darkness, only brought to the light by passing street lamps. You notice how slender and lanky she is. It doesn’t change the appeal; she’s unreal. “I should go more often if that’s the case.”

Shiah chuckles. “You didn’t pay, then. I bet you’re getting more than what he bargained for.”

To which you nod, barely holding in a particularly uncharacteristic grin. She catches it. An opportunity to twist the knife.

It’s a casual affair when you reach the hotel. There’s a surprising lack of fanfare upon your arrival. You assume idols have as much popularity as any other celebrity, but you’re both left alone—and without security, walking past the front desk without a care or a question. Tension gradually builds as you climb floor after floor, until you step out that elevator and into her room, away from prying eyes.

What welcomes you inside Shiah’s bedroom catches you off-guard.

“What the?”

The person sitting at the center of the bed turns to your direction, shouts out your name. You can recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hey! There you are!”

You immediately turn to Shiah, who replies gleefully, “Of course I knew. Your friend told me everything. He wanted me to invite you along.”

Forget that your friend orchestrated the whole ordeal. It’s the fact that he wants you to join him in a threesome. You expected him to be greedy with the rare opportunity to have a beautiful idol all to himself, but instead, he’s somehow still involving you in the action. There’s a lot to take in, and you don’t exactly know where to start.

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, unsure of your place in this room. You’re slowly soaking up the scenery; none of it makes any sense. Scattered on the bedroom floor is Your friend’s shirt and his bag, freebies and personal belongings alike,, while Shiah casually saunters around the mattress, gradually removing pieces of jewelry from herself and placing them on the nightstand.

“Of course, dude!” says your friend. His energy hasn’t waned in the slightest. You’re amazed his voice hasn’t changed at all, let alone his ability to speak. He had been screaming beside you for the entirety of the show, you’d probably go deaf because of him if not for your earplugs. “I wouldn’t have asked her if she wasn’t allowed to, or if she didn’t feel it.”

“He’s right,” adds Shiah, unbuttoning her jeans. Looking at her again, she grabs your attention with the casual stripping of her pants, pooled around her ankles, leaving only pale colored panties that leave nothing to the imagination. “Plus, I haven’t tried having a threesome before, and tonight seemed like a good idea to try that.”

Surely, you’ve heard weird things before, but none were as out of pocket as this.

“C’mere dude,” says your friend, gesturing to you to take the spot beside him on the bed. “We’re going to fuck an idol tonight. And not just any idol, my freaking bias!”

Your eyes continue to linger on her. Shiah, now undoing her top, candidly tossing them aside. The one time you regret not having your phone on hand to capture without obstruction. Her tits are bite-sized handfuls, nipples firm and on full display, and her figure is so paper thin, you’ll break her when you hold her by her ridiculous proportions. The only thing missing is some fragile warning label plastered on her skin as a reminder to handle her with care.

This is the most awkward you’ve been with your friend since you first met, when he first moved into your dorm. Seated on the mattress, you’re anxious of what’s about to happen. You worry she won’t be able to handle you two; he worries that he won’t be able to ruin her to the fullest extent.

She meets you at the center in nothing but panties. She scans you both from head to toe, and notices your contrasting expressions. Facing you, she says, “Hey. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t confident about the idea. If you don’t make me unable to walk after tonight, I’m gonna be quite disappointed. So chin up.”

Reassuring of a tone it may sound, it doesn’t ease your worry even a little. It doesn’t discourage her either; it’s part of the challenge.

She drops to her knees, and that’s when you come around on the idea. Her fingers make work of your pants; yours first, then your friend’s. With eagerness written on her face, your hard cocks hang between her tiny face. Pausing, undecided, she takes a moment to think which one to satisfy. The way she eyes both yours, then your friend’s—you can tell how hungry she is: how she wants them shoved inside her mouth, down her throat, taking all that delicious load. If she could fit both at once, she certainly would.

“Which one should I take first, boys?” she asks, innocuous sounding, her doll-like eyes pleading up with a playful pout. Knowing full well she already has this whole thing already planned out. You and your friend swallow hard, telepathically aligned, thinking of the same idea, based on the rather silent response.

Shiah has your eyes fluttering, hands already gripped to the edge of the bed, lips letting out a string of delightful moans. It sounds like relief, agony, and ecstasy all at once. She’s leaving soft kisses on your tip, her tongue running circling around your length, and her fingers slowly pumping at your base. All your doubts and hesitations, gone in an instant. The very few glimpses you catch of her, her eyes speak to you, staring, telling you to take it all in.

She feels so good, handles you deftly, as if she’s already acquainted with your cock, even though it’s the first time. Pushing all the sensitive, perfect spots and getting you into a steady rhythm.

“See? I told you it was gonna be—fine—fuck—”

Your friend folds just as quickly as you do, if not faster. His words, instantly reduced to echoed grunts, groans, and curses, his hand palming Shiah’s scalp. She’s focused, taking turns with each cock, kissing and teasing you both with the prospect of shoving it down her needy, thirsty throat. One hand on your dick and the other on his, stroking you at near-synchronized tempo, then vice versa. You wonder exactly why she’s even hesitant and nervous about taking two at once when she’s clearly a natural at satisfying cocks.

She’s well aware that she has only one mouth to fulfill her craving for cock. There’s a look of regret every time she stops sucking one cock in place of the other. It’s almost as if she’s failing, even though the pleasure-ridden expressions on your faces say otherwise. “I hope this is good enough,” she frowns, taking a moment to plant another direct kiss on each cockhead. “I wish I could fit you both in my mouth, but I—”

“Shhh.” Your friend interjects, tugging harshly at Shiah’s dark locks, then rubbing his hand around her forehead. “You’re doing so fucking well, so much better than we hoped—”

Suddenly, he finds himself slowly crumbling. Precum coating around her dainty fingers, while he loses grip on his consciousness, lying flat on the bed. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the very short time you’ve had Shiah on her knees, it’s that she’s particularly gentle. You can feel she’s not going to ruin you instantly and that she’s nowhere close to crushing your cock, unlike some of the girls you’ve known in the past.

This is all new to your friend, after all. It shouldn’t be surprising.

Still, she continues to pleasure you both, taking a moment to slip his erection inside her throat, slurping and swallowing his cock whole. Her eyes instantly slam shut, mumbling a songful hum, finally soaking in the taste after intentionally restraining herself from her lust. Turning to your side, your friend clearly can’t take her; his mouth agape, his chest heaving, breathing heavily, his eyes widely staring at the ceiling in a useless effort to distract himself. In his mind, she’s relentless, overwhelming, cruel.

Her eyes slide in your direction, brows furrowed, apologetic. You shake your head, smile lightly, perfectly understanding of the situation. It’s not that she’s ignoring you; her other hand’s pressing on the base of your cock, down to the underside, pressing on your balls. She’s already left her mark on you even though she’s doing the bare minimum. The layer of precum on her fingers is clear proof. That should be more than enough.

And when you find your friend completely unresponsive, breathing through his mouth, you tilt your head at an angle and make this poor sleeping impression—something he hasn’t had in over 24 hours. It’s the command that causes Shiah to slip his cock from her mouth with a silent pop, his dick throbbing with her spit dripping from the tip. Her focus turns over to you; her eyes meeting yours, her hands pressing on each knee, and your fingers brushing loose strands of hair aside to see her pretty face, flushed but flawless. It’s now just down to you two.

She gives your head a playful swirl, and you lift your brows in approval, subtly biting at the lip to show her you like it. Her eyes lock in, scanning through each subdued wince, waiting for the go ahead.

It’s the slightest head motion that nearly ends you. You’re uncertain if you even said yes or no.

Shiah looks so much better with your cock in her mouth than anyone else’s. She knows, too. You pause to take the sight in—your length buried deep in her mouth, occasionally poking her throat, her cheeks hollow, her eyes looking wide at you with a fiery glint, begging you to take her, use her, ruin her. You’re perfectly positioned to work her; your hand is palming the back of her head, giving her this assertive stare that appears demeaning, but you can tell she prefers to be seen that way. It would be criminal to have her on her knees and not have your way with her.

And you do just that.

You hold her still, using the little increments of strength to motion her into a bobbing motion. She surrenders herself into your control, moving her head back and forth with the grip of your hand. Like the swing of a pendulum, you watch your base disappear and appear between her lips. You’re nowhere close to burying yourself entirely in her mouth, but she feels so incredible, so intoxicating, she may as well be deepthroating you.

It’s not the firmness of her luscious lips kissing your cock nor her lewd expressions that shake you, but her suction. She hums this wistful note while sucking your cock—a song of satisfaction. In contrast to the steady rhythm you’re attempting to impose, she drags your length along her tongue, forcing you into this playful tug-of-war whenever you draw your cock back, directing where your cum should land. She envisions it: the notion of your hot load collected on her cheeks. Her fingers point where she wants them, using her pleading eyes and brows to entice you.

And you’re not going to deny her request. She’s too charming and expressive to turn down. Even more so when your cock is lodged between her lips.

You utter this particularly incomprehensible mix of a groan and a grumble while your throbbing cock unloads the warm cum she desires. Without wasting a single drop, she takes it all, puffing her cheeks with your seed while carefully pulling your cock out her mouth. Your hand is no longer resting on her head but rather around her shoulder and collarbones. She plays with the load in her mouth, gargling, swishing, before swallowing it all. Afterward, she sticks out her silky tongue, face completely flustered, showing you the aftermath: leftovers of your cum painting her mouth.

“God, Yoo—I mean, Shiah—” you breathe, lightly falling back on the bed as your legs go numb. Your flaccid cock isn’t enough to show how much she’s drained you in one fell swoop. “How are you so—”

“I told you I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so confident about it,” she remarks, rising to her feet before pushing you down on the sheets, straddling herself on your lap. Her energy remains steadfast. It’s infectious. Winking and pouting, she adds, “Now fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You’re completely sold on the idea, but you can’t do it alone.

Pushing Shiah off you, you shake your friend back into consciousness. You’re holding her by the shoulders, giving her lips a quick kiss. A soft gesture telling her to be a tad patient. Her eyes clue you in; she’s dying to be fucked, to be used, to be ruined. Your friend looks around, feeling hazy, completely unaware of what transpired, even though it’s only been less than 10 minutes.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, still trying to make sense of things. The last thing he remembers is Shiah on her knees. Now he sees you and his bias in each other’s embrace. Surprisingly, he’s not fazed in the slightest. The bed’s tremors—rumblings—are good enough indicators.

You’re unable to completely look him in the eye, and you don’t know what to answer, so she does it for you: “Your friend blew a nice load inside my mouth. We were just about to have round two. Join us.”

To her amusement, the reply has you staring at her utterly gobsmacked. It’s not the fact that she’s telling it straight, with zero sugarcoating, but her candid, conversational delivery and deadpan expression, as if they’re close friends catching up on lost time. He doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he ask any further questions. Knowing him, he’d be disappointed if you didn’t.

Really, what’s there to question when given an opportunity to fuck an idol without any conditions or red tape. He’s not making the most of the moment as you have, and the hurried jump off the bed to take position behind her indicates he’s not going to waste any more time. You’re scared you might get into a confrontation over how you’ll take her.

“Say the word and I’ll move aside,” you tell him, calmly.

“Let me have her tight ass,” is the reply, straightforward. Chalk it up to tension, but there’s a hint of harshness in his voice, as though some bitterness is leaking. He subtly pulls her away from your side, prompting you to let him take full control.

You aren’t surprised at where he ends up taking her. The bed is the comfiest option, but in his mind, the safest and the most cliche. A shower to ease the tension and stress in the muscles—that’s a good one too, on top of having her possibly pressed against the panels and the idea of soaping her tits while fucking her in the wet. This luxurious suite, which feels like walking from the one end of a parking lot to the other on weary legs, has a handful of mirrors to watch her get railed on. None are as captivating and inviting as the biggest one—the large glass windows that overlook the city, lit up by lights from nearby skylines and the illumination from the living room.

He presses her tiny frame against the window, then on air, giving her tiny butt a firm slap. Followed by another. Something about Shiah with her back arched, yelping with each spank, arouses him. Her too. She whines, biting on her lip, hands trying to latch to anything. There’s plenty to claim—from her bite-sized chest, to her slinky waist, to her soiled panties. Something he slips down to her ankles.

In the moment, your friend doesn’t acknowledge you. He’s all up in her hair, licking the shell of ear, a set of clenched digits digging into her warmth. Her eyes fluttering, she whines, pressing a hand around his waist, mumbling, begging, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

You can tell she’s apologetic, wants to be punished and manhandled like a naughty girl. Your friend has this glare in his eyes—a look of hunger. His fingers pump away at her core, without care for pace or comfort, just the satisfaction of hearing her cries and the need for her to cum. Bumping her against the window, he’s kissing her, claiming her as his own. Red marks form everywhere on her neck, collarbones, and back. Her entire body. All his.

You let him. You watch. Not out of guilt, not out of arousal. It’s his moment.

He looks over his shoulder and finds you just watching. “C’mere,” he growls between muted groans, tone low. It should be awkward (it is) but all that tension disappeared the moment she got on her knees. Approaching the twosome in such a strange fashion, he continues to finger Shiah, shifting her away from the window, binding her from behind by one hand. He’s suppressing his tongue, teasing his cockhead against the entrance of her pussy, barely able to restrain himself.

When you’re in front of her again, you’re greeted by a hot mess. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, pooling around her feet. His coated fingers line around her warmth, around her tight hole. His lust is on full display, cussing out a storm about how incredibly wet and tight she is while she prepares herself to get fucked into oblivion. It’s not the first time you’ve heard him say these things; he talks a loud talk about how he’d fuck his biases in explicit detail, writes particularly concerning essays about the positions they’d be railed in, how they would cum, and how many times he would make them cum.

At the end of the day, it was none of your business.

And ultimately, he might have been onto something.

You let out this loud unsuppressed moan burying yourself inside her tight cunt. She’s suffocating, overwhelmingly tight—the kind of heat that can make you cum almost immediately. You’re still recovering from your first orgasm, putting you on the backfoot. Still, her walls are too inviting not to get hard again. Meanwhile, your friend, who’s been eager to fuck Shiah’s ass for the longest time, is in no rush. His cock is barely entering her tight hole, slowly easing himself inside her with deep breaths. He’s grabbing a handful of her flesh, openly moaning and grunting taking her.

“F-fuck, Yoo—” he mutters, grabbing at her petite cheeks with an ironclad grip. Pulling her closer to his body so his cock can split her in half. He’s growing greedy—and desperate.

Everything you’re doing to Shiah can be seen in the window’s reflection: you pounding into her tight cunt, your friend’s cock spearing her from behind, her body practically sandwiched between your twosome. The combined weight is more than capable of crushing her slim frame, her skin like tire marks on both your chests. Neither of you move with an understanding of working as a team, and it shows; your collective strokes are unsteady, erratic, chaotic.

This isn’t good for your back—at all. Shiah’s bent forward in part to your friend’s slow, deep thrusts into her delicious ass, rippling with each stroke. She’s clutching to your shoulders for support, screaming from the absolute depths of her lungs getting doubled up. The uncomfortable position is mostly clouded by the overwhelming sensation of your cocks tag teaming on her two sensitive holes. You’re leaning, steadily falling back. That inescapable warmth—that intoxicating heat—keeps you coming back for more, friction be damned.

God, Shiah’s pussy is so fucking perfect.

And that’s what you end up muttering. In an endless choir of ecstasy-charged moans, profanities, and wet sloppy slaps of skin against skin, you throw those words out to the wind. So good, so tight—those doubts you had entering the room, now just thoughts from yesterday. She’s everything you want in a satisfying fuck; your hands intertwined with her waist, rocking her frame with every plunge, savoring each entry into that needy womb.

It’s no surprise then that she cums so soon.

It’s been slowly building to this moment. The signs were there all along; the blink and you’ll miss it patch on her jeans, the phallic object in her purse, the wet puddle forming on her panties, the not so subtle gestures she’s giving fans between performances—she’s been desperate to cum on a cock and her wish can finally be granted.

In dramatic fashion, she’s all over you. Clinging to you like her lifeline, showing you how you’ve ruined her. Body trembling, legs quaking—the ripples send shockwaves through your body, also in the process of falling apart. Throwing out her hips, a new layer of juices coat both cocks, dripping to the floor. You’re there to break her fall, but you have nothing to stop yours.

Passing through deaf ears, her screams revert to soft pleas. “Cum, cum in me—please—fuck—” she whines in bursts, riding out her climax in waves, waiting for you two to join her over the edge. You’re preoccupied with the raging fire in your loins, restraining your urge to release your seed inside her needy cunt prematurely. At this point, you’re almost done, holding onto the last of your resolve not to spurt right then and there. The layer of her slick coating your cock doesn’t do you any favors, either.

Propping her body straight, your thrusts remain relentless. Steadied pace, at your own will, rocking her senseless—that’s how you want to finish inside her. You want to keep her in that position: cupping her tiny chest, wrapping an arm on the neck, resting a hand on your light shoulder. Shiah’s body is the perfect plaything.

All of that is too good to be true.

“Cumming, gonna cum—” you mutter, rather ashamedly, though you’re holding up better than anyone ever expected, especially after already orgasming once. You press her to your friend, almost a flat out shove. The line couldn’t be any thinner. “Shit—”

Your legs are on the cusp of crumbling, but at least they’re generous enough to let you savor this moment. Spilling your pent up need, you fuck that remaining cum into her. It’s fulfilling, euphoric. All the proof is down there, dripping between her legs and on your cock. The sight of her splayed, wrecked hole, oozing with seed, tempting you to stick a thumb around her slick core. She squirms at your sensitive touches, still needy and in want.

Only after the orgasm does your vision clear again. It’s an amusing scene; your friend is still pounding into Shiah’s tight ass at a feverish pace. Last one in, last one out—at least you think, that’s how the saying goes, until he lets out this guttural groan, indicating he’s reached his own climax too. If not for the setting, it’s an accomplishment worth cheering, the kind that’s worth a celebration of a life milestone. Cocks buried to the hilt, the sight of her holes spilling seed never grows old.

At least you both can agree on one thing: staying inside the welcoming warmth that is Shiah’s heat. Neither of you want to leave, even when you regain mobility in your legs.

You’ve got the rest of the night to ruin her, leave her room hobbling or crawling on her feet. Your friend has a bucket list of positions to fuck her in, so it’s the least of your worries. Besides, both of them know you have no intention of leaving. And in the middle of this non-existent conundrum, while your friend is leaving soft kisses all over her back as a victory lap, she takes a moment to glance at you both. Noticing the similarity of smiles on your faces and your supportive nature towards your friend, she’s reminded of something she shares with her members, apart from the fact they’re getting railed at this very moment:

True friendship.

—————

(A/N: Expect a bit more crowdedness aka more-somes over the next few fics. I also haven't written an Oh My Girl member since Arin in over a year, so that's one off the list! This one took a while, had a whole other story involving roadtrips and hitchhiking, which I ultimately scrapped. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #oh my girl #yooa

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galactic-rhea · 3 months

Text

WDYM Anakin is Luke and Leia's dad

I dunno if this post will reach the Star Wars fandom but I hope it does because I'm sure you all will get a good laugh at me.

As of recent I have developed a good hiperfixation for Star Wars, the thing is I knew nothing. NOTHING about Star Wars besides the fact it had aliens and...a war...in space? And funny swords. And main character is Luke or something, I spent over 20 years ignoring anything about Star Wars and somehow missing most references out there.

And recently, literally less than a month ago I saw a gif and said to my partner "oh this guy this guy looks cool, this gif looks nice" and he said "Oh well, he's a good character." And it all developed into me watching Clone Wars, the animated series you know and...and I was kinda blown away, on my opinion the show IS GREAT. And I love every character and their interactions, I love how much they focus on side characters, and they all seem very well written. I got hiperfixated really fast and saw Anakin and I was like "Omg, babygirl. He's a blorbo now."

And because of the show, this was super unexpected, but somehow I also got, really got, into the ship with Padmé because omg, cool woman. Literal happy squeaky noises of someone who was in a bad state and needed some good ol' distraction and comfort.

Now, like I said I knew nothing about Star Wars as a whole. And I still haven't watched the movies, besides the ocassional gif?

So imagine my shock, my surprise, my...bewilderment when I realized.

"Wait a minute, LUKE IS ANAKIN'S SON?! HOLY-"

Ladies, gentleman, and others, I think I came very late to this party and I don't even know how it took me so long.

Not only that, but because of this sudden love for the series, I went to my friends circle like "BESTIE, GUESS WHAT, I HAVE A NEW BLROBO AND A NEW FAV SHIP AND EEEP"

And my friends are like "omg that's amazing, what is it?"

I tell them, and of course they all know these characters and they all react like they know this very bad secret fact and I got told several times already "Please, don't watch the episodes 2 and 3 alone, it will hurt."

I feel like blissfully walking among rainbows and blue skies while everyone else know that my future is doomed. Somehow.

(Uncomfortable silence)

Not only that, but then I spent a whole deal of time thinking "Where the heck I have seen these guys" cus there was some fmailiarity I couldn't just point out and then one day I woke up, brushed my teeth and of all sudden I realized and it was such a shock.

Do you know how SURREAL is to get very into a character, and into a ship, and then realize they're the same from that super widespread meme that has been around for who knows how much time?

I swear I thought that meme was from some old medieval fantasy movies or something.

But alas, Star Wars now is EVERYWHERE. People do references to Star Wars ALL THE TIME and it's just now I'm catching them.

I got spoilers. From a meme. In a youtube review that had nothing to do with Star Wars hah. Everything is a spoiler, the world is an apparent spoiler. Now I'm here, trying to avoid spoilers from something everyone seems to know, even my family knows. It's so surreal and I wouldn't have it any other way 😂

Anyways, if you read until here, know that a wild ride still waits me, cuz I'm only starting Season 3 of Clone Wars and I don't plan to watch the movies until I finish the series.

And yes, I made this blog just to ramble freely about SW and draw stuff because it sparked my inspiration after a long art block.

Have this doodle I drew after watching the two first episodes, my offering for you reaching this far.

Note: Wouldn't Anakin and Padmé's ship name be Animé? Cuz that's hilarious.

#rambling #star wars #star wars fandom #anakin skywalker #darth vader #the clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #tcw fanart #clone wars

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onewmin · 7 months

Text

boiling water | nanami kento

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Summary: Kento gets distracted by the memory of you.

Word count: ~2.3k

Author’s Note: it’s a sort of side story, Nanami’s pov, to the main fanfic that I’m currently working on. I’ll post the main story soon, so if this part gets you interested, let me know!! (warnings and the story are under the cut)

Warnings: AU (I guess, cause it contradicts the canon events a lot); smut MINORS DNI: slight fingering (f receiving), slight nipple play (f receiving), a description of penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks); established relationship, descriptions of past intercourse; some angst if you squint, Nanami hates himself; typos

Masterlist

Nanami Kento was a man of his word, it was an undeniable fact.

But it was difficult for him to keep his word when you were so deliciously rubbing your body under the hot water. Taking showers together was a ritual both of you had gotten accustomed to a long time ago: no matter how tired or upset you were, a shower before sleep had to be shared. Kento couldn’t get enough of your smooth skin under his calloused fingers, and the sweet scent of the shower gel he inhaled while peppering kisses along your neck. That was his stress relief, a solace in his gloomy days.

“Ken”, you said in a low voice, “could you rub my back, please?” He hummed and took the loofa from your hands, pressing it to your soft skin. Drawing circles of bubbles, Nanami pushed his body close to yours, his hand with the loofa going under your breasts.

“Are you done there?” You whispered, your body leaning on his.

“Mhm”, he replied, moving the loofa to your collarbones and then back to your breasts. “Care to put the loofa away?” You nodded, putting it back to the shelf. As you stood under the hot water, Nanami watched how your hands roamed around your body, washing the strawberry gel off, eyes closed. Your cheeks got a bit rosy as the water temperature was to your liking: boiling. When you shared the shower for the first time, Kento almost fainted and you had to help him go back to the bed and whispered countless apologies by peppering kisses all over his palms. Little did nineteen-year old Kento know four years later he’d be looking forward to these showers.

“Come here”, you peered at him with hazy eyes as he cupped your cheeks. Having left a small kiss on your forehead, Kento pecked your lips. They were silken, pillowy against his; the addicting feeling of this moment, when your breath would softly tickle under his nose and your half-lidded eyes pierce through him. “I love you”, he muttered as his fingers caressed your cheek, “I love you more than anything in the world”.

You gave him a smile in response, arms wrapping around his neck. Warmth blossomed in Kento’s chest as you tilted your head and parted your lips, inviting him to finally kiss you. In a flash, his lips were on yours, hands tightened on your waist. You tasted like mango flavored tea and chocolate ice cream the two of you shared after dinner. Nanami’s head started spinning — was it the boiling water? — no, the intoxicating taste of you on his lips was driving him absolutely insane. How could it be possible to ever let this go, to ever abandon these little whimpers ‘cause his hands grabbed your ass without stopping the kiss?

“Kento”, you gasped, burying your head in the crook of his neck, “Kento, please”. Before he knew, you were leaving sloppy, wet kisses alongside his jaw. Stopping himself from letting out a moan, Nanami moved his hand lower, right to your aching core.

“Uh, Kento”, you rasped, “fuck me here. Please, Ken, fuck-“

Nanami growled. Your pleas were always a song to his ears, a sweet little melody he was eager to hear whenever he could. When his fingers ran through your slick folds, he closed his eyes and hissed — the man was about to break his word given to you several months ago. Wouldn’t he appear as a horny teenager in your eyes if he indulged in it now?

“Ken, what’s wrong?” Your hands cupped his cheeks as you forced him to look at you. Nanami sighed, hands reaching behind you to turn the water off.

“I don’t want you to get hurt”, he mumbled, arms wrapped around your torso. “I almost dropped you the last time we-“

“Ken”. You interrupted him, your warm lips brushing against his. “You don’t have to hold me, when we have sex”, a small peck left on his lips, “I can just… turn around”. A suggestive look on your face got his dick twitching, aching for being buried inside your velvety walls. But Nanami shook his head as he kissed your forehead.

“I wanna see your face”, he purred in your skin.

“My face or my tits?” You laughed. He returned a smile and kissed you lightly.

“Both”.

Less than two minutes passed before the two of you were on the bed, your back pressed against cotton sheets as Nanami devoured your lips with his. He still kept his promise, though — I’m not gonna fuck you in the shower ever again, for your sake — as he couldn’t drop you from the bed. The last time your wet pussy was bouncing on his shaft, he almost dropped your body on the floor when his foot slipped. Holding you while standing, gripping your butt when he pounded into you while you gripped his shoulders and repeated his name as a mantra was a view worth fucking you right in the shower; but when he almost lost his balance and let go of your legs, Nanami had his heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of injuring you. So he swore to you a thousand times he wouldn’t do it again: neither sex nor any form of foreplay.

The word was kept, still.

Kento’s tongue swirled on your hardened nipple, making you arch your back, pressing your chest even closer to his. Your fingers gripped his hair, as you were lost in the sugary pleasure his mouth was giving you. Nanami hummed as he sucked on your sensitive nipples one by one, earning a hoarse moan from you.

“Gonna finger you, hm?” He murmured, sucking in between your breasts, making sure to leave a purple mark. That was only the beginning.

“No, no'', you panted; Kento looked at you, eyes clouded with lust. “Want you inside, Ken, please”. You leaned in to press his lips back to yours in a heated kiss. “Baby, please”, your brain was already half-working as you could only beg for him to put this distance between you to a halt.

“Whatever you want, princess”, he breathed out in your mouth, tongue running along your neck as you grabbed his shoulders. He brought your gaze back to his face when he watched you draw your lower lip between your teeth as he pumped himself before lining at your entrance. “Sure you’re ready?”

You started nodding frantically, hands back to cupping his cheeks. “I fin-, mhm” you closed your eyes when he ran the tip of his cock along your slick folds, “I fingered myself before you came home. Really, really”, you arched your back again as Nanami pressed his thumb on your clit, “I’m really ready, baby”.

“Anything for you”, he lowered his head to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss one more time before he slipped the tip inside. Earning a tiny gasp from you, Nanami buried his head in the crook of your neck. He could’ve come right then and there, when your plushy walls devoured the tip of his dick; to be fair, a mere sight of your begging for him was enough for him to cum without even touching you. “I love you so much”, his voice, thick with lust and desire, reached the deepest parts of you, bringing you to a hazy state of mind.

Nanami pushed his thick cock inside you slowly, languidly, his mind absorbing in every whimper and mewl that was leaving your peachy lips. His girl, so desperate for him, so ready, so wet — his, his and his only. His first love, the love of his life, his fiancée, his future wife, his entire existence wrapped in the most desirable woman in the whole galaxy. “I love you”, your hungry kisses were followed by him bottoming out completely, “Ken, I love you so much”.

Oh, darling, he thought, fingers gripping your waist, how I love you. He was moving, his cock slowly ravishing your dripping cunt. He grunted as he saw your finger creep up to your pulsating bundle of nerves; brushing your hand off, Nanami replaced it with his thumb.

“You wanna cum already?” He chuckled under his breath while drawing painfully slow circles on your clit. “Hope you’d do it a bit later”, your quivering body gave him exactly what he wanted: you gripping the sheets as you gasped for air, lost in pleasure.

“Kento!” A smack on the shoulder slapped Nanami back into reality. Oh no. He was in front of his computer, gray office walls dawning on his already somber world. He was daydreaming again. “Wanna go for a smoke?” His colleague said quietly; Nanami nodded, taking the cigarette pack out of the bag and following the man to the elevator. A couple of more people joined them on the way; Kento kept up with the conversation absentmindedly while the elevator was going to the first floor.

Ah, it was raining again. Standing under the roof in the designated smoking area, Kento’s thoughts flew to your nagging whenever the rain started. Despite having to deal with downpours constantly due to the country’s weather, you still found yourself cursing whenever a drop of rain hit the ground. Nanami laughed at your screwed face, leaving a sweet kiss on your cheek to soften your expression. He loved your sulky days, and he loved your sunny shy smile whenever he’d made you happier in your greyest mood. Was it also raining in Tokyo? Were you whining while sitting behind your desk at school? Did you take the umbrella with you in the morning? Or you forgot it as you usually did?

He could’ve just taken the phone from his pocket and called you. He could’ve just asked. Like, was it hard?

It was, actually. He was the one to leave you, the one to abandon the love the two of you had been building for over a decade — just because he got scared. Scared to death, frankly speaking. He knew he could live his life not being a jujutsu sorcerer, but… Could he drag you along with him? Could he allow his selfishness and fear to draw you away from your friends, students, your life? Of course, you were on the same page about stopping doing this job once you two finally settled down, but were you really ready to do that?

“I-I” You stuttered under his piercing gaze. “Right now?”

“Right now”. He repeated. “Either we leave right now or we never do it”.

“Ken, I…” You thought trailed off as you sighed loudly. “I didn’t even… I never thought it would be… So fast. I still need time to think”.

He took it too personally, now he understands that. You weren’t rejecting his offer, on the contrary actually: you were ready to go to the end of the world with him, follow him to the darkest depths of Hell — but he didn’t want you to think it over more than you did. The Jujutsu world was dangerous and he was tired of losing people and harming innocents. He gave it up once, easily; however, you couldn’t. And now, six months later, Nanami has finally realized it.

“What a moron”, he mumbled, throwing the cigarette into the bin. Leaving all his life behind and for what? For the mirage of peace? For the misery he covered with indifference? Being a sorcerer goes along with loss, principal Yaga once told him, if you manage to get used to it, it’ll be easier, Kento. Because, no matter how hard it is, loss is not the only thing this life gives you.

“Hey, Nanami”, his colleague took a cigarette from his pack, “y’know that Haruka from the marketing team likes you, right?”

“So what?” Kento stared the man down; he saw Haruko almost every day and certainly noticed her cheeks turn bright color red whenever he spoke to her. Whatever. She wasn’t the one Kento’s mind was focused on; no one could replace the girl with pigtails, who would give him a timid kiss on the cheek before every class. The girl he fell in love with, running to her at any moment given, and the woman who he left behind several months ago, running from her to an unknown, dark future. At least, there’s no more loss, he’d gaslight himself, at least, no one’s suffering because of me. He hoped you grew to hate him now; he hoped you didn’t cry yourself to sleep because he abandoned you. He hoped for that, but he was perfectly aware of it not being true.

“She’s really hot, though”, the man noticed, “you’d better do something before someone else snatches her”.

“I don’t care”. Nanami sighed and headed back to the office. That was true; the only woman he cared about was five hundred kilometers away, taking the subway to work, running around the school, teaching kids her techniques and protecting them on missions, throwing herself in front of danger — just to save everyone she loved.

Would you take him back if he flew back to Tokyo and showed up at your shared apartment? If he were you, he wouldn’t. If he were you, he’d beat himself to death, throw punches with his cursed technique, but he wouldn’t take himself back. You didn’t deserve the mess he’d created, thinking he was the most righteous man on Earth, you didn’t deserve the pain he’d inflicted on you by leaving, abruptly, a small note on the kitchen counter replacing his words. He was a coward. And you didn’t need to welcome a coward like him back with open arms.

Nanami Kento wasn’t a man of his word, this is an undeniable fact. Because if he truly was then he wouldn’t have ever left the woman he promised to stay with forever.

the next part (will be uploaded soon)

#nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento imagines #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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willowser · 6 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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genericpuff · 3 months

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Scamlords is at it again.

A few nights ago, there was a sudden blow-up in the /r/webtoons server showing a new announcement from Snailords -

For anyone unaware, Death : Rescheduled has been on mid-season hiatus since October. And it's now, and only now, that Snailords has suddenly decided the comic is ending after it returns, but readers can get an extra 20 episodes... if they fork over $1k in merch sales.

Now, this could be a lot worse. They could be threatening not to return to the series at all unless their readers hand over money. But considering it's practically just one degree away from that, it's still pretty nasty. Not to mention, the further they divulged in their reasoning around this "idea", the more confusing it got.

They also even revived their @snailordsrant account on IG which, for those of you who were there and can recall, was the same account they used to put one of their own fans on blast over some very mild criticism.

None of this makes any actual sense, for several reasons:

1.) I literally fail to see how getting $1k in less than 24 hours is worth shoving in an extra mini arc of 10 episodes if you don't even have it planned out. Why do that to your audience or to yourself? Why drag things out just to scrounge up an emergency $1k? Why not just be honest with your audience and run a GoFundMe or just say , "Hey everyone, I've run into some financial troubles, I would really appreciate it if you could FastPass my newest episodes or donate to my Patreon or buy some merch so I can cover the costs". It's really telling that this shithead doesn't have enough confidence in themselves or their audience that practically worships them that they have to resort to this kind of underhanded shit to get the money they need. I wanna make it clear that this is NOT like a Kickstarter stretch goal or anything that incentivizes readers to support their work, they're instead holding the length and future of their series over their audiences' head (which they've done before) for money. That's not an incentive, it's an ultimatum.

2.) Maybe I'm misreading / being stupid (someone pls explain if I'm missing something here) but I literally don't see how their comment about working 50 hours a week explains why they're suddenly getting their fans to pay out $1k worth of merch in less than 24 hours. For anyone who doesn't know, $1k per episode is an example Webtoons uses in its post discussing how they pay out creators (this came after the platform got called out 2 years ago for paying creators too little, there are undoubtedly creators getting paid less). And yet for some reason $1k is apparently the difference between 10 episodes and 20? How does that add up? And is the bit about them wanting to buy boba supposed to be a joke? Where's the punchline here?

3.) They say they have writer's block and they want to use the money to "motivate them", but then just a few slides later they say 10-15 episodes is what would make them the "happiest" so which is it? Do they want to write 10 episodes or do they want people to pay them to write 20 episodes so they can draw the fluff scenes that they apparently want to draw? If you have an ending planned out, why rush it or drag it out depending on how this "fundraiser" goes? Why not just write the ending you want to write that will serve your story best? Why shove in an extra mini arc that you don't even have full confidence in writing and then try to compare it to a "super expensive cake"? What are you doing? Speaking as someone who's had trouble getting motivated in the past, suddenly getting a month's rent worth of money to do it doesn't necessarily solve that, it just turns up the pressure, and if you're not someone who deals with pressure well, then you're more likely to wind up just burning out entirely rather than fulfilling that goal.

4.) The fact that they did, in fact, hit their goal just makes it all the shittier to think about because their audience is mostly made up of teenagers who worship the ground that they walk on. It's horrifying that they keep pulling these stunts with their audience, and getting away with it to boot - and Webtoons, as a company, keeps enabling it by allowing it to happen by hosting and promoting people like this.

Anyways, there's already a lot going on here that's sketchy, but then... they went and deleted their posts. At the time of this happening (as I was there to witness it all play out in real time) I assumed this meant that they had hit their $1k goal - especially as they had been showing their progress on their IG and they were already at $900 after just a couple hours - but it gave me a sinking feeling seeing them delete it because they had also been called out by some brave readers telling them that it wasn't exactly a good look to essentially blackmail their audience through their own content into giving them money.

Snailords deleting it gave me a stronger impression of "burying the evidence", especially now that they had the money. By all accounts, they could do whatever they wanted now.

So what did they decide to do?

. . . Huh?

Okay, take a second to actually think about what Snailords has done here. Because I know some of you will go "oh, it was for charity all along! that was nice of them!" but . . . I don't know about the legalities of collecting donation funds under false pretenses, but morally speaking, it's a really shitty thing to do. They stripped away the choices - limiting them to three - of what their readers could donate to, and what I think their readers don't understand - due to being mostly teenagers - is that they're tax-exempt individuals and they just unknowingly gave Snailords an easy $1k tax write-off. You really, really shouldn't collect donation funds like this without being honest, it's just a shitty thing to do, especially after you've already collected the money. It mostly just comes across as damage control on Snailords' part to make it seem like they were always planning to donate to charity, when in reality, if they wanted to donate to charity, they would have been honest about that at the start. Again, even if they wanted to do that from the start, it goes to show how little confidence they have in themselves or their audience that they have to stoop to methods like these instead of just doing it honestly.

And do you really think Snailords will actually do those extra episodes? Or donate that money? This is the same asshole who has manipulated their readers for money not once but twice, and now seems intent on doing it a third time just for the charm. This is the same person who practically sabotaged their own comic, Freaking Romance, because they apparently didn't like the romance genre and may as well have only done it for clout / views / etc.

What was especially odd - and I found this out from folks who actually read Death : Rescheduled (I do not) - was finding out that it wouldn't make sense for D : R to end in as many as 25 episodes, because apparently, the plot has basically just gotten going.

So it does seem like this is foreshadowing that D : R will wind up just like Freaking Romance, rushed into an ending that wasn't expected. And this, of course, has the people who read their work confused because D : R was supposed to be Snailords' passion project, their magnum opus, the project they wanted to do. So them holding the timing of an ending that shouldn't even be happening yet for ransom contradicts that original intention. Really, it just goes to show that Snailords has no passion, they're just in it purely for the money, to a degree that I can't even cheer them on for being a hustler because it's missing the honesty and integrity.

And of course, every single time Snailords finds a way to backpedal and take his audience for a ride, they hop right in without a single thought for themselves.

And no, none of this is to hate on the readers directly, I hold Snailords entirely responsible for this - they have an audience of impressionable, naive, gullible teenagers, and they know it, and take advantage of it every chance they get. It's why they weren't just honest about wanting to collect money for charity from the start. It's why they resorted to basically holding their own comic's progression for ransom during its midseason hiatus. It's why the deadline was 24 hours and why the posts are now gone.

Thankfully the Internet does what it does - any evidence that Snailords was trying to bury is now all over reddit, and hey, just for good measure, here's a post on Tumblr that's been sitting in my drafts for days now, days after people have already seemingly stopped talking about it. Don't let anyone bury or forget about the stunts Snailords is pulling on their audience, with a platform that they've been consistently given by Webtoons, because that's what they want you to do.

#snailords #webtoon critical

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hyperfixiation-station · 4 months

Text

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.3

TW: Blood, Torture, Violence

Summary: You get rescued(finally)

Part 1, Part 2

Silent. From the moment Price had found you in that dingy cell, broken and bleeding, that was all you had been. You were silent when they moved you, though it had to have hurt with how many broken bones and lacerations you had. You were silent when the medics asked you where you were injured, how you had been hurt. You were silent through the debriefings, through the desperate attempts to find out what you had been through, what secrets you had spilled. You were silent through all of it.

It wasn’t your fault, not really. A mental barrier you had constructed during months of torture to keep secrets from spilling, a dam built with a mantra of DON’T TALK to keep your thoughts at bay as your captors repeatedly tried to draw them out of you.

Even now, when the rational part of your brain knew you were safe, knew that these men, the men you served with, the men who had tracked you down and saved you, were to be trusted, the barrier would not fall.

Every ‘what did they want from you, what did you see, did you recognize them, how many of them were there’ was met with silence. Anytime you opened your mouth you were hit with a wave of fear so strong it sent you into a panic attack.

They understood, in part. They had seen recordings, seen the rooms, seen your broken body at the time of rescue.

It took them 2 days to get to you after figuring out your location. They went in guns blazing, and tore the place to the ground. They split up, Price and Gaz taking the left with Soap and Ghost taking the right. They shot at anything that moved in their quest for vengeance, breaking down doors and checking every nook and cranny for where you might be locked up.

Price found you about a quarter of the way into the camp. He took the bottom floor and Gaz took the top as they cleared the building. He had stopped before a door that was different, metal and welded shut with a small little flap in the middle, instead of solid and wooden like the others. It took him and Gaz some prying and metalwork, but they got the door open.

Price almost cried when his eyes adjusted to the change in light. You lay curled in the corner, back to the wall as you shied away from the light. Your hair was tangled and matted with dried blood, your clothes were torn and dirty and your skin was crusted with so much blood and grime that he couldn’t even see you underneath it.

“Y/n?” He had called, but there was no response. He crept slowly toward you, keeping his movements as open and relaxed as possible. He crouched in front of you, taking note of your dilated pupils, sunken eyes, obviously malnourished form. He winced at the weird bulges in your skin, indicative of broken bones.

“Sorry love.” He whispered to you, taking a steadying breath as he slid his arms under you and lifted. Hise expected you to cry out, the action no doubt causing unspeakable pain, but you didn’t. In fact, you didn’t react at all. He didn’t dwell on it then, opting to get you somewhere safe and secure.

“9 broken ribs, a broken left femur, both shoulders dislocated, pneumonia, dehydration and severe malnutrition, multiple lacerations that required stitches, broken wrists, all 10 fingers broken, right kneecap dislocated, multiple concussions, and a hairline fracture on their skull.” The doctor had said. It hurt all of them to hear how badly wounded you were.

They gave you two weeks to recover before asking any questions. The first week you were unconscious, in a coma as your body tried to heal you. The second week you spent in worrying silence, saying nothing to anyone, not to your doctors, not to your teammates, not to your friends.

Price sent Ghost in first. He had had similar experiences and Price figured he would be able to relate. However when Ghost came storming out an hour later, slamming the door behind him, he came to regret that decision.

“I got over it.” He had said, “Why can’t they?” Price reminded him that not everyone responds to trauma the same way and sent him away.

Soap tried next, and came out near tears after sending you into a panic attack after calling you ‘Little Bird’. He was confused until Ghost not-so-gently reminded him of the video they had seen, of the words ‘Pretty Bird’ being used over and over. Ghost pretended not to hear him throwing up in the toilet later.

Gaz tried, to no avail. He ended up just sitting in silence with you, showing you videos of his cats. He counted it a victory when your busted lips twitched into a tiny grin for a few seconds.

And on and on it went, with refusing to speak to anyone. They were losing hope until the psychiatrist finally spoke with you.

“GIve them time.” She said gently, “You trying to force a response will just make this worse.”

So they do. The higher-ups still want answers, of course, but Price manages to dissuade them from asking until you are out of the hospital. They spend the weeks treating you as normal as possible, stopping by to give you updates on missions, show you a video of Soap absolutely biffing it in training, tell you the latest gossip of which recruit is sleeping with who. But even though they are trying, they still handle you with kiddie gloves, afraid that the wrong word or look will make you shatter irreversibly.

Which brings you to now. It’s nearly 2 A.M, and visiting hours are long over as you stand unsteadily in the bathroom, staring at your pale, pathetic form in the mirror. You open and close your mouth, trying and failing to get words out, the barrier cemented in your mind by blood and tears too strong to break down.

‘Speak, you stupid fucking bitch!’ You scream mentally at yourself, ‘You have to speak! If you don’t you'll be discharged and you'll never be able to serve again! They already think you’re broken, and if you can’t tell them different they’ll never treat you the same. Stop. being. So. Fucking. Pathetic.’

Tears streak your cheeks as you slide down the wall. You draw your knees up, hiding your face in them as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. Rationally, you know you are safe. Rationally, you know that if you were to speak, nothing would happen. But it’s not the rational part of your brain that is keeping you from speaking.

Going dark in that hellhole you were trapped in had saved your life, and you couldn’t seem to get past it. Sure, not responding had almost killed you right at first, as Kravchenko became more and more ruthless in his attempts to get you to speak again, but eventually he grew bored. His little plaything had lost its sparkle, and he locked you in a cell and threw away the key as soon as he lost interest. But starving to death was still a better alternative to the all-consuming agony that had been your day-to-day.

And now, the subconscious, irrational part of your brain was convinced that if you spoke you’d be dragged right back and strapped to a table, that you’d wake up to find that your rescue had all been a dream. That you-

“-/n! Y/N! Y/N!” You flinch, startled out of your reverie. You look down to see rivulets of blood running down your arms, your nails having gouged holes into your skin. You look up to see the eyes of a worried nurse, holding your hands in hers.

“There you are. We lost you for a minute. Do you mind letting me bandage you up here?” Her voice is soft and gentle and you find yourself nodding, letting her lead you back to your bed where she cleans and bandages your upper arms.

“What are you doing up so late sweetie?” Her voice is calming, almost hypnotic, “I mean, I’m awake cause I get paid to be, but you should be sleeping all your injuries away, shouldn’t you dearie? If I was you, I’d of been cryin’ too, being awake at 2 A.M. for free.” She laughs, the sound echoing through the room, “Course, I suppose you probably think I’m crazy for agreeing to work this shift anyways. Did you know I was supposed to have this shift off? But Roberta’s kids have the flu and so I agreed-” She keeps talking, her voice soothing your fears and helping you relax. YOu can’t help but mentally thank Roberta’s kids for being sick, for sending this wonderful lady who does not treat you like you're going to break at any moment to you tonight.

“And that should about do it dearie. Just press that little call button if you need any more help, alright?” She says cheerfully. She squeezes your hand and heads to the door before pausing.

“Make sure to get some sleep.” She leaves, gently closing the door behind her. Something about her makes you feel safer than you have since falling off that helicopter. Maybe it was her motherly demeanor, maybe it was the fact that she treated you like a normal human being, maybe it was the fact that she could have put you on a psych hold an ddin;t, but whatever it was, you loved her for it.

And as the door closes and the room stills, you whisper a quiet “thanks.”

Part 4?

~tags~

@louthedino @scarletdfox @dangerkitten1705 @warenai @spineless-spino @rainy-darling

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 2 months

Text

(The Bad Batch) Crosshair x Reader: More than a Dream

The Bad Batch is finally enjoying some more downtime and even some relaxation after the return of Omega and someone else unexpected. You feel like you're caught in another dream.

Word Count: 1,209

Warnings: Some angst, comfort, Season 3: Episode 5 Spoilers

Can Be Read as Sequel to: In My Dreams

“Why are you crying?” A thin, raspy voice asked. It only made the tears fall faster as you shielded your eyes from the waking dream beside you that sat up and gently leaned over you in comfort.

You’d been plagued by false hope too many times before. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the dark.

You curled up on the soft bedroll as you focused on the sounds of the room.

The ocean waves softly whooshing in the distance outside your open window. Nocturnal insects were chirring to their heart’s content as they did every night. A warm breeze tickled your skin and ruffled the curtains draped on either side of the window.

If not for the continued presence that you felt beside you, you’d think you were beginning to wake from the bittersweet vision. But he remained.

“I had another dream,” You answered finally. “It’s…I wanted it to be real.”

There was a pause before the familiar voice continued. “What was it about?”

“Omega came back safe and sound, and so did you. You finally returned to us-” The sentence was cut off by a sorrowful sob. You curled up, trying your very best to stifle it. A hand curled over your shoulder, drawing you closer to the figure.

“Shh,” he hushed next to your ear. “It was real. I’m here.”

You relaxed against his clothed chest and allowed yourself the comfort. As much as these dreams played your heartstrings like a seven-string hallikset, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. So, you clung to the fleeting moment and waited for it to fade into the night like they did every time.

Except it didn’t. Precious seconds turned into minutes. The minutes pushed on until you realized that he wasn’t going to fade. Not this time.

You dared yourself to look up. Just one glimpse…

The first thing you saw was moonlight pouring into the room, covering everything in a lovely haze of silver.

And there he was, propping himself up beside you on one elbow while the other arm draped over your form. His chin was lifted as his gaze was directed to the scene outside the window. Your eyes followed the line of his jaw, pausing at his cheekbones, and wandered down the slope of his nose to his lips- admiring the shadows that the moon of Pabu cast on his face.

All at once, the memories came rushing back.

You remembered so vividly the moment Omega jumped into your arms after being lost to the Empire for several months. You recalled the way your heart jumped for joy at her return and the fact that she was safe and sound.

You remembered the way you froze up completely at the sight of him. Omega’s sheepish tone and Hunter’s suspicious gaze were lost to you as you stared Crosshair down from across the way. No words came to you for some time. It seemed to be the same with him. The two of you spent the entire journey across space in that ship speechless toward each other, only communicating with odd stares.

You weren’t sure how you felt at first. Of course, you were shocked by his return. Confused. And there was still anger toward him for betraying the squad, for betraying his family, for betraying you.

Somewhere along the line, it was just the anger that remained. The odd stares turned into cold ones on your end. He didn’t return them. He’d only met your gaze with a sort of prickly silence.

Then there was last evening when the tension finally snapped. You’d ditched the silent treatment and instead opted for a shouting match; except, it was only you shouting, and him replying through clenched teeth.

Finally, when you’d spent your energy, you exhaled.

He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable. He wasn’t asking for anything, period. Crosshair had been a big part of helping Omega escape, and the kid had spent plenty of time trying to vouch for him to you and the rest of the squad.

The man before you had been severely humbled. He’d changed, and it was written all over his face. When you finally began to accept it, that’s when the tears came. There wasn’t just anger: there was hurt. There was longing.

Crosshair pulled you into an embrace, and you cried into his shoulder.

You recalled your quiet, pathetic plea for him to stay. You recalled the way he held you tighter, and how before you knew it, you both had curled up on your bedroll together, drifting off to sleep.

And now, in the late hours of the night, you realized that it was indeed real. It was truly Crosshair beside you, warm and safe. His eyes were no longer gazing out at the moon, but instead locked on yours. His mouth formed a frown as he saw the tears that had begun to well up in yours again.

“I thought it was another dream,” you cried.

His hand reached up to stroke your cheek as he hushed you again gently. “You don’t want to wake anyone.”

You gave a nod and buried your face into his shoulder.

“Hunter wouldn’t be so pleased to find me in your room,” he continued, petting your hair.

His comment nearly gave you a chill. The thought of Hunter finding the two of you there, giving Crosshair that glare of utter distrust and fury and you the weighty gaze of disappointment was not something you wanted to experience.

“He still doesn’t trust me.”

“It’ll take time,” you murmured, voice muffled in his shirt.

“I know. This wouldn’t exactly be a step in the right direction. It’s bad enough that the kid can’t seem to stay away from me.”

“Omega sees something in you.” You sighed sleepily, as a wave of exhaustion hit you. “And so do I.”

Silence fell between the two of you, and the sounds of the night came to the forefront of your mind again as you began to drift back to sleep. Crosshair’s breathing and his heartbeat were your lullaby.

Somewhere between the waking world, and your dreams, you thought you heard him utter,

“I don’t deserve it...”

- - - -

The next morning, you awoke to brilliant sunlight in your eyes. In the heat of morning, you’d kicked your blanket off. Reaching over to pull it back, you realized that the presence beside you was no longer there.

For just a split second, your heart plummeted. The question of whether it was all just a dream arose once more, and you found yourself standing there on your feet and staring at the bedroll.

“No, it was definitely real,” you said aloud. Relief flooded you as you fully woke up and went over last night’s conversation in your head.

As if timed to perfection, you heard the zoom of blaster fire. It was a single shot, which was that of a sniper rifle. You headed over to the window, trying to shield your eyes from the bright sunlight. You squinted to see a familiar figure clad in gray and red down by the beach, taking aim at a target.

A sigh escaped your lips as you watched him fire again.

It was the start of a new day.

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heartingw · 1 year

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If you're too shy (let me know) - Ellie Williams

Warning: adult content even if not explicit; pining!ellie and pining!reader; ellie being lowkey a tease; kind of invasion of privacy; praising; making out; dina being a good friend; jesse is reader's brother, but reader's physical characteristics is not implied (safe space for all women); ellie being so damn in love with reader; heavy petting; joel is not dead here; a little bit perverted, but mostly romantic; maybe typos and bad writing since i'm not an english speaker; both pov's, but you'll know; also me being fucking cheesy, so if you don't like it, don't read the final 'letter'. I'm a romantic, sorry.

Words: almost 3k.

A/N: I hope it's not bad and too rushed. If you see anything weird in the writing, please let me know and I'll fix it immediately. I don't have a beta reader, so…

♥ To be Ellie's patrol partner you had to know that she often went on patrol looking extremely tired from spending hours of the night strumming her guitar, drawing, or writing songs.

Jesse and Dina were already used to trying to hold some kind of conversation with her - or gossip, Ellie loved a good gossip - to keep her awake and alert all the way back to Jackson in those days. But it was a little hard to do that all the time, since most of the time they didn't have much knowledge about her personal hobbies. And neither of them were particularly good at drawing or creative enough to write song lyrics.

That's why Ellie ended up, somehow, getting close to you.

Since you're Jesse's sister, she's known you pretty much since when she arrived in Jackson years ago. A shy girl who only answered when you were spoken to or when Jesse forced it out of you. Ellie never minded. In fact, she hadn't even paid much attention to you at first. Living in Jackson, having a peaceful life after the hell she and Joel had gone through had left her a little bewildered for the first few months.

Honestly, she only started talking to people because Dina decided that they would become best friends whether she wanted to or not and started talking to the green eyed girl at any opportunity. And Jesse, as a good boyfriend, went along.

Ellie was 16 when you heard her playing guitar at dawn on the porch of her house.

Though still a little shy, you apologized and immediately recognized the song Ellie was playing, one Joel had just taught her. Smiling and singing the rest of the lyrics that you had interrupted. And even a little embarrassed to have been seen playing outside, Ellie couldn't help but be intrigued by you for the first time in two years.

Over the time, the friendship grew as well as an internal conflict within Ellie.

She found that you liked several different types of music and sometimes hummed the lyrics to her. That your brother had found a music player that still worked and that you were able to charge it and since then you always listened to music before bed. That you, just like her, liked to write, but you never showed anything you wrote. Ellie didn't mind that much, tho. After all, she never showed anyone her private notes either.

She had noticed that you always had a soft smile when she played any song for you. That you had the habit of biting your lower lip and that you lifted your eyebrows while talking to people, giving them full attention.

She noticed that you rejected all men who approached you with the intention of flirting. And that you never looked at any of them with any kind of desire. Ellie also noticed how much you liked her hands and that your eyes always went to her mouth when she wet her lips with her tongue.

When Ellie realized how much she paid attention to you, she understood how fucked she was.

Jesse's sister. The girl she knew who had grown into a fucking beautiful woman. Who had also become a close friend. Who liked music, liked to write (God knows what), and that seemed genuinely curious when Ellie spoke some random curiosity about space.

Suddenly you had become the reason Ellie wrote romantic lyrics and poems during the night.

On your 22nd birthday Ellie found out she wasn't exactly discreet about her feelings for you. Her eyes widened when Dina sat next to her in your small party and asked if it was that year she would finally take her chance and confess to you.

Ellie didn't even know if you were into women, she wasn't going to spoil your friendship like that.

After most of the people had left the party, Ellie approached you. You looked fucking pretty in a summer dress and Ellie was feeling like crap for having to force herself not to look at your legs and breasts.

"Hey, I have something for you."

You interrupted what you were saying to Jesse and turned fully to her, a cheerful smile on your face. "Oh, so that's why you brought your backpack. I was wondering why you came here with it."

"Did you really think I wasn't going to give you anything for your birthday?" Ellie asked you with a side smile and teasing voice. "So much faith on me, I see."

She pulled a notebook out of her backpack. The cover was adorned with constellations and symbols of zodiac signs - Ellie had told you how people used to relate the day they were born to personalities and you had become obsessed with it.

Your eyes widened, delighted with the gift and your hands slowly moved towards the notebook, picking up gently while whispering her name like you couldn't believe what you were seeing. In the blink of an eye you already had your arms around her neck, hugging her tight and putting your face on her neck.

"Fuck, Ellie, thank you so, so much! I've wanted a new one for so long and Jesse never brought me one from patrols." Your voice was charged with emotion as you thanked her in her ear. Ellie knew that writing was like therapy for you – you'd already mentioned this several times –, she also remembered when you complained to her you had already filled out all the pages of your notebook and Jesse never brought a new one, but always brought something to Dina.

"Maybe I didn't give you one so you wouldn't write those things anymore, can you imagine if our parents read that?" Ellie's eyes turned to Jesse, who was smiling and teasing his sister with no real malice involved. "I didn't even know you knew those things. So intense that I blushed."

Quickly you turned to slap your brother's arm, your ears and cheeks red, and mouth slightly open with shock. "You weren't even supposed to have touched that notebook, let alone read it!" Your voice sounded high-pitched.

"My little sister, now a woman. Writing p- ow!" Dina pulled on Jesse's ear, causing a groan of pain from the man who then burst out laughing and gave you a bear hug. "Chill out, I'm just joking."

Ellie watched as Jesse laughed and you tried to get out of his embrace still trying to slap his arm weakly. Dina also laughed as she told her boyfriend to leave his sister alone.

If there was one thing Ellie was very proud of about herself, it was that she always minded her own business and respected others' privacy. But what her friend said was like a vortex in her head. Jesse asking what you would do if your parents read what you wrote. You, all red and embarrassed.

What the fuck do you write in your notebooks? ♥

It was one of those days that Ellie went on patrol extremely sleepy.

It wasn't something she was proud of, but this time it wasn't her fault. It was yours. What do you usually write? She thought maybe it was something like horror, but Ellie knew you were fearful and didn't like to be scared. And horror wouldn't leave that fucking beautiful red color on your cheeks.

Could it be something naughty?

God, Ellie fucking knew you had a perverted side that you let slip once or twice, but you're not as open about it as her or Dina. Did you write dirty stuff in your notebook? What would you write about? About characters you created? About people you knew? About yourself? Ellie scolded herself at the thought you could write about her.

If you were to write about her, what would you write?

"I hope there won't be any infected today or we will die in less than 2 minutes," Dina said with a teasing voice. "What got you so distracted today?"

Letting out a sigh, Ellie decided to trust Dina. It's not like her friend is going to tell Jesse what she was going to say anyway. If there's one thing Dina believed in the 'chicks before dicks' code. Honestly, Ellie needed to unravel before she went crazy.

"It's just," she cleared her throat. "I can't fucking stop thinking about what Jesse said at the party. About the notebook."

"Oh, that," the brunette let out a low chuckle as she shook her head. "Well, I might know a thing or two, but I won't tell you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Thought I was your best friend." Ellie's voice sounded playful. "C'mon, throw me a bone."

Dina felt bad she was having so much fun at Ellie's expense, but she couldn't help but find it funny how the auburn-haired girl wanted to know anything that was related to you. As she got older, Ellie had become a more closed off person and disinterested in other people outside her personal circle. Seeing her grow closer to you was impressive to say, at least. Dina liked you much better than Cat.

"Look, Jesse didn't give many details, but that day he seemed a little dumbfounded by what he read," Dina spoke as she led her horse to go slower. They were arriving at the patrol building. "He commented something about how he didn't imagine you'd write those things, but that he should have expected it by now, since you're an adult."

When they arrived at the building, Ellie and Dina got off the horses and grabbed their backpacks. As they walked up the stairs, Dina wondered if she was doing the right thing by telling her friend what she knew, but she was tired of seeing the two of you obviously crushing on each other without doing anything about it.

"Listen up, I didn't tell you anything. You don't know anything! But Jesse said you wrote about girls. Intimate letters about girls. Now can you stop making excuses for yourself and try to get your fucking dream girl?"

Ellie was not religious, but she thanked God at that moment for the opportunity. You liking girls was a victory. Now she needed to convince you that the two of you would be fucking awesome together.

♥

If Ellie thanked God earlier, now she was cursing him. If he really existed, he was doing some kind of cruel test on her.

A simple and very organized room. It was easy to see what you liked when she walked in. Your books, your posters, your desk with some pencils and pens lying around. The slightly open drawer that Ellie could see the notebook she had given you as a gift inside.

She couldn't hear you in the bathroom, since it was downstairs. She didn't even know if you would take a long time in the shower. But her eyes were glued to the drawer and her fingers were itching to pick up the notebook and read at least one page of what you wrote.

"Fuck," she whispered as she got closer to the drawer. "I'm such a fucking bad person."

And it was at that moment that she, without making a noise, opened the drawer.

♥

Even with the world pretty much ending, you loved the fact that Jackson allowed people to have a little bit of peace. This allowed you to dress more comfortably - you were not one of the people responsible for patrols - so wearing dresses, for example, wasn't a problem for you. And you liked it.

Which led you to wear a dress today. Today, the day Ellie had arranged to watch a movie with you. In her house.

With limited resources, you had to make do with the basics of personal hygiene. Soap and a simple shampoo did their best to keep you clean and smelling good. And you had to admit you used it a lot to always make a good impression on Ellie.

The girl with a freckled face and green eyes you've been in love with since you were 14 years old.

But today Ellie was acting differently. Ever since you came out of the bathroom, already dressed, she was acting weird. Not a bad weird, but weird all the same.

You could tell Ellie was touching you more than usual. Her hand guiding you by soft touches in you back while taking you to her house, sending shivers down your neck. Her whispering things in your ear as if she was telling you a secret and 'unintentionally' touching her lips to your ear while sitting on her couch during the movie. Her voice sounding hoarser than usual. Jesus Christ, you didn't even know someone's voice could sound so hot.

Ever since you met Ellie, she had never spoken or acted like this to you. Maybe it was because you were Jesse's sister or she wasn't attracted to you. The only thing you had was your imagination. And you imagined a lot of things with Ellie Williams.

Your notebooks were proof of that.

What you weren't expecting was a scene of a couple kissing deeply in the movie. It was a suspense movie you didn't even remember the title. The chances of those characters dying were high, but at that moment, the man was pulling the woman by her hair while devouring her mouth. Fuck, you could see their tongue inside each other's mouths.

With your body rigid with embarrassment and your throat dry, you could feel your face heat up as you took a deep breath. Then you felt Ellie's eyes on you. Her hand slowly reached yours while she got closer, her shoulders touching your when she slightly leaned forward staring into your eyes.

"Hey," her voice low, she was so close you could feel her breath hitting your cheeks. You didn't look in her direction. "You alright?"

The guy took off the woman's blouse while kissing her neck. The woman let out a moan as she tried to rip off his shirt. Your eyes turned to Ellie's and you gave her a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

Emerald eyes stared at your mouth. Her face tilted slightly as she moved closer and closer. The hand that had previously touched yours was now holding your chin lightly not allowing you to move your face away from her. Not that you really wanted to. "Bet you are."

Her lips were like a phantom touch, making you crave for her. Her nose lightly caressing yours. Ellie could get you mesmerized easily. The moans became background noise. "Ellie..."

"Let me kiss you," she sounded almost desperate. You wondered if she wanted you as much as you wanted her. "I promise it'll be good. It's going to be so fucking good."

Kissing ellie was hot as lava.

♥

Kissing girls has always been good. They were soft everywhere, and it felt so good to feel every bit of them during the kiss. Their arms around her neck, the soft waist that Ellie loved to squeeze against her. Their weight on her lap and their breasts pressed against hers. The moans they let out against her mouth. Kissing women made perfect sense to Ellie.

But kissing you was a fucking whole new experience.

Maybe it was the feelings involved. Ellie remembers that Dina had mentioned how special it was to be with someone you really loved. Now she gets it. She understands the way you kiss her back so enthusiastically, as if you've been waiting for her all your life. She understands because she's been writing songs about what it would be like to feel your mouth against her.

Her hands ran down your back and arms until they stopped at your waist, pushing you against the couch. Your body didn't reject hers, you obeyed Ellie's silent commands without a second thought. Your hands went to her neck, pulling her against you. Your legs wrapped around her waist, making your pretty dress slip up to your hips.

Every piece of clothing that came out, Ellie was more sure that you were everything she ever wanted. Your fucking delicious moans, your warm skin against hers, your mouth demanding hers, your hands running possessively down her body, you whining her name. The way you fucking begged her.

The way you fucking tasted against her mouth.

You, with a thin blanket of sweat on your skin guiding her to the ground, climbing on top of her, kissing her body in every way. Using your tongue to send shivers down every part of Ellie's body. Calling her beautiful, while kissing her stomach and lightly squeezing her breasts.

"I've always dreamed of this." Your voice came out fluttered as you made your way between her legs.

Ellie fucking loved space. And she felt you show her the whole fucking universe with your tongue.

♥

"If your freckles spread over the rest of your body like on your face, I would kiss and caress each of her with my tongue. Did you know that? All I can think about at night is your husky voice saying my name as I imagine you lying next to me in bed. Your fingers dancing through my body and your mouth glued to mine as if you can't ever let me go. And I wouldn't. Not where you can't reach me. I wonder if I would ever have the courage to hand you these letters. If I'll be able to taste you one day as I always write on these pages. Holding you in my arms while I drink everything you can offer me between your legs. I wouldn't let you go until all you could think about was me.

I don't know if I'd be enough for you, Ellie.

But I would give everything for you to love me as I love you. To kiss me like you kiss me whenever I think of you while I make myself come in my own hands."

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #ellie williams #tlou2 #my writing #tlou x reader #tlou2 x reader

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 4 months

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Wobbly Hearts AU

Summary: Kai doesn’t like soulmates. He doesn’t want them and he certainly doesn’t need them. High school is hard enough without all the extra stress of soulmarks and finding your soulmates. He decided at a young age he didn’t have time for soulmates and he plans to stick to that decision. Unfortunately, as always, the universe seems to take a lot of joy in messing with him. or Kai struggles with reading and it’s everybody’s problem.

Hi there! Yes it's the very fic I've been yelling about in vague posts and tags the last 6+ months! It's been so long since I've posted anything to ao3 I've forgotten how it works but I'm doing my best! This fic is an AU set in an alternate universe of the LEGO Ninjago Movie (2017) combined with a lot of the characterization and aspects from the original LEGO Ninjago show. It's over 100k so buckle up and prepare for some shenanigans!

the first chapter is UP

sample under cut

Kai got his first soulmarks when he tried to eat a marker.

Tiny, with fumbling fingers, freckles and barely two years old he didn’t remember that day in the slightest. But his parents told the story to him and Nya all the time when they were little.

It was the little red marker they said that he went for. His mom didn’t notice until he’d pried off the cap and stuck it into his mouth after several unsuccessful attempts that ended in red marker all over his face. She’d gotten it out of his mouth before he could really try to eat it like he’d been meaning to. He'd started crying at the abruptness of his marker being taken away, but those tears dried up fairly quickly after his mom scooped him up.

His mom laughed that maybe his soulmates wanted him to feel less alone because a blue marker appeared not long after they started to wash off the red.

His first soulmark.

Kai grew up with their scribbled colorful lines on his skin. At first it was the hazardous meaningless lines of a toddler and then, as time progressed, they became more purposeful doodles. They were just another part of life he didn’t fully understand but accepted as fact because his parents simply smiled and spoke over his head of soulmates. He didn’t think he really grasped much of the concept of exactly what a soulmate was until he turned five.

They were someone (or several someones) that could be his favorite person (or people) in the whole wide world if he let them. After Nya was born he argued she was his soulmate because she was his most favorite person in the whole wide world. His dad said it was a different kind of favorite. But Nya was family and that was just as important.

It wasn’t until he was seven and struggling to learn the alphabet that he realized there was more than one soulmate out there for him.

Words started appearing as they learned how to write, the letters slanted and wobbly and hazardous. He watched their writing change and improve and watched them start to talk to each other. There were two of them. Two soulmates all for him. They talked in the simple words that they could manage. One excitedly scribbled I <3 U when they learned how. Kai had to ask his mom what the lines meant and she explained it with a patient smile. It means I love you.

He was ten and still just drawing doodles while his soulmates spoke of their favorite cartoons and what they had eaten that day. Letters seemed to float around his head and laugh at him as he tried to read what they were saying, frustrated tears biting his eyes and blurring the letters. Seeing him struggle, his mom would let him sit on her lap and read him the words out loud while he rested his head on her shoulder.

Pens and markers felt awkward in his hands. The little doodles he managed never looked as good as the doodles one of his soulmates was always making. Their doodles were of cool stuff, like ninja and dragons and mechs. The doodles were so cool and Kai doodled little hearts and flames around them as best he could to show how much he liked them. But half the time he couldn’t tell the hearts from the fire and explosions, everything so wobbly and awful. He tried to write his name once and it was almost worse than the hearts.

Keep Reading

#knox rambles #KNOX WRITES (me)#LEGO Ninjago Wobbly Hearts AU #Ninjago #Lego Ninjago Movie (2017)#Lego Ninjago #WELL THIS IS EXCITING I'M #HGKL;SFJSDFSADF #HERE WE GO #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BUCKLE UP #won't be privating this work for a while so read away my good sirs #also i have like a discord set up for this if enough people are vibin with it i'll toss an invite link #]

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sunshinescribes · 10 months

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Hard Came the Rain - 1

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (more so in later chapters, but there’s some…thirsting here)

Warnings: 18+ | Miguel is annoying and emotionally repressed but reader knows this and gives him shit for it

Summary: Working with Spider-Man to uncover a conspiracy hidden beneath the glittering skyscrapers and flashy holograms of Nueva York was never supposed to be easy, but you didn’t realize just how complicated it could be.

You like to think that he doesn’t hate you.

Like to imagine that he actually enjoys your company—this faux Batman and Robin dynamic you two have going on—but that would make you both foolish and unbearably optimistic.

The truth of the matter is, if you weren’t damn good at your job, he wouldn’t bother with you. You know as well as any other Nueva York native that Spider-Man doesn’t do sidekicks—he had told you as much when he first stumbled across you, a wide-eyed, reckless journalist caught amid an unraveling conspiracy that would surely shatter your city's delicate pseudo-serenity.

But you had put that silver tongue of yours to work, cautious of the hulking mass of a man before you as he hauled a barely conscious crime lord over his shoulder. You could help me, and I could help you. He had laughed at your offer—that dry, more baffled than amused kind of laugh that spurred you on instead of deterring you.

You could do the things he couldn’t. Be inconspicuous, blend in with the crowd, and use the connections you've built over the years. Hell, you had talked your way into the same room he was in, no fancy gadgets or super suit required—though you didn’t feel it necessary to mention how you also leveraged your sexuality. You were right either way. When people saw the sharp talons and flash of blue and red, they had a habit of running. You imagined it made his work only twice as hard.

And of course, your heart leapt at the prospect of having Spider-Man in your corner, Jameson’s hit pieces be damned. He could venture into spaces you couldn’t possibly imagine, taking on threats that proved to be too great. If you had any hope of exposing the wickedness hidden beneath the glittering skyscrapers and flashy holograms of Nueva York, you would need his help.

We could both minimize our troubles, you had proposed with a shrug, attempting to mask the desperation in your voice. He stopped in his tracks then, so still and silent that you could practically hear the gears in his head moving. And after a long, torturous minute, he sighed.

You had shamelessly squealed with delight, and if the squint of the sharp lines that made up the eyes of his suit was anything to go by, he wasn’t nearly as pleased as you.

It’s been about a month since then, and while you can’t say his attitude has particularly changed, at least you two have some semblance of routine.

You glance at your window expectantly, watching as his silhouette draws closer. The sharp, bright red lines of his suit contrast with the dark blue that blends with the night sky. If it wasn’t for the blinding neon signs and flickering holograms, the skeletonized symbol that breeds fear in the hearts of Nueva York’s criminals might be the only thing you could make out.

He swings to your window, sliding it open and slipping inside with grace, like he pays rent. It makes you laugh softly, thinking about how he all but nagged you the first time he realized you often leave it unlocked—the fact that you live on the tenth floor deemed irrelevant—now it’s his sole point of entry.

"What’s so funny?" he asks as he closes the window behind him. You make out the faint sound of the lock engaging, and you can’t help but grin.

"You," you answer, but he doesn’t dignify your teasing with a response. He rarely does. Instead, he stalks over to where you’re seated, swiping through several holographic screens in between your occasional glances in his direction.

He just hovers there, silent, and although you can’t make out a single thing—a conscious design choice no doubt—you almost swear you can feel his eyes wandering, taking in your scantily clad figure—your relatively tight, albeit flattering tank top and shorts that you’re almost certain are actually boxers belonging to an ex. It’s not your fault you live in what can only be the shittiest apartment complex in the city. It’s archaic, practically a historical site at this point, and you’d bet on your life that none of the tenants living in Noho ever worry about their central cooling system not working.

At least this place is affordable.

You swallow, turning your attention back to the glowing screens in front of you.

"My AC’s out," you shrug, attempting to sound as nonchalant as you can manage. You curse the slight quiver in your voice as you subconsciously glance back up at him.

"You snuck into Roxxon?" he suddenly asks.

Oh.

Your movements waver for a fraction of a second, but you know he catches it. You mentally cringe, fully aware of the fact that you won’t be able to laugh your way out of this one.

"I just thought—"

"We talked about this." He stops you before you can even start, frustration clear in his voice.

You sigh, swiping your holograms away before staring back up at the sharp red lines of his mask, praying you meet his eyes.

"No, you talked about it," you counter. "I listened."

"Listened?" he scoffs with a shake of his head as he begins to pace through your cramped apartment. "That’s the thing. You don’t listen."

His words slip into a string of Spanish as he paces, and you can see the tension pulling his body taut as he moves, so painfully visible it could make a chiropractor cry. That’s the one thing that always stands out whenever he comes to you—how tightly wound he is, all quick gestures and clipped responses.

And you hate how a part of you wants to help relieve him of all that tension—your twisted, ravenous desire that always takes you by surprise, makes your eyes wander and your mind race with images of him breathless, sprawled out on your excuse of a couch while you work him with your mouth, your hands, anything he wants. What you wouldn’t give just to see his tensity ease away. God, it was vile and baffling—you don’t even know his name or what he looks like. There’s nothing to put into the fantasy besides the low, gruff voice that would whisper encouragements, telling you just how good you’re doing, and it would ruin you—absolutely fucking wreck you—to have him languid and praising.

Getting him to stop pacing will have to suffice.

"Well, you’ll be glad to know you don’t have to muscle through their security," you finally say as you lift from your couch. You sidestep him, reaching for the purse you discarded on your kitchen counter with little care. Your fingers sift through the pockets, fishing for the artifact that made your grand, albeit risky, venture worth it.

You turn to him with your hands behind your back.

"What are you doing?"

"Guess which hand it’s in."

The lines of his mask narrow as he steps toward you. "I don’t have time for this."

"Shame..." you sigh as he towers over you, wholly unamused by your games. You hold the device between you two, unable to stop your smile as he reaches out for it.

It shimmers in his clawed hand like rubellite, catching the light of the red emblem across his broad torso.

"You’ll tell me what’s on it, yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning back against the kitchen counter, as he glances between you and the device in his hand. "I’m sure the encryption is gonna be a real pain in the ass."

He surprises you by not immediately retreating to your window and leaving. He’s always quick to end your rendezvous, not even gracing you with so much as a goodbye.

"You can take the night off," you joke, attempting to fill the creeping silence. You can’t tell if he’s still pissed or pleased, and trying to gauge his feelings based on his movements and concealed micro-expressions is impossible. "You could sure use it."

He seems to come to life with that remark.

"What does that mean?"

The fact that you don’t roll your eyes is a testament to your self-control. The same can’t be said for your mouth.

"Come on. You’re the most agitated man I’ve ever met." You motion your hands wildly, attempting to emphasize your point. "You’re one bad day from having a conniption!"

He’s back to being a silent spectator, and maybe you’ll join him the day he finally loses it, because blindly navigating his emotions is a feat of its own, and one you are dealing with gracelessly.

"You got a fix? I’m all ears," he asks curtly, crowding into your space a little more, forcing you to strain your neck to look up at him.

Maybe telling the big angry man that he is in fact angry, and how his anger will kill him isn’t the best idea.

Even so, you blink up at him, breathing slowly as your mind flashes with images of lurid daydreams from the deepest crevice of your mind—wandering hands, soft praise.

No. That’s never going to happen, but you could ease the tension in his shoulders, work away months, maybe even years, of strain if he’ll let you. It wouldn’t be a fix—not that you ever claimed to have one—but it certainly could help.

"Maybe," you whisper, slipping away from him as you pull yourself from the counter. You make your way to your couch, plopping down with little care. You ignore the way it creaks pathetically, before sparing Spider-Man an expected look. Your eyes flit between him and the couch, a clear invitation you’re curious to see if he takes.

Although the suit does well to conceal his face and any emotion he could possibly display, the careful, almost hesitant steps he takes towards you practically scream his uncertainty.

"What—" "Just sit," you instruct with no malice or irritation, waiting as he finally settles down. He’s still statuesque, even while sitting, but with a little maneuvering, you’re able to place your hands on his shoulders with little issue.

You feel him tense under your touch, although he's still characteristically silent. You lift your hands, a clear indication that you won’t do anything he isn’t comfortable with.

"It’s no remedy, but... it might help," you explain carefully. "How many buildings have you been thrown through? Can’t be good for your back."

He’s awfully still; only the rise and fall of his shoulders give you any indication that he’s even present. You almost don’t hear him when he finally answers.

"…Okay."

You try not to beam, but you can’t help the warm feeling that settles in your chest. Sure, he’s irritable and standoffish—absolutely lacking any comedic talent—but you can’t lie and say you don’t enjoy his company, as infrequent as it is. You’ve grown accustomed to being in rooms full of people more boisterous and outgoing than you, constantly working to be the center of everyone’s attention—a symptom of living in Nueva York, you’d wager—so it was refreshing, albeit different, to be around someone who didn’t feel the need to make needless conversation or fill uncomfortable silence.

You slowly place your hands on his shoulders again, ignoring how broad they are. You can feel how tense the muscles beneath your hands are. It makes you wonder just how long he’s gone without someone looking out for him—a day of simple relaxation, but it’s almost impossible to imagine, though it’s difficult to imagine him doing many things.

You rub the heel of your palms into rigid muscles, working away the strain to the best of your ability. You try not to focus on the deep inhales he takes or the way his breath comes out slightly shaky, almost pained, when he exhales.

"You’d make some masseuses very happy; you know that?" You chuckle, pressing your thumb firmly and circling the muscles of his tortured back. "Would make for some badass promo too."

"Don’t…need one," he groans as you tackle a particularly rough spot. You try not to imagine the same sound under very different circumstances: "…you’re doing...good."

You can feel him easing into your touch with each second that passes. The strain in his voice has you squirming uncomfortably, attempting to lull a part of you that’s acutely aware of just how alluring he sounds.

"Is that a compliment?" You feign shock, incapable of stopping your grin. "I might have to do this more often. You’re so…agreeable."

You don’t mean for the word to come out dripping with sensuality, but your mind is little more than a foggy maze, and the low grunts from Spider-Man do little to ease the haze.

Maybe a different approach will help.

"How’d you know I went to Roxxon?"

"Been monitoring their security cams…Looking for patterns in the night shift..." he sighs contentedly when you bring your hands up, your fingers nearly shaking as they carefully trace the curve of his neck. "Imagine my surprise when I see a pretty little journalist scouting around…"

Your measured movements almost falter as the words slip from his lips. Your mind…isn’t sure what to make of that last statement. Maybe it’s the mind fog, courtesy of the man before you.

"I was in an employee uniform. How did you even recognize me?"

"Be difficult... mhm... not to."

"Because I’m so pretty, huh?" You tease, wondering if he’ll go back on it, blaming your surprisingly skilled hands for making him delirious, which would be one of the fairer criticisms levied against you.

"Too pretty for your own good." His voice is nearly a whisper. You almost think you conjured the words in your mind if not for how he suddenly goes rigid, as if the words escaping his mouth are the equivalent of having a truck thrown at him, and the pleasant haze dissipates.

He lifts himself from the couch with such deftness that you’d think it hurt him. Your window is already open by the time you call out to him, but he doesn’t stop or turn to give you one last lingering look. He’s gone by the time you reach your window, swallowed by the glittering neon jungle.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x black! fem! reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara is annoying #but so very hot

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splatsvilles-fashionista · 3 months

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Splatoon 3 Version 6.1 Patch Notes Breakdown

That time of the month again! Let's take a quick look at these together, and that part is actually important, because people have cross-referenced the Japanese and English patch notes and confirmed that there are several mistranslations in the latter, so stick with me as we roll through these!

This patch is heavily focused on balance changes, and outside of those, the only thing that isn't a bugfix is of course the Mincemeat Metalworks renovation. With that out of the way, let's look at the Main Weapon changes:

N-Zap gets two more damage, which makes it combo better with other sources of damage like the splash damage from the '85's Suction Bomb. There seems to always be a completely unnecessary Shooter buff in every patch nowadays, and this is the one this time, but it's at least balanced out by the fact that this weapon is also getting nerfed further down the notes, but we'll get there.

Dynamo Roller will now deal lethal damage in a wider spread than it did previously. Splat Roller got this buff a while ago and it was pretty good for it, so this is a definitive W for Dynamo mains everywhere.

Flingza Roller gets the exact same buff, plus a buff that cuts 5 white ink frames off its' vertical flick. Some nice quality of life for sure.

Inkbrush now moves faster, cheaper. Three percent doesn't sound like a lot, but I promise you that even such a small change is going to throw your aim off quite a bit, so get ready to get circles run around you in Clam Blitz even more than you already do.

The Brella gets 13% better ink efficiency off its shots, and that's quite a lot! Brella likes to play the long game and draw out fights, and most builds for it run a lot of Ink Saver Main as a result, so this should give it some more ability flexibility.

Undercover Brella can now... do full jumps while firing? I don't think this is a very impactful change, but it is neat, and I think if used properly could be a way to get more mileage out of your shield and avoid damage.

This is a mistranslation!

The first change is actually the complete opposite of what it says in the patch notes. They did not reduce Squeezer's ink consumption when tap-firing, but increase it, making the cost tap-shots 9% more. It'll also paint slightly worse when holding down the firing button, and considering how this weapon has been utterly dominant at all levels of play both of these changes are fair.

Ballpoint gets a small accuracy decrease in long-range mode, which frankly seems a bit uncalled for, because this weapon hasn't been on top of the metagame for a long time. At least it's also kind of a paint buff?

And finally for Main Weapon changes, Stamper gets its charge slash paint cut by 10%. Compared to the changes this weapon has been getting in the past it's a bit of a slap on the wrist, but it does in fairness paint really well, and Neo Splatana Stamper does put out a lot of Crab Tanks, so this isn't an unjust change.

After that comes two Special changes, and these are very interesting:

Wave Breaker will now immediately locate enemies upon being placed for a short while. They don't specify the range or time of the effect, but I have to imagine it'll be within the same area of effect as the Wave Breaker's Waves. Giving it an immediate effect is really cool to me, it makes me think of Splatoon 1's Echolocator, which Wave Breaker already kind of felt like a rework of to begin with.

THIS IS A MISTRANSLATION TOO AND IT'S EVEN WORSE THAN THE LAST ONE

Again, this change is the complete opposite, reading the text you'd think this was a nerf to Ink Storm, but it's actually a buff, because it makes you heal faster in Kid Form when inside your own team's Ink Storms. This is essentially completely unprecedented, as we've never had anything that messes with the health regeneration system like this before, and I'm very curious to see how it shakes out.

And finally we have the Points-For-Special changes:

Neo Sploosh, Forge Pro, Luna, Bamboozler, and Zink Mini all get their Points-For-Special cut by 10 (a change Forge has been begging for since it released, seriously starting it at 210p was completely unreasonable) while Slattershot, N-Zap '85 (here's that nerf I mentioned at the very top of the list), Tri-Slosher nouveau, and Heavy Edit Splatling get another 10p added to their Special charge.

Overall I think this is a pretty good patch that has some really interesting ideas in it, but there is also a very notable omission. They went after all of the most popular Tacticooler weapons, and increased their Special charge, except for Snipewriter 5H. Snipewriter has been skyrocketing in popularity in competitive player for its' ability to serve as paint support, long-range damage, and Tacticooler spammer, all at once, and it got completely overlooked here. I suspect that nanowrimo is coming early in the world of competitive Splatoon 3, because everyone is getting their pencils ready.

#splatoon 3

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inbetweenhours · 1 year

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How It Started VS How Its Going

Back on that @pinchhitsfromthevoid hype! This pinch prompt was for @dayables who I know got spoiled in the brainstorming chat (rip) but I still hope you enjoy how it turned out! You gave me the option of flower husbands which was absolutely not going to be passed up, as well as the prompt of Arranged Marriage AU. Since I just so happen to already have an arranged marriage au for them, I figured I may as well put some effort into actually showing it off since, despite my very long google doc of plot chicanery, I haven't actually drawn much for it or otherwise got much of anything to show for it.

The real trick here was balancing the angst and fluff. There was no way I wasn't getting out of this without, any angst. The problem was actually finding a suitable amount of fluff to balance this out lol. I knew I wanted to draw their wedding, since that's the whole base of the au and it directly emphasizes your request. The problem is that within the au, these two don’t really get to anywhere that's especially fluffy till weeks if not months after their wedding lol. That’s how I eventually settled on a kind of “before and after” of their relationship.

Mirroring their less than favourable wedding day and first meeting with the renewal of vows they do near the end of their journey within my plot. Where they choose, despite already being stuck together, to have meaning behind their marriage.

Below the cut I’m gonna ramble about the lore important to this piece from the au. Enjoy :]

Okay so first off- their “vows”! Instead of exchanging rings my idea is that the Ocean Empire and Rivendell each have a different giving for their wedding ceremonies.

Merlings have a selkie inspired pelt. Its technically their old skin. Young merlings are much more creature esq, and as they grow they grow out of that skin into a more humanoid form. However they tend to keep their pelts since they are pretty durable and are good for young merlings to protect themselves with and camouflage in the depths. As merlings continue to grow out of even that stage, their pelts become sentimental. kept close to their hearts. The lose of the plt is like a severing of oneself from their soul or heart. Its important for their mental health that they know where their pelt is and that is is safe. They’re not typically handled by people you don’t trust.

Which is why it is traditional that merling will trade pelts with their lover at their wedding. Its imbuing this trust that their partner will give the pelt back. As well it is a symbol of love and soul, metaphorically giving that devotion and adoration to their partner.

Elves meanwhile are a type of fae. The rules I use for elves names are adjacent but not directly the same as other fae, such as the faeries of the overgrown. Elven names hold power over the individual still, but its far less than what a faerie might hold. It more a social power than anything else. Elves keep public and personal names. These “true” personal names can only be chosen by the elf themself. They are only given to people who you trust absolutely. May that be family, longtime friends, or lovers. Its not uncommon in Rivendell for lovers to not share their true names until their wedding day, though even if they have the vows are much the same. Giving their spouse the gift of their name, to use as they please. This is done both out of trust (much like the merlings pelts), trusting their lovers not to hurt them with their name. And more importantly it offers devotion to your spouse, which would be returned of course.

Now when it comes to Flower Husbands... this all falls apart. These two have not had a real conversation till their vows. They have no trust or love for one another, and are in fact quite afraid of each other. Neither want to give over something so terrifyingly precious to the other.

Jimmy feels pressured to do so, despite Lizzie insisting he doesn’t have to, because he knows how a wedding should go. He knows the citizens of the Ocean Empire do not trust that his mother, The Empress, has made the right choice in allowing this marriage to go through. He knows if he doesn’t do his best to make this look and feel legit for them, then they’ll only have more problems in the future. And he really is trying to be responsible, trying to prove himself to his family and his kingdoms that he can do the right thing. He isn’t just the prince, the second born. He is loved by his country, deeply so, but nothing is expected of him. He wants to do one good thing for them in turn. Hell, he volunteered himself so that his sister wouldn’t throw away her preexisting courtship. He loves his family and his country, and he has never been asked to do a thing for them. He just wants to prove he can.

So he drapes his pelt over Scotts shoulders, careful and with the sudden understanding of how badly it hurts to see. How easily being separated from it would destroy him. And he can only hope Scott will return it soon.

Scott meanwhile doesn’t believe in another choice. He is the Chosen Champion of Aeor, god of Winter and Stasis. He is a representative of tradition for Rivendell. As much as he is fuming about the marriage, he has rarely acted out in his life. The golden child for so much of his adolescence that even when that love has left he knows little more than to hold his tongue and obey... for now. Still, he knows what is expected of him for the wedding. And despite there being no way for his family or the citizens to verify he abided by tradition in this instance, he is loyal enough to his god (and in fact fairly knows his god perceives him and he would know he wronged him) to not try and get around it.

So he gives his name, as coldly and objectively as he can. It is not a gift, but Jimmy, traditionally, has a right to it through their union. He can only pray Jimmy be kind with it.

Ultimately both spouses are careless with their exchange. Scott misunderstands the importance of the pelt, and keeps it far to long. Jimmy misunderstand the weight of Scotts name, and speaks it carelessly. Its rough, and terrifying. But it leads them to understanding, to finding common ground and for the first time finding hope in their situation as they understand the other not as an enemy but as the only ally in the same situation as them.

Finally I’m gonna do a quick run through of details I was happy with, kinda lore relevant but with less flowery language on the plot.

At their wedding both are dressed in traditional wedding garb for their empires, as well I’ve referenced my board loosely to dress the crowd properly. Rivendell brides/grooms tend to wear white. It represents purity, white is typically only worn in formal settings o it wont be dirties anyways, and it doesn't represent either individual god. Allowing neutrality. Jimmy is wearing a loose cut deep blue outfit with small decorative. Dark colours but especially deep blues are traditional as they connect with both the deep waters and the sky, tying an individual throughout to the world and their life.

In their renewal of vows they wear nearly the same outfits, however Jimmy sports some golden Rivendell jewelry and Scott in turn sports some pearls in his hair much like how Jimmy had at their wedding. Its about the sharing <33

Wedding day was very formal, very controlled. Both of their hair pulled back and styled in very proper traditional ways. At their vow renewal everything was up to them, so Jimmy looks a bit more like himself (as messy as that may be) and Scott has both his kingship and his hair cut (lore) so he’s a feeling a lot more stable

Scotts wears gloves at his wedding, vs without gloves at renewal! Tied in, at his wedding Scotts hair and skin is patterned with growing frost as he gets cold feet (hah) and is very upset about the situation versus his renewals where he has much more control of his powers and very explicitly happy with the situation

That is all for now! Day I hope you liked the pinch! Everyone else i hope you liked the lore! I would love to do more with the au going forward, I have a growing plot document and love talking about it. If anyone wants me to expand on any thoughts, has questions about the plot or characters or otherwise, my inbox is always open and I am attentive to both tags and comments ;) <3

#smajor #solidaritygaming #empires smp #empires smp 1 #empiresshipping #flower husbands #flower husbands arranged marriage au #hoursart #hourspost #pinch hit #the real miracle here is how i managed to get a background on tw oof these panels like what #pulled up my copy of the world download to reference the church and the prisma palace and everything #fun fact the one other post i have on this au is about a plotpoint that has actually straight up been moved #the tension goes on so much longer now lmaoo #long post #ig #rblogs appreciated!#also i do not believe in jimmy being that eloquent ever that was preritten and memoried lol #no id

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