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lantsovsupremacist · 3 years

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nikolai lantsov: maybe

this was going to be smut and it still is but i apologize i went from listening to dress to hope ur okay so it’s all over the place here with angst.

warning of some swear words? some smut (fem receiving). mentions of drinking and getting drunk. pre-sab.

at eighteen, the world was dizzying with overwhelming opportunity.

the age held the anticipation of beginning a life of your own. sure, the second army owned you even more now than before, but your night of graduation from the little palace’s grisha school still excited you. the fancy sapphire dress gifted to you by the royals reminded you of the waves glittering at night under the moonlight, an obvious nod to your role as a tide maker.

the two glasses of champagne at dinner went down like water. you turned corner after corner in your head to give chase but you could not find even the slightest buzz. with a frown, you kicked open the back door of the kitchen and quietly slipped inside.

the only source of light crept across the floor, directing you to the back. the muted colors surrounding you became brighter the further you walked. you smile expanded.

“little late to your own party aren’t we now?”

your eyes rolled around in your head before settling on the slouched body of the blonde prince, barely upright against a crate. taking quick steps to meet him in the corner, you shoved his legs aside for the extra room. the clear bottle of what you assumed from his breath to be kvas made its way into your hands.

“fuck you, nikolai. you obviously had no problem starting without me.”

a lazy and crooked smirk crept onto his face. it righted itself into a small smile as he watched you down more than a shot’s worth straight from the source. maybe it was simply because of the warmth from the booze, but he swore your knuckles chilled him as they passed over his on their mission to grasp the neck of the bottle.

you minded his touch with the suppression of a shudder. you had yet to consume enough alcohol to relax into it. instead, you examined his own outfit. whatever sophistication he had been meant to pull off was lost on his now untucked shirt and crooked tie.

the delicate knit of his brows whenever he finished laughing could never change, though. even when the prince was more commonly referred to as sobachka than nikolai and you could barely muster a change of moisture in the air, the expressions of your best friend remained steadfast. you took the constant as a comfort.

you kicked off of your heels, climbing onto the counter rather gracefully and snagging a bottle of something stronger. he stepped up to watch you and eyed your footing warily. when you opened one of the bottles and threw your head back at the smell, he knew you had found exactly what the both of you were looking for. he offered you a hand down, which you accepted gratefully.

four shots deep. that is how many it took for you to lose all sense of composure around nikolai. the golden boy in front of you—your best friend—was quite the picture with twisted curls and red cheeks.

and saints had you been pining after him for the past few years. while grisha belonged to a higher class than the commoners, you were still a soldier. he was still a prince. you both had jobs to do, roles to fill, and expectations to fulfill.

you presumed that was his threshold as well. with each glass thrown back, he had shifted closer and closer to you. his eyes trailed down your figure more times than you could count. shamelessly. while neither of you dared the waves between the two of you, the current had been pulling you to one another for years. neither denial nor acceptance.

“do you want me as badly as i want you?” he gathered any sobriety left in him and questioned you, “because as striking as you are in that dress i wouldn’t mind taking it off.”

nikolai lantsov could have been telling you one of his most elaborate lies, and it would not have mattered in the slightest. after sitting through a long night of speeches and passing through mindless congratulations, anything would seem more appealing. however, the golden boy in front of you did not require any of those excuses to be utterly intoxicating.

you could no longer be patient. he tasted like kvas and whatever you had both taken several shots of. it was shared between the two of you now, tongues intermingling in the warmth of each other’s mouths. the rush that started in your head worked into a distinct want at your core.

everything he touched turned to liquid gold, fire melting all of your fine edges to be molded by his hands. once his fingers trailed across your jaw they separated, one hand tangling in your hair and the other skating the curve of your spine. he pressed deeper into you, forcing you to nearly climb on top of him on the floor before he pulled you upright.

when you ran out of skin to attach your lips to, you brought an unsteady hand to his collar. his fingers left their place caught up in your hair and swiftly grasped your wrist before dropping it as a warning. he made an attempt to bring his hands down to the hem of his button down before you used his own ploy against him and smacked it away.

“you made me wait this long,” you breathed out, shaking with pleasure, “let me enjoy this, prince perfect.”

recognizing your admission as an action of teasing and not discomfort, he quickly replied, “we’ll have plenty of time for that later, baby.”

the sly drop of the affectionate bookend to his words did not go unnoticed. as if you were not already putty in his hands, you let him slip his hands into yours and guide them down to his waist. together, you brought his shirt over his head. his body instantly radiated heat inside of the cramped kitchen corner. following his lead, you planted his hand firmly on your shoulder, helping him push aside the sleeve of your kefta and slender strap of your gown.

“see,” his tongue glossed over your collarbones and his teeth lightly grazed your skin, “isn’t this much better?”

you stomped on his foot before throwing a look over your shoulder. eyeing the empty counter, you hopped backwards onto the surface and greedily reached out for nikolai. despite his teasing, he readily accepted your offer and closed the space you had made between the two of you. almost immediately, he made quick work of reaching behind you and undoing the back of your dress. you arched your back to aid him, cursing under your breath at just how skilled he was.

once the jeweled top was pushed down your chest and pooled around your waist, he brought a hand back to your chest. his mouth quickly followed. you gripped his shoulder, the other finding any part of his waist to claim. you felt his muscles tense and then react under your palm.

you wanted him. you wanted this. and fortunately, you had quite the reputation of getting what you wanted.

everything inside of you ached to be touched by nikolai. you felt the incessant need of developing him as a habit. as soon as the thought of the inevitable consequences of your best friend pressing your knees apart entered your head, you quickly banished it.

he was a picture. his hair had started to splay across and stick to his forehead. you pushed his curls back, locking on his eyes as blue as the seas. you trailed your hand down to trail your thumb across his lips before taking his neck to bring his lips to yours. at first, it was drawn out and warm. his tongue explored your mouth thoroughly. then, it was sparks as you quickly and greedily kissed a new part of his lips each second.

you gasped at his sudden touch under your skirt. pleasure pooled downward while his fingers fought upward. it was an explosion of anticipation in your stomach as he lowered himself to a knee, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. you steadied yourself on the top of the cabinets, the feeling of falling building in your core.

“i-,” you fought back a premature moan as you squirmed on the counter, “i think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

he kissed up your calf, following after his fingers and responded without looking up, “i live to please.”

you shivered at the sensation of his lips on your skin. suddenly and without warning, there was so much more. you squeezed his shoulder, breaths getting more shallow with each passing second. dropping his fingers, he quickly returned to attend to the bundle of nerves with his mouth. his tongue swirled in circles, once again dizzying you.

“mhm,” you struggled to find words, “saints, nikolai.”

his name on your lips nearly drove him over the edge. he kept a hand situated on your inner thigh but greedily wrapped the other around the back of your head. you all but encouraged his haste, dropping your leg from his shoulder and hooking it around one of his. you rolled your hips into his, drawing him closer than ever before.

you studied the lines of his body with your hands, committing each muscle to memory. you indulged in the hands on activity. his hand rubbing up your leg did not help slow your heart rate, which you are entirely sure you did not want, either way. you littered his chest and stomach with marks from your lips.

“i leave next week for my service.”

your lips dropped from his neck. the absence of heat and the distinct thud of his pulse pounding in between kisses could not compare to the plummet of your heart into your stomach. suddenly, you felt the effects of the last hour’s consumption all at once.

you swallowed hard, fighting to keep down the alcohol. running your tongue quickly over your lips, you took advantage of the second it gave you to study the boy’s face in front of you. his eyes avoided yours at all costs, making it all the more difficult to read his emotions.

his lips were swollen. cheeks painted with the hues of a rosy sunset. you wanted to know what shade of blue his eyes appeared to be now, but he still would not look at you.

deciding to blame it on the inebriation, you allowed your next statement to go unfiltered, “so that’s it,” you hiccuped, “i was just going to be a way to get your mind off of that, huh?”

the impending breakdown of years of friendship turned your stomach in an unpleasant way. you muttered a curse or three under your breath as you gathered the layers of your now wrinkled skirt in your hands, moving to stand up unsteadily. the movement forced his hand off of your inner thigh. he kept his other around the curve of your waist, fingers tapping a nervous pattern. you moved to push those off, as well, but he gripped your hip bone.

“don’t,” he said easily, attempting a sultry confidence but his seduction had worn off.

a different kind of want pooled in the seas of his eyes. it was no longer desire but desperation. you were sure yours were a mirror image.

“don’t make it too hard for me to let you go,” you stumbled, “don’t leave me,” your words bubbled over drunken and quivering lips.

nikolai bit into his lip at the sight of your tears. it might have been painful but it was a superficial, barely skimming the surface kind of hurt. the sight of your eyes welling up and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest ran much deeper. he felt like a blade was slowly slicing himself in two jagged and incomplete pieces.

his breath skipped in his throat and he fumbled for his words just as much as he did your hands, “i-you,” he was not sure if it was smart to say all that he really wanted to but it was true, “come with me.”

you looked up at him, daring to hope that you could find truth in his eyes. composing yourself by clearing your throat, you ran a hand through your hair, “you know i can’t.”

he was quick with his retort, “but you’ve graduated now! i could surely convince my father of the need for such protection.”

as much as your heart drew to his, like it was made to match the opposing pole of his the magnet embedded in his own, you could not agree with him, “nikolai as much as i appreciate the offer,” you ignored the way his smile dropped for the sake of your own ability to continue, “what life would that give me? one where i rely on you to give orders so that i can be by your side?”

“i need you by my side.”

“but will you be on mine?”

maybe you did not know how to live without nikolai. you tried to stumble away from him but you barely made it a step before you started to slip. right as his hand went to steady you, you finally let the tears fall. they were wicked and raw and unforgiving.

suddenly, your head was pounding and the remaining layers of your dress seemed to suffocate you. you had nearly slept with your best friend and now, he was leaving. you fought the thoughts telling you—screaming at you—that he only did this now and not years before because he was leaving. he would not have to do damage control on your heart or the relationship once shared between the two of you.

“i’ve got to go,” you sniffed, pulling up your dress and wiping away both tears and shame from your eyes, “zoya will be worried.”

she would not be. in fact, your best friend had covered for your outings with nikolai on multiple occasions and knew to expect you late. what would really worry her—if she even possessed such capabilities of expressing this incredibly human emotion—would be the state you returned in, one you never got in after visiting nikolai.

“please,” nikolai begged, “i know that you could go anywhere. maybe at first you wouldn’t fit in but you’re the puzzle piece nobody even knows they’re missing yet,” his words gave you pause, “i know you hate being thought of as anything but your own person, of being a soldier in a royal’s world, a woman in a man’s,” he continued with a deep breath, “but i need you to complete me. please, let me live in your world.”

you wanted everything that he spoke of but his words started to fade away. your thoughts were too loud and overpowering. they demanded an audience. it was hard to get out of your own head but you could not let nikolai distract you.

“it would never work,” you sighed dismally, “we would never work.”

“let me try,” nikolai pleaded, turning your hands over in his and sounding so young despite the heavy topic.

“i can’t take you away from your service,” you disallowed with a shake of your head, “from your travels, nikolai. i know you want all of that—,”

“i want you.”

“but you don’t need me.”

“maybe that’s true,” nikolai relented with a unique fervor in his eyes, “maybe i don’t need to be in love with you but i want to.”

you had been speechless on only a few occasions. you always had words or could be sure to find some. it was something nikolai appreciated and an annoyance for zoya.

nikolai wanted to be in love with. you reminded yourself that this admission did not mean that he was, simply that he wanted to be. you wanted to be a lot of things and they had certainly not come to fruition. he was a fool for deeming it even probable—not in the world you both inhabited, the very different roles you played.

you stole a tear from his cheek with your thumb, “i need my best friend, nikolai,” you nearly choked on your words, “i need to love you in that way, understand?”

his frown deepened. you could tell he was fighting it. everything. you managed a smile because you expected him to do this. he could learn to fly with broken wings if he wanted to, if he needed to.

you took his jaw in your hands, delicately murmuring for only him to hear, “you are so good and i am so proud of you. don’t think that i will not be your fiercest protector wherever i am.”

nothing could exist forever. for this one moment, you wanted it to be. you wanted to allow him to hold you, to kiss you, to carry you. you knew he would do all of it and more. but, you could not submit him to that.

“i love you,” he breathed out with whatever air he could conjure. his forehead rested against your own and his thumbs swirled color into your cheeks.

“i love you back,” you whispered for your best friend, your pocket merlin, jack of all trades, your person.

you tried to close the door, but he had jammed his foot in it stubbornly. you could not find it in you to slam it shut on him. you could not hurt him. so, you left it cracked. you would turn the lights off but take every ray of his light that slipped through the cracks.

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #rule of wolves #ruin and rising #siege and storm #sab netflix #sab fic #sab fanfic #sab fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fluff

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melancholymetropolis · 3 years

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Skin

Summary: Business Man Todoroki has been unconsciously neglecting his wife, due to his enormous workload. So, she decides to surprise him at home office.

A/N: Thank you guys for all the love you shared on my first piece! I didn't expect so many people to be so into it! If you want to commission me for a story, click here!

Warnings: This is pure filth with a dash of fluff at the end. Maybe, angst, if you squint. Reader is, also, plus sized! Shoto is a cocky little bastard, but a total simp for his wife.

Pairings: AgedUp!Todoroki Shoto x Black!Reader

As I grabbed my bonnet off the nightstand, my eyes caught a glimpse of the clock. 12:34 AM. I sighed and looked at the neatly made bed. My husband was supposed to be on the other side, pulling back the sheet and climbing in along with me. But, like most days, he was still in his study, waist-deep in work. Frustrated, I walked to the closet and took a long look at the present I had picked up earlier that day. I was supposed to wear it the following day since he had claimed I would have his undivided attention this weekend. However, my patience had been wearing thin and I was seconds away from throwing myself at him in my birthday suit. Knowing Todoroki, he would’ve found it by the morning anyway and ruined the surprise.

Before I could change my mind, I stripped out of my oversize cotton shirt and underwear. I threw the items in the hamper and unhooked the lingerie from the hanger. I slipped my legs into the lace cheekies and snapped the garter belt around my waist. After I shimmied into the strapless bustier, I rolled the thigh high stockings onto my legs and clipped the garter belt onto them. I tossed the bonnet on the bed and untied my boxed braids from its messy bun. I slipped my feet in the marabou lined heeled slippers and shrugged on the matching black, silk robe. I rolled on my homemade Love Potion scented oil and fluffed my eyelashes with mascara. I added a little bit of sparkling lip gloss and headed out of the room.

On the way to the study, I had tried to convince myself that what I had done was incredibly stupid and childish. But, I simply debunked that statement with “YOLO” and continued on my journey. The door to the study had been partly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Todoroki typing away on the laptop as if there had been no tomorrow. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little more. I knocked twice on the frame and waited for him to look up. He didn’t.

“I promise I am almost done, I just need to type this last statement and I will join you in bed,” his eyes were glued to the computer. “Just five more minutes.”

I looked down at my rose embroidered bustier and back at him.

Should I just wait until he finished? He did say it wouldn’t be that long.

“Okay, darling?” he quickly shot a look over to me, before resuming his work on the computer. Suddenly, Todoroki stopped typing and stared at me. His mismatch eyes washed over me ever so slowly, taking in every detail. He took his sweet time to meet my eyes again and a smirk fell on his lips. “Lock the door.”

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. I turned the lock to the left and looked back at him. The laptop had disappeared, along with the papers from on top of the desk. Todoroki loosened his tie and pulled it from his neck. He pushed his body away from the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair.

“Come here,” his voice dropped an octave as his eyes darkened.

I squared my shoulders and lifted my head. I stared directly at him as I took small steps toward the desk. I brushed my hands along the outside ridge before I walked in between his legs. I scooted my rear on the empty space on the desk.

The Japanese man closed the distance between us and looked up at me. His fingers glided down the base of my thigh before wrapping around my heeled foot. Todoroki slipped the shoe from my foot and dropped it on the floor. He repeated the action with my other foot. His long fingers kneaded the stocking covered skin on my thigh.

“I don't know if I should be pleased by this action or angered by it," his smooth voice dressed my ears.

Todoroki had a way to speak with such authority and pose that it infuriated me. When he wanted to, he could switch on an Alpha persona and command my undivided attention. His voice would get deeper, huskier, and, when he spoke, it sounded as though it vibrated in my earlobes. The feather-like touches on my skin shot electricity through my skin as his gentle humming gave me goosebumps. Todoroki was well aware of how sexually attracted I was of him and would use these tactics against me. Sometimes even in public. The amount of underwear I ruined because of this was laughable. But he didn’t care since it meant that he would see me in new lingerie every so often.

“Why would you be angered by this, baby?” I asked shyly.

Todoroki opened my thighs just a tab bit wider and scooted his chair closer. “Because I know—” he undid the knot on the belt of the rob. “I am gonna have to explain—” the silk slipped from my shoulders and fell on the desk. “Why my report is missing—,” Todoroki sat my heels on the arms of his chair and pulled my pelvis to the edge of the desk. “In the morning,” his hand kneaded the soft skin between my thighs. His fingers inched closer to my lace-covered womanhood and his eyes flickered to mine. The Japanese man placed his thumb on the moist area and drew small circles upon it. I took my bottom lip in between my teeth and nibbled on it. The skilled muscle slid to the top of my vulva and found the throbbing, sensitive bud. Todoroki drew bigger circles on that spot and my mouth fell open graciously.

With a smirk on his lips, he mimicked my facial expression. “There we go. That’s the face I want,” he said as he leaned closer. “You like that, princess?”

“Mhm!” I hummed with a nod. I leaned backward on my hands and let my head fall back.

Pushing my legs further apart, Todoroki rose from his seat. His lips left hot kisses from my navel and up my bustier. His tongue slid up my cleavage to my collarbones. My husband sucked the skin on the crook of my neck tenderly, before nibbling the skin on my neck. The bites increased until he reached my jaw. With one hand still on the sensitive bud, he found my lips. Leaning on my left hand, I laced my fingers in his hair and gave it a slight tug. I opened my mouth, greedily taking his tongue in my mouth. Todoroki flicked his thumb faster. My moans increased to desperate pants. I pulled my lips away and rested my forehead against his. I looked in his eyes as I whimpered under his touch. My legs began to shake slightly as my walls clenched against themselves. The seat of the cheekies was drenched in my arousal and clung to my vulva. My husband moved the digit faster and tingles ran through my body. My toes curled tightly as my pants became louder. I squeezed the root of his hair tighter; I never broke eye contact with him.

Todoroki smirked deviously and removed his finger from the bud.

“Why did you stop?” I whined with a frown.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. “Because if I don’t bury myself in that sweet cunt soon, I’m afraid I'll burst,” Todoroki said as he unbuckled his belt.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I replied with a tired giggle.

Todoroki pulled his trousers and boxers down in one go. His member sprang free and bobbed a little. My walls clenched in anticipation. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the side. My husband looked down at my clothed core with the same anticipation I had. He unclipped the garter belt from my thigh highs and gripped the edge of underwear. He gently pulled the fabric from my hips and down my legs. Todoroki tossed the panties to the side and placed my legs back in their original position. He rubbed the tip of his member from my bud to my core before sinking himself into me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled with a low moan. The familiar sensation of him stretching my walls was always such a turn on.

His mouth fell open and a groan poured from his mouth. “Fuck...”

I slowly rocked myself against his hips, hinting that I was ready for him.

Todoroki started off with deep, long strokes. Savoring every moment of the transaction. Quiet moans left my mouth. The stimulation from earlier still stirring the depths of my being. The pleasure in my body had been reaching its limit and I knew my husband was nowhere near done.

Bored with that position, Todoroki leaned back just a bit to lift my legs from the desk and rest them on his biceps. He gripped the edge of the surface I was on and began ramming himself into me. The breath in my lungs had gotten stuck in my throat and I forgot to breathe.

“Oh. . . shit . . .” My mouth formed a large ‘o’ shape and my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“There’s the face I want,” he said cockily.

I leaned back on my hands and threw my head back. “ So. . . good. . .” I grunted as I bucked my hips to meet his.

“Look at my naughty, naughty wife,” Todoroki mused lowly. “Desperately. . . ready to become undone.”

“Ugh~~~,” tingles began to flood my body. Stars flashed behind my eyelids as my legs began to shake again yet again.

Todoroki lifted my legs higher until they reached his shoulders. He continued his steady, but deep pace. His long, ebony locks began to cling to his forehead. Eyes drilling holes into my body. Todoroki slid his hands along the desk and gripped the edge near my shoulders. His member pushed deeper into my, brushing my cervix tenderly. My back slowly fell against the desk, and, to avoid an injury, Todoroki supported my neck with his hand. With hooded eyes, I looked up at him.

“I love you . . . so much,” I whispered as my toes curled tightly.

“I know,” he said with a wide smile. “I love you, too.”

The tingling stopped and a chill ran through my body. My back arched into his abdomen as my eyes rolled back. My mouth stretched open and hips pulsed against his. My nails dug into the wood of the desk. An elongated groan left my lips and I saw white. Todoroki continued to stroke in and out of the smooth canal, chasing his own finish. That actually, ultimately, further stimulated the sensitive area and elongated my climax.

"Oh. . . My. . . GOD!" The whimper increased to high pitched shrieks.

Todoroki drops one of my legs from his shoulder and hooks it around his waist. He tucked his arm through space my arched back made against the desk. He lifted my back from the surface, digging the bones from the bustier into my back. With my lifted leg in the air, I used my right hand to grip his shoulder as I lean forward, My left hamstring tingled a little at the position, but I pushed through it.

“Thank God for Yoga,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh shut up— shit!” Todoroki resumed his deadly rhythm in the middle of my sentence.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” he replied between pants.

The potency of that new position had been lethal; each stroke caused his abdomen to briefly brush against my sensitive bud. The overstimulation caused my legs to shake violently, after a short while. A build-up of pressure found its way in my lower belly and gave off a warm sensation. I dug my nails into my husband’s shoulder and threw my head back. Incoherent words left my tongue, as water gushed from my core and onto the silk garment beneath me. Todoroki’ stroke came to an abrupt pause and a silent scream left his lips. With closed eyes, he gripped the edge of the desk tightly and pushed himself in me one more time before oozing into me. He caught his breath and ran a hand through his hair. A shallow laugh left his mouth as he pried his eyes open. Todoroki lowered my leg from his shoulder and rested a hand on my neck. Thumb on my cheek, my husband lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a passionate kiss.

I hooked my arms underneath his and placed my fingers in his hair. With his other hand flat against my lower back, he arched my body into his and deepened the kiss. He moaned against my lips.

I pulled away from the embrace and chuckled, “You never took off the bustier.”

“I didn’t want to break it,” he gave my lips a small peck. “I actually liked this one.”

“Oh. really?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t like the pink one?”

“I mean, it was nice,” Todoroki kissed along my jawline. “But, it is something about you in black. It does things to me.” He nipped the sweet spot on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Noted,” I replied with a groan.

“But, it really doesn’t matter what you wear,” Todoroki kissed his way up my neck and raised his head to meet my eyes, “You could wear a garbage bag and I’d still rise for you.”

“Garbage bags are black, honey,” I concluded with a cheerful glint in my eyes.

“Oh, you’re right,” Todoroki said with a laugh. After a few seconds, he paused his laughter. “I just remembered. . . I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You know I hate surprises,” I groaned.

“But, you’re gonna like this one,” Todoroki untangled our limbs and pulled away from me. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed them to me.

“Plane tickets to. . . the Netherlands,” I read aloud.

“A two-week romantic getaway,” he declared with a nod. “I have been promising you quality time for a while now, so I decided to take off of work for a little while.”

“Looks like I gotta buy some more lingerie, huh?” I questioned with a grin.

“A whole lot more,” my husband said before pulling me in for another kiss.

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cuppajj · 2 years

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Riverside

Birdformers AU by @dimorphodon-x (thank you for the lovely au! <3)

After a grisly fight that ended with him being swept away by violent water, Drillburst struggles to stay awake as he fights for the remaining life he still has.

[TW for blood/gore!]

He hacked, then gasped, the liquid seeping past his lips in a sickly mixture of blood and water. Everything stung and seared in excruciating pain, rendering the slightest move unbearable; yet he had to move. He had to keep moving, or else the roaring water would reach up and swallow him whole once more.

He could only move his arms, which dragged him up over the scraping sand and gravel. They were scuffed horribly, talon marks and cuts threatening to ooze blood beneath his feathers—and they were the only ones that weren’t as deep as the wounds that painted his legs.

A trail of red streaked behind his crippled form, like a river of its own seeping back into the violent water. There was a certain numbness in his lower body that only extreme pain could bring, caused by something so egregiously horrible that his nerves refused to acknowledge anything ever happened.

He wished he could forget, too.

The way the stark blue feathers glinted dangerously against the moonlight, the piercing red eyes that burned past his own and into his soul, the way his wings flared above him, a statement that he owned the deadly sky…

It was still fresh in Drillburst’s head, even when he tried to avoid thinking about it. Fresh as the cuts and the blood that leaked from him in droves. And like them, he couldn’t ignore it either.

Hot red liquid seeped from the gash over his left eye, collecting at his chin and dripping to the dirt below. He dug his dull, trembling talons as deep and hard as he could despite it, despite only one eye staying open. His heart rattled in its cage even more as a result, knowing that it meant a loss of perception and thus a delay in reaction time; if anything, or anyone, were to find him.

Dropped from such a high place by that scourge… if he were to come searching for him now, there was no way he’d live beyond another minute.

As it had done time and time again, Drillburst’s mind pushed the thought away from him as much as he could, until it would inevitably bounce back moments later.

He didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to think about it, about him. He didn’t want to think about how his body stung and ached as he dragged himself, or how cries of pain mixed in with his gasps and coughs. He didn’t want to think about the blood that painted the sand, then gravel, then dirt, then grass…

He didn’t want to think that this could be it.

The river was a ways away from him, when the birdformer finally rolled over and collapsed. The green blades surrounded him, nibbling at his wounds as they swayed under the gloomy night sky.

His wings were broken, his limbs were mangled, his left eye was soaked in red… and finally, his body could no longer carry on. With choked, gurgling breaths, he surrendered to his fate.

He observed the moon above him, and the clouds that periodically rolled in to cover it. He had always been enamored by the night, and envious of other birdformers who could take to such great heights. He’d always wished to fly himself.

Perhaps he did, when those merciless talons picked him up and carried him high into the air, as he kicked and screamed beneath a sea of blue. Maybe he was meant to get his wish at the very end of his life, as a final gift from the universe. He just wished he could’ve done it, without looking death directly in his ruby eye.

He’d heard flightless birdformers had higher mortality rates, since they couldn’t take shelter in the sky. They were left to the mercy of humans, poachers, hazardous terrain, wild beasts, and of course, other birdformers; all eager to get their claws on rare, vulnerable feathers. Here he was, another tally to the count.

A tear pricked at his unscathed eye, as he waited.

Truthfully, he didn’t want this to be the end. After being tossed around, beaten up, scavenging and starving and struggling, being chewed up and spat out many times, this was how he went out? Dropped from an incredible height and spared by the water, only to bleed out at its shores? If nature had given him a second chance in the form of the rushing water, then he had repaid it ungratefully.

He wished he was back home, in his underground roost, with all of the herbs he’d been farming, and the local woodland animals that passed by the hole each night. Where he’d rest during the sunlight hours, save for when his plants needed care, and climb the tallest trees at night to sing as the moon rose. Back when, for brief moments at a time, he was at peace.

Drillburst closed his eyes. A tear streaked down one cheek, a bead of blood down the other.

Now, everything was a haze. He couldn’t see anything, only feel the ground beneath him, and the sound of the water, the wind…

…a flute.

A flute?

Just within Drillburst’s earshot, he could hear something approaching. The brush rustled softly, and a gust blew gently through his bloodstained feathers. With it was a low, faint melody, fading in and out as if the music was a ghost. It was slow, yet beautiful, and carried with it the scent of flora…

…someone was coming, but Drillburst couldn’t bring his mind to celebrate. Something about what he heard lulled his mind to the edge of consciousness, as every tense muscle in his body began to relax… and as he opened his eyes, he felt the presence of someone else.

They stepped softly toward him, from his right, playing the final notes of their tune before parting the woodwind from their lips. Curious yellow-red eyes met the limp green kakapo, eclipsing the moon above them.

Drillburst could faintly make out who they were, as they stood up and stepped past him, undisturbed by the blood beneath their talons. They looked almost angelic, with their silver and blue feathers and puffy white wings… but what were they doing? Why were they leaving him?

The figure stopped, and turned back to look at him. They could see how confused, heartbroken, and scared he was, in his weary eyes. They smiled warmly at him, reaching behind them to pluck a flower from their basket. The green birdformer struggled to register what was happening, as they placed their lone flower over his chest.

Then, like passing wind, the stranger brought the flute back to his lips and began to play once more, as he waltzed slowly into the woods parallel to the shoreline. The melody, the aroma, and the noise all disappeared.

He wanted to ask why, but his words fell short every time he tried.

Minutes passed.

Motionless, relaxed, thoughts slurred and unintelligible, Drillburst finally felt his body give. There, by the river, at the end of a stream of red, laid a limp soul that could no longer go on. At the mercy of the wild, he slowly bled out; as the sound of beating wings gradually approached him. One, then two, then multiple shadows surrounded his form, concerned and indiscernible murmurs slipping from parting lips; and as the moon, stars, clouds, and trees disappeared into the blackness of his sleep, Drillburst let out a final gasp, before his eyes rolled into his head.

#writing #drillburst #Xenophin #birdformers au #maccadam #transformers #cjj ocs

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wolveria · 3 years

Text

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #detroit: become human #human!connor #android!reader #dbh au big bang #my writing #my fanfiction #inside your wires #i make connor suffer but he's gonna be hard about it

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blahkugo · 4 years

Text

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer.

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return.

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower.

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you?

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth.

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat.

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly,

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies.

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of–

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all.

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap.

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little?

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule.

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.”

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment.

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights?

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you.

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste.

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs.

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer.

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?”

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle.

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea.

This time, you don’t cough.

“‘Atta girl.”

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters.

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat.

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him.

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it.

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm?

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand.

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you.

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view.

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance.

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself.

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body.

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining.

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest.

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.”

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders.

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car.

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one.

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind.

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish.

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him.

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do.

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?”

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain.

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.”

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together.

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin.

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him.

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors.

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste.

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now.

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips.

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace.

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion.

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home.

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold.

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks.

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away.

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in.

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with.

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud.

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit.

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.”

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh.

“Fuck, Teru I–” Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high.

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out,

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.”

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past.

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal.

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick.

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful.

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure.

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him.

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain.

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you.

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay.

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?”

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight.

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside.

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy.

He won’t even meet your eyes.

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one.

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious.

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see.

You walk back home in silence.

#haikyuu fic #haikyuu #terushima yuuji #terushima smut #terushima yuuji x reader #tw dubcon #tw manipulation #tw drugs #tw weed #tw alcohol #tw virginity #tw degradation #tw exhibitionism #tw daddy kink #tw noncon

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geisterwrites · 3 years

Text

Curled in your arms

Rating: T

Wordcount: 990

Pairing: Xiao/Venti/Albedo/Aether

Lately Aether can’t remember a day he would wake up without anyone’s hand in his face. Usually, it’s Venti’s. No - it’s always Venti’s. Just like right now. Except it’s not a hand, but a whole arm.

Venti is half-curled around his head, snoring into his hair. His arm is draped over Aether’s face, fingertips tickling at his ear and it’s a miracle Aether hasn’t suffocated yet, because he can barely see and even less breathe. Another heavy weight rests on his chest. Aether pats up the limb and is not surprised when Venti huffs into his hair. Nor when the leg jerks and Venti kicks him into the side. Not surprising, but also not welcome.

If Venti would be a bit more like his other bed companions! But no matter how many times he wishes for that, he can’t really change that about Venti. Because Venti is loud, constantly moving and taking up entirely too much space when he is awake and there is no way that would be different when he is asleep.

Aether pushes the offending arm higher onto his forehead and sees Albedo on his other side. Today as well, Albedo sleeps silent like a rock. He always wakes up almost in the same position he falls asleep in and sometimes it freaks Aether out a little. But it’s just like when he sits for hours and hours and hours hunched over his research until Aether reminds himself he shouldn’t just watch that handsome profile and by curiosity lit up eyes, and reminds Albedo to take a break. Right now he has one arm bent to pillow his head, which lies close to Aether’s shoulder. The other hand is placed on Aether’s hip, fingers splayed towards his abdomen. Aether reaches out, careful to avoid another kick, and strokes along the familiar vein up the back of Albedo’s hand. The breath warming his shoulder hitches and soon enough he is looking into intense eyes.

“Morning,” Aether whispers and melts at the soft smile Albedo gives him. He presses a quick, wet kiss into Aether’s shoulder and lodges his fingers into the spaces between Aether’s. “I see you are in the clutches of our resident octopus again.” Aether shrugs, as best as he can, caged between bodies as he is, with the threat of another kick still looming over his ribs. His brows furrow and lips curl into a desperate smile. He is pretty helpless against said octopus and though Venti spares none of them - Aether recalls that one time Venti was sprawled over Albedo’s back and head in such a way, Aether was concerned he had been crushed - lately he had been the target of Venti’s nightly escapades more often than not.

Aether turns his head back to the offender and finds also the last of them. Well, most of him is hidden behind Venti, but there is an arm curving along slim waist, knuckles brushing against Aether’s side with every breath. Xiao is a light sleeper, quite often spending most of the night awake and catching little naps here and there during the day. By the way his fingers move, he must be awake now too. Aether dislodges his arm from between himself and Albedo and presses his fingertips against Xiao’s fingers. They twitch; once, twice, and a sleepy bed-head emerges. Oh, so maybe he was asleep.

Xiao looks confused at first, like he has no idea where he is, typical for him after he wakes up from anything that lasted longer than half an hour. Slowly, he clears his eyes by blinking a few times. Aether’s chest swells at seeing him sleepy and unguarded like this. He watches his eyes wander towards the window and his own follow.

The light spilling in is still grayish, more night than day, way way too early to be up, let alone get up.

“Early.” With a grunt and within a second, Xiao’s head disappears behind Venti again. He clutches his arm tighter around Venti’s middle, waking him up in the process, making him squawk. Aether hisses - that was the second kick he was trying so hard to avoid. His ribs will be sore for the rest of the day.

Fingers run through his hair and he looks up at Venti.

“Morning you two.” Venti mumbles. He looks like a cat that’s been jostled out of its nap. Sleepy, yes, but completely different than Xiao had. His eyes are more closed than open, his brows scrunched and his mouth stretches into a yawn. He looks like he is not aware his fingers are carding through Aether’s hair.

Venti is the one of them who can sleep the longest, occupying the whole bed long after everyone else is gone. But watching his lids fall down a few times before he forcefully pries them open, Aether decides that yes, Xiao is right - it is way too early.

“Maybe it isn’t morning just yet.” He grabs Albedo’s wrist and pulls him along as he turns onto his side. Venti wraps his legs around his waist, the same way Aether’s arms wrap around his, hands finding their place on Xiao’s belly. Albedo presses into his back, thumb caressing over Venti’s hipbone. And then there is Xiao’s hand, fingers digging into his side as he pulls him closer, closer against Venti and it’s so, so warm, almost scorching. Aether pillows his head on Venti’s chest, smiling as it rumbles, because of course Venti is already snoring away. Feeling warm inside out, Aether closes his eyes to catch a few more hours of sleep.

Venti is the heaviest clinger of them, sure, but truth it be, all of them love this tight, warm pile. What better would there be than falling asleep with one’s boyfriends like this? Nothing. And nothing Aether would give it up for. Even if with three people, it sometimes, both at day and night, can be really difficult to catch a breath.

#genshin impact #xiaoven #xiaobedo #xiaother #albether #xiaovenbedother #venther

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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 7: Young at Heart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Teen / Death!Dean & Human!Cas / Destiel / 5,073 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

It was a snowy evening in the heart of winter when Death roamed the streets of Chicago. You wouldn’t have known him from any other young man, bundled as he was in a worn leather jacket, jeans and boots but there was a certain static about him that made other pedestrians give him a wide berth. He was headed to the fire station on the corner of Hope and Clairmont, humming a Billy Joel song as he avoided slush piles and other humans alike.

He posted up against a telephone pole, making sure to breathe so any passers-by would note the cloud of air passing his lips on every exhale and assure themselves that he was human. It was the least he could do. He checked his watch, an old Timex with a cracked face, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Any minute now.

Across the street, a young girl hurried into view from around the corner, her arms full of a bundle. She looked up at the sign over the fire station door, looked down at her bundle, and swallowed hard. A tiny arm rose from the bundle, naked and red. The girl took it and tucked it back inside the blanket. She sniffled, setting the bundle gingerly down on the top step before backing away slowly. One step, then another her eyes remaining on the pile of blankets before her face crumpled and she turned to run, a dry sob echoing down the empty street.

Death pushed off the telephone pole and made his way leisurely across the street. The baby had started to cry, cold now without its mother to hold it and keep its limbs covered. Death looked down at it, feeling its little heartbeat slow. He crouched down, breathing directly onto the child, and knew he was likely making its final moments worse, a wretched thing like him, even if he was trying to provide a little warmth.

Then something unexpected happened. The baby quieted and bright blue eyes opened, holding Death captive in an intense stare. Death couldn’t feel things, he mused, but if it could, surely it would have been charmed by the babe who instead of recoiling from its impending end, raised a hand toward him, beckoning.

Death raised a cautious hand, one finger hooking in that tiny fist and he was surprised at how strong it was, despite the hypothermia. The child held his gaze still, just looking not pleading or frozen in horror and Death glanced at his watch again, noting the time. He looked up at the firehouse door, the sound of laughter dulled by the heavy metal. If only the girl had knocked before she ran. Death looked back to the child, its ethereal stare snagging his again.

Death raised his hand and knocked.

Inside the firehouse, a number of men made an uneasy circle around the strange man holding a bundled infant. Death hadn’t meant to stay but since he’d already gone and messed with the strings of Fate he figured he might as well assure that the child was taken care of.

“You found him on our stoop?”

“Yeah, you know, I figured some poor kid musta left him. Safe harbor and all.”

Death looked around then down at the babe who seemed to be transfixed by Death’s face. Death wondered what he saw, why he wasn’t scared. His little soul was a speck of shining light, strong and hearty though his body was frail with the beginnings of pneumonia settling in his lungs.

“Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”

Death blinked and the man recoiled slightly. “Well, he was left here, and don’t you have EMTs on staff.”

One of the men seemed to shake himself out of a stupor and stepped closer. He shivered as Death transferred the baby into his arms, the brush of his hand on Death’s coat giving him a sudden vision of fire and smoke and a strange sense of vertigo as if falling through the floor. He coughed, moving to lay the child on the table and it immediately started to cry. Death hovered closer moving into the child’s line of sight and it settled down though still made discontented noises as he was poked and prodded.

“Did you see who dropped him off? A firefighter asked and Death shrugged, hands back in his pockets.

“She was young. Hurried off before I could say anything.”

The firefighter narrowed his eyes but didn’t question it. “Did she say anything? Why she was dumping him? If he had a name?”

Death paused, looking down at the boy whose eyes were on him bright blue as all newborns are but there was an electricity in them. Death laid a gentle hand on the child’s head, feeling the soft down of hair, the fragile skull.

“No,” Death said finally. “But his name,” Death smiled and the child seemed to smile back. “Is Castiel.”

“Cas-tee-what?” One of the fire fighter’s whispered to another and Death turned towards him, causing both men to step back.

“Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.” Death’s thumb swiped across the child’s forehead. “The Angel of Solitude.”

Death was a busy man, lots to attend to and never in the same place for very long. He worked mostly with children, preferring to be the one to usher them to the other side but as time passed he found himself returning to one place over and over.

The child he saved had been adopted almost immediately by a couple who’d lost many children of their own. Death may have pulled a few strings with Fate but the outcome was ideal. Castiel grew up well-loved and cherished by a mother and a father who understood the great gift they’d been given. They even decided to keep his name, something that pleased Death immensely. If he gave the grandparents a few extra years because of it, well that was his business.

It was a windy day at the beginning of spring when Fate suddenly shifted and Death lighted down in Chicago once more. Castiel, climbing around on the jungle gym at the local park, his babysitter on the phone several yards away was forty-five minutes from an untimely end. Death hung back, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched the scene play out, an older man making his way over. Death eyed the babysitter as the man approached Castiel, holding a leash and collar.

“My dog got out of her leash! Can you help me find her?” The man said, his face drawn in grief but Death saw into his heart and his rage rumbled as thunder in the distance.

“Oh no!” Castiel exclaimed, jumping down and touching the leash in the man’s hand. “I’ll help you find her. I got a dog too. His name is Marshmallow.”

The man offered his hand and Castiel took it.

Death was there in an instant, one hand on the man’s shoulder. When the man looked up, his mouth opened in surprise and he gasped his last breath. Castiel cocked his head to the side at the man crumpled on the ground before he looked up at Death. Death could only stare back.

“What happened?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “He was a bad man. He wanted to take you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at the cooling body on the wood chips. “Is he going to be okay?”

Death fought a smile, eyes flicking to the reaper nearby before waving them away with the man’s wretched soul. “He’s gone to where he belongs.”

Castiel nodded and offered his hand. “Wanna swing with me?”

Death’s neck jerked in surprise but found himself carefully slotting his hand in the child’s and allowing himself to be lead off to the swing set.

“I’m Castiel. What’s your name?”

Death paused thinking back to a time when he had a name. “Dean, I think.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel looked up at him, his face dominated by large blue eyes. “Wait, you think? Don’t you know your own name?”

Death huffed. “Well, no one has used it in… a very long time.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel grabbed onto one chain of a swing and turned to sit in it. “It must be lonely, no one knowing your name.”

Death sat in the swing next to the boy and pursed his lips. “Maybe a little, but it’s not so bad. My work keeps me busy.”

Castiel kicked off with his feet and began pumping his legs, reaching higher. Death lifted his head to watch. “‘Daddy says ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ I asked him who Jack was.” Castiel let his feet drag along the ground, grinding to a halt and Death felt a smile quirk at his lips as the child’s head tipped to the side in confusion. “But he just laughed.” Castiel’s head righted itself. “Not at me though. Sometimes I’m funny and don’t realize it.”

Death surprised himself with a laugh, the sound carrying on the wind and making the group of people gathering around the corpse by the jungle gym shiver. The babysitter was still on the phone but the commotion was stealing her attention. Death turned to look at Castiel, rocking back and forth in his swing, his eyes on the horizon.

“Hey, just so you know, for next time, any stranger comes up to you asking you to go somewhere with them you kick em in the shin and scream your head off,” Death rested his palm atop the boy’s head and Castiel looked up at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “Capiche?”

Castiel gave a deep nod. “I capiche.” His eyes had found his babysitter who was now frantically searching for him. When her eyes landed on him, Death hid himself from her. “She looks really mad.”

“She’s just scared,” Death replied and Castiel looked over at him. “You wandered off and she didn’t know where you were.” And a guy dropped dead about six feet from where you were playing.

“Castiel!” The babysitter skidded to a halt in the gravel in front of Castiel’s swing, pulling him into her arms. “You scared me.” She picked him up, hooking him on her hip. “Come on we need to go.”

The child heaved a deep sigh as if resigned to his fate. “Okay.” He twisted in her arms, looking back at Death, and gave a small smile. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye kiddo.”

The babysitter was already starting to walk away and she snorted, looking over her shoulder then at Castiel. “Who are you talking to.”

“Dean. He’s my new friend.”

Death sat smiling until they were out of sight.

Castiel was eight when his dog Marshmallow was going into his fifteenth year. Death generally let the new recruits handle the animals but on a scorching summer day, he found himself standing at the gate of the big craftsman on the corner where Castiel lived. He looked up at the second-story window, the one he knew to be the young boy’s who was getting bigger every day.

They’d met many times over since that first encounter in the park and to Death’s surprise, Castiel always remembered him and knew him by name. Now seemed to be no exception, the front door opening to release Castiel into the world. His dark hair was an unruly swirl beneath the baseball cap he wore, his matching t-shirt proclaiming he played for the Mustangs, sponsored by Nally Ford.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile as he approached. Death smiled back but his eyes caught on the white ball of fluff that was attempting to make his way down the porch steps to follow the boy.

Death let himself in the gate, striding forward and they met halfway, Castiel looking up into Death’s face while Death peered down into his. There was no fear there, no anxiety. There never had been, a wonder Death never could truly comprehend. Marshmallow gave a low growl. Death glanced down at the old dog, barely any teeth left in his head but ready to bite at the smallest provocation. That was about right.

“Marshmallow. No.” Castiel looked down at the dog then back up into the face of Death. “He’s just grumpy because he doesn’t feel good.” Castiel watched as Death crouched down, hand reaching. The growl ceased as Death’s hand hovered over the dog’s head and Castiel squatted down to pet him, hands gentle around the old dog’s ears.

“Yeah, about that,” Death began softly. “This is going to be hard for you to understand, Cas, but Marshmallow is very old.” As he said it, the dog’s eyes sank closed. Castiel rubbed his ears.

“I know.”

Death swallowed hard, his hand moving to hover over the dog’s back and Marshmallow’s legs gave out, his body rolling to the side as he began to pant. Castiel rubbed his belly. “And when dogs get very old, well, they have to go.” Castiel looked up at him. “And when that happens, someone comes to get them.”

Castiel looked down at the dog who was panting, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. He ran his fingers through the curly white fur at his side. “Not the dog catcher…”

Death chuckled. “No, no not the dog catcher. Someone who helps them make the transition to their next journey.”

Castiel continued to play with Marshmallow’s fur. “Who?”

Death licked his lips, sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “They look like ordinary folks, sometimes you can see them, other times you can’t.”

“Like you?”

Death blinked and took a moment to marvel at the feeling of surprise, something he hadn’t felt in eons. “Yes, like me.”

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes steady but solemn. “You’re here to take him, aren’t you?”

Death swallowed hard, the sorrow in the boy’s voice cutting him deeper than tears ever could. “Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Castiel sniffled a bit as he looked down, petting down Marshmallow’s side. “You’ll look after him? Wherever you take him? He won’t be alone, right?”

Death placed a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and waited for a shiver that never came. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, of course, Cas.”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath and sat down on his butt, folding his legs so they butted up against Marshmallow’s legs. “Can I have just a few more minutes?”

Death glanced at his watch and nodded. They sat there, young boy and ancient entity as the dog’s breath became more shallow. Castiel dug his fingers into the thick curls of Marshmallow’s side and folded himself in half, pressing his face to its chest. The dog fussed attempted to lick at Castiel’s ball cap. Castiel breathed in deep and Death found himself doing the same, smelling cut grass, sweat and the musky odor of an animal nearing its end.

“It’s time, Cas,” Death murmured, his voice low and Castiel lifted his head, face tear-stained now, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He placed his hands on the dog’s side, looked up at Death, and nodded.

Death allowed the dog to sniff the back of his hand, accepting the feeble lick before he carded his hand through the curls at the top of his head. Castiel’s hands that had been rising and falling with the dog’s labored breath stopped. Death curled his hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there for the feeble soul to feel safe on its journey. His other hand when to the top of Castiel’s head.

“Go get your father. He’ll help you with the ritual.”

“Can’t you stay?” Castiel asked, blue eyes shining with unshed tears and if Death had a heart it would have broken.

“I’ve gotta get Marshmallow to where he belongs.” Dean knuckled away a tear that was making its way down Castiel’s cheek.

“Okay,” Castiel lowered his head, looking at the cooling body of his beloved pet. He looked back up. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Death was unprepared for the boy to wrap his arms around him in a tight squeeze before getting up and walking back towards the house.

Castiel was twenty when his fate changed again and Death nearly didn’t make it in time. In the back seat of a car, driving way too fast down a dark winding road, Death appeared next to him, his face striated in moonlight. Castiel jumped, his reflexes slower with the alcohol in his veins.

“Dean?”

“Cover your face, kid.” Death muttered as he braced his feet against the seat in front of him and threw out an arm.

When they hit the tree at 63 miles per hour Castiel’s body slammed into his arm and Death could feel the ribs break, felt the punctured lung as if it were his own. The driver was halfway through the windshield, another reaper already there to take him. Death waved them away as blood slowly filled Castiel’s lungs.

He coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, unable to get a full breath. His hand twisted in Death’s leather jacket, tugging, blue eyes wide and for the first time Death saw fear there. He couldn’t stand it. He reached past the headrest in front of him, touched the mangled face of the boy there and he immediately stopped breathing.

“You can’t do that!” A voice sharp from outside the car and Death nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned his head to look out the window and found the small blond woman standing there with her clipboard of names. “It’s the other boy’s time, Dean.”

Death glared out at her, throwing open the door. “You got your soul. Get out of here.”

“You reaped the wrong-“

“The hell I did,” Death yelled and every animal in the forest quieted, the wind through the trees died down.

The two of them watched as headlights appeared down the road, slowing when the driver saw the wreckage. Death and Fate stood side by side on the shoulder of the road as the good Samaritan talked to Castiel through the back window, promising him everything would be alright.

“He’ll make it.” Death heaved a sigh, hearing the sirens in the distance.

“Just barely,” Fate muttered, consulting her clipboard. “One of these days you’re going to run out of favors.”

Death turned to look at her. “Not any time soon.”

It was three days later in his half-empty dorm room that Castiel attempted to take his own life. Death arrived just as Castiel kicked the chair out of the way, his body falling with an extension cord wrapped tight around his neck right into Death’s arms. A quick flick of his pocket knife and Death had freed Castiel, laying him gently down on the floor as he coughed and sobbed.

“No! Take me! I want to die!” Castiel twisted onto his knees, grabbing onto Death’s legs and hugging them tightly. “Please. I can’t take it. The guilt, it’s too much!”

Death ran his fingers through Castiel’s unruly hair. “It’s not your time.”

“It was my time,” Castiel wiped at his face, fury in his eyes as he glared up at the ancient entity. “I heard you and that lady talking. She said you reaped the wrong one!”

“You hit your head pretty hard, kid.”

Castiel wiped at his face furiously, getting his trembling legs under him. “I know what you are. What you do.”

Death brought himself to his full height, leveling Castiel with his most pensive stare. “Do you?”

“I’ve always known,” Castiel spit. “And I never cared. You were always my…” Castiel trailed swallowing hard. “My friend. But this, I can’t take this Dean.”

“Why can’t you just be grateful,” Death huffed holding out his arms.

Castiel’s face went slack with shock. “You kill the man I love instead of me and I’m supposed to be grateful?”

Death’s mouth popped open, surprised again, that made twice in a single decade now. “Your… the man you loved? Wow, how did I miss that?”

“You miss a lot of things,” Castiel spit, his eyes hard.

Death rubbed his mouth. “When-“

“Since I was a child,” Castiel heaved a sigh. “Look don’t try to change the subject. I was dying already, Dean!” Castiel’s fists were clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you let me go? Why’d you have to take him? He was everything to me. How could you not know that?”

Death rubbed the back of his neck, “Life isn’t really under my purview, kid.”

“What about love then?” Castiel got right in his face, nose to nose, and Death stood stock still.

“I know it when I see it.”

“Then you must have been blind that night.” Castiel spun away, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this. Please. Take me.”

“No.”

“Why? Why not?”

“I told you. It’s not your time.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you have some weird obsession with me?” Castiel strode right up into what a human would call their personal space. “What is it about me huh? Why me? Why don’t you latch on to some other poor bastard?”

Death swallowed hard. “I can go if you’d like.”

Castiel let out a humorless laugh. “Stay. Go. What do I care?” He let himself fall onto his bed, face buried in his pillow while Death stood watch.

Death didn’t see much of Castiel after that or more like Castiel didn’t see much of him. He’d check in every now and then, saw him graduate college, move to the east coast, fall in love and get his heart broken only to fall in love again. Through it all Death stood watch, sometimes with Fate at his side, like at Castiel’s wedding.

“I could step in,” Fate murmured, an offer she wasn’t likely to make twice but Death shook his head, watching as Castiel beamed with happiness after kissing his husband.

It wasn’t long after that they met again in a hospital just north of Chicago. It was nearing midnight and no one was around. Castiel was sitting with his mother, his husband and father had gone home hours before but Castiel insisted on staying. Neither could understand why Castiel refused to leave her side but didn’t question it. Castiel was a good son who loved his mother very much.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said as Death hovered in the doorway. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I tried to wait for you to leave,” Death mumbled, looking down at his boots as he tapped his toe on the floor.

“Why?”

Death looked up and found Castiel’s head canted to the side, and he couldn’t help but smile. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms when we last spoke.”

Castiel looked down at his mother’s hand, so small and frail in his own. He cleared his throat. “You were right. I should have been grateful.”

“It was a callous thing to say when you were grieving.”

Castiel snorted. “That’s true.” He huffed a sigh. “But ultimately you were right. I didn’t love him. I didn’t know what love was then. Not that kind of love anyway.” Castiel ran his thumb over the thin blue veins of his mother’s hand. “How much longer does she have?”

Death checked his watch. “We’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Then sit.”

Death did, across the bed from Castiel and took in the changes, the strands of gray in his hair, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

“You know you look exactly the same as I remember you when I was four.”

Death grinned. “All that clean living.”

Castiel snorted, a grin pulling at his own lips before it faded. “You’ll take care of her?”

Death nodded. “Of course.”

Castiel squinted, opening his mouth then closing it again. Death heaved a sigh. “Go ahead. Ask whatever you want to ask me.”

Castiel’s cheeks bloomed a lovely pink that Death would see in every sunrise from that moment on. “How’s Marshmallow?”

Death blinked. “I give you one question to ask me whatever you want and you ask about your damn dog?”

Castiel frowned. “I loved that dog.”

Death rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Marshmallow is doing great. Has lots of doggy friends.”

A small smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Good. I hope Mom gets to see him.”

“I’ll make sure she does.”

“I’m ready.”

Death gave a small nod, waiting a beat to watch Castiel breath in steadily, his eyes on his mother’s face. Death reached forward, fingers brushing a white curl from her forehead before resting his palm there gently. One of the monitors began to scream. A nurse bustled in quickly, checking in and ultimately turning off the sound, standing by as the old woman took her last breaths. Death took her soul and cradled it to his chest.

“Take care of her,” Castiel whispered and Death gave him a solemn nod before he went on his way.

It wasn’t long after that Fate dealt Castiel another bad hand and Death had arrived to do his duty. Castiel’s husband laid prone on a hospice bed, his once strong body frail and hairless, ravaged by a disease Death hated almost more than he hated himself. Death came into the room unannounced, stood by Castiel’s side as silent tears ran down his face.

Death checked his watch.

“I can feel you.”

Death nearly fell over in shock. Third time in as many decades. Damn.

“Don’t hide, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”

“I tried.” Death placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I tried but I’m out of favors.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel sniffled, his own hand coming up to cover the cool one on his shoulder and Death felt the warmth as if it were the sun. “How much time do we have?”

“Couple minutes.”

Castiel nodded, leaning forward and placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. He gasped awake, eyes hazy with pain and medication but something in them still blazed when they landed on Castiel.

“Honey, I want you to meet someone. Can you see him? Next to me.” Castiel turned, looking up at Death, and licked his dry lips.

“Yes,” Castiel’s husband croaked. “He’s just as handsome as you said.”

Castiel let out a watery laugh, glancing up at Death who was not blushing as he reached up to rub his ear. “He’s here for you.”

Castiel’s husband nodded solemnly. “About time.”

Castiel let out a quiet sob and immediately tried to shove it back into his mouth. His husband squeezed his hand as Death squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on now. This ain’t the end. I’ll see you. Hopefully not too soon?” Castiel’s husband lifted his brows and Death gave him a small smile.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Castiel was leaning over, pressing his forehead to his husband’s and breathing slow in his nose and out his mouth, barely hanging on. Death stepped forward, hand covering the one that Castiel held. One final gasp and then the room was silent. Castiel gave a soft cry, feeling warmth rush through him, love and light and something so bright it almost burned. And then it was gone.

Death pulled the soul close to his chest, his other hand lighting on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel glanced up into the face of Death but was immediately distracted by the small ball of light in his hand. Castiel looked up and Death nodded in answer to his question. Castiel let go of the hand in his and wrapped his arms around himself as the tears came hot and fast.

“Can you please stay?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “I need to take care of him. But I can come back.”

“Please hurry.”

Death wasn’t really the type to hang around any one place too long but for years after Castiel’s husband’.s transition, he found himself irrevocably drawn to Castiel. He’d always been to a certain extent but the man’s grief had worn down all his defenses, all his excuses to stay away. For once Death was welcomed into a home with open arms.

They sat on the couch and watched bad television. Death had a strange obsession with Dr. Sexy that Castiel found hilarious. Death tolerated all of Castiel’s terrible nature documentaries. It was one night as Castiel was going up the stairs to bed that he paused, looking back at Death who was putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I love you, Dean. You know that right?”

Death stood stock still and he’d be goddamned if it hadn’t happened again. He looked up to find Castiel just standing there on the third step, gaze just as intense as it had been when he’d first laid eyes on him as an infant. He didn’t have to say it. Neither of them did so Castiel just gave him a small smile and continued his ascent up the stairs. And that night, Death followed.

It was both the worst and best day of his tenure when Castiel’s time was finally up. Fate in her fussy suit with her obnoxious clipboard arrived to stand at the end of the hospital bed where Castiel lay, Death at his side.

“No more favors. No more tricks,” Fate said softly and Death looked away from the face of his beloved, aged and creased as it was now, while his was permanently stuck as youthful and smooth.

“Can I keep him?” Death asked, staring into the eyes of Fate and daring to hope. “I know it’s not ever been done. I know this is a one-person gig but…” Death looked back upon the only face he’d ever loved, into the only eyes that had ever truly seen him. “Just this once, can I keep him?”

Fate gave him a small smile. “Yes, Dean. He’s yours to keep.”

So Death and his companion were joined at the human’s crossing, bound by Fate herself to walk through eternity together. Sure they quarreled, sometimes even spending a few decades apart but the string that tethered them was unbreakable, a fact Death loved to remind his younger counterpart of.

It’s said that when a couple dies within hours of each other they’re always accompanied by another couple, two men, handsome and young, looking more in love than any cosmic entities had a right to be.

#suptober21 #destiel #supernatural #fanfic: supernatural #deancas #character death #the dog dies sorry #writing by me

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Text

Fuck it.

I got possessed by a Pelly ghost, or my heavy duty flu medication I'm on and somehow started and finished a Pelly smut prompt in like a half hour, so, to that anon who asked-

Here's some completely unedited, messy ass, probably nonsensical Pelly smut from my medicated ass. I hope you enjoy it 👏

This shit is like 2.5k what the FUCK

Colson and Pete liked to fool around.

Not just in the childish prank war or food fight type of way either. Alot of times their goofy little games quickly changed genres to something more adult. It was hard to avoid, what with the drugs, their chemistry, and the allure of something taboo that came with kissing your best friend.

It never got much farther than handjobs and side by side circle jerks though, and even those felt weird for the first dozen times. Colson didn't really think of himself as bi, or pan, or queer, or whatever the hell they were calling dudes who also jerked off dudes in between banging hot chick's nowadays. Mainly because he didn't jerk off dudes. Just one dude. Pete. He had some stupid exception made in his head for the younger comedian that seemed to cross every and any boundary he tried to set.

So yeah, they fool around. They kiss, they bite eachother, hump, stuff hands down one another's jeans just for laughs, sometimes they even cuddle, but not in an after sex kind of way, just a, move over your couch isn't big enough for me and it's pointless to watch a movie together in the guest room kind of way. It's weird, but not? Colson can't ever seem to put too much thought into whatever he and Pete have going on before he gets distracted or develops a headache.

They're just friends. He thinks.

But. Then again, that doesn't explain how they've ended up here in the comedians bed again. Pete's mouth warm and wet against his own. Kissing him in all the ways he feels like he kisses girls, stealing away his breath and sending a warm tickle down his body all the way to the tips of his toes. It's so different from the usual leading position he finds himself taking in every other hook up that Colson can't help but find himself carried away by it. He would probably be content to lay back and let Pete kiss and fondle him for hours if the brunette didn't always find some stupid joke he had to make and interrupt the mood.

So far tonight they're off to a good start though, maybe a bit too good of one with how his jeans are already down around his ankles and his cock is slick between Pete's tight fist.

Colson can barely remember what stupid creepy unsolved case files episode they'd been watching on the TV before he jokingly asked Pete to distract him from his paranoid thoughts. Rarely did weed and suspicious murders weigh lightly on Colson's head. He'd spent a whole week after humoring one of Pete's marathons of the show utterly convinced his stylist was out to secretly kill him. People are just so unpredictable its scary.

Like Pete. His mouth might be up pressing against his one second, and down sucking and biting on his tatted nipple the next. It's jarring how random his best friends actions seem sometimes. Like, just when Colson thinks he has Pete's rhythm figured out the comedian senses it and decides to switch things up on him again.

Last week Pete had called Colson weird for curiously flicking his tongue over one of the other man's hard nubs. Outright laughing at his attempt for foreplay and spinning some joke about breastfeeding and asking Colson to call him mommy until the rapper had abandoned the idea altogether.

Yet here the little hypocrite was, absolutely moaning into his chest while he did the same thing. Free hand stuffed down his own sweats where he's crowded himself between Colson's legs.

It shouldn't be hot, Colson wants to give the same incredulous laugh at his best friends actions and tease him just the same but his throat feels tight and his body electric at the attention. Like Pete knows some secret trick he hasn't yet deciphered that swaps the nerves in your tits and your dick around to drive you wild.

Instead he just moans. Head tipping back and lips parting for a "Fuck- Petey-" before he carts his fingers through soft short brown hair. Maybe it's just the combo of jacking off alongside it, or his pain kink coming back to bite him in the ass. He can't say, but Pete's teeth gnawing softly at his nipple makes his dick squirt just a little more precum with every jerk.

He feels like he might be close. Hips kicking up softly from the mattress when Pete's mouth travels in hungry kisses across his chest to suck at and nibble on the other.

It's weird. Pushing invisible boundaries yet again but Colson doesn't want him to stop.

He's hardly participating at all too, one arm thrown above his head to grab at the head board and help arch his back, while the other is still glued to the back of Pete's head like it has been since they first kissed. Usually their flings are two sided, fists racing in their jerks to make the other come first, not self indulgent like tonight where he's hardly touched Pete's dick at all outside of a few over the clothes gropes.

It's got that question nagging at the back of Colson's mind again. Why they're doing this? What he's getting out of opening himself up so vulnerably to his best friend's traveling hands and wandering mouth?

The invasive thoughts are so distracting for a moment that Colson doesn't even realize Pete's traveled souther until he has the electric shock of wet lips sealing around the tip of his dick. Eyes bursting open and heart racing because Pete's kissing him somewhere new. His best friend's fucking taking his dick into his hot warm mouth for the first time.

And holy fuck does he love it.

"F-fuck-" Colson feels like a teenager getting his first blowie again with how his hips instantly jerk up and his fingers tighten around hair.

Fuck fuck fuck, Pete is swallowing his dick down too fast for him to watch. He knows the comedian has a big mouth but christ, it can't be that deep can it? There's no way Pete has sucked dick before and not told him, they share everything, and until this moment, he thought the disinterest in tasting dick was a big one of those things.

But apparently not, because the comedian is slurping obscenely and sucking all over the tip and length of his dick like a lollipop offered to a man starved. It's so attentive that Colson doesn't even mind the few moments where he cock clumsily slips out of the other's mouth and bumps against a scratchy cheek or blunt teeth. It's amazing.

Colson definitely knows he must be close now. His neck feels stuck in a permanent arch back, face burying itself in the croon of his arm while he moans and curses, and pleas for Pete to not stop.

Less than delicate fingers fondle his balls and spit slips down between his legs but Colson only loves it all more. He wants to fuck his best friends face. Stuff Pete's head down hard and bury his cock down the comedians throat to paint the next couple jokes that come out of his mouth white. He tries to push though and finds a strong resistance, Pete's immediate gag and flinch back easily overpowering his weak shove.

Then the hot mouth is gone. Ripping an embarrassing whimper from the rapper's lips before he can catch it. The quick thrust up of his hips and stretch of his toes to try and kick his way back up into Pete's mouth ignored.

Colson's just about to whine and curse, and bitch at Pete for being such a fucking stupid tease when that evil mouth descends yet again. This time skating down over the long vein stretching the length of his dick to go even lower. Tongue and teeth finding his balls to offer attention there instead.

Now his curse is more breathy, and his hips arching up higher. Because holy fucking shit Pete is sucking and tugging on his balls like an expert, fist back around the base of his dick to pick up where it left off.

"God, Pete- Pete-" Colson's own hand has abandoned soft hair to clumsily grab at his own thigh. Fingers slipping and struggling to find purchase on sweat slick skin so that he can help hike his legs up a little higher to get Pete going lower. Every inch of his sack begging for the same attention that's fluttering across it. It takes a few swift kicks to free his one foot from his jeans but when he does it only lets his legs spread open wider. Every part of him arching and opening itself up for Pete to see with no flash of the usual shame he feels from even stripping his pants off all the way around the comedian.

He just needs more. He's so so close and Pete's tasting him like someone starved.

His dick is leaking, precum streaming out in more consistent spurts and oversensitivity just starting to tingle at the tip with every twist of Pete's wrist. Colson knows he's going to come, his neck is twisted and his face pressed hard against the hard wood of the headboard from all of his stretching and kicking to guide Pete lower and it should hurt but he can barely feel any of those aches over the chills he gets when both of Pete's hands suddenly grab him by the thighs and yank him down a little. Uncharacteristically rough in their manhandling until Colson is blinking blearily up at the bland ceiling and trembling because his ass is leaving the bed. Pete's nose bumping against his balls and tongue swiping over his taint.

The noise that bursts from between his parted lips doesn't even sound human at this point. Something between a wheeze and a moan while the room spins and his best friends tongue abruptly drags flat over his asshole to top off the absurdity of the whole night.

Colson's fingers are still cutting sharp into the back of his thigh though, grip only tightening as his body moves on its own to pull his knee closer to his chest. The bump of Pete's fingers near his own tingly in every good way.

There's no backing out now, he's losing his mind in the rush of everything, all thought flying out the window to make room for a mantra of, fuck, please, please, Petey, please- until there's another lap tongue against his hole and a fist curling back around his neglected dick.

He only lasts another few jerks. Pete's mouth sucking and humming around the rim of his asshole while he paints his own chest. Tongue out in a long moan and eyes rolled back into his head until he sees stars. It's so good. Colson can feel he body rocking and twitching with every spurt of cum, and Pete's tongue isn't slowing either. Pressing and licking until it has wiggled its way inside his ass and the moans coming from his mouth wind their way down into whimpers from overstimulation.

Colson's legs drop fast, snapping down from his grip like his fingers are a broke rubber band to catch on Pete's shoulder. Over the blood rushing in his ears he can hear Pete moaning, fuck, he can feel it against his skin. It's desperate, so much that eventually the comedian isn't even licking or tongueing him anymore, just mumbling and bumping his mouth between the rapper's cheeks in escalating fervor.

Colson's brain is still too busy rebooting for him to properly appreciate how fucking hot it sounds. He can hear the wet slap of Pete's dick too, skin clapping against skin with what he can only guess is lightning jerks of fist.

"Fuuuuck-" Pete's finally the one cursing, his whole body jerking up from where he's been burying his face between Colsons legs to scramble up onto his knees. Sweats shoved down around his thighs, dick all shiny and almost purple while he moans and jerks it off in front of him. The leg Colson had dropped down on Pete's shoulder half rising with him, caught before it can slip by the comedian extra hand to keep it high and his back arched before the man comes. Hot spurts burning Colson's skin everywhere it lands between them. Especially across his own balls and inner thighs, Pete not stopping until he's half stumbling forward to crush the blonde and cum is peppering thick drops against Colson's twitching hole too. His groan long and deep while he watches.

The visual alone is enough to make the rapper's spent dick twitch. Heart beat quickening and face burning hotter in embarrassment over how blissed out his best friends expression has become once their eyes finally meet.

Pete's going to kiss him. He can see it clear as day in those honey brown eyes and that wet pout of lips.

He just narrowly avoids it with a fast slap of hand across the comedians mouth after Pete drops forward. His own knuckles bumping hard against his teeth with how close of call it is, and Pete's nose poking softly at his cheek.

"Fuck dude-" Colson still feels shaky as he speaks. Head twisting sideways away from Pete's repeated bump and weak smooch against his palm before he continues. "No way, fuck, man, your tongue was just in my ass-" Even saying the word out loud burns Colson's ears and makes his thighs tremble a little. "Gross, gross, gross dude!"

"Mm, sowwy-" Pete's mouth is still pressing with its kisses, his words half mumbled and slurred by the flat press of Colson's hand that refuses to move.

"Fuck." The heat of the moment finally fading Colson can't help but find himself cursing again and again. "Fucking fuck-" a hysterical laugh is bubbling up his throat and with it a couple dozen more that burst free with a shake of his shoulders and a light shove at Pete's face so he can rub his hand over his face instead. "You fucking licked my ass-"

"I know-" Pete sounds downright apologetic where he buries his face against one sweaty tatted shoulder but Colson can only shake harder. More and more laughter coming until he's almost in tears repeating it yet again.

"You ate my fucking ass Pete!" It's so funny he almost can't breathe. Boundaries and embarrassment aside the reality of the situation finally settling in just has Colson cackling in disbelief. "Oh my god dude-"

"I- I got caught up in the moment-" Pete's face is redder than he's ever seen it when Colson peeks out from behind his hand, and if he could laugh harder he would. But he can't so instead he smiles. He smiles as wide and as big as he can until his cheeks hurt up at his ashamed best friend.

"And you called me a weirdo for licking your nipple dude?"

He is never letting Pete live this down.

#stealing metalheadkells format again #because its the superior formatting for fics #and i have no idea if this is any good #or if it makes sense #but #i hope its readable at the minimum #so accept some rushed surprised #cozy fic #pelly #fanfiction #prompt

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stra66otkiller · 3 years

Text

ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS

sfw:

he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of

poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.

the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane

eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all

in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)

surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see

eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously

he treats you like a god. his god.

everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch

whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter

not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what

he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again

and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try

his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around

around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter

it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening

you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something

but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover

you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions

it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid

so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything

it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye

albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched

you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him

he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more

and you agree, although, hesitantly

you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed

however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed

he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough

he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable

sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before

eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion

he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)

the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.

eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore

nsfw:

sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.

when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out

he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile

kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth

refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one

sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you

he loves initiating small acts whenever too

occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest

you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat

he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him

eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style

you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up

he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him

doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him

again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat

“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock

unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his

even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more

something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly

he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit

loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately

sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand

he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable

#eli clark #identity v #idv #idv seer #idv eli clark #identity 5 #identity v eli clark #identity v seer #eli clark x reader #seer x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic #eli x reader #fanfic

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regulusfate · 3 years

Text

One loose thread doesn’t take the roll down

Hinny

Prompt : You’re safe now, I’m with you .

Requested by @alwaysmagica1 <3

the title is playing on the idea one bad day doesn’t mean they all will be.

It had meant something different once, to be safe. To be safe. It had been a thousand and one possibilities, of testing boundaries, of warmth, of a breath of fresh air and her falling body and his solid arms, like an anchor.

Somewhere that had changed for both of them, she wasn’t entirely sure when she stopped being scared of that thought, or if she ever had. Even there, in the light of the lampshade watching the over the marks of their children’s presence scattered across the living room, the handprints of paint etched into the walls, the toys knocked beneath the table, there came a hint of unsettlement within her chest.

Not quite placeable, the word danced between her tongue and her teeth, on the edge of spilling over like drops of red fine wine against a cream carpet, she never could find the right word for it. An ache, yes, and her fingers massaged through the cotton of her top to the callous skin, an ache but the feeling that came with it detached like a half formed thought cast to the fringes of her mind.

She wonders when they became so complacent. How they could forget so quickly, the world in all its fragile glory, the single tap of one man to shatter the globe encasing them.

It was dangerous, to pretend so sullenly, that life had moved on as though it could never happen again and yet, they all forget, their war had not been the first.

Her husband doesn’t forget. He cannot, and she will not, tracing the scars on his chest and the blackened edges of numb flesh where he could not feel, those long term effects of evading death and that striking curse.

She sees Harry. Not the boy who saved her in the chamber, but the man that built a pillow fought with his kids. Not the war hero still fighting in the ranks of the ministry, but the man who kissed her freckles ‘like the stars’, and plays with her hair, and that body that holds her close under the sheets.

They are a reliance on each other, letting the world drift in its complacency, they are upon their own mound of earth, a whole other wave.

sixth year

“Weasley !”

The sun struck the air and it dazzled, as she weaved through the beams cast her way as the blue of the ocean sky seemed to shimmer, froth on water.

Ginny laughed, billowing up from her lungs into the breathless air, embracing the rush. Harry lunged for her, their bodies swooping, swooning, clambering through the clouds about the sea of green and tiny etched houses. He missed. Their game of cat and mouse.

“You know for someone with an ‘elegant disposition’ on a broom-“

She laughed harder, arching out of his stretching hands, pitching her voice to mimic the report of the latest witchly weekly article, and his face fell into horror pulling his broom up short.

“You read that!”

The mortification in his voice and it cracked an octave higher. Ginny grinned, the wind brushing through her hair.

“Did you know you have an elegant disposition Mr Potter?”

She teased and his eyes sparkled despite the groan from his lips, their chests heaving with pleasure and panting breaths and flushed cheeks.

“Did you always want to be a poet, Miss Weasley?”

Harry quipped back and she choked on the breeze that cascaded her hair in waves of sparks.

“I was eleven !”

“Are my eyes still as green as a fresh pickled toad?”

He laughed, and Ginny scowled, watching his head tip back and eyes flutter closed, the soft cylinder of his giggles echoing in the breeze.

“Is my hair truly as dark as a blackboard?” Harry wheezed

It was quickly followed by a yelp, as he narrowly avoided a strike to the head. Darting forwards, he soared away, and she snatched up the quaffle once more.

“Don’t throw it at my face !”

“Scared to mess up that nose?” She teased back, and they were chasing through the clouds and the sunlight sky.

“Hey it’s straighter than Eloise Midgen’s”

Spurring her broom forwards, his voice tailing back, and she smirked

“Let’s see that elegant disposition then, I’ve always wanted a moving target”

“This is harassment, Weasley,” the distance closed between them, her eyes narrowed on his mop of hair, and he took a sharp left closer to the trees.

“Only until you forget the poem-“ Ginny warned, half teasing though her eyes were bright and smiling as her lips twisted into a determined frown.

“His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad.”

Harry chanted with a bubbling laugh, dipping between the clouds

“Keep talking Potter !”

“At least I have a Hungarian horntail on my chest”

She snorted, thrown off guard by the sudden change, her hand slipped against the polished handle of the broom as a rogue bludger spun her way and she fumbled, off balance and unable to keep a hold as she veered to the side.

Falling was second nature to quidditch, but still a surprised noise escaped her lips as the air pushed past her, and her fingers gasped at nothing, as though the wind was fighting against gravity and losing and sinking and her hand would not reach her wand in time.

She didn’t want to die.

And then arms snatched at her waist, forcing the final breaths of oxygen from her lips in a startled jerk that bruised her ribs, and she was latching on to the stable body that kept her afloat. Something that might have been a laugh but detached from her ears and a tinge of hysteria as her fingers wound into the shirt and the world was burry in front of her eyes, woozy and sweeping, but she knew those arms as her chin connected with his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Harry murmured, a different chant, more to appease his own racing heart as his feet touched the ground gently but he didn’t attempt to remove his arms and for that Ginny was glad. She needed that anchor against her own pounding heartbeat.

“You’re safe now, I’m with you.” He mumbled, and she felt the soft graze of his lips pressing against her head as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Holy crap, Ginny I’m so sorry !”

Fred, his voice bursting forwards like a galloping horse and she could move again, the leaded feeling that weighted her legs seeped as they finally pressed fully into the grass.

“You’re an ass.” She snaps, voice partially muffled by Harry’s shoulder.

Fred’s face crumpled from horror to a kicked puppy, and Ginny sighed, not removing herself from his arms but twisting her neck to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, it’s not the first time.”

His face remained plastered in worry, until a smirk lept on to her face.

“I’m fine,” her smirk grew wider “but I think you just gave mum a heart attack.”

His eyes snapped round to meet Molly Weasley white face in the doorway and gulped. His lips moved inaudible for a moment before his eyes found George with a pleading look. ‘Save me Georgie’

It was only when Molly’s yells began from the muted walls of the burrow, did she pull away, and met Harry’s own pale face with curious brown eyes, that bordered on teasing once again.

“I’m really sorry-“

“What did you mean?” He blinked, taken aback and frowned in confusion.

“You’re safe now , I’m with you?”

The colour returned full force to his cheeks, a blush riding up and he shifted awkwardly for a moment with a bashful shrug.

“I- I dunno” he mumbled sheepishly

“Okay then , Mr Chosen One,” she grinned and grabbed his hands, intertwining their fingers and moving towards the burrow and he groaned.

She was never letting him live it down.

There’s a shadow at the door, a creak and he’s stood there. It’s always his eyes. Brimming with an expanse of pain and loss and his fingers jumped against the side of his leg even as he shifted weight. His throat moved beneath his skin, swallowing in air, swallowing in silence. His lips not fully closed, she knows he wants to say something, anything, she can feel the tightness of his voice just in the shuddering breath he clambered to retain.

“You’re up late,” Ginny offered gently, and a part of her wished his face would crack into that roguish godforbid sexy smirk, stride forwards and tug her up against chest with an arching eyebrow. She wants to hear his low husky ‘maybe I was waiting for you’ breathed down her neck.

She wants it, because she knows the pain that takes hold is so much worse.

“Well I-“ he bites the inside of his cheek, and turns his head. His voice is rough, but it’s grating behind the force of every swallowed scream battering in his dreams and she can see his eyes blinking, the sharp line of his jaw in the light softened by the growth of his beard and jumping in place.

“Hey,” Ginny rose silently, into the shadows of the room and slips her fingers into his larger ones. They shake slightly against her. “Harry.”

He shakes his head for a moment, the muscles in his face gripping at his skin for control and she sees the blink of his eyelashes, thrice, before he folds into her embrace. His beard is ticklish against her neck, as his head presses into her shoulder and his arms curl tightly and Ginny knows he’s clinging to the heartbeat.

She reaches through his tense and tightening biceps to rub his back. His hair smelt of roses, it’s soft petal texture, feathered against her cheek, she liked it. His hair always seemed to smell of roses.

“Hey , hey it’s okay.”

He shudders, and her fingers find gently into the soft locks. The muscles in his back tense, rolling like the cup of raindrop slipping down the veins of dying leaves, and a sob follows.

“You’re safe now,” Ginny whispered, and he presses closer. “I’m with you.”

The always is left unsaid , but she knows he hears it. For a long moment they are simply held in an embrace, his body and hers, intertwined in limbs and a shared grief.

“You’re with me,” he mumbles, “you’re with me, you’re with me”

A pause, and her chest aches more to take his pain away. He pulls back first, pressing a sleeve to his eyes with another shaking breath, and exhaling slowly. She keeps a hand on his back rubbing up and down, as her mother had done , as he had done to her.

Ginny doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about it, as they gravitate slowly towards the sofa where there’s light cast out of the shadows and their tired bodies slump into the cushions. She doesn’t need to ask. They told each other everything they could , some things had taken years to speak of, others only seconds. Sometimes it would be silence, times where neither one will speak of what came crashing, tearing through their mind, it’s a story for another day.

Harry rubs a hand down his face, their knees touching, legs almost overlapping, and torso’s inclined towards each other. He leans an arm on the top of the sofa, and his fingers brush lightly over the scar , that scar , that ripples through his skin. He does it automatically, and sometimes purposefully. It’s strange how they could find comfort in the things that haunted them most.

“I’m scared for them.” He speaks after a while, and she fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

Them being the kids and Ginny knows he means, that ever present fear that their children should grow and witness the same horrors they had seen, as their parents had before them.

“James is almost five,” and the number comes out almost breathless, as if he can’t quite wrap his head around it, a wistfulness and a yearning. She sighs and moves, and he accepts the gesture instantly, opening his arms and she curls up against his chest.

It’s not something she likes to think about, truthfully.

“I’m scared too,” Her hand rubs against his chest, watching the creases in his shirt. “But our babies are growing up, and we get to see that.”

He hums, and she moves to glance upwards and meet Harry’s eyes, still those beautiful green.

“We get that.” Ginny whispers, and the echo of a smile wraps around his lips as his fingers drift up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We do.” He murmurs, like clarification and they lean into the touch the other offers instinctively. Her head presses back against his chest, and his fingers wind their way through her hair and they’ve stopped shaking now.

“I saw you in the mirror this morning,” it’s been plaguing her all day.

“Oh?”

She can almost hear the smile in voice now, and relaxes a little more.

“You’re not getting rid of the beard.”

A deep chuckle reverberates from his chest though soft into the quiet of the house and she grins.

All was , sometimes , well . They could live with that .

#post war hinny #hinny #hinny prompt #harry potter #hp golden era #hp next gen #hp fandom #hinny fanfic #harry and ginny #hp fanfic #post wizarding war #I’ve realised I’m not actually sure when in sixth year this could have happened #but let’s just go with it anyway

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 16: The Sauna Test

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Henderson!reader

Prompt: You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter summary: Eleven, Max, Nancy, and Jonathan had all grown more suspicious of you and Billy after what El and Max had seen, but when everyone gets separated, the monster decides to rear its ugly head in more ways than one.

Word Count: 3352

Warnings: some angst, some fluff, some action finally (in more ways than one!!), a lil bit of cheating, language, pretty normal stuff

A/N: And we're finally getting somewhere with the Jonathan and reader plot line!!! I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and as always, my ask box and requests and tag lists are open babies! Love ya!

Tags: @just-my-fandom @nightbu-g

El couldn't let go of what she'd seen.

You being with Billy was weird enough and its strangeness had already burrowed under her skin, making her squirm. But the way you were acting, what she had seen that night when she was messing around, it wasn't right.

But what she had seen of Heather had made her downright disturbed. Sure, Billy was an asshole and she knew not to be around him, but he wasn't a murderer... right?

"Hey, there's nothing to worry about anymore, okay?" Max told her, noticing the way that El had gotten lost in her worried thoughts.

El gave her a doubtful look and let out a huff. "It doesn't make sense," she grumbled.

"What doesn't make sense?"

"Heather. The blood. The ice... Y/N."

"Heather had a fever, so she took a cold bath, but she's better now. And Y/N is probably trying to make Billy a better person or something. That has to be it. I don't know where that blood came from, but... we saw her. We saw them both. They're totally fine."

El stared at the wall, her brows furrowed. "What about Billy?"

"What about him?"

"He seemed wrong."

Max chuckled. "Wrong is kind of like his default. But it's nice to know he's not a murderer, because that totally would've sucked. Hell, maybe he seemed different because Y/N's making him better."

The two girls chuckled, and the conversation fell silent.

***

As soon as panicked panting sounded in the next room, Heather rose to her feet and walked over to the two people you held captive. Heather's parents.

You and Billy watched from afar as she spoke to her father, neglecting his pleas before stepping away and allowing you and Billy to replace her spot. Billy knelt in front of Janet as you knelt in front of Tom, both of you instructing them to stay still.

Simultaneously, you both rose to your feet and the three of you walked up the metal stairs. As you ascended the stairs, you could hear their pleas become drowned out by the guttural growls and snarls.

***

The next morning, you had awoke with a heavy pit in your stomach.

The image of Heather's overtaking was still etched behind your eyelids, and though you hadn't witnessed the other overtakings, you imagined that they occurred very similarly.

But the screams. You could never ignore the screams.

Silently, you slipped out of your bed and walked into the kitchen, pulling the freezer open and staring blankly.

The pint of strawberry ice cream from Scoops still sat there, perfectly untouched.

God, you wanted to sob. You wanted to scream. You wanted to go back to when your life was normal- well, more normal than this. Than being fucking possessed by this strange creature who was dragging you through hell.

You wanted to see your brother and his friends again. You wanted to see your friends again. Steve and Robin and Nancy and Jonathan.

Jonathan.

You were mentally kicking yourself, realizing that you spent the past six months avoiding him and now you don't know if you'll ever see him again.

You closed the freezer and scrubbed at your face, only to realize that tears had soaked your cheeks. Quickly, you swiped away the tears and rushed back to your room, not wanting to risk getting caught by your mother and having that creature take over once more.

After locking the door behind you, you curled up on your bed and pulled the blankets over your body. Maybe if you slept, you wouldn't have to deal with all this pain and guilt.

Just as you were drifting off, the doorbell rang. Immediately, your anxiety shot through the roof, and you contemplated not answering the door, but then the doorbell rang once more. You took deep breaths and slowly creeped out of bed, unlocking your door and leaving your room before stepping up to the front door.

Peering through the peephole, your heart sunk to your feet when you saw who was outside. Jonathan stood there awkwardly, his head bowed and his hands in his pockets.

You began to slowly walk away from the door when Jonathan began to speak, his voice traveling into the house. "Y/N?" he called out. "Are you home? I drove by the pool and you weren't there. I just... I was wondering if we could talk?" He sounded stressed, maybe even upset.

Your emotions took over, and against your better judgement, you pulled the door open. You watched as his eyebrows rose in surprise at the fact that you actually opened the door. "What's wrong?" you hummed. "I thought you had work today."

He chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, that's uh... That's part of the issue," he coughed out. "Can I come in?"

You nodded, stepping to the side and allowing him to come inside before you shut the door behind him. Afterwards, you stepped next to him and the two of sat down on the couch. "So, what's going on?"

"I got fired. Well, Nancy and I got fired."

Your brows knitted together in confusion. "Fired? How? I thought you were doing amazing at the post!" You tucked your legs under yourself and turned to face him directly.

"I was, and I really liked it there! But..." He let out a sigh. "Nancy had answered a call a few days ago from this old woman, saying that all of her fertilizer was going missing."

Sounds like a newsworthy story," you teased.

"Hey, it's serious!"

You held up your hands in surrender, but a giggle slipped past your lips. "Sorry, sorry. Continue."

He let out a playful huff, a smile cracking at the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, she realized that the fertilizer was going missing because there were rats in her basement that were eating it and the rats... They were getting sick, or something." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Nancy and I went to investigate, and we didn't ask any of the higher ups because we knew that they would tell us that it was stupid. We went, and we realized that she was telling the truth. The rats had eaten whole bags of fertilizer."

"Okay, hold on, you said the rats were different? In what way?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I have no idea. It was like they were feral, diseased." He let out a sigh before continuing. "We went back to work the next day and Nancy told everyone about what we saw. Like we expected, everyone just thought we were being stupid. That she was some paranoid and lonely old woman who sucked us into one of her many conspiracy theories so she could spend time with somebody."

Jonathan paused, lost in thought with a deep line set between his brows. Silently, you reached forward and smoothed the line with your thumb, brushing some hair away from his face at the same time. "So you got fired because you followed a potential story?"

He shook his head. "We went back last night, and we found her in her basement. She had eaten the fertilizer, along with a whole bunch of chemicals that we found around the house. She was screaming about how she had to go back." He stared silently at the carpet. "Luckily, the ambulance was able to stabilize her and she's safe at the hospital."

You could tell how much guilt he was harboring, how heavy everything weighed on his shoulders. You rested your hand on his shoulder and squeezed, earning a small smile from him. "You saved her, Johnny. I don't think there's anything you should feel bad about."

A sigh left his lips. "Tom thinks that we abused his trust, and we fed into her delusions. So he fired us."

The mention of Tom gave you flashbacks to last night, but you quickly smothered them and instead gave Jonathan a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."

"I drove Nancy home, and we... we got into a huge fight about everything that happened. About how I needed that job and she didn't, and she fucked it up for both of us. I-I said some things I didn't mean, but..." He returned his gaze to you finally. "I'm just hurt and guilty and confused about how I feel at the same time."

"Well," you sighed, letting your hand drop from his shoulder to his hand, linking your fingers with his. "I know that you both did what you think was right, and I know that you both were so concerned about this because you've seen things that make you worry that it could be something... Out of the ordinary." You scooted a bit closer, looking him in the eye. "But I also know that maybe you let Nancy drag you into this big mess, and you blame her for everything that happened. But Nancy has been going through her own problems, and maybe she felt that she needed to prove herself and her judgement was clouded by that."

He was silent for a moment, letting his eyes search yours as he looked for the words to say. "I should call her. Apologize to her."

You sighed. "Maybe. Or maybe you should let it sit for a bit, make sure you have all of your emotions lined up, because I know you both get a bit hot-headed when you're defending your actions."

He chuckled at that, his eyes dropping to your linked hands and gliding his thumb along your knuckles. "Y'know, Max and El came up to me yesterday, and they said they were looking for you. That they were worried about you."

You resisted the urge to stiffen, instead taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah, they said that you were being really weird. That you were even hanging out with Billy. It even freaked me out a little bit. I... I guess that was part of the reason I came here, to talk to you. I wanted to make sure you were okay, and now I feel stupid for even worrying."

Please don't feel stupid. Listen to that gut instinct. Please.

"I mean, it definitely is a little stupid," you teased, nudging his shoulder. "I think those girls just have a bit of an overactive imagination. I'm just fine. Just normal old me."

"Thank god for that," he added, a full smile finally spreading across his face.

You returned his smile before rising off the couch. "Do you want something to drink or eat?"

He shook his head, also pushing himself to his feet. "No, I should probably get going. Thank you, though."

You nodded, walking him to the door and opening it for him. "Of course. Thanks for checking up on me, Jonathan, even if I didn't need it."

He stepped out the door and stood on the porch for a moment, eyes flitting over your face. "I missed you, Y/N."

A small sigh left your lips. "I missed you too. So much. Stay in touch, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. Bye, Y/N."

"Bye, Johnny." With one final wave, you closed the front door.

***

After seeing Jonathan that morning, you had felt a sort of urge to see him again, a magnetic pull towards that boy who broke your heart.

You knew it was dangerous to see him, not only because he was now in a committed relationship with your friend (though after what he told you had happened between them, you wondered if that label would last), but also due to the fact that you had no idea when this creature controlling you would make you snap and do god-knows-what.

So you locked yourself in your room once more, staring at the ceiling as you laid on the floor and attempted to will this horrible longing feeling away.

To no one's surprise, it didn't work.

Your next idea was to go spend time with Steve, hoping that maybe he would talk some sense into you. You threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and drove to the mall in the sweltering heat, not wanting to risk letting your skin bubble and sizzle under the sun like BIlly's had.

But of course, neither Steve nor Robin were working, and no one had heard from them.

Under normal circumstances, you would be worried about their wellbeing, but you frankly had too much on your mind concerning your own wellbeing that you didn't fret about it. Instead, you ordered a pint of strawberry and a pint of mint chip from the boy at the counter and hurried out of the mall.

Before you could even stop yourself, you had pulled up (in the

car you had finally gotten fixed) onto the rocky front yard of the Byers' house.

With a few mumbled profanities towards your impulsiveness, you grabbed both pints of ice cream and stepped up the front porch steps that creaked under your feet. You knocked at the front door and shifted awkwardly, turning slightly to glance at the setting sun.

"Y/N?"

You turned around to face Jonathan who stood at the door, now dressed in an olive green tee shirt and a pair of jeans. "Hi!" you hummed, smiling brightly.

"Hi," he chuckled, mirroring your smile. "What are you doing here?"

You shrugged, brushing past him and walking into the house. "I thought you might still be feeling down about today, so I wanted to bring you some ice cream. You still like mint chip, right?"

His eyes followed your figure as you walked into the kitchen and grabbed two spoons for the both of you. "Uh, yeah. Thanks...?"

You finally stopped moving for a moment to take in his confused state. With a sigh, you sat down on the couch, placing the ice cream and spoons down on the coffee table. "And after seeing you today, I realized how much I missed spending time with you. I guess... I guess I just wanted to see you again and catch up."

His look of confusion slowly melted into one of comfort and slight melancholy. "I missed you too. I'm glad you came over." We walked over and sat on the couch, his leg bumping into yours. "And I'm glad that you brought me ice cream."

You nudged his shoulder with yours, giving him a beaming smile. "You're lucky I remembered your favorite. I was just about to get some only for me."

He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I don't mind sharing."

"I do!"

He laughed, resting his head on your shoulder as his shoulders shook with giggles. You laughed with him, but you were acutely aware of how close he was to you.

As your laughs died down, the two of you opened your individual pints of ice cream and began to dig in. "Have you talked to Nancy yet?" you asked before shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

He shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Not yet. I'm taking your advice and letting everything settle for a bit," he replied, leaning back on the couch. "I just... our argument made me realize a lot."

"Like what?" you mirrored his position, leaning back on the arm of the couch.

"I mean, I knew that we both came from different backgrounds and we would never agree on some things, but..." He poked his ice cream with his spoon. "I guess I never realized that though we've spent so much time together, she still has this idea that everyone has it as good as she does. That people can just throw away something that doesn't fit them perfectly because they have the money to do so." He lifted his eyes from his ice cream and up to you. "And maybe I'm narrow-minded too, spending time with other people who knew what it was like living without a lot of money."

You frowned as he spoke, slowly leaning forward to set your ice cream and spoon down on the coffee table. "Do you think that it could... hurt you guys in the long run? Knowing what she sees about the whole situation?"

He set his ice cream down as well, pulling his feet up onto the couch and crossing his legs. "I-I don't know."

Silently, the two of you searched each other's eyes with baited breath, a million thoughts racing through your head.

It was at that moment that your judgement took a back seat, and you felt that inky fog lurking in your mind.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. He let out a hum of surprise, but he made no move to pull away from you. Slowly, you moved your hands to the back of his neck and scooted closer to him so you didn't have to crane your neck. You huffed out a sigh of relief as his hands finally rested on your cheeks, his shoulders beginning to lose their tension as he finally relaxed into the kiss.

Just as you were about to deepen the kiss, you felt the familiar surge of black course through your veins, your skin beginning to burn as black veins snaked up your arms and neck.

As the pull towards the creature grew stronger, your lips fell from Jonathan's and you fought the creature for control.

Jonathan gave you a confused look when you pulled away, but he quickly pushed himself away from you when he noticed the inky veins that adorned your skin. "Y/N," he gasped, his eyes wide with panic and fear. You immediately pushed yourself off the couch and rushed towards the door, only for Jonathan to lurch forward and grab your wrist. "Y/N, what the fuck is going on!"

You snapped your gaze to him, feeling that fog slowly take over your mind as you fought to stay awake. "Let me go," you begged. "Please, I don't want to hurt you."

"What?"

"Let me go, Jonathan!"

Your tone startled him, loosening his grip on your wrist just enough for you to slip away from him and out the door before the creature took control.

***

Jonathan began to pace back and forth a few minutes after... Whatever had just happened.

He knew those veins, those pitch black veins that flooded your skin. He saw them when he had to exorcise his own brother, and now another person he cared for so dearly was overtaken by that same creature.

When Will was fighting was controlled by that same creature, though, he didn't seem so... normal. Was it evolving? Learning?

That then made him question if it was even really you. Maybe it had learned your mannerisms, took advantage of the thoughts it had access to.

What if you didn't even want to kiss him, but that thing made you?

He shook the thought from his head. He knew you loved him, that you wanted to be with him. But he also knew that you wouldn't overstep since him and Nancy were still together, even though they had gotten in a fight.

But God, he'd kiss you again in an instant if given the chance.

With a huff, he sat back down on the couch and stared at the two half-eaten pints of ice cream, guilt and worry gnawing at his insides.

He needed to tell Nancy about what happened to you. Just not now.

***

You sat at the landing of the metal warehouse stairs, silently watching Heather patch up Billy's bloodied body as you thought back on what happened just minutes ago.

"The girl, was it her?" Heather asked, gently dabbing a damp cloth over Billy's shoulder.

"Yeah," Billy responded gruffly, his jaw set tight. "It was her. She knows now. She knows about me."

"Jonathan knows too," you voiced silently. "He saw."

He gripped onto Heather's wrist, stopping her actions. "She could've killed me," Billy continued, ignoring your statement.

"Yes. But not us," heather whispered. Silently, she turned to look over the rows of individuals you've sacrificed, people overtaken by the monster.

"Not us," you repeated.

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

embrace

Tsukishima x Reader - Scenario

@belli-jelly’s event request: “#7 with Tsukki ❤️ thank youu!”

a/n: “embrace” with Tsukishima is such a soft idea. he just needs a hug and to feel loved n supported n stuff, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! <333

warnings: slight language, angst (but barely?)

wc: 1990

---

Tsukishima makes his ways through the apartment door, kicking off his shoes a little more forcefully than usual. The thunk of the soles on the tile embodies whatever vexation he’d been simmering in for the duration of the day. A weak, frustration-fueled sigh exits his body.

From the kitchen, you can already tell that something is off. He hasn’t called out to you with his usual, “Hey stupid, I’m home.” You hadn’t even received his typical text telling you he was leaving the gym. The tense silence seeps into the airspace as he makes his way toward you, Tsukki’s feet dragging with every step.

As he turns corner, you’re greeted by features taut with fatigue. It’s as though he’d been running on empty all day, barely making it home with only fumes of energy leftover.

Tsukki’s eyes were undoubtedly strained. The white, intense light of the gym combined with deep concentration kept him on high-alert with eyes wide open at all times.

His shoulders maintained a somewhat slumped position, losing an inch or two of height in the process. The mental weight of handling everything on his own had finally reached him physically.

This hadn’t been a good day, per se.

And if Tsukki had the energy to speak, he would probably tell you how much he would rather be in a month-long coma than experience that level of misery again.

But the hushed air remains and a bizarre staring contest takes place between you two instead of passing words. It’s hard to speak when you know that, deep down, words could never do his terrible days any justice. That even a thoughtful sentence or a well-intended comment would simply drown under Tsukki’s sea of thought, never resurfacing or coming up for air to be heard or understood.

He’s too exhausted to process even the shortest of loving dialogues. And you can tell.

So you sift through other possibilities.

Ways to calm him. To remind him that you care and want to look after him.

Should you make him dinner? He’s probably already eaten. Watch a movie together? No, the light would bother his tired eyes even more. Just go to bed? He would only continue to stir through his disappointments and be kept up by the throbbing of soreness in his legs.

As your eyes trickle down the length of his body, which is now leaning on the countertop as he takes a long sip out of his water bottle, you come to one final alternative…

But it’s always a bit of a gamble. A slight risk.

To touch or not to touch.

Would he lean into it like a self-satisfied, curious cat, tilting his lean body into your affectionate antics? Or would his brittle, biting character and miserable mood cause himself to crumble and fall away from the warmth and comfort of your smaller arms?

On one hand, you might experience your beloved Tsukishima’s gentler side. The one that held you as though he were a mama bird wrapping her wide-spanned wings around your precious form. Instinctively protective. A second-natured response to the way you circled your arms around his torso, tugging him into your field, requesting closeness and vulnerability. It could potentially get his mind off of the day and focus him on the here and now.

But on the other hand, Tsukki had a track record of off days. Jumping away from the soft glide of the pads of your fingertips. On those days, your embrace seemed to resemble that of a thorny, roseless bush to the wavy-haired blonde. The chance of him tugging away, leaving you drained and drooping, was higher than you had ever wanted to bet on. The possibility of him ending up at the opposite side of the bed seemed to increase after experiences like these.

And to be honest, you could never be sure if the touch-deterring wall he built up was to protect himself or you. Yet you always try to find ways to chip away at his salty, skeptical barrier without overstepping any fragile, unspoken boundaries.

It’s a simple concept. However, avoiding his sensitivities is an endless dance and is much harder than it may look. Especially at the end of a long day of pro-league practice, where sweat, sulking, and inferiority complexes don’t usually mix well.

But this was the only viable option left, so you get over your own worries and approach Tsukishima’s weary form. You stop just a few inches before him, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was even more beaten down up close. The defeated expression he carried in tandem with his worn-out demeanor made you physically ache for him.

“Tsukki… you’re not lookin’ too hot right now.” You let out a breathy laugh, slowly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to brush a hand through his messy hair, testing the waters.

He doesn’t flinch away from your movements, so you sink back down onto the soles of your feet, letting your hand run down the side of his face.

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly feel great either.” He shoots back, but there’s a somber, troubled tinge.

Tsukki inches toward you, looking away as he tilts the side of his head into the palm of your hand. Your fingers cup his cheek.

Everyone knew how Tsukki acted when he was annoyed or angry. Snappy, sarcastic comments would be strewn in an almost poetic manner, kindly crushing those under his scrutiny. Many had seen Tsukishima after a merciless game, beaten and worn out. He would still have a muted fire behind his efforts and would carry himself with dignity, even if he didn’t feel confidence rise inside of him.

But gloominess? It doesn’t suit him. Not now, not ever.

And currently, he’s emanating a dreary, depressing sadness, like being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella to shield you. It’s helpless and uncontrollable. Utterly humiliating.

You can practically feel the strain of the day radiating off of him. Tsukki had a tendency to wither slowly and cautiously. Not allowing anyone to watch as his snarky comments fizzled out and his sharp gaze gradually dull. By the look in his golden eyes, it was obvious that something in him had already snapped like an old tree branch. Battered and bruised by storm after brutal summer storm, finally shattering under the repetitive pressures of failure and imposter syndrome.

In the past, he had let apathy take over in order to not burden you. Withholding affection, thinking it would keep you safe from his sinking atmosphere when in reality he wished to drink in your tenderness. To fall under your grasp, sinking his head under your chin and lay across your chest.

But maybe it was all too much.

Too much to hold in. To carry alone.

“Kei…” At the use of his first name, he physically softens. Drawing his arms around your middle and clasping his hands behind your back, he gently rests his chin on your head.

“You can always lean on me.” You whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

Your words carry a deeper semblance. That you really are here for him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to lift him up.

You picked a good time for physical touch because he only pulls you in tighter.

He’s pretty warm and smells like sweat mixed with deodorant and his cedar-scented shampoo. You grasp the cloth and squeeze him into you, making sure to keep him steady and balanced. His breathing falls into a gentle rhythm, almost as though he were falling asleep standing up.

“If you weren’t so lanky I would pick you up, but you’re a damn tree.” You sigh, poking fun at him.

The touches were cathartic. Healing. Authentic. Your lighthearted comments kept things comfortable, hindering him from drawing away due to feelings of unworthiness or self-consciousness.

“Wow, okay, bold words for someone who can hardly seem to pick up a bag of flour. You couldn’t hold me even if you were my height.” He snickers, tension releasing and adrenaline wearing off from the high-energy day.

You shift to look up at Tsukki, your chin gently pressing into his chest. He’s already staring down at you. You can’t help that a blush works its way up your neck and onto your cheeks, the warmth from his unusual touch sending you unwarranted fuzzy feelings. As much as you wished this embrace could be all for Tsukki, you’d wanted to hug him with all your might for a while now.

“Y/n… Honest question, so don’t laugh at me. Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima breaks eye contact, arms shifting to lean your chest more on top of his as he sinks a little deeper onto the counter, his back supported by the ledge.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You inquire, eyes still fixed on him, searching his expression.

“I mean... You know when things are going to shit. You know when I need something. A back massage, a slap to the face, hell, even a coffee sometimes.” He snorts, trying not to take his own question too seriously.

You’re the one to sigh now. Doesn’t he know how these things work by now? That being in a relationship with him meant more than insulting the daylights out of each other and going out to dinner? Apparently even Tsukishima lacks a lot perspective when it comes to loving another human being.

“You’re stubborn as hell.” You state plainly, your face going blank.

“What?”

“You refuse to see that you need help too sometimes, babe. Hate to break it to ya, but I actually like listening to and hugging you.” You break into a small smile.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He rolls his eyes at your confusing sentence.

“Are you that dense?” You express with mock disdain at his response.

“Tsukki, I’m saying that you don’t burden me! That I want to be there for you even after shitty days like these! You’re an absolute dumbass!” You snicker and your smile reaches your eyes, crinkling and squinting as his meet yours.

Instead of saying anything, Tsukishima rests in place, dumbfounded.

It’s true, you always were there for him.

Cheering at every game. Cooking dinner for him when you knew he would get home way too late and practically starving. Letting him rant relentlessly about losses and seemingly endless practices.

So why was it that only after breaking down in every way possible, he would finally let you see his most vulnerable thoughts and fears. That he would allow you to witness his exhaustion only once it had reached its peak. That it took Tsukki completely collapsing to let you wrap you arms around him.

And you both guess that it’s because old habits die hard.

Tsukki would always be Tsukki. A little too cold and relentlessly set on drenching others in his never-ending supply of sarcasm. Reluctant to accept help until it was already showing through the bleeding cracks of his figure and laced within his pained speech.

Because for someone so good at putting up and breaking through blocks, Tsukishima needed help with the walls that he had built up under his skin over the years. He needed to see that he couldn’t always protect you from his fears, but that you would be there to help him fight them. Or at least hug them away when it all got too much.

And as he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, you know it will be okay. Because embraces like these are what chip away at walls of fear. It’s the first step and you can already feel the tension crumble away, allowing warmth to surround the two of you.

So you begin to remind him more and more that you like hugs. And he lets you hold him far more often, slowly but surely letting you deeper into his mind and into his arms. A much needed and highly welcomed addition to your everyday life.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Rise boys = Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo. Bay boys = Donnie, Raph, Mikey, and Leo.

This is a fic to lead into a Bayverse/Riseverse crossover! This is also an opening to make any requests for the bay/Rise interactions! I’m also accepting bay requests separate from the crossover! @brightlotusmoon

Link to second part: https://remmushound.tumblr.com/post/645470221504839680/brightlotusmoon-part-2-of-the-bayrise

The alarms sounded in the lair in the early morning, while Donnie was still in REM sleep and Mikey still wrapped himself snuggly in his blankets. When Raph still hugged the bear he always denied he owned and while even Leo still hadn’t woke to take advantage of the day. The only occupant of the lair that was awake was an old rat in the dojo, taking advantage of his son’s absence to meditate on current issues that worried his mind.

His ears jerked to attention as the nirvana of his mind was jarred with Donnie’s warning alarm. He was to his feet in an instant, and soon from their rooms came his sons one by one. Leo first, like always, closely followed by Donnie, and then Raph, and last Mikey.

“Dude, who turned on the screaming?”

“Talk to me Don.”

“Working on it!” Donnie was already at his desk, working a mile a minute to pull up the camera from where the alarm originated. “Got it— wait, that’s not right.”

“What is it?” As usually, Leo was hovering over Donnie’s shoulder and looking at the screen.

“Just looks like black to me.” Raph grunted from where he stood, a more respectable distance away.

“Yeah— it is— somethings up with the cameras.”

“What, they broke?”

“No, someone turned them off— and the only way they could do that is to hack into the camera’s systems—.”

“Which obviously didn't happen.” Leo said, “Could someone be covering the screen a different way?”

“Well, I mean, I guess, but—”

“Alright, then lets move out— try to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Leo held out his arm to stop Raph from running off immediately. “Careful, Raph. This could just be a sewer worker in over his head.”

“Yeah. Or it could be the Shredder.” Raph growled.

“Exactly. So be ready, but quiet. No use exposing ourselves if we don’t need to.”

Leo made the motion and Raph took point and was the first down the slide that took them out of the lair. Mikey was after him quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional!” Mikey waved jazz hands.

“So am I.” Leo shoved Mikey down the slide after Raph. “Don, you next.”

“Arlight, but Leo I really think—”

Leo shoved Donnie into the tube the moment he got within sliding distance, and then gave it a few seconds before jumping in after him. The slide was a steep one, more like a straight drop than anything else, and eventually curving into a slope and then a tunnel. For a moment during the decent, Leo felt his shell leave the wall, and he braced himself for the jostling that came when he hit the curve straight on. He could see all three brothers in front of him in varying stages of the slide, Mikey making every attempt to loop around the length of the tunnel as many times as possible, which kindled his speed enough that he was dangerously close to colliding with Raph. He did another loop, narrowly avoiding the older turtle as he took the lead

“SNOOZE YOU LOSE, RAPH!”

“Mikey! Stop breaking formation!”

“Woah—“

Raph had to put on a quick break as he almost ran into Mikey’s shell, and the momentum made him spin around and slow. Before he could right himself, Donnie started to panic and tried to avoid raph by sliding over the walls as Mikey had, but it wasn’t fast enough and collided into Raph’s plastron.

“WATCH IT DONNIE!”

“THIS WASN’T MY INTENTION!”

“OUT OF THE WAY!” Leo just barely escaped another collision by doing the same move as Mikey, dodging the backup of his brothers as he sped after Mikey.

It took another half a minute for Raph and Donnie to detangle from each other, still sliding all the while.

“Move your arm!”

“Ow, that’s my leg—“

“I don’t care what it is, I’m gonna break it!”

“I’m trying— oh, my glasses—“

“Get offa me Don!”

“I’m struggling just as much as you are!”

Finally, Donnie got himself separated and held his position by digging his staff into the stone to defy the rushing water. He waited until Raphael had turned the corner before he let himself go once more to rush after him.

~~~~~

“Get back here.” Leo growled and grabbed Mikey the moment he caught up, turning the smaller turtle to face him.

“Ah— mercy—!”

“What’s up with breaking formation?”

Raph arrived, flying out of the slide and into the lower section of sewer, landing hard behind them.

“I coulda crushed you!” Raph gave Mikey a harsh shove.

“Hey hey hey, chillax, my dudes!” Mikey tried, holding his hands up in defeat. “I didn't mean to!”

“That’s not an excuse!”

Leo heard Donnie fly out and breathed a sigh. That was all of them.

“Guys, Quit fighting!” Donnie tried to get between them and Mikey. “We’re not alone here, remember?”

“Right.” Leo huffed, and made a motion for the brothers to follow him. “Remember— stick to the shadows and if we do find something, wait for my command before you do anything. Think you can handle that, Mikey?”

“What? I could do that in my sleep, bruh! I’m a shadow! You’re think I’m over here— hwa ha!” He fliped around Leo waving his nunchaku, “—but I’m really—over here!”

Leo prodded the handle of his sword into Mikey’s stomach to quiet him before he took the lead in climbing up the tube that led to the higher section of sewer. The walls were slick and lined with a thick layer of sludge, so getting a grip was difficult, but not impossible. Every so often he’d look down to make sure his brothers were following after him— Mikey, Donnie, and Raph in that order. If they were to fall, each brother would be able to catch the ones on top of him— Mikey could hold Leo, but if he fell then Donnie could catch both Mikey and Leo, and if all three fell, then Raph was at the bottom as backup.

Leo stopped as he reached the surface, just barely peeking his nose up over the edge. All he saw was dark sewer, and after a minute of searching every shadow and potential hiding space, he felt a sharp prod.

“Ow!”

“Move it!” Mikey insisted impatiently, “I don’t wanna look at your butt all day!”

Leo growled and retaliated with a careful kick to Mikey’s shoulder before pulling himselfup finally through the tunnel. He took another look around before turning to give his brothers the signal to follow, but Mikey was already through and Donnie was halfway out.

Leo made a ‘really guys?” motion and sighed, just letting the misdemeanor pass as his three brothers joined him in the dark tunnel.

“See anything Don?”

Donnie hummed and pulled his goggles down over his face to get a better view in the dark.

“Hm. Not picking up any heat signatures besides ours, but there’s splash marks on the walls higher than the current should be able to reach.”

“Meaning?”

“Something’s been splashing around here recently— the amount of residue is too big to be a rat. It could be a dog maybe, but that wouldn’t explain the camera…”

“Dude, it’s like, totally an aligator.”

“No it’s not.” Raph nudged his baby brother.

“No, dude, it totally is! I read about it once!”

“There are no gators in the sewer Mike.”

“Actually, there’s reports of gators living in the tunnels as far back as the nineteen twenties. The story goes that people would buy baby gators when they were small and cute and abandon them when they got too big to be kept in an apartment. The fascinating part is that the city actually rescues up to a hundred alligators a year from exotic breeders or incompetant owners with no liscence.”

“Donnie—“

“Though theoretically they could survive in the sewers for a short time, long-term survival would be highly improbable given cold tempatures and the bacteria in human feces. The only reason we can survive down here is because—“

“DONNIE.” Leo said, this time louder, “The alarm?”

“Oh. Right.” Donnie cleared his throat, looking away sadly as his rant went unfinished. “I… am detecting trace amounts of mutagen, but that could just be cross-contamination from one of us or Splinter. I’m sure someone would have told us if Bebop or Rocksteady escaped.”

There came a noise. A loud, jarring noise like the snap of metal. Each brother had their weapons ready before the sound even stopped echoing, dropping into their respective defense stances as they stared down the side of the tunnel that the noise came from. Nothing happened. A minute passed. Nothing.

“Think they left—?” Mikey was shushed thrice.

Leo gave the motion for his team to follow him as he lead the way down the tunnel.

“It could be an ambush.” Donnie whispered to Leo as they approached.

“If it is, we’ll be prepared—“

Leo held out his hand to stop his brothers as the sound started up again. It took a second, but eventually Leo took notice that it wasn’t the same sound. This time it wasn’t metal snapping, it was more like groaning. Like someone had taken two metal pipes and twisted them together. And there were footsteps— heavy, slow footsteps in uneven intervals.

“What in the world…?”

Leo squinted when a figure made itself known. It looked amost like a spider, with a massive, spiked body and five and a half legs. It seemed to have two heads each moving separately of the other, and the noises it made sounded like something under great strain or in pain. It swayed unsteadly before them and tried to take a step forward.

“Stop right there!” Leo commanded to the beast, holding his katana in its direction.

The monster seemed to understand., and it stopped.

“Leo, that’s—“

Leo shushed Donnie.

“But it’s—“

The figure tried to move toward them again and Leo flashed his sword in another threat. “I said stay back!”

“LEO!” Donnie didn't give Leo the chance to say anything, pulling up his goggles and flicking a flashlight on the creature. “Look…”

The creature— or more like creatures— flinched at the light shined in their faces. Of the six legs Leo had thought he’d seen, only two of them proved to be real, and the one creature turned out to be two. The smaller one was on the bottom, supporting a second, larger creature on his back. Leo, Raph, and Mikey all gasped and withdrew in their shock, but Donnie held steadfast and kept the light trained on the enemy.

The smaller creature was a dark green with stripes of purple streaking across him, purple armor torn and some lost all together. He only had one kneepad and both of his sock peices were soaked dark and torn. His elbow pads remained mostly untouched, and his hands were bare. Technology littered his body— goggles on his head and a tablet on his arm and a belt and shoulder straps that supported a massive shield over his back— over his shell. From the armor came four metal arms, one of them broken and the rest straining to support the immense weight on top of him.

The larger was big enough to cover his carrier almost like a blanket, hiding a majority of the small turtle beneath his massive plastron and bulking arms. He might have been a lighter shade of green— it was hard to tell in the lighting, and even then it hardly mattered. The only evidence the great beast was still living was the fact that he was moving his head around, just slightly. Thick streams of crimson bubbled forth from a gaping wound in his carapace, bleeding out and covering him in streams of shiny red that dripped down his arms and side and onto his companion. He gave the slightest groan at the light shining on him and tried to open his eyes.

“What the fuuuuu…?” Leo gaped.

The purple-clad mutant looked weakly to the four with tired, terrified eyes. “Help…”

He collapsed into the sewage.

#rise raphael #bayverse raph #bayverse leo #tmnt bayverse #bayverse donnie #bayverse mikey #rottmnt donnie #tmnt crossover

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fangirlandiknowit101 · 3 years

Text

Here's the sad pining sasuke i wrote last night... it's not finished and who knows when/if i'll finish it. university AU, not edited and there's some naru//hina and sasuke//OC bc i couldn't think of a canon character that fit. The texting part is also weird bc i wrote it all very fast lol. i'm sharing bc why not *shrugs*

xxx

It hurts, to look at them.

Sasuke can’t help himself. Naruto is his best friend, after all, and he’s not yet so desperate that he’ll avoid him. It’s worse, somehow, that he can’t even dislike her.

She’s good for him, he thinks, when he’s feeling particularly self-deprecating. Her hair is dark and her skin pale as porcelain, and that’s where the similarities end between him and Hinata.

Sweet, and so patient with Naruto. Soft-spoken, but not a pushover. Impeccably dressed, always, no make-up needed to outshine any girl beside her. A picture perfect couple, that’s what they are. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to watch it unfold from the front row.

How her shyness turned to surety, how her eyes would catch on Naruto and look away before, but now – now she looks at him like he belongs to her, soft smile on her plump lips.

Sasuke can’t even hate her, and he wishes he could.

It’s not her fault that Sasuke is the way he is. She doesn’t know, isn’t doing it on purpose. And yet, there’s a stab to Sasuke’s chest every time she takes his hand, every time Naruto tucks her silky hair behind her perfect ear.

Naruto will kiss her cheek and Sasuke will be looking, always looking. His face devoid of emotion, his voice carefully neutral. He can’t be mean to Naruto’s girlfriend, though he wishes he could. Maybe if Naruto got mad at him and pushed him away, Sasuke would be free to move on.

It’s more likely that Sasuke would apologize and do better, and he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment.

Sometimes he imagines that Hinata will find out, that she’ll start treating him with suspicion, watch his every move with her wide eyes. Feel threatened by him. But Sasuke is no threat. He’s tired and hurting, but he’s not a homewrecker. It would be a lot easier if Naruto didn’t keep nudging him in Sakura’s direction.

It’s not Sakura’s fault, either. She’s dreaming of something she can’t have, and the similarities make him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes he thinks he’ll date her, live the lie to the fullest. Give her what she wants, since he’s doomed anyway. He doubts he’d last long, though. If he had even the slightest bit of interest in women – but when he looks at her, there’s just no attraction. He’s not sure how no one’s noticed yet. It’s not like he’s that good of an actor. He thinks the only reason no one’s figured it out is because he’s so deep in the closet, and they’re all so heterosexual. Why would they suspect he’s gay? It suits them better if he isn’t.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late already,” Sakura says beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

The bar is lively around them, but the music is at a bearable noise level. She’s looking at her phone, frowning. On the other side of the small table, Naruto pouts.

“It’s not late!” he objects, the beer in his glass sloshing around as he waves his hands around. “We just got here!”

“We’ve been here for three hours, I think,” Hinata says, leaning her cheek on his shoulder.

Sasuke wonders how she manages, the way he moves around so much. Perhaps her body is as soft as her voice, easily following him.

“I told you I have to get up early tomorrow.” Sakura sighs, irritated. She fishes her bag up from the floor, putting her phone inside it. “I really have to get going.”

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Sasuke offers. Not because he particularly wants to, but he’s not in the mood to subject himself to third-wheeling Naruto and Hinata. “I should get going, anyway.”

“What?” Naruto looks disappointed, more disappointed than when Sakura announced her departure. “I thought you were free tomorrow.”

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke swallows down the last of his drink.

“Doesn’t mean I want to stay up all night,” he counters with, easing out of the booth. “I still have to study.”

“You study too much,” Naruto mutters, giving Hinata a smile like an afterthought when she squeezes his arm.

“Maybe if you studied at all you wouldn’t need to panic before every exam,” Sakura nags at him, coming around the table to wait next to Sasuke. “Some of us care about our grades.”

“Nerds.” At least Naruto looks a little happier, and Sasuke hates to think that it’s because he thinks anything’s going to happen between him and Sakura. “Don’t get lost, you two!”

They say their goodbyes, and Sasuke tries to pretend he doesn’t notice how Sakura’s cheeks fill with color when they step outside the bar. She’s put a jacket on, but Sasuke’s fine in his sweater. It’s not cold enough that her blush can be blamed on the weather.

“Thanks for walking me,” she says, hefting her bag higher up her shoulder. She’d joined them straight from the library, researching her latest paper. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her, hands tucked into his sleeves.

He doesn’t want to run the risk of her attempting to reach for his hand. As much as he dislikes her attention, it’s safer if she thinks he’s just playing hard to get. He won’t have to explain, then, why he hasn’t outright told her to give up. He should, he knows. But Naruto would just nudge him towards some other girl, would bother him about it until Sasuke started going on actual dates. It’s touching, how worried he is over Sasuke potentially being lonely.

Too bad Naruto himself is the cause of it.

“You’re not doing anything tomorrow, then?” Sakura asks, stepping aside as they meet a group of half-drunk businessmen. “I’m working until five…”

It would be so easy to invite her out. To suggest a movie, or trying out that new café near campus. To watch her eyes light up with hope, watch her mouth stretch into an excited smile.

“I really do need to study,” he says. “And I’m almost out of clean clothes.”

None of it is a lie, technically. He’s just not sure he’ll actually do either of those things tomorrow.

“Oh.”

She tries to hide her disappointment, and Sasuke is an expert by now at pretending he doesn’t notice. They walk the rest of the way in silence, waving a quick goodbye at the ticket gates as Sakura’s train is due to arrive in just two minutes. Sasuke buys a drink from a vending machine and takes small sips as he waits for his own, mindlessly scrolling through social media. He almost ignores the text Naruto sends.

> Wanna hang out tomorrow?

He contemplates it. On the one hand, yes, of course he wants to. On the other, having an entire day to himself has its appeal.

> I’ll be busy

> Ooh, with sakura?

The train arrives, and Sasuke snags a seat next to a couple too caught up with each other to pay attention to him.

> No

> Got studying and laundry to do

The reply is instant.

> That’s too boring!!! I’m coming over for lunch

> Whatever

He pockets his phone, and stares down at the bottle in his hands for the rest of the trip. It doesn’t help against the warmth rising in his chest. At least he doesn’t do this to Sakura – doesn’t invite himself into her space, ignorant of her feelings. It doesn’t make him feel better.

xxx

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s got Naruto, and then there’s his small group of friends from high school. Naruto is the only one who still lives nearby. Rather, Sasuke had ended up staying in Konoha like him. It’s a big enough city that most of his classmates are strangers, although slightly less so in their second year. He stayed with his parents for his first year, but when one of his cousins moved abroad for work he took the opportunity to stay at her apartment instead. It’s closer to his university, and if he, potentially, wanted to bring a guy home then no one would know.

He doesn’t think his parents would mind, but there wouldn’t be any privacy. He relishes in it, and Naruto does, too.

“I should just move in with you,” Naruto groans, spread out on his couch. “You wouldn’t believe how annoying my mom was this morning.”

“I think I can believe it,” Sasuke tells him, cleaning up after their lunch. “And just to be clear, I’ve never said you’d be welcome to live here.”

“Stingy,” Naruto grumbles. “How long is your cousin gone, anyway?”

Shrugging, Sasuke dries off the counter just for something to do with his hands.

“A year at least. We’ll see. So it’s not like I’ll be living here forever.”

“But still!”

“Where would you even sleep?”

Naruto happily pats the couch. When Sasuke scowls at him, he simply grins.

“Come on,” Naruto says. “I want to watch a movie.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I need to study.”

Still, he gives in too easily. Naruto lifts his legs to give him room, dumping them all over Sasuke’s lap once he sits down. It’s things like this that makes Sasuke’s heart refuse to give up. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, cheekbone pressed to his closed fist. He doesn’t say anything when Naruto picks a drama at random, letting him comment on the plot as much as he wants. Watching movies with Naruto is certainly never quiet, and he winces as Naruto kicks his legs as he shouts his anger at the main character.

When the movie ends, Naruto doesn’t start a new one. Instead he chews on his bottom lip, playing with the remote. Sasuke considers getting up to use the toilet, maybe suggesting going to the corner store for snacks, but then Naruto clears his throat suspiciously.

“What?” he asks, irritated when Naruto takes his time.

“So, how are things going with Sakura?”

He resists the urge to pinch his nose. He still lets out a heavy breath, not quite a sigh but close enough that Naruto frowns.

“I mean,” Naruto continues, “you could just ask her out. She’s definitely going to say yes.”

Sasuke shifts, uncomfortable. Naruto’s legs are still on top of his. His socks have little frogs on them.

“I’ve told you I’m not really into the idea of a relationship right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Naruto rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and finally removing his legs, crossing them at the ankles instead. “Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Just drop it, Naruto.”

“But if you get together things will be so much easier,” Naruto insists, poking at his arm. “We can go on double dates, and stuff.”

Sending him a glare, Sasuke pulls a leg up to his chest. It won’t prevent Naruto if he decides to get comfy on his lap again, but it might make him think twice at least. Naruto’s only wearing shorts, and all that naked skin isn’t good for his heart. It’s definitely too cold for it, but Naruto’s never been one to care about the weather.

“We already go places together.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same!”

Sasuke pinches his lips, looking away. If he’s not careful, those large blue eyes will convince him to cave in, and then he’ll find himself with a girlfriend. He does a lot for Naruto, but there are limits.

“I’m not going to ask her out,” he mutters, knowing it will only lead to more questioning.

Sure enough, Naruto makes a noise of protest.

“But you haven’t rejected her either!”

“She hasn’t asked me out either.”

“It’s obvious she likes you.”

“That’s her problem.”

Naruto kicks at his thigh, using his heel. He looks properly annoyed now, as if Sasuke is a petulant child, refusing to do what’s best for him.

“If you got over yourself for a minute, you’d realize what a catch she is!”

He doesn’t reply. Let Naruto think he’s just stubborn, or an asshole, or whatever. Let him think Sasuke’s just stringing her along, keeping her attention while refusing to commit. It’s better than the alternative.

“Leave it, Naruto,” he warns, getting up and moving to the kitchen. “We’re not talking about this.”

At least Naruto doesn’t follow him, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. The apartment is small, no wall separating the kitchen from the living room. He searches through his cabinets, locating a forgotten bag of wasabi peas. He throws them at Naruto’s head.

“Eat these and shut up,” he says.

To his relief, Naruto does as told.

xxx

He picks up the call from Karin half-distracted, mind still stuck on a question for tomorrow’s seminar. As usual, she doesn’t wait for him to say hi, making her wince with the volume of her voice.

“Do you have any idea how tiring it is to listen to Naruto whine about you?” she starts with, the background noise suggesting she’s outdoors. “Can’t you just tell him you’re gay and put me out of my misery.”

“No thanks.” He drops his pen on his desk, rubbing at his eyes. He regrets not going to the university library, at least then he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the call. “Was that all? I’m kind of busy.”

“You know, this is exactly why I moved away,” she continues, ignoring him. “I thought I could get away from all the high school-level drama. Just get yourself a boyfriend, and go on those stupid double dates my cousin is so desperately yearning for. How hard can it be?!”

He can feel a headache incoming, and he rubs his fingertips between his brows. Naruto had sulked for hours the day before, until Sasuke got sick of it and threw him out. It was definitely backhanded of him to call Karin and complain.

“If you really wanted to be left out of it, why are you calling me? That’s the opposite of not getting involved.”

“Because it’s really painful and I’m morally obligated as the only person with functional brain cells to tell you to move on. Juugo’s too nice to say it and Suigetsu would give you terrible advice and sit back and watch. I’m being nicer to you than you deserve.”

“By telling me to move on,” Sasuke deadpans, wondering why his parents couldn’t have settled down somewhere else.

“Well, someone has to do it! Clearly I’m the gay cousin in the family, so you’re screwed. Might as well get over it and get laid.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

She huffs at him, traffic and broken conversations filtering through the phone. There’s the jingle of a shop’s door, and the noise cuts off.

“Your pining is just getting sad,” she eventually replies, distractedly. “Trust me, I know my cousin. He’s not worth it.”

Something unpleasant churns in Sasuke’s stomach. He wants to argue with her that he is worth it, but he doesn’t want to land himself in an hour-long lecture if he can help it. He rolls his neck, making a face. She’s got a point, but he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. His life would be a lot simpler if he could find someone who made him forget about Naruto. He’s just not sure it’s fair to expect someone to instantly replace a lifetime of friendship.

“I don’t think I should have to come out just because Naruto irritates you,” is what he says instead, leaning back in his chair. “What if my parents find out and disown me? You want to be responsible for that?”

“Sasuke,” she sighs, “your brother is literally gay and your parents love his boyfriend.”

“So?”

“Stop. Making. Excuses.”

He bites his cheek, holding back a denial. He’s not worried about his parents, he’s worried about Naruto’s reaction. That things will change between them. That he’ll think Sasuke has feelings for him, which would be correct but would also ruin absolutely everything.

“I’ll… consider it,” he concedes, after a long silence, during which Karin has finished buying whatever it was she needed.

“Really? Because I’m going to hold you to that.”

He sighs.

“Next time I’m not picking up when you call me.”

xxx

A few weeks pass, and not much changes. Naruto still takes up too much space in his head and life, Sakura continues to drop hints but refuses to make the first move, and Hinata is still as lovely as ever. She doesn’t seem to have much of a personality other than being Naruto’s girlfriend, but to be fair Sasuke hasn’t precisely paid attention or tried to get to know her. Naruto’s birthday is drawing closer, and he can’t bring himself to do anything to break the status quo before then.

He’s been considering it, though. It would be a relief to stop pretending. He can’t imagine himself finding a boyfriend, though, because where would he even meet someone? It’s too awkward to use a dating app, and he’s not precisely social. He doesn’t have any experience, either, if you don’t count those childish games they played sometimes when they were younger. And that one time Naruto kissed him by accident when they were twelve.

Because of this, he’s really not expecting it when one day in class, just as the lecture ends, his eyes fall on the messenger bag that the guy next to him has just finished packing. There’s a rainbow pin on it, and Sasuke blurts out his question before he can stop to think about it.

“Are you gay?”

He only lifts his eyes from the pin when the surprised silence stretches out a bit too long. Their eyes meet, and the other boy is staring at him like he’s not sure how to react.

“Uh,” he says eventually, fingers clenching around the bag’s strap. “I mean, yes? But if you’re thinking about the pin it’s just a regular rainbow…”

He trails off, and Sasuke feels his cheeks heat up a bit. He can’t believe he just asked, when he himself has gone to such lengths to make sure no one made such assumptions about him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.”

Maybe he should know the guy’s name, but he doesn’t. He’s pretty short, hair dyed a light brown and glasses perched on his nose. Cute, but Sasuke’s not sure he’s his type. He’s not sure he has a type, other than Naruto.

“Are you gay?” the guy asks him, eyebrows rising above the frame of his glasses.

Sasuke licks his lips. He could say no, but to what end?

“I am,” he forces out, breathing in a deep breath.

“Oh.” There’s red color blooming on the other boy’s face, his eyes flickering to the side for a moment. “I was kind of hoping, but, um… I mean, hoping sounds weird! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask outright.”

When Sasuke stands up, he realizes he’s almost a head taller than him.

“I’m Sasuke,” he offers, clicking his laptop shut and slowly sliding it into his bag.

“I know. I mean! I’m Hiroshi. Nice to meet you.”

Sasuke nods, and awkwardly turns to leave. Hiroshi stops him with a hand to his arm, though, and Sasuke swallows nervously as the turns back. He’s not interested in Hiroshi, not really, but he’s never been asked out by a boy before and the novelty of the situation is getting to him.

“Do you, um, are you busy right now? We could have lunch?”

He weighs the pros and cons in his mind. As nervous as Hiroshi looks, there’s a determined glint in his eyes that sways Sasuke over.

“Okay,” he says, and just like that he’s doing what Karin told him to do.

He’s trying, at least.

xxx

Over the course of a week, including having coffee together and a visit to the aquarium, Sasuke learns a lot about Hiroshi. Or Hiro, as he likes his friends to call him. They don’t have too much in common, but they’re both gay and studying agricultural economics. Once Hiro gets over his initial shyness, Sasuke finds he’s got a great sense of humor and won’t hesitate to poke fun at him.

It’s a breath of relief, to spend time with someone who doesn’t know him from before. He didn’t realize how much he needed it – just being able to be himself, without constantly keeping himself in check.

He can’t fool himself to think it’s enough to replace Naruto, but maybe he doesn’t need to replace him. Maybe it’s enough that Hiro seems to like him. He doesn’t really think about it, when he invites Hiro over on a Saturday night, after they’d had dinner at a nice udon place.

“Oh, wow,” Hiro says as he steps into Sasuke’s apartment, making an impressed face. “Nice place.”

“It’s my cousin’s, so no need to sound so impressed.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, taking off his shoes and jacket and following Sasuke inside.

“Alright, I’ll try to keep it in,” he teases, sitting on the couch when Sasuke motions him towards it. “But it must be nice, to have your own place like this. The dorms are fine, but I can’t exactly bring guys there.”

Humming his agreement, Sasuke grabs two cans of soda from the fridge, handing one of them to Hiro when he sinks down on the couch next to him.

“Want to watch something?”

Hiro nods, and Sasuke brings the TV to life. He’s not expecting anything to happen – they’ve only known each other a week. He’s still coming to terms with having a friend other than Karin he can talk to like this, and she doesn’t really count since there was never the potential for anything to happen between them. Hiro is… potentially someone Sasuke could date. At least there’s nothing wrong with him, not yet, and Sasuke’s easing himself into the idea of getting to know him better.

He finds a movie at random, some sci-fi that doesn’t look terrible. The movie turns into background noise as they talk, Hiro’s eyes watching his face more than the screen. It’s nice, in a new, exhilarating way, to have a guy’s attention on him like this. He’s not sure what to do with it. When Hiro moves closer, knee touching Sasuke’s thigh, hand resting on the back of the couch and occasionally touching his neck, Sasuke can’t find it in him to move away.

It feels like a secret, shared between the two of them. He thinks of Naruto for a long moment, allows himself the pain lacing through his chest as he imagines light brown hair replaced with blond, dark eyes replaced with blue. Then, he pushes it away, tells himself he can have this. The emotions are only his own.

It’s all happening too fast when Hiro grows bold, leaning in to press their mouths together, but he doesn’t care. It’s no one’s business if he spends the evening on his couch with a boy in his lap, a boy who isn’t his best friend.

The pain is easier to swallow if he tells himself that he’s the only one hurt.

#at this point i'm just writing whatever's in my head #something is better than nothing #i hate tumblr's formatting

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