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queerbuckleys · 2 years

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STITCH BY STITCH [1.1k | future fic | established relationship] {ao3} a/n: @djdangerlove made this post and well, you all should know how i feel about sewing, so i typed this thing entirely on my phone. it turned soft and gooey established relationship sweetness. oh! and i gave buck a dog, she’s a golden retriever puppy named bailey (i don’t know how old, i don’t know anything. about dogs other than they are soft and cute). anywho enjoy :)

“Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern; it will come out a rose by and by. Life is like that – one stitch at a time taken patiently and the pattern will come out all right like the embroidery.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

when eddie looks up from the couch as the door swings open and buck makes his way around the door, he didn’t expect for his eyes to fall on buck’s face with a harried look in his eye, his curls free and wild the way he leaves them on their days off, his worn shorts that live at the bottom of his dresser as a last resort, and a well loved sweatshirt he swore he lost to the wiles of the station lost and found ages ago- the cuffs torn and unraveling, the hood trying to escape the confines of being attached to the rest. finally his eyes land on the teddy bear clutched in buck’s hand, it looks tiny in his hand, trembling a little.

“buck, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks gently as he gets up to make his way to where buck has frozen in place.

the tears are just about to fill over the brim and buck just lifts the bear further up. there’s a tear in the red sweater and a small hole threatening the integrity of one of its limbs.

“bailey got a hold of it when i wasn’t looking. jee is going to shun me forever,” buck finally says voice raw. “and i, i didn’t know what else to do.”

“okay, well first- this is fixable. go sit and i’ll grab my emergency sewing kit and get you some water. i’ll be right back,” eddie says squeezing bucks empty hand, bring buck’s knuckles to his lips lightly.

he finds the comprehensive sewing kit that abuela had triple checked he had before she moved to texas, and always asks about at least every other phone call.

as his hands wrap around the little hand made bag he remembers the days he would sit next to abuela carefully studying her hand movements, eventually helping her with small repairs, reattaching buttons and the sort. how adriana and sophia started bringing him their barbie clothes that they ripped when they inevitably were too forceful trying to pull the delicate clothes over the hard plastic of their doll’s bodies. how he would tell his dad that it was all in the name of someday being a doctor. and he had perfected those tiny sutures, leaving the tiny clothes looking nearly as good as new. how eventually his mom would bring him a shirt and a button every few weeks until he left home.

he’s back in the living room, buck ending up on the floor, back against the couch like he sometimes did. the floor being superior for some reason that he didn’t quite all the way understand. he’s holding the teddy in both his hands, staring down at it.

he remembers sitting on their couch in el paso, patching a pair of jeans, sewing a few buttons. chris sitting next him watching him more than the children’s tv show dancing across the screen.

eddie settles in, carefully threads a needle and gently takes the bear from bucks hands, and removes the small sweater and sets it aside. buck hooks his chin over his knee and watches with a familiar intention, following each hand movement with intense focus, his tongue poking out in concentration. eddie imagines if he had a notebook and a pen he would be writing it all down.

he finishes the half dozen stitches, knots off the thread, and clips the tail with the small stork scissors, and hands it back to buck, who holds it like it’s glass, thumb hovering over the nearly invisible seam. the awe written across his face looking from the bear to eddie. his eyes settle on eddie’s hands again as he holds the small sweater in his hands.

“i remember when she was barely bigger than that,” he says softly, “she was so tiny. now she’s almost four.”

“imagine how i feel about chris,” eddie replies, his voice pensive as he studies the small sleeve, pinching the seam together again.

buck’s hand drifts to eddie’s other knee, his thumb ghosting over his knee cap.

the unsaid question floating like a cloud between them.

eddie carefully stitches the seam. his mind wandering to the tiny clothes that filled a tiny dresser in el paso what feels like a lifetime ago.

he finishes fixing the small hole. and just stares at the tiny clothing.

“you think it’ll be weird for chris? being so much older than a sibling?” the question slips out softly before he can capture it.

buck freezes, places the bear on the floor carefully, stands on his knees, his hands resting on eddie’s thighs.

“fuck, i’m sorry i just dropped that on you when it’s barely been 6 months. god i’m-“

“eddie, eddie, honey,” buck rushes gently moving a hand to eddie’s cheek, “it’s okay. i was thinking the same thing.”

“you were?

“yeah, i figure we just ask him ya know? he’s a teenager. besides, i think he’d be all for it. and i mean maddie’s much older than me, and we are close, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i’m not worried about any of it really.”

“not about us?” he ducks his head a little, “about me?”

“buck, baby. never has there been a day since i told you about our son’s existence that i have questioned your ability to love and cherish every child in your life, and i have witnessed you grow into being a wonderful father to chris, and a partner to me. evan,” and he looks as small and as young as he did the day he first called him by his name, “you have grown into your own beyond your wildest dreams i’m sure- you are good enough.”

“you are one of the reasons that’s true. and eddie, so are you. so are you.”

“but we’re a couple years away from all that.”

“yeah. yeah we are.”

a soft silence wraps around them for a moment, forehead to forehead, just breathing.

“give me the bear. you take this to maddie and chim’s, pick up bailey, while i pick chris up from school, and meet us at the park. then we will have our usual movie night okay?”

“yeah, okay. that sounds good.”

eddie finished buttoning the tiny sweater on to the bear, patting its chest carefully. he runs a hand through buck’ curls and places the bear back in his hands.

p.s. why i included the tidbit about the stork scissors

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shotorozu · 2 years

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ドキドキ (heart fluttering)

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, shinsou hitoshi, kaminari denki (bnha)

part two — tokrev ver.

legend : [Y/N = YOUR NAME] gender neutral, quirk’s not specific

headcanon type : fluff, crack-ish🤔(x reader)

note(s) : things you did that caused these characters to blush for the first time 💀 i had a hard time sticking with ideas for this one— either way, i’m sorry for the lack of posts 🧎‍♀️

bakugou katsuki

calling him by his full hero name

as we all know, his hero name has gone through several revisions. the reactions of his classmates and teachers after hearing about “king explosion murder” deemed them unacceptable, unworthy (for the time being) to hear of his official, on the paper hero name.

even then, “great explosion murder god dynamight” still has its mixed reviews— mostly questioning the blond’s naming process. they all sincerely wish he’s not in charge of naming whoever’s kid.

which is why, hearing you say his full hero name and in it’s correct order— mind you, nearly caused him to erupt into shades of red, which could rival his very own irises.

the self control he possesses sometimes

he thinks you’re mocking him at first, naturally. considering that, everyone either stuck to the name’s simplified version, “dynamight” or, they just completely avoided the mention of his hero name all together.

until he sees the sincerity in your eyes— confusion swirling in your irises at the lack of katsuki’s response.

he goes to correct you, until he remembers that the order’s absolutely correct. so then, he asks you to say it again, a hand cupping his ear, so he could hear the way the name rolls off your tongue, as you stare at him with anything but ill intent.

katsuki doesn’t realize he’s blushing, until kirishima innocently points it out, believing his blush was the work of the newly purchased hot sauce.

“was the hot sauce i bought really intense? if so— i’m really glad, y’know! i scavenged the aisles for that specific bottle”

“the hell are you talking about?”

“uh, you’re like.. really red, bro. that’s.. that’s what i mean.”

“… i’m not. you’re just fucking colorblind. are you sure the hair dye isn’t seeping into your brain?”

“…i’m sure that’s not how it works—”

“no.”

katsuki ends up not sleeping on time, and it’s all due to you. he concludes he might need professional, medical attention (no, katsuki. you just have a crush— and that’s perfectly fine 😭)

todoroki shouto

calling him his first name

his family only ever called him by his first name, which is a given. but, ever since he made it his official hero name, more and more people have been calling him by his first name.

is it something that he regrets occasionally? yeah, sometimes. did he choose that as his hero name, because he wanted to be recognized as him, and not the child of endeavor? yeah.

did he also make his hero name “shouto”, so he could erase the less than kind memories that associate with his name? maybe.

despite it all, he finds himself fighting the heat that threatens to spread along his cheeks, when you whisper his first name for the first time— addressing him as shouto in private.

not in a training set up, or in front of other classmates— but in each other’s company alone.

activating his right side, to regulate his temperature, he tilts his head to the side— prompting you to speak further.

“you weren’t responding, and i also never said your first name before so.. yeah. wanted to test that out.”

shouto holds down an uncharacteristic stammer. with shaky hands, he slowly (maybe even cautiously), approaches you.

“was that out of line—”

“no.” he starts, “it was quite— nice. yes, nice.” he nods with vigor. he likes the way you say his name, is what he wants to say. but, the words don’t come out as well.

“my first name. it’s free for you to use as you like.”

“oh— thanks, shouto!”

even when he says that, there’s undeniably some redness sprinkled across his cheeks. unsure of what just happened to him— he quickly turns around, hoping you don’t question the uncharacteristic action.

he only notices that he’s blushing, when midoriya takes one look at him, and offers him aloe vera gel

“aloe vera gel?”

“it’s for your..” midoriya gestures to the entirety of his face, “i don’t know what it is, but it looks like a rash?”

“why? what does my face look like?”

“really red, todoroki-kun.”

it dawns onto him on what it actually is, “oh.” not knowing how to reply to that, he accepts the gel.

it occurs to shouto, that there’s something he needs to figure out. whatever it is, it is causing him chest issues. he also believes that it’s detrimental to his ever so perfected temperature control. in reality, this was all because of his feelings towards you, but he’ll figure it out soon enough

shinsou hitoshi

oddly specific

for as long as he could remember, hitoshi has gotten used to paying attention to people, and their voices— because he needed to, if he wanted to pursue being a hero.

gradually, he just knew when to expect something, just by reading the conversation’s pattern, or maybe even their body language.

he thinks that people can be so predictable sometimes. so, when something else happens— it throws him off the loop.

like now, when you complimented him on his bone structure. something so oddly specific, and something he’s never been complimented on before.

to the point that heat flared up on his face— or a blush, he doesn’t know. either way, he just hopes it’s not obvious.

hitoshi knows a part of him would’ve been pretty amused at this compliment— then again, he’s never received such compliment before.

“bone structure, huh?” he questions, hand flying up to his nape, something he does as a fidget, or— when he finds himself shy.

the insomniac teen sincerely hopes this action does something to control whatever blush, or heat that’s about to emit off his face to no end.

“yeah. you have good bone structure. has no one told you that?”

“no, not really. but uh.. thank you?”

you smile, patting his back, “don’t sweat it.”

oh but, he will.

hitoshi only realizes he’s blushing, when aizawa points it out first (he wonders, why it had to be his mentor out of all the people.)

“shinsou, you good?”

“yes, sir. why?”

“you look like you’re burning up.”

“i am? ..huh.”

“don’t “huh” me, i don’t want you to be unwell during training. it won’t benefit you, and it’ll only worsen your condition.”

“uh.. i don’t think..”

“—unless, i’m misreading this all, and it’s not what it appears.”

“…yeah.”

hitoshi wonders if he was blushing because he was given an unexpected, and oddly specific compliment. or— if it’s because you were giving him the praise. but knowing himself, it’s probably because of you. (he’s screwed, he thinks to himself)

kaminari denki

when you flirt back

kaminari denki can flirt, but he doesn’t actually expect any form of reciprocation.

he knows when to back off and all— he’s not a creep. regardless of the fact, whenever he does flirt with someone, they either shyly shrug it off, or they ignore it all together 💀

then there are those rare occasions, where he gets told off, but hey— at least he tried, and at least they were honest.

denki thought you were just being nice, when you only smiled at his borderline cheesy attempts at throwing flirtatious punchlines.

which is why he doesn’t know what to say, when you actually flirt back with him. it was totally unexpected on his end— especially since you’ve never mirrored him in like, ever.

“i think if we were a couple, you’d be the pretty one,” he says in an flirtatious attempt, and he opens his mouth to move onto the next topic, when you reply back with

“hm, i don’t know— you’re pretty good looking yourself. we’d really be one pretty couple.”

denki stares at you dumified, and the lack of words only cause the smile that was already on your lips to spread even wider.

what time is it? where is he? is the room spinning? is the world spinning? he knew, but it seems to be that he forgot about all concepts of time and location.

he believes he short circuited— the way his agape mouth closes and opens like a fish, and the way he stares at you dumbfounded is just enough to wrap a conclusion around his head

but he doesn’t see sparks of electricity, or an expression of worry on your face— which is something he catches a glimpse of, whenever he short circuits due his quirk

so maybe, it’s something else entirely.

denki only realizes that he’s blushing, when bakugou lands a slap on his back, straightening his posture.

“ow, bakugou! what was that for?”

“your expression, ‘s fucking haunting. the hell happened to you? got struck by lighting on the way or something?”

“huh??”

“your face, dimwit. look at your face— it’s red as shit!”

“what— oh. oh.”

“what?”

“i just realized something. i think i’m screwed.”

“sounds like a personal problem.”

in reality, it really was. in a span of few hours and a hamburger, denki came to realize this unlabelled fascination, is him actually developing a crush on you— the subject of his daily banter.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

TAGLIST (bold couldn’t be tagged 😔 lmk if you’ve changed your url ‼️) :

@baku6o @angelicsano @anactualfuckingnerd @kitsuji @tamewkii @astridismissing @sweethcnvy @why-couldnt-it-be @kioyoki @t0ra-kazu @givingeraserhead @uxavity @snowymaltese @escapenightmare @taurus852 @han-the-fanboy @crack-squirrels @keisukeist @vdoesthings @gravity-gacha @blxck-hxney @electricpainterwobblergoop @nopenotallie @mhasimp666 @shelteredheart @lovingshoto @lxislxis @luluwiie @avengs @princ3rae @solaxena

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oedein · 3 years

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DEAL WITH IT.

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader.

warnings: SMUT. sub reader. unprotected sex, overstim, light degradation, pet names.

word count: 3.9k

A/N: lol sorry for making bucky so mean ;(

Standing in the bedroom of your shared bedroom with Bucky, the two of you were trying to find outfits for tonight.

Tony had invited all of the avengers to party to celebrate your latest mission with the squad ending flawlessly. As part of the team, you were going. Bucky was quite averse to the idea of staying out for the night at first, but after a few hours of you practically begging him, he finally caved. — It's not that Bucky wouldn't have gone at all; he would've most likely just tucked himself away in a corner during the whole night and minded his own very boring business. If it wasn't for you accompanying him, helping him loosen up and actually enjoy himself.

After spending a fair amount of time getting ready both physically and mentally, you arrived at the party without any further hindrance.

Bucky kept close to you, his shoulder bumping into yours every time you stopped to greet someone. An hour of just strolling around endlessly made you jittery, feet bouncing off the floor every time you stopped walking. The sound of your suits rubbing up against each other built up a mild frustration within you, making you grit your teeth. You decided to link your arms together as a result instead of walking around like you were gonna merge. The two of you were usually shy about showing affection in public, especially around the other Avengers, but something about tonight tempted you into being more physical with him. You ended up catching up with a friend for quite some time as you were on the way to a bar, making Bucky rather restless. Excusing yourself, you nudged into his side and turned to whisper in his ear. "Hey, 'might want to go there alone for now. I'll be there in a bit." Bucky nodded and pulled his arm away from yours, starting to walk away from you. You watched as he went to sit down on a stool in a far corner, ordering his drink in peace. Your eyes kept flickering over to Bucky as your friend spoke, silently watching as he brushed his hair out of his face and cracked his knuckles. The way he tilted his head back and sighed in frustration as his bangs fell into his face again made you chuckle quietly. You followed every minute movement he did, biting your lip. When he scratched his beard, squinted when someone was too loud, or the way he would look over at you, eyes scanning you up and down made you lose your sense of surrounding, only fixating on him. The friend from earlier was still talking but caught on to you zoning out pretty quickly. Not wanting to bother you further or waste time, they excused themselves and nodded towards your boyfriend, "Go catch up with him; we'll talk more later!" You would apologise countless times for being so out of it before your attention turned back to Bucky, your gazes connecting. "Buck, buck, buck!" You called out playfully, humming as you walked up to him. He turned the stool around as he heard your voice, giving you a slight nod in acknowledgement. You beamed up at him, taking the opportunity to move closer, nestling between his spread legs and leaning your back up against him.

Bucky leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder instead of just sitting straight, giving you a soft nuzzle. As the bartender approached, you quickly added, 'I'll have whatever he's having.' craning your neck to the side and giving Bucky a wink. You could feel his chest rumble as a chuckle built up, the sweet sound escaping from his lips and lingering around you. You awkwardly wrapped an arm around him and turned, lips hovering over each other for a few seconds before they connected. A quick yet deep kiss. You hummed in discontent once he pulled away from you, placing a lasting kiss on your cheek instead. Bucky glanced at you, watching as you nuzzled your cheek into his chin and kept your arm around his shoulder before you leaned back into him. "You look so good in that suit, Buck. Giving me so many bad thoughts..." you purred into his ear, watching as he suddenly turned in his seat. "And it's so hard to have all these thoughts with so many people around. I can't do anything about it." A string of tsks left you, and you shook your head playfully, turning to look for a drop of shock on his face. To your surprise, he was staring straight ahead, gaze almost burning holes into the wall. You couldn't make out any emotions on his features, only noticing his visibly clenched jaw. A pang of satisfaction ran through you — the plan you wanted to set into motion earlier was seemingly starting to work. Bucky's attention returned to you, and he moved his hands to your waist, pushing you so that you would turn to face him. His eyes fixed on you as he leaned in closer, your noses almost touching.

"No." A single word left his lips, taunting you. The confidence from mere seconds ago crawled back inside, being replaced by a newfound annoyance of your boyfriend. You looked directly at him, letting out a huff in response. A smirk crept up over your features, and you placed an arm on his waist, "Aw, come on," you emphasised the last word, dragging it out as you nudged him with your shoulder, "you know you want it." You brought your hand up, dragging it against his crotch before it slinked under his chin, tilting his head down. Moving in for a kiss as he jerked back from the contact, you gave his bottom lip a tug before you pulled away. You heard a quiet 'fuck you.' escape his lips, making you giggle in return. You made sure to finish up your drinks before you got up, deciding to walk outside to chill off. The cold air bit at your reddened cheeks, making you shiver and press further into Bucky as you walked. Your hands curled up into fists, shaking from the chill winds dancing around you before Bucky eveloped them in his. The silent walk fell short as you stopped, turning to stand in front of him. You wriggled your hands free from his grip and placed them on his tie, playfully tugging on it. You reached down to his pants, fingers resting on his belt before you dragged your nails against the leather. You felt his muscles flex underneath his shirt, reacting every time your fingers would brush up against his abdomen. Bucky remained silent, watching as you pushed up against him, grinding your crotch against his, desperate for any reaction. Your eyes met, staring down each other, awaiting your next moves. Your shared warmth was soon gone, with Bucky almost peeling you off of him, moving his hand under your chin and tilting it up.

He ran his metal arm down your body until he stopped at your crotch, copying your actions. Before you could react, he pulled away, shaking his head at you dismissively. The trip home was unbearably quiet, Bucky shutting down any advances you made, resorting to a painful silent treatment. Once you got to your apartment, Bucky ushered you inside and closed the door with an unexpected intensity that made you jump in surprise. Discarding your outerwear, the two of you began walking inside before you were stopped in your track, almost falling over as a result. Bucky was close behind you as his hand found its way to your pants, hooking a finger around your belt and pulling your back towards him. You yelped in surprise, stumbling back a few steps before you hit Bucky's chest with a soft thump. A sigh escaped him before he spoke, voice low and gruff. "I don't appreciate that type of behaviour. Especially not in front of others." His free hand found its way up to your face, fingers wrapping around your jaw firmly, turning you to face him. "Whatever you were trying to gain back there is not going to happen." He noticed a change in your posture, the way you almost cringed into yourself as you listened to his harsh words. As soon as you were about to speak up, Bucky was cutting you off in an instant. "Hm? D'you really think you deserve any of those things?" His words were laced in disappointment, watching as you desperately racked your brain to try and come up with a confident reply. "Aw, poor boy... not a single word, huh?" Bucky brought his knee up between your legs and pushed them apart, the fingers around your belt pulling you further into him. He grinded up against your backside, listening to your mewls. "Where did all that confidence from earlier go?" He huffed out a chuckle, hot breath fanning against your cheek. A satisfied smirk washed over his features as you shuddered in response. "Be good for once and sit down." He mumbled, giving you a slight push towards the living room sofa. You gasped at the sudden movement, stumbling forward and catching yourself on the armrest before you sat down, anticipating Bucky's next move. He followed close behind, eyes never leaving your frame. The growing silence broke as Bucky reached out with two fingers in front of your face. He was towering over you, fully taking advantage of the angle he was at. "Open your mouth." You obliged eagerly, faster than he could finish the sentence. Leaning forward, you let your tongue lay flat against your lower lip and tilted your head back. You looked up at him proudly, expecting to hear praises; instead, you were met by his harsh silence again. Bucky watched as you wrapped your lips around his digits, fluttering your eyelashes at him as your gazes met. You could sense how impatient he was getting, so you started sucking on his fingers, coating them in your saliva. The muffled moans you let out against Bucky's fingers made his cock twitch in his pants, his bulge visibly growing. A string of saliva followed his fingers as he pulled away from your mouth, drool pooling up at the corners of your mouth threatening to spill out as well. Bucky slid down on the sofa next to you, pulling you up on his lap with his free hand once he settled. You rested your legs in between his before he began tugging down your pants and underwear. You followed suit, struggling before your shirt came off fully. Bucky discarded the clothes on the floor before he moved your legs on either side of him. Your member sprung free, plopping up against your belly, making you shudder as the cold air hit your sensitive tip. You looked down, watching as some of your precum ended up leaking on your stomach. Bucky brought his lubed up fingers in front of him and spat on them as well before he lifted your hips slightly. He moved his hand to spread your cheeks, letting a slick finger circle your entrance. He spent a good few minutes riling you up, the seemingly endless teasing never ending. "Hah- Mm.." You tried to moan out in disappointment as he stopped moving, but the noise got stuck in your throat, leaving you even more frustrated. "Please, Buck.. please touch me." You leaned your head against his shoulder, drawing out a lengthy whine into his ear. "I don't think you deserve any of that, though, do you?" He tutted at your words and stopped moving his hand, "Dumb brats don't get their way. They have to deal with what they get." You huffed out in protest as he spoke, "M'not a dumb brat!" You gave his chest a light slap, laying your hand flat against it. Bucky hummed in response and turned your head to face him, "You sure are acting like one right now." As he finished scolding you, he started moving his fingers again —this time pushing his slick digits into you, slowly stretching you out. The sudden contact made you jolt forward, and your hands gripped onto his shirt tightly, knuckles almost turning white. Bucky watched you slowly unravel in front of him as he started to increase his pace. You threw your head back, whining loudly every time his fingers brushed against your prostate, threatening your body to climax early. He moved his cold, metal arm from your waist and wrapped it around your cock, starting to pump it with a steady pace. The added pressure made you keel over, laying your head against his chest as he kept pumping his fingers into you. The second you tried to show that you were close, he would suddenly stop and pull his fingers out, watching as your frustration grew. Tears began forming in your eyes from the teasing, spilling over as you looked at him, making you feel pure defeat. Bucky smirked, pleased with the state he had put you in. He leaned forward, placing small kisses on your cheek until he reached your lips, capturing them in a deep, salty kiss. You kissed him back, sniffling softly as he pulled away from you. He bucked up against you and nodded to the free space on the sofa, motioning for you to lie down. Once you had switched positions, you watched as Bucky moved to get up. You frantically reached out for him, not expecting him to walk away from you like this. He looked down at you and tsked, lifting his index finger and shaking it at you. "Come on, you gotta be more patient than that." He sounded disappointed again, making you wince at your sudden reaction. You curled into the leather sofa, hands at either side of your face. "You can't seriously believe that I'm done with you right now. Not when you're behaving like that." His voice echoed through the room as he walked out to get something. You felt the sofa dip as he returned and nestled between your legs. The familiar sound of a belt jingling piqued your interest, making you look over. Bucky came back with a bottle of lube in his hand, ready to prep both of you. He undid his pants and let his cock spring free, looking over to see you staring at him through heavy lids. A low groan snapped you out of it, your eyes following his hands, watching as he stroked his cock and lubed it up. Cars driving outside the apartment illuminated the room through your windows, letting you see all of Bucky for a few seconds, taking in the sight in front of you greedily. The way he threw his head back and the way his hand would occasionally twitch as he pumped himself was intoxicating. Bucky pulled his hand away from his cock and reached out for your waist, pulling you up on his lap before he lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed himself in, getting all of his cock to fill you up, growling as you squirmed. His thrusts started out slow and steady, your moans spurring him on. He brought your legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as his thrusts turned harsher, almost feral. The room's silence was replaced by the sound of your erratic moans and skin slapping against skin. "Hands up over your head." Bucky suddenly huffed out, never ceasing his ruthless pounding. When you didn't respond, he decided to lean forward, bending your legs until he was close enough to your face. You gasped as his position switched, his cock pushing even deeper inside of you. His hand pinned yours above your head, holding onto your wrists tightly as he kept rutting into you. A loud whine escaped you as you tried glancing down at your neglected cock, wanting to relieve the pressure building up in your abdomen. Bucky noticed your shifting attention, tutting at you as he leaned back up, grabbing onto your hips. "Why don't you be a good whore and cum without touching yourself, hm?" It was more of an order than a question, and you bitterly agreed, trying to relax your arms as Bucky kept fucking you into the sofa like a toy. The assault on your prostate resumed, sending waves of pleasure through your body, cock twitching impatiently the closer you got. After the first time you came, you tried to sit up, expecting him to finish up as well. But you got pulled down into the cushions again, being stared down by an annoyed Bucky. He shook his head at you and kept thrusting. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to steady himself as much as he possibly could with you clenched around him. You nodded frantically and quickly moved your hands down, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, hoping he wouldn't complain. Luckily he didn't, being too preoccupied with fucking you senseless and milking you dry. Drilling into you like it was the only thing he knew how to do. His hips snapped into yours aggressively, cock burying itself deeper in your ass, prodding at your prostate without mercy. After what felt like an eternity of being relentlessly pounded into and being brought to climax several times, you suddenly broke. "Hah, too much..." You moaned out, back arching off the couch and pushing you into Bucky. "It hurts, pl-ease!" Bucky ignored your cries, his pace increasing any time you started whining. He watched your cock twitch as he found your sweet spot again, moaning as you clenched around his shaft. You felt the familiar pressure build up in your abdomen again, pushing yourself off the couch with your elbows as you came for the nth time. Your red, sensitive tip rubbed up against your stomach, making you hiss and whine. Bucky suddenly slowed down, watching for your reaction. He heard you breathe out in relief, beginning to tear up and moving your hands to cover your face. A low chuckle escaped him, and he started thrusting into you again, reaching out for your cock as well. He pressed his palm against your tip, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing. You gasped, letting out a string of curse words and cries, the overstimulation completely taking over your body. "I can't do... it, please." You managed to choke out in between sobs and broken moans. Clenching around his cock, you looked at him through your blurred vision, tears rolling down your burning cheeks. Your hands flew down and grabbed onto Bucky, digging your nails into his forearm, begging him for mercy. Bucky grunted from the pain of your grip and started to pump your cock in retaliation, your sharp cries making him shiver. He began thrusting into you again, the mixture of pleasure and pain making you roll your eyes back, mouth hanging open. He dragged a finger over your stomach, coating his hand with your cum before he spread it on your member, revelling in the way your shaking body reacted to him. His free arm grabbed onto your waist, angling you on him before he began drilling into you again, prodding at your prostate again. Your eyes found his, watching as his face suddenly twisted. Bucky's grip on your cock never relaxed; instead, he started to pump your shaft faster as his thrusts became sloppy and erratic. Bucky looked down, watching your fucked out face, before he leaned over you, releasing into you with a loud groan. He snapped his hips up, pushing to stay deep inside of you. You felt his cock twitch, his release making you shiver and cry out in relief. It pushed you to release for the last time, hips snapping up into the air as pain wracked your body, cock painting your torso and covering you in cum. Bucky thrust into you one last time before he pulled out, trying to steady his breath before he wriggled his arm out of your grip and tucked his cock back into his pants. He watched as your body shook, not being able to calm down fully. His suit and shirt came off, and he kneeled down on the floor next to you, wiping both of you off carefully with his shirt. He let it fall to the floor, scooting over to you and placing his cold hand on your cheek, stroking away tears that rolled down your face. A pang of guilt surged through his body as you looked down at him, eyes puffy and wet. You turned and flashed him a sad smile, breathing heavily into your shoulder. His hand reached out behind your head, grabbing onto a blanket that he luckily had placed on the sofa before, bunching it up in his arms as he got up. Bucky returned to the couch and bent over you, helping you sit up. He wrapped his arms around you securely, making an attempt to prop you up against the backrest. You laid limp in his arms, still trying to catch your breath through quiet tears. You watched as he pulled out the blanket, spreading it out and wrapping it around your shaking body, hushing your cries. "You did so well, baby. I'm so proud of you." He whispered soothingly and rubbed your back,

"Good boy, taking it all so well." Watching as you reached out a hand shakily, he took it in his, rubbing his thumb over your skin. Your breathing began to even out, eyes following Bucky's as his arms went under your legs and around you, scooting you over into his lap. He hugged your body closely, moving his head to kiss away the tears staining your cheeks. His right hand made its way up to your face, cupping your cheek and tucking your head under his chin. A loud hiss left you as your inner thigh brushed up against your still sensitive member, causing you to twitch and tense up. "Still hurts..." A quiet whine left you as you mumbled against the fabric, arching your back awkwardly. "...I'm all messy." Bucky grimaced and gave your side a gentle squeeze in an attempt to shift your focus. "I know, I know. It's gonna be hurting for a while, but you need to try to relax." He sighed deeply and peered down at you, "I'm not leaving until you can get up on your own." You hummed in response, snuggling into his lap, trying to stop shaking. A sudden feeling of anxiety bubbled up as you felt Bucky move until you realised that he was just trying to lay down with you on top of him. Your legs moved around, trying to find a comfortable position before you finally settled, hands grabbing onto the blanket and bringing it up to your face. Bucky brought his hand up from your waist and placed it on the back of your head, fingers massaging your scalp. He watched closely as your eyelids fluttered shut, making him sigh in relief. "I love you," His voice was soft and loving, barely above a whisper. "Such a good and patient boy, huh? Always holding out for me." He was finally praising you, making your stomach bubble up with pride. You lifted up a finger silently in acknowledgement and wiggled it around, listening to Bucky's soft chuckles in response as your mind began to cloud, leading you into a well-deserved slumber, your body ceasing its trembling.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky x reader #bucky x male reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #marvel x male reader #marvel smut #male reader insert

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Text

Grunge-Metal Geralt

Hi, im fucking trash for the idea of Geralt being the front man for a Five Finger Death Punch type band and my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. This music genre is my bread and butter and I think Geralt’s repressed but highly emotional ass would fit right in. Yes im using another Hozier song, no i dont wanna hear anything about it. I’m a basic bitch and ive made my peace with it

Warnings: i honestly have no idea, its a little horny, little emotional, but theres no actual character interaction?, its at a concert venue? idk yall.

_________________________

Jaskier was… out of his comfort zone.

It’s not that he didn’t like the grunge-metal music, he just hadn’t listened to much and he was not used to the energy. People were yelling and screaming and the opener hadn’t even come on yet. He didn’t feel unsafe, far from it. Several people had checked to see if he was okay, seeing as he was the only person in the entire arena wearing a sweater that wasn't ripped or faded to hell. It was just a far cry from the shows he was used to.

He played folky-blues. This was nothing like his shows.

When the lights went down the crowd was deafening, all moving as one to rush the front of the floor, not giving a single fuck about tickets.

The openers were exciting, and Jaskier was surprised by some of the concepts and messages behind the music. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all and he found himself searching them up on Spotify to listen later.

Then came The Witchers.

Eskel and Lambert made their energetic entrance, followed by Aiden calmly walking to his drums and sitting as if he were walking into a college class. But Geralt was nowhere in sight. The one person Jaskier had actually come to see.

He’d seen a video clip from a previous concert where they covered one of his songs, and he was praying they’d do it again. It was lovely in a haunting-almost-threatening way, and the expression in Geralt’s posture alone was enthralling. He had to see it live.

But Geralt was still absent as the band started to build a song. First Aiden with the beat, then Eskel’s bass, then Lambert with a melody on his electric guitar. It built and built and built to a fever pitch, taking the crowd with it. People were already jumping and screeching. Jaskier had to stand on his seat to see the stage clearly.

Geralt’s voice echoed through the venue, low and closer to a growl than singing, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier thought he’d been prepared, but his whole body was covered in goosebumps. He briefly wondered if this was what his friends were feeling when they listened to ASMR.

Geralt remained hidden for the whole first verse, getting the crowd even more excited than Jaskier thought possible, only for the band to go completely silent for a whole measure. When the crowd's screams reached their absolute loudest, Geralt dropped from on top of one of the jumbotrons, landing on one of the horse-sized speakers before launching into the chorus.

Oh fuck, he was even more beautiful in person.

He was… well he was a beast of a man. Jaskier really didn’t have another word for the way his muscles bulged and how lithe and powerful he looked springing from the speaker to join his bandmates on the main stage. His thighs filled out his black, tattered jeans and there were clear faded spots where his muscles strained the fabric too often. The thin black tank he wore did nothing but pretend the man was semi-modest. It was so tight, the only thing left up to the imagination was tan lines and the color of his nipple piercings.

Jaskier was most entranced by his long, white, wavy hair falling past his shoulders. As the show continued and he started to sweat, a lot, it got curlier and curlier at the root. Jaskier wanted to give him a mask and some curl cream, but only after a, uhm, rough night of getting to know each other. He’d heard rumors about Geralt from hitting arenas not long after they’d left. He was quite sure they’d have a great time.

As he focused on the lyrics more and more, he was more inclined to want to wrap Geralt up in a hug and worship every part of him until he felt whole again.

Either he’d been shown the shitty side of the genre, or The Witchers were exceptions to the rule of content. Jaskier was almost moved to tears a few different times.

Finally, about an hour into Jaskier mindlessly feasting his eyes on the front man, Geralt leapt onto another speaker and sat down, breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear.

“You still with us?”

The unholy screech from the crowd left no doubt they were just as excited, if not more so, than when they’d arrived.

“Good! Good..” he trailed off, chuckling as he lowered the mic to take a breath, “We’re gonna slow it down for a minute,” he leaned forward and held the mic away as Eskel shouted something up at him to which he laughed and flipped him off.

“As I was saying, we’re gonna yearn for a minute or two and do a cover. Song by Jaskier called ‘Talk’.”

The crowd lost their shit again, various pride flags popping up throughout the stands.

Geralt chuckled and raised his combat boot, showing off the bi flag colored treads, earning another round of screams. If this is what the grunge-metal scene was like, Jaskier had been missing out his entire life. Sure his fans were sweet and supportive and loving when he’d come out. But this was electric and feral and completely addictive.

Lambert struck the opening chord to Jaskier’s song and the crowd settled to a gentle hum, setting the tone immediately, as if they all knew exactly what was coming.

Geralt closed his eyes as he tapped his thigh with one finger, keeping time before his rumbling baritone hit Jaskier like a freight train.

“I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found…”

Jaskier could have collapsed right there. He knew he was staring like a lovesick idiot, but hell, everyone around him was too. When the chorus hit and Eskel came in with a heavy bass line he nearly fell off his chair. Geralt’s intensity raised with the addition of the backup but he didn’t move. He stayed seated, swaying slightly, with his eyes closed as he crooned out the words Jaskier had sobbed as he wrote, broken hearted and miserable.

It was surreal.

Sure he’d seen other covers. Sure they’d been lovely. But he wanted to listen to this and only this as he fell asleep for the rest of his life. He’d never play it again if he could only hear it one more time.

After the last verse Lambert launched into a guitar solo while Geralt jumped off the speaker and meandered to the center of the stage to slot his mic back in it’s stand. He gripped it like a lifeline when Lambert held one last note for as long as his instrument would allow and only started singing the last chorus when it was almost silent.

“I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you”

His expression looked hopeless and utterly desperate as he crooned out the last two lines. He let his hair fall to cover his face and Jaskier could just barely hear his panting breath over the sound system as the crowd exploded. Geralt tipped his head back and took two deep breaths before straightening up and getting on with the show but Jaskier was stuck.

He was vaguely aware of someone taking a picture of him, but he really couldn’t care less. The fact that Geralt moved right on to a song called ‘Burn Motherfucker Burn’ didn’t matter either.

Jaskier jumped down from his arena seat, whipping out his phone and sending the band a tweet, because apparently that’s what musicians did now?

“Record it. Please. It’s either that or sing me to sleep every night. You choose.”

He stayed for the rest of the show and walked to his car in a haze. Before he backed out of his spot he checked his phone like always and his heart nearly stopped at the two top notifications.

One public reply: “Both? -G”

And one direct message: “If you’re still here and want to grab a drink, I’m just backstage.”

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changkyunswifey · 3 years

Text

12:20 am l im changkyun

wc: 1.2k

request: //

genre: implicit smut ? pretty heavy angst, fluff somehow?

pairing: changkyun x gn!reader

contains: i'm not sure if this is really triggering but better safe than sorry so : TW// rather heavy angst that deals with abandonment issues and not being able to live without someone but overall this is just Changkyun dealing with your insecurities like a champ and loving you as much as you do

a/n: i'm not doing well so i wrote this. Changkyun is my comfort person and maybe that's why i wrote so much about him, i hope you are all okay and taking care of yourselves.

Both of your bodies drowning in the moonlight, Changkyun's forehead was resting against yours as you were making love to one another.

Pants, moans and occasional growls slipped out from both of your lips, swallowing each other's sound in heated and passionate kisses, your lips pressing on his, his tongue made its way inside of your mouth, exploring every inches of you with his warm hands, feeling up from your thigh, to your waist down all the way up to your chest before resting softly around your neck, barely applying any pressure just so he could angle your face the right way to kiss you how he wanted.

You pulled away from his to admire his every features, the way his eyes were slightly glimmering under the faint light coming from outside, how a few drops of sweat would pearl near his hairline, his black hair sticking to his forehead, beautifully framing his face, his mouth agape as his hot breath fans on your lips, low and barely audible sound making their way out of his beautiful swollen lips.

It had been a while since you and Changkyun saw each other and finally being with one another, sharing your love and adoration felt overwhelming, it was a lot to take in, almost too much.

You ragged breath turned into faint sobs, your emotions getting the best of you, the sound that you made brought Changkyun out of whatever trance he was in.

"Baby ?" he asked worriedly, getting no answer from you he halted his movements and brought your face for you to look into his eyes.

"Y/N ? Love, did I hurt you ? Please tell me I didn't hurt you." every alarm was setting in his brain, he knew you guys were the passionate type during those moments but never has he done anything that could hurt you, so the thought of doing it made panic rose within him.

"No - I'm fine, you didn't do anything wrong," you began, seeing him untense above you, rubbing both his thumbs on your cheeks to sooth you from whatever made you break down like that.

"I just missed you so much and all of this feels overwhelming and I didn't mean to cry like I'm so sorry I just -" he hushed you with a kiss, firm and quick but which held so many words.

"I missed you too, a lot. Don't apologize for that, okay ?" he reassured you, obvious care in his tone, his words and acts never failed to make your heart swell.

"You're not going to leave again, are you ?" you whispered against his lips, your eyes closed to hold back the tears that were threatening from rolling down your cheeks.

"I'm not leaving. Ever." Changkyun truthfully said, finding himself getting emotional on his own, seeing you allowing yourself to be so vulnerable before him always made him feel some type of way, the more the time passed by, the more he was helping you out of your shell, and so were you.

You guys were like two flames, even more powerful than soulmates. In addition to being made of each other you also made each other grow, when you met, your lives just completely changed. You started seeing the world differently. You were pushing one another to engage with the divine, shift consciousness, and become a better, soulful being in this experience.

And this is why your relationship was so intense and challenging.

It was making you deal with both of your unresolved issues and become bigger persons.

Tonight was most certainly another moment of growth and emotional bonding.

"I'm not ready to lose you." Changkyun confessed, blinking and allowing a few tears to slip from his eyes.

You brought his face down to yours and kissed his tears away, messily rubbing your nose against his as a sign of reassurance, holding his face close to yours, as if you were one.

"You're the reason I'm still here.." you replied, sincerity blooming out of your sentence.

This moment was intense to say the least, what started as a passionate and loving night was taking a complete turn and slowly grew onto a night of deep hearted confessions.

"It's us against the world, right ?" he said chuckling softly, subtly referring to that one night you were the first one to say this, you had decided to meet up atop of a hill which was hovering the city, being visited by a few couples and group of friends who wanted to stargaze just like you.

That night was meaningful, the world felt small and you were on top of it all, it was really you two against the world.

"I love you so much Changkyun, I love you so much it hurts." you admitted, pouring your feelings directly within his heart, "And I love you more than any words or stars could express Y/N."

The atmosphere was heavy, the warmth previously enveloping you had cooled down, a small breeze could almost be felt as no words were being spoken.

Kisses were being shared, even deeper and more passionate than before, it was almost becoming messy, none of you dared to pull away too much nor for too long, your lips barely leaving his, a thin layer of spit covering your lips as his tongue swiped against it, offering you the softest french kisses you could ask for.

You were just staring at each other, losing yourselves in one another's loving gaze, his breath tickling your chin as you two tried to ease the tension that had made its way in your systems.

After a while, just staring at your lover, he leaned down to kiss you again, one quick kiss, earning a relaxed smile from you as you both let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, that simple gesture had eased the tension and you kissed again.

Your bodies started moving under the covers once again, your right hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer to you, if that was even possible, while you left hand held onto his arm for dear life, scared he might just disappear under your touch.

Changkyun wasn't doing any better, one arm sneaking under you to press your chest flush against his, as his other hand mimicked yours and ran through your hair.

At this moment, you two really made one, unable to be without the other everything fell into place. The way he was holding you close to him, as you were half laying on top of him, completely out of breath, stroking your sticky hair out of your face, lowering his gaze to admire your face, a lazy smile adorning your lips as you absentmindedly drew random shapes on his chest with your fingertips.

"I'm never going to leave you Y/N. I promise." Changkyun breathed out, kissing the crown of your head as you slowly drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his warm embrace and endless love, being with him feeling as comforting as it could.

It felt like home, he felt like home. Yes, no matter what happened, you knew you could always run to him to find whatever you needed, you silently admitted to yourself that Changkyun is home.

#monsta x #monsta x imagines #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #monsta x smut #monsta x changkyun #changkyun imagines #changkyun scenarios #changkyun x reader #changkyun smut

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joannasteez · 3 years

Note

Hey!! So, I have an idea. Could you write a fic about EZ and the reader’s wedding night? With smut of course 😏. I feel like he’d be so sweet and he’d be giving so much praise. You’re a wizard at combining fluff and smut, so I know you’d do amazing with this! Sending you lots of love 😁🥰

Short Summary: You and EZ turn in earlier than planned from your wedding reception.

Gif Credits @losaslut

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @withmyteeth @rae-gar-targaryen @cruzwalters @rose-bliss @youlovetkay

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒

It was a quake in his belly, ravenous, spreading wild and untamed, free, like fire, just a hairs breadth away from desperation. Starvation. It was hunger, jolting tingles prickling, crackling the tips of his fingers, an electric feeling of desire, need. He knew then, knows now, in his soul he’s got to have it, reach out to it, grab at it. Hunger, it’s a shift in his breath, his whole life stuck on the upturn of an inhale but now, finally, feeling free enough to fall, to breathe. And then without wait, breathe again. The body, his body, aches for it --always has-- needs it, this little thing called love. Craves it, so much so that it trembles, forlorn in the way that it lays, stands, sits, exist, till it has it. Till he has it. Has love. Till he can touch it, hear it, smell it, feel it, taste it, hold it gentle in the palm of his hand because...

“Remember Ezekiel, love is a vulnerable thing, don’t waste it”. Felipe’s voice always so mellow and coarse. Reminiscent. “Don’t waste it son, don’t waste it”.

“Can you go three weeks without me Reyes?” You were such a damn tease, even if he could hate you he wouldn’t.

He felt like a madman for saying yes. Just a heel - toe away from insanity.

Three weeks of sweet faint kisses, the taste of your lips ghosting, melting no where else but the very tip of his tongue, and barely felt touches, like a breeze born at dawn too busy moving, flowing, to cascade along the leaves that live for its graceful feel, all because you wanted him needy for you. Hungry.

He couldn’t say “I do” fast enough. “Lets get out of here”. His whisper breathy and warm at your ear. Feet shifting with his, fingers in each others embrace, dancing beneath a chandelier sky.

You’d said “I do” so perfectly. The phrase rich off your lips, dripping like honey, so bright, warm and embracing, a promise. Like some sweet summer melody. It was heavenly.

“You still with me?” The question just above a whisper, your fingers ruffling aimlessly through the hair at his chin.

“Of course”.

“What were you thinking about?” His lip becoming the object of your thumbs affection. The rosy pink flesh so demanding to the eyes, tantalizing.

“How much I need you”.

But it’s a painful longing Ezekiel has, burdening him more than he’d ever be able to tell, one that aches well and deep at the heart of him, melting away bone and wearing the strength of his nerve, leaving him open to the air of you, raw and helpless, but it’s good all the same. He’s weak in love. It’s exhilarating nonetheless, the type of yearning he works tirelessly to sate but begs also never to leave him for fear that he would never feel so wholly, so deeply for another this way again. Finding such pleasure in this love stricken pain, he realizes as he stares into your eyes, only you could do something like this, possess him to feel such an adoration for the way you weaken him. And the silk dress helps him none, the soft white fabric draped along your body drawing him in, persuading his fingers to ruffle beneath, the dig of them measured as they stretch over your thighs, inching towards the sweetest place he knows.

His gaze never leaves you, the straps of your dress slim and dainty as you slip them away over your shoulders.

The shake of his head is a mixture of wonder and disbelief. How were you so beautiful, and he so lucky? “Goddam”, he whispers, the white lace accessorizing your skin calling him, pleading for his strong, gentle touch.

You slip easy into his lap, the end of the plush bed dipping.

Your lips feather over his, breath as soft as your caressing hold along the sharp edge of his jaw. So close you could taste him. “I know how much you love me in lace”.

He groans, placing a hand at your back before he turns to lay you at the heart of the bed. Present himself properly your beauty. “You’re incredible. So perfect”.

Drowning, after three weeks of nothing you’re neck deep in a passion far too great just to be your own, the faint taste of champagne running fresh, swirling on your tongue from his. Three weeks, and finally, he gives you a breathless kiss. Deep, demanding, and addictively unbearable in a way that makes you want to fall into it, wander into the heart of it till you’re lost forever. But what does it all mean?, to be so unearthed in this moment, to fall and fly at the same time? Delve face first into heaven and earth, what else does it mean if not becoming weak in love too.

“I missed you”, his lips lazy at the lace dressing your breast, tongue drawing slow till they’re twisted hard and aching, but he doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t, because when has Ezekiel ever given up the opportunity to tease you? Cause your body such an alluring grief. “I missed this”. Wet kisses swirling and melting into your skin till he’s suckling hard at your lace covered slit, wetness pooling in an instant. “She missed me too”, he chuckles, before it slips into a moan at the roll of your hips. Rosy lips traveling, mapping the underside of your thighs. His eyes blown, glazed over with want as they peer into yours. “You’re so pretty baby”, a small kiss to the peak of your right knee. “So beautiful”. Another just above your navel. “All mine”.

“You can stare and admire me later. I need you now”, you fight the whine threatening to wrap smooth over your words. Fingers reaching for him, wanting him close.

He’s at your ear in seconds, the weight of him pressed well into you, hand strong as he takes one of your legs to wrap secure around him. “How do you want me hermosa?. Tell me”.

“Slow. Make love to me”

He’s moving like the earth has stopped so generously for this moment, calloused fingers relieving you of all the beautiful lace like you’re some precious gift, and then his bottoms are gone, clothes forgotten like everything else that isn’t you. If nothing else in the moment, it’s his sudden affinity for patience that’s most agonizing, but deep down you know you deserve it, leaving him touch starved for three weeks was a bit low. But even patience, with the right touch, wears thin quick, the heel of your left foot settling at the base of his back, both legs now warm at his waist. It’s the creeping roll up his spine that gets him, like a call to action, a firm hand that makes him fall to you with a fluidity, such grace in motion you haven’t seen in weeks. ‘Again... three weeks... why’d you make him wait?’, the small pieces of you wonder, till he’s sinking in hard, hot and thick inside you.

“That’s it”, he encourages. Reveling in your tight fit, utterly dazed in the way it satiates the heat reddening his skin. “Let me in baby”. Another groan escaping all drawn out into the hot skin of your neck when he bottoms out.

“Oh fuck”. Your moan slurred in that delirious way. Eyes daring to roll, your jaw clenched, hiss smooth sailing out and into the air.

He’s moving slow like you asked him, but his hips are digging deep, really giving you the type of passion that glazes your eyes, ears heating, whimpers broken as your fingers press into him. He’s as close as can be but you need him closer, but you’re not really sure what you’re looking for with your fingers, what you’re digging for. Maybe some grounding? Yeah, that’s what it feels like. That’s what shuddered breaths and parted lips tell you anyways. ‘You need grounding’, because he’s determined to imprint himself inside you, mold you to him, make your tight heat recommit him to memory till it’s unrecognizable where you end and he begins.

He’s heavy, within and without, a strong, uncompromising force rocking into you so perfect every time. Your wetness pooling with every filling push of his hips, sounding sweet. “You make me feel so full baby”.

He’s fluid still, the delicious grind he works into you at a steady pace. Thats it, that’s it, that’s it, a mumbling chant parting off his lips, close to yours. They meet and fall off your own, tongues slipping lazy, coming together with every push of his length, walls slick and warm as they hug him in, pulling and sucking so fucking good before his waist rears back, lips breaking for just a moment, before he’s home again. Your foreheads are a resting place for the other, right hand of yours meeting his chest, the other nailing gentle at the nape of his neck. “You’re always so good to me”. He’s at your ear again, whispers soft, but still ringing so loud, your thigh gripped in his left hand, his body anchored on the weight of his arm at the right, the digging turned into a brute snap. “So good for me”. His hearts pounding hard, matching the beat of yours, you feel it, like thunder under your touch. “Fuck”, the slim ring of golden brown in his eye meeting yours. “I’m never letting you go”.

A tear slips slim off to the side of your cheek, pressure in your belly building strong. “I love you EZ”.

He thinks it’s enough, hearing it the one time. It rises, saturates his skin, breaks him down, builds him back up, makes him whole, and then it dissipates. He needs it again. “Say it again. Tell me you love me”.

You hold him close, lips brushing. It’s sweeter this way, always has been, always will be. “I love you baby, I love you so much”.

A tear and a whimper, but it isn’t yours. Another kiss brushing your lips, thigh tight in his hold. “I love you so fucking much”, trembling between the gentle intensity of another whimper and the soft sincerity of a whisper. Either way, it’s truth all the same.

His hips rear back again, hitting once, twice, and then a third final time. The coils winding in your bellies unraveling sharp. Bodies burning in white hot bliss.

Falling and flying face first into heaven and earth. It’s amazing.

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes x reader #mayans mc #soft #fluff #joannasteez

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jiminisnotavirgin · 3 years

Text

A+

Pairing: professor!taehyung | collegestudent!reader

Genre: smut

Description: A one-on-one video call with your hot, college professor takes a surprising turn.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: inappropriate student/teacher relations, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit-stimulation, and innapropriate language.

Note: After much anticipation, I hope this is my return to the writing part of the lovely fanfic world. Here’s a little something mischievous and self-indulgent (clearly!). I started writing this when quarantine and remote-learning first began last year and I returned to it earlier this week. Let me know what you think :) I hope you enjoy A+. Love, Phoenix.

Email after email, document after document, the light from Taehyung’s laptop shines bright blue across his features. The hours go by and the sky grows darker but he remains at his desk, only taking small breaks to lighten the strain on his eyes. His chair creaks as he leans back and glances outside the window. Like most nights lately, only the stars keep him company tonight.

His courses shifted to an online-only remote format due to the need for social distancing. Despite the initial confidence he displayed to his boss and colleagues over the change, Taehyung is more unsure than ever. Frustration sneaks its way into his mind like a viper wrapped around its squirming prey. His life has turned into a turbulent sea of e-mails and complaints from upset students. What’s the best way for him to support his students? How can he assure them that their mental health is more important than any essay or assignment they’ll ever complete?

A sudden knock at the door steals his attention. Jungkook, his roommate and best friend, leans against the doorway with crossed arms. “Professor Kim,” he begins with a smirk. “Do you have a minute to speak?”

“What’s up?” asks Taehyung, ignoring his friend’s use of the name his students address him with.

“Did you see Jimin’s text? He invited us over for drinks at his apartment. Are you coming?”

“Can’t,” answers Taehyung. His computer glows in his peripheral vision. “I have—“

“Emails to write, work to do. I get it, you’re a busy man.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought I’d ask anyway since it’s Saturday night.”

“Maybe next time.” Guilt floods Taehyung’s chest and makes it difficult to look Jungkook directly in the eye. Not only is he a shitty professor but he’s a shitty friend, too.

Jungkook finally steps inside the room, occasionally tinkering with Taehyung’s things until he reaches his desk. “Whatever. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Jungkook’s already-large doe eyes go wider. “Because all you do is sit at that damn computer all day!”

“I have to teach classes online, what do you expect?”

“It’s not healthy. You barely even leave your room to eat.”

“Who are you, the food police?”

“No, I’m your best friend,” Jungkook answers. “When was the last time you did anything fun? Or normal? You’re twenty-six, Tae, not a hundred and six.”

Taehyung sighs. “I can’t think about any of that right now. Actually, I should get back to my work...”

Jungkook takes the hint and leaves, but not without shooting a glare that makes Taehyung regret his choice of words. He can’t worry about it right now though—not when he has a call planned with you in about two minutes.

He was surprised to see an email from you in his inbox yesterday. You’re one of the students that hasn’t reached out all semester unlike most of the others in his courses. He knows just what kind of student you are: the type who floats through classes quietly but still gets high marks. You’re an older student. You fade into the background by avoiding the attention of your peers but your work stands out, therefore, you do too. He recognizes it because he was that student, too.

Taehyung opens the app for the call, expecting you to pick up after a minute or two but you answer within seconds. “Hello,” he greets you.

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear and speak but no sound follows the movement of your mouth. He waits but nothing changes.

Taehyung clears his throat. “I think your microphone is off,” he says and types the same words into the chat box at the bottom of his screen.

You squint as you bring your face closer to the monitor. “Can you hear me now?”

He smiles. “Perfect. So, how are you doing? How’s the semester been so far?”

You shrug. “It’s been okay. I’m just trying my best, you know? What about you?”

“Pretty much the same. There’s nothing to do besides read and grade assignments.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the midterm, actually...” your voice fades out and your eyes drift away from the camera. He digs through his memory for what you wrote but his mind comes out empty-handed.

“Let me pull it up on my computer.” He searches through his saved files and documents.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all of that.” You pause for a few seconds. “It’s about my grade.”

“Let’s see... B-plus. Nice work.” When he looks away from your paper, he catches you frowning.

“Could you give me some feedback on it?” you ask.

“I left a few comments on the side,” he answers, eyes still glued to the document. He exits the window and focuses on your face once again. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You’re a lovely writer.”

“Not good enough if I can only get B-pluses,” you answer with a sigh. Taehyung sits up in his chair, surprised by your shift in tone.

Are you looking for an explanation? A justification for the grades he’s given you? “Most students would be satisfied with a B-plus in an almost graduate level course.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not your other students.”

His brows twitches. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an arrogant jerk but I’m not used to getting anything lower than an A on my papers. The fact that I’m about to graduate and can’t hack yours is pretty... frustrating.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t know what to tell you.” What do you want to hear? Can anything he’ll say wipe that glare off your face? It’s interesting to see you lose your cool after all this time.

You refuse to back down from the challenge. In this impromptu staring contest, your brown eyes penetrate his through the computer screen.

Taehyung decides to give in. Slightly. “One thing I will say,” he continues, “is that I’m particularly tough on my best students. If I gave you an A-plus on every essay you handed in, what would you work up to? There’s no doubt about the strength of your writing.”

Your expression changes immediately. “Oh,” is the only word that leaves your lips. The lines of anger decorating your forehead smooth out as your mouth eases into a relieved smile.

It’s in this moment that Taehyung finds himself looking at you. Truly looking at you.

There’s something about the determination in your face as you plead your case, as though nothing else in the world matters more. Your glossy, heart-shaped lips possess a reddish tint that reminds him of cherries, or rubies. Even through the pixels on the computer screen, you retain the same freshness he remembers from a few months ago, if not more now.

All this time on the computer has gone to your head, he thinks to himself. Perhaps there’s still a chance for him to catch up to Jungkook and the others.

A giggle erupts from your side of the call. “So my papers are good? And here I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you suffer,” he murmurs and runs a hand through the waves in his raven hair. His eyelids flutter closed as he sinks into his chair and stretches his arms. Finally, a meeting he can consider a success; a meeting where the student leaves the call less frustrated than when it began. He prepares to end the call and log off for the night.

Then he hears it.

It’s faint and quiet and quick but he hears it, as if all sounds in the world were turned off and yours was amplified. The sound echoes in his mind as though you were right there beside him: “If only you knew how you make me suffer.”

This progression of thoughts occurs in a matter of seconds. By the time he’s processed your statement, his eyes have been forced open and any chance of relaxation for the rest of the night disappears into thin air.

“What?” he asks, voice betraying the casualness he wishes to exude.

“Oh, nothing.” You blink innocently, long lashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. “I just care about your opinion, Professor Kim, if you can’t tell.”

“Right...” His eyes trail to the messy display of pens and papers spread out across his desk—anything to avoid your gaze. Its intensity has multiplied a thousandfold and threatens to melt him like a popsicle in the sun. He ignores the surge of anxious heat flowing through his veins.

“I mean,” you continue, lips pursed. “Who doesn’t love hearing a little bit of praise every once in a while, right?”

Your statement hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. His shirt suddenly squeezes his torso. His pants suffocate his thighs. The room feels like a furnace and dizzying all at once, but the tension in the air keeps him in the moment.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks.

All the blood drains from your face and your limbs freeze. You hold your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, professor. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” warns Taehyung. A new fire fuels his gaze. With his thick brows, chiseled face, and beautiful black hair to match, your professor is a flame and you’ve been dying to get burned since you first laid eyes on him.

You pull off your hoodie and toss it onto the ground behind you. With a small tug of your index finger, you adjust the spaghetti straps of your pink tank top, underneath which you wear no bra. Your nipples prick at the thin fabric that stretches with each of your breaths.

“You deserve so much more than a little bit of praise,” he murmurs, erasing any doubts over your advances towards him.

“I do?”

“Mmhmm. Especially since you’ve been such a good girl.”

This man couldn’t possibly be the same one that lectured your class all semester. Something sinful replaces the innocent, awkward mannerisms you’ve grown to know over time. No more does he hesitate with his words or actions. Instead, he leans towards the camera with his shoulders pushed back. You’re greeted by his neck and the tan slope of his chest that hides beneath the loose collar of his button-down. You want nothing more than to rip off his shirt with your bare hands. For now, you can only imagine what lies beneath.

“Good girls deserve rewards,” he says with a swipe of his tongue across his plump bottom lip, snapping you out of your daze.

“What should I do?” you ask and glance at your closed bedroom door. Fortunately, you locked it before the call started. You don’t want any intrusions from your roommate.

“You should wind down and take care of yourself. You’ve been working so hard.” His eyes dart down to your tank top. “Close your eyes and imagine it’s me worshipping your chest.”

Your eyes fall closed as your hands drift to the hem of your top. Your fingertips graze your stomach and stop when your skin begins to slope up into the mounds of your breasts. “What would you do if you were here with me right now?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make it my mission to kiss every part of you but first, I’d focus on those beautiful breasts of yours. They’d fit in my hands perfectly.”

With your left hand, you grasp one breast and tighten your grip just the slightest bit. The squeeze forces a sigh from your lips and although your eyes are closed, Taehyung struggles to control his own breathing as he watches you begin to unfold. With the other hand, you bring two fingers to your mouth and coat them in saliva only to bring them down to your nipples which harden with each squeeze and stroke.

Taehyung swallows in anticipation. “Just like that. Keep going.”

“Wait, what about you?” you ask, voice raspy and slightly out of breath.

“What about me?”

“I’m not the only one who deserves a reward.”

“Watching you wriggle and writhe in desire is enough for me.”

You cross your arms. “Nope.”

He chuckles. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“I want you to fuck yourself with your hand and imagine it’s my pussy squeezing the life out of you.”

Your words knock the air out of Taehyung’s lungs but he manages to recover quickly. “You may be a good girl but you’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clinks from his end. “Touch yourself right now. Play with your clit and we’ll see if you’ve still got that nasty mouth of yours when you’re begging me to cum.”

You raise your brows. “I fully intend on cumming at least once in your presence tonight, professor, whether I have your permission or not.”

“Call me Taehyung.” He takes a moment to reflect on the current situation versus the dynamic you had only minutes ago. “Why now? Why did you initiate—”

“My grades go above all else. I didn’t want to jeopardize any of that,” you answer. “And I also waited for your sake.”

“My sake? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were doing this to secure your grades,” he muses.

“Nothing boosts my ego like getting an A-plus based solely off my hard work,” you answer. “Fucking my hot professor is for my own personal pleasure.”

You description makes it sound so typical, just another everyday thing like washing the dishes. Are you using him? Deep inside, the thought of you using him arouses him. He wants to be used by you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, suddenly absorbed by you and the way you carefully orchestrated this interaction. How long did you think about this moment? Were you afraid of rejection?

“I know. Everyone likes me but I always want what I can’t have.” You wink. “Life’s more fun that way.”

Fun. “Enough talk. Let me see.”

“Yes, of course,” you stutter, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You don’t mind his demands or commanding tone. In fact, you invite them.

“Slide back,” he instructs you. “I want to see everything.”

You swallow and obey immediately, rising to pull your chair further away from the camera. You take the chance to slip off your sweatpants which leaves you in nothing but your underwear and tank top. Your underwear isn’t fancy but it’s what’s below that he’s interested in.

You lower yourself onto the seat, not bothering to keep your legs pressed together. You spread your knees slowly, as if your legs were a book with pages waiting to be read.

“Good. Open up more and show me how bad you want it,” he says. The smile in his voice urges you on.

Your hand creeps along the stretchy waistband of your underwear. The material works against you, forcing your wrist against your pelvis and the area you so desperately wish to touch. You have to be patient since you seek to milk this moment for as long as possible.

Your middle finger searches for any sign of dampness and you gasp when you find a small pool already built up at your core. When you look back at the monitor to see what he’d like you to do next, you watch as he adjusts himself into a similar position to yours.

“Your turn. Take off your shirt,” you instruct.

He raises his eyebrows. A mischievous smile dawns on his face. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“So demanding. That’s what got us here in the first place,” he remarks but proceeds to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m not afraid to go out and get what I want.”

“I know, and I admire you for it,” he says. His shirt begins to crinkle as he unbuttons lower and lower until eventually, the front parts to reveal his chest. His abs are soft and his warm honey skin looks smooth. You wonder what it would it taste like.

As he rolls up his sleeves, you observe every movement of his hands. They’re large. One of the first things you noticed about him when he spoke in class and lead discussions. You always wondered what his hands would look like if they were doing something else entirely... Now, your fantasies have come to life.

You force your jaw closed but he’s already caught you staring. “Like what you see?” he asks through his low lids.

“Oh, please. As if you don’t know you’re attractive as hell.”

A low laugh emerges from the man and you smile. If only you could bottle it up and keep it. When he reaches into his pants, you follow along, taking the slick from your finger up to your clit in one smooth stroke. You hum and bite at your lips to contain your reaction.

He shakes his head. “Don’t hide it. You sound beautiful.”

Your other hand starts to wander as you go to work on your clit. From your head to your chest, you seek something to ground you as your soft bud puffs with pleasure. No longer does it hide, tucked away beneath the crevices of your lips. You grind against it using your hand and a slow swivel of your hips from left to right.

“You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you,” coos Taehyung. “Your body was made for this. For pleasure.”

The sight of him gripping the base of his cock is almost enough to send you over. A light glaze of sweat builds on your forehead but you make no effort to wipe it. Taehyung wishes to feel the heat of your body on his. It’s probably better than anything he could ever imagine.

Perhaps now more than ever, he longs for the days before the virus took over and broke everyone apart. He misses those times so much he could cry, especially since he took them for granted. At the same time though, he thinks about the effort those close to him have made to keep in contact. Even old friends he hadn’t spoken to in years called to catch up with him. His students have stuck out the most out of anyone. One or two of them don’t even own laptops but they show up to class on time and bring their A-game. He believes he should take a note or two from them.

As he studies you, the way you squirm in delight, and the way your body responds to the ministrations of your hand, a wave of relief washes over him. If it weren’t for these circumstances, he wouldn’t have had this moment with you.

“Taehyung,” you moan, bringing him back.

The sound of you calling his name shoots heat straight to his cock. With the precum glistening at the top, he grabs his cock and works the tip using his thumb. “Fuck. Look at what you do to me,” he groans at the sensitivity.

“Please,” you take in a breath and continue, “t-tell me more.”

If praise is what you want, praise is what you’ll get. “You’re so hardworking in everything that you do. Look at you now. Touching yourself just for me.”

“Yes, yes.” You moan as your fingers settle into the one position that feels like you’ve struck gold.

“How far inside can those fingers go? I bet you can put them in real deep.”

It’s as though your hands were waiting for his approval. You slip inside your clenching, gaping hole using two fingers. They slide in easily but the initial stretch is foreign since it’s been so long.

Taehyung groans and for the first time tonight, you begin to see him lose control. His cool exterior sinks into the pleasure of his hand—and of you—leaving him a sweaty, desirable mess. His hair sticks to his forehead and his stomach clenches with each stroke of his hand. He moves slowly, trying to match the pace of your hand. You pick up speed and allow your body to move against the rhythm of your hand. Your insides feel warm and soft and slippery. You close your eyes and imagine he’s the one fingering you with those gorgeous hands of his.

The rubber band of pleasure in your stomach begins to stretch. The squelch of your pussy grows louder with each passing second.

Taehyung is well-endowed but never did you imagine his dick would expand so much in length and girth. He could spear your pussy in one fell swoop, destroying your insides and anything else that gets in his way.

“Taehyung, I’m close,” you say with a sigh. You barely have the energy to speak.

“Fuck, me too,” he adds. “I’m almost there. Cum with me.”

His hand travels from base to tip and each part of the journey is smoother than the last. He massages each vein and ripple and moves even faster when he catches a glimpse of the uneven quiver of your thighs. Heat churns in his stomach and all he can do is chase it desperately. He needs it like oxygen, to breathe in the sight of you along with the pleasure of his nether regions.

The rubber band snaps. It strikes you in waves, each crash stronger the last. You let the waves overtake you and succumb to the burst of pleasure spreading through your limbs. You pull out your hand and clench around nothing as the sensitivity forces your legs closed.

Just when you thought things were over, Taehyung makes a request: “Taste it.”

You waste no time in taking your fingers to your mouth, gliding your tongue on the pads of your fingertips, and spreading the salty fluid in your mouth. All you can focus on is the heavenly sight of Taehyung coming. Each breath he lets out comes with a moan. You swear you can feel the vibration of his low voice against your own chest. His hair covers his eyes but you know they’re closed in pleasure. He intakes one sharp breath before it finally takes him over.

He can feel nothing but release. Release of stress. Release of work. Release of anything except you. As white spurts of cum squirt from his dick in a messy stream of strings, all you can think about is the beauty of his body.

“This was fun,” you admit with a smile. “I’m glad my attempt didn’t flop.”

“No, that would’ve been a huge mistake on my part.”

As you look down, your eyelashes brush the top of your cheeks and you bite your lip in anticipation. “I know I’m graduating and all, but we should do this again sometime. If you’re interested.”

He rests his elbows on his desk and brings himself closer to the camera. With his hand holding the side of his face, he takes in the sweet sight of you. “Did you enjoy it that much?”

“Oh yes. In fact, unlike some people, I’d give you an A-plus.”

#bts #bts smut #kim taehyung #fanfic #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #bts fic #bts au #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #Taehyung #jiminisnotavirgin #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

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thedeathlysallows · 2 years

Text

Roseanna

Summary: No one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you, but fleeing to Volterra, Italy probably isn’t a good idea.

Pairing: Roseanna Swan x Felix Volturi; Roseanna Swan x Paul Lahote

A/N: I’m sorry this chapter is so short, but it’s more of a filler about Roseanna and Paul’s backstory. Enjoy!

Ch.3

Roseanna can’t remember life without Paul. He was always there, an ever present work of art in the background of her life. He offered comfort, joy, happiness. Anything Roseanna wanted he busted his ass to provide. From their first meeting to their last, he was there.

When Charlie and Renee first divorced, Roseanna often sought solace in La Push. She was never close to Jacob like Bella was, and Rachel and Rebecca often ignored her. Paul was there though. They met on the beach. Roseanna had been drawing designs in the sand with a stick while he played football with his friends. They were young, so, so young, but the moment their eyes met they recognized one another as a kindred spirit. Someone to trust. Someone to love.

Eventually, they grew up. Innocence slipped from their hands just as the sand of their childhood had done years before. They fell into each other because it was easy. Simple. No one knew them better than each other. It only made complete sense they ended up together.

“So the two of you were together because… what exactly?” Felix interrupts Roseanna’s story with a serious expression on his face. “It was easy? You didn’t have to think?”

Roseanna plays with the bed sheet under her hand, not meeting Felix’s intense gaze. “I know that’s how it sounds, but Paul is- was- just like me. We were both kids with broken families that wanted someone to care about them.”

“You have me for that now.”

“I don’t know you!” Roseanna swallows down the anger, knowing it won’t get her anywhere. “I knew Paul like the back of my hand. Or I thought I did at least. Turns out he had a few tricks up his sleeve.”

It would be so easy for Roseanna to make Paul the villain of her story after what he did, but she would be lying to everyone. Including herself. He never meant to trick her. Maybe it wasn’t even a trick at all. Maybe it really had been love. For Roseanna it had been.

She feels the bed shift and looks up to see Felix beside her. He isn’t the most versed in humans and their emotions, but the haunted look in her eyes is enough for him to want to offer some type of comfort. He still doesn’t understand why she and Paul were ever together and he might never understand. What Felix does understand is the pain on his mate’s face. He understands the desire to protect her. For him, that’s more than enough.

“His eyes,” Roseanna whispers after a pause, “they always reminded me of stars. There was always this deepness and when he laughed there was this shine… I might just be pathetic but I don’t think I can love again after him.”

“You will.” Felix isn’t even referencing himself or their bond when he says it. He’s simply lived long enough that he knows time can heal all sorts of wounds that feel life threatening in the beginning.

Roseanna shakes her head. “No. I’ve paid the price of being involved with men like Paul and I won’t do it again.”

“Why? You still haven’t explained what happened.”

The stares were something Roseanna never got used to, jealousy rearing its’ ugly head time and time again whenever a girl would flirt with Paul. He mostly ignored them. Sometimes he would flirt back a little, but it was only when he could get something out of it. He never led them on though. He always made it obvious it was him and Roseanna vs. the world.

Then he hit his growth spurt, bulked up and lost his temper over the smallest things.

Then he started hanging out more and more with Sam Uley.

Then he dropped the bombshell.

“We aren’t the same, Rosie,” Paul said one day as they sat in Roseanna’s backyard toasting marshmallows. “One day I’ll have to leave you and I know you won’t like it, but it’s not like I have a choice or anything. You just aren’t my forever, ya know?”

One thing about Paul: he never had to be angry to deal damage.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“There’s stuff you don’t understand.” He looked up at Bella’s window. “But for now everything’s fine. I’ll explain more if I ever have to. Shit, maybe it’ll never happen and I just made an ass outta myself for no damn reason.”

“I dropped it after that. For a while anyway.” Roseanna sighs heavily. “I wanted to believe he was the one… then Rachel Black came back from college and it all went to shit.”

Felix wants to say a million different things but keeps his mouth shut while Roseanna gathers her thoughts.

“I… don’t think I blame her. I try not to at least, but what else are you supposed to think or feel when your boyfriend of so many years dumps you for another girl? It’s so… shitty all around to be told ‘I thought I love you but I didn’t know what love actually was until her’.”

Roseanna remembers word for word how that whole conversation went and she’ll likely never forget. She gave Paul everything she had. Everything. And he just threw her out like trash, saying he never really loved her because she wasn’t his fucking imprint, and then he asked for her blessing to publicly be with Rachel, and expected her to not have a problem and be understanding because “you always understand me” and… fuck. It fucking hurts.

“I never really answered him. I just sat and listened because it was so goddamn unbelievable.” Roseanna laughs bitterly. “I just shut the door in his face and ignored him for the next few weeks. Besides, Bella had just gotten back from here and the rest of the Cullen family started trickling back in.”

“And then you came here?” Felix rubs a comforting hand on her back. She leans in to his touch slightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad he fucked up so horribly. He can have that other woman if it means you were led here to me. You’re the other half of my soul.”

“I give you what’s essentially my life story and you still didn’t hear me. Felix, I’m no one’s soulmate. I’m no one’s anything. I’m nothing.” Roseanna can feel the breakdown trying to edge its way in but she refuses to break down over Paul again.

Felix’s eyes glint dangerously in the light of the fireplace. “You’re wrong. You’re everything and I’m willing to give you time to see that, but don’t test me, Roseanna. I can be your way forward.”

“I don’t want love, Felix.”

“You will. When the wounds are less fresh and we’ve spent more time together, you will want to move on. Paul conned you into believing in forever. I’m actually giving you forever.”

#felix volturi #felix volturi imagine #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #volturi fanfiction

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bakatenshii · 4 years

Text

Rapture

Oikawa Tooru x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.8k

TW: 18+, smut, incest, dub/noncon, mild somnophilia

A/N: I started writing this in my notes bcos I wanted to get out a cheeky Oikawa drabble for his birthday, didn’t wanna commit to a proper fic bcos fuck knows I’ve been writing my first ever fic for over a month. Technically this is my first official fic I finished! So much love for my wife @blahkugo for listening to me sob and whine about this & beta-ing it, also to @lookslikeleese who created this brainchild of Tooru-nii with me.

rap·ture

/ˈrapCHər/

a feeling of intense pleasure or joy.

(according to some millerian teaching) the transporting of believers to heaven at the Second Coming of Christ

Blood is thicker than water, in all forms and shapes and sizes. The guilt of blood lays thicker, sweaty and clammy, threatening to matte his perfectly coiffed hair. The guilt lies limp on his childhood bed, delicate legs dangling just a hair away from toeing the carpet.

You couldn’t reach when you were younger, he’d always help you down with all the gentleness of a protective mother and its cub. Long slender fingers tucking under your armpits to lift you from his stiff mattress to stand you on the soft carpeting.

Guilt, in the form of his baby sister laying vulnerability-up, presenting to him in taunt, as if it’s a gift from Satan himself. You won’t know, will never know, It promises. You’re out cold, too many cups of trashy house-party drinks in, your night was bound to end up like this one way or another— exposed and defenseless in a man’s bed. You should be lucky it’s your own big brother’s.

He curses himself for still having been awake when you called him at half four in the morning, curses himself for staying up studying tapes of his opposing team. Bad habits die hard. You were loopy, slurring your words, and all he could hear were the warm familiar sound of ‘niichan, niichan’ tinkling through the static. He had the keys clanking in his hands before he even registered the other voices across the line; deep, low, predatory— of men.

The drive there felt like a blur, tunnel visioning only on the number plate you’d sloppily sent him three times, each varying in one digit. It wasn’t even the right address, it didn’t match your location on his phone.

He saw crowds, loud bass reverberating through to his sleek car that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of beat-up sedans and trucks. He saw limbs, too many limbs, entangling together in a frenzy of sweat and lust; limbs on curves and humps of silhouettes, limbs on your small frame leaning into the corner of the dimly lit room. Then he saw red.

He couldn’t hear the shouts and hollers of his name, crazed fangirls pawing at him for an autograph, a picture, any type of affection from The Oikawa Tooru himself, international volleyball superstar with too many sponsorships under his belt. He reached out an arm towards you, and you clung to him like a magnetic pull, whole body suctioning onto his and tittering out a string of ‘niichan came to pick me up’ and a fit of giggles.

His first conscious breath was taken once he got you in his car. He didn’t want to look at you, didn’t want to assess the damages lest he drove his car straight into the dastardly party if he saw any hint of protrusion. He didn’t; you were fine. You seemed fine, too. You were all-too happy to see him, bragged to him ‘I bet them that you would come pick me up if I called you.’

You told him you missed him, ‘missed niichan so much, he never even bothered to call when he came back to Japan’. Tooru sighed, half part relief, half part guilt. He told you he couldn’t bring you back to his hotel, had to bring you home, because imagine the scandal if he got papped.

It was a lie, he couldn’t give a damn if he got papped, he could easily have explained that it was his own sister; he couldn’t give himself up to the safety of his own enclosed room. His room with no security net of Mum and Dad threatening to barge in, his room where he was free to do whatever he wanted.

He drove you home.

You begged him to pick you up and carry you upstairs, because your feet hurt, they’re so sore from dancing all night. He complied, using all his decade-molded muscles to pull you into his chest and his heart sank to his gut at the realization that you weighed like nothing to him; just like you had when you were younger.

You were bigger now, grown, an adult, but he had grown all the same. It was like a cruel joke— no matter how much you grew, he’d parallel your growth so he would always be just that much stronger than you, that much bigger. The perfect size to protect you. The perfect size to hurt you.

He was directed to his own room rather than yours, with the excuse that yours was too close to the master bedroom, too risky to wake your parents up. His feet moved before his mind could stop him, muscle memory bringing him to the space he’s barely stepped foot in since he was eighteen.

It was too familiar, whole body transcending back to his childhood, back to the innocence of your relationship before he’s tainted it with his twisted perversions. His arms laid you down on his bed, hands finding the straps of your heels to pick off before you thumped back onto his bed, sprawled out and fast asleep.

He’s been staring at your vulnerable placid silhouette splayed on his bed for what feels like minutes, hours. He can’t bring himself to tuck you in, can’t trust his limbs to function how he instructs them to. His skin crawls at the gust of wind kissing the sweat embalming his body, but he doesn’t let himself strip off the suffocating layers. He wants to bask in the physical manifestation of his disgust, nausea, let it remind him of his twisted perversions he can never, ever indulge in.

You shiver, and he jumps. Your tiny body is quivering in chills, begging him to warm it up. He moves with the grace and caution of a robber on the prowl for an expensive jewel, gently snaking his arms under the crook of your knee and top of your spine, lifting you up and away from him like he’s terrified— disgusted, by you.

He lifts the covers and daintily drapes it over the small rise and fall of your chest, pinching the top with only two fingers. A deep breath, a moan, a soft ‘niichan’, and he thinks his heart has stopped completely.

He’s frozen, the hammering in his chest arguing that no, he’s still very much alive, and spares a glance down at you. Your eyelids are fluttering, lips softly pouting, and unmistakably still asleep. He’s mid sigh of relief when he feels a small hand wrap around his arm, and for the second time that night he thinks he’s died.

All the gravity weighing him down disappears as he lets himself be tugged down onto the bed, the weight of his body crushing your tiny one, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s too scared, he’s horrified.

He can feel two dainty arms loop around his neck and cage his head into the side of your face. He can feel the palpitations in his chest, heart hammering straight into yours, tangling with your soft cadenced beats, reaching in and provoking it to waltz to the same fatal rhythm. He can feel his trousers strain and his blood run cold.

Deep breaths to the count of the tick and tocking of the clock on the wall. He feels blurry, vision blotchy, skin prickling with every flood of blood traveling south. He wills it to stop, begs for it to spare him, he’ll behave, he’ll never let his mind wonder to you ever again, he promises.

God is all merciful, but God has long given up on him. Satan wants to watch his world burn, collapse, and dance in the ashes of his crumbling dignity. It teases him with the hilt of your soft body moving to press into his, crawling into his arms caging you in, willfully entering the den holding a ravenous lion fighting its own fangs.

Your eyes flutter open, gaze finding his with striking precision, and smile. It’s the same smile you’ve given him his whole life, the trust and love carved into every quirk of the lip. It shatters his dignity, stomps on it with childish fervor, and Tooru chokes on the breath coming out.

He feels you nuzzling closer, can feel your hair tickling his chin, and prays for forgiveness to any God willing to listen. None do— he’s too far gone. His hand’s reaching to cradle the back of your head as he plants the softest kiss on your cheek with all the practiced grace of a man begging for salvation.

Your eyes stare straight into his with undeterred conviction, glazed over with equal parts alcoholic daze and pure, unadulterated adoration. There’s not enough oxygen traveling to his brain to justify his actions, no amount of repentance would excuse his sins. His lips press into yours, so gently it feels like a mere ghost of breath, quivering in prayers for forgiveness.

A shift; small warm body squirming under his arms, shuffling closer. It catches the tent between his legs, and his whole body twitches like it’s been stung. He barely chokes down the whimper that threatens to come out.

He can feel your hands locking behind his hair, pulling your body infinitely closer to his, smushing your soft tits into his hard chest as he feels the breath sucked out of him by the Devil himself. There’s no more feigned chastity, all abstinence launched aside as he feels a little tongue prod at his lips. They open to let yours in, sucking on it as if it’ll bring his very breath back.

He doesn’t let himself wonder if it’s okay, he knows it’s not; it’s wrong, so wrong, on so many levels. He’s given up trying to please a Holy deity, Satan can take him whole if it means he can ravish in his sick twisted fantasies. He slots a leg between yours, letting the two pairs tangle and waltz to the symphony of your matching heartbeats, finally synching in a virulent tempo.

Breaths turn to pants, turn to unmistakable moans, and Tooru has to pull back to clamp a hand over your mouth in warning. The imagery of his long slender fingers covering more than half your face sends jolts down his body at the same time he realizes it’s him whining out so desperately.

He looks back at your face, beady, glassy, needy eyes peering back at him in sheer devotion, and he shuts his eyes in pure agony as his heart clenches in pangs of guilt, while his adulterous cock twitches in revelation. The warm soft breaths fan his palm, lips puckering underneath to peck softly at his fingers in hopes of escape; he thinks he might cum untouched.

His hand yanks back in shock, in horror, in disgust. But your hands clasped firmly behind hair pulls him back in, and he whispers out a prayer before a soft, “We can’t.” His eyes bore into yours, begging for mercy, begging you to let him go so he can suffer for his sins.

You don’t respond, not immediately. He feels his face pulled into yours and a distinct moisture building up on his thigh wedged between your much smaller legs. Wet— the suction on his tongue, the grinding on his leg, everything’s wet, and damp, and he thinks his mind might be drowning.

He can hear whines, pitched in desperation, and he’s certain they’re from you this time. His arm moves to grip at your hips, cupping your supple mound to shift it up the sheets and press your cunny against his straining erection. His hips buck on instinct, grazing the drooling slit covered only by a thin piece of cotton.

His mind goes blank, vision patching, and it’s too fast, too much, “please, Tooru-nii”— he’s crying. There’s tears stinging the corners of his eyes while he chokes out a string of ‘no, no, no’. He can’t slow the erratic humps against his lil sister’s cunt, the fingers digging into your hips marking you with patches of blooming purple and green, ‘I love you, niichan’.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction; he yanks his body back, takes sharp inhales of breath, until he can open his eyes to look at you again. Panic and nausea coat his tongue where it once tasted like you, but he’s met with the same look of pure adoration you gave him before he tainted your body with sin.

He realizes your hands are still straining to reach the back of his neck where they were before he wrenched his body away. They’re laying gently on his shoulders, twirling lazily at the strands of his hair curling around the base. Tears are flowing down his cheeks, or maybe it’s one single continuous tear, and his body is wracked with guilty desperation.

There’s no malice in your expression, no accusatory anger, and most of all, no disgust. Your face is painted with bliss, and joy, and love— Tooru snaps.

He’s pushing your shoulders back until they meet his singular pillow, and crawls down to nest in the space between your thighs. Large palms hook under your knees and push back until they touch your shoulders, and he moans when he sees your arms reach out to hook them in place obediently.

He wants to cherish this moment, burn the image into his brain for years to come, however many he’s spared, but his loins burn with years of yearning. He grants himself one glance at your tiny frame spread open for him, revels in the sheer devotion in your eyes, and plunges his face into the drenched cotton covering your core.

You moan out his name in a wanton reaction as he inhales your sweet toxins like he’s trying to drown— he is, he has no reason to live past this moment he sins, no right to live as he indulges in his sick perversions.

He can feel each shake and tremor of your thighs above his head as he sucks and licks at the soaked cotton, rendered nothing but an useless scrap now. Each suck is paired with a deep whine, echoing through his now-barren room. With one swift move he pulls off your panties and let it dangle between your ankles hanging above your bodies. Slick lines drip from the wet rag, stretching to connect back to your drooling pussy.

Five seconds— that’s how long he allows himself to marvel at your leaking slit, lips pink and puckered around the clenching hole. His cockhead drenches through his pants, so painfully hard a soft breath could send him tumbling over.

But he doesn’t allow himself to touch it, it’s not about him; it’s about you. Your devotion, mercy— your sheer, unadulterated, unwavering love for him. It’s about you; you deserve the best, you deserve it all, you deserve someone that’s not him.

He licks up, tongue flat, and slowly follows the dip between your folds until he suctions onto your swollen bud. His lips give it a soft peck, before wrapping around it and enclosing it in the hot heat of his mouth.

He has half a mind to snake his hand up to clamp over your mouth, stop the loud moans and sobs from coming out, but each wail shoots jolts of arousal straight to his leaking dick; he can’t bring himself to shut it down, despite how good you look with his long fingers wrapped around your face.

With every long lap, he pulls more cries out of you, and by the time he prods his tongue into your needy hole, you’re clenching down on him, sucking back on the muscle. You’re close, he can feel it. His tongue fucks into you without any of the mercy you’ve graced him, hips rutting into the bedsheet in tangent to your growing squeals.

The palpitations hammering in his heart synchronizes with the pulse of your cunt, weaving into a fatal rondo before everything stops; his hips, your cries, the air closes in on your writhing bodies as he paints his pants in shame and sin.

He allows his peripherals to roam your body; thighs indented with tiny crescents by your dainty fingers, mouth agape with your cute pink tongue lolling out— he swallows down his guilt, letting it scorch his insides before coating his cock threatening to twitch back to life.

He watches your hands drop down from their determined grip, thumping lightly as they hit his bed. He gingerly folds your legs back onto the flat surface before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. He can feel your arms shake in attempt to reach out and cuddle him in, but give out to fatigue.

Your eyes flutter closed, lips molding back to that soft smile ever-present in his presence, and he thinks he hears a faint whisper of, ‘I love you, Tooru-nii.’

Placid, limp, he watches as your body loses energy and drains into the mattress below. It slaps him in the face, presents him with a trophy, a golden star stamped with a big fat ‘Sin’ calligraphed on. His world collapses around him, buries him in the debris of his crumbled dignity, and the Devil dances.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 12 - ao3 -

The dinner lasted until late, late enough that Lan Qiren had to make his excuses and even then only just barely got back to his room in time to fall asleep at the appropriate hour; he didn’t even have enough time to do more than remove his shoes and outer layer before his eyes had closed.

Surprisingly, unlike most social dinners in Lan Qiren’s memory, it hadn’t been awful. Most of that had been thanks to Lao Nie, whose exuberance, as he’d suspected, could carry just about any social interaction to victory. After exhausting himself in thinking of ever more increasingly ridiculous toasts and forcing Wen Ruohan to drink them – they’d switched to wine at some point, although to Lan Qiren’s relief neither offered him any – Lao Nie had turned the subject to the type of music appropriate to be played at a wedding feast, and his opinions on music were, as always, so horrifically wrong that even Lan Qiren had been lured into arguing with him.

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the subject of marriage and weddings more generally, though to Lan Qiren’s relief both men clearly considered him too young to have thoughts about his own future in that regard the way his teachers might have. Instead, they’d spoken about the origins of various wedding traditions – there were some that Lan Qiren had thought were set in stone and handed down from ancient times which Wen Ruohan could recall having seen invented within his lifetime, which was a fascinating advantage of age that Lan Qiren had not previously considered.

It was equally interesting to see Wen Ruohan at his most charming. It was not a mask that the sect leader bothered putting on very often, as far as Lan Qiren knew, and it was a mask, one that was a little loose around the edges – even Lan Qiren could tell. Wen Ruohan would say the right words a beat too late, with his eyes a little too focused and his smile a little too sharp to be believed; his quips were a little too cutting and his suggestions just a little beyond the boundaries of common decency, his cruelty and indifference leaking out around the edges of even a casual chat with people he considered friends.

But at the same time, it was difficult to deny that he was brilliant. Regardless of whether he’d obtained his superior cultivation through dark and dirty means or not, he’d been the master of his sect and about a third of the cultivation world for at least a generation already, and no one managed that without being extremely clever and more than a little ruthless.

It made for interesting conversation, if one beset with a constant feeling of danger…

“I hope you enjoyed the bed.”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, spinning around to stare at Wen Ruohan standing just within the doorway to Lan Qiren's room – he hadn’t heard him open the door, nor close it behind him. The other man was in his wedding finery, the brilliant fiery red of his sect turned to joyous purpose, and yet there was something sinister in his self-assured smile.

“The – bed?” Lan Qiren repeated blankly, and glanced at it. “It was…fine?”

“You complained, last time,” Wen Ruohan said, continuing to stroll into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too hard, I believe you said…I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren vaguely recalled having said something along those lines and blushed in shame. “It’s fine,” he said. “I slept deeply and well. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Wen Ruohan said. “You and I are brothers, are we not? My every thought should be of you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

Before he could say anything, though, Wen Ruohan clicked his tongue lightly and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. “Your Lan sect’s formal clothing is truly a masterpiece of the embroidered arts,” he said. “A brilliant sight – especially all in white.”

Lan Qiren lowered his head, embarrassed again. If pressed, he would argue that his clothing was a little more silver than pure white, so he wasn’t actually dressed in mourning colors, but it couldn’t be denied that he was much closer than most, making it a little inappropriate for a wedding. Unfortunately, he only owned the one set of formal clothes, and there hadn’t been time to commission another; there was nothing for it.

“I like it,” Wen Ruohan said unexpectedly, his hands settling on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. Lan Qiren looked up and was caught by that intense red gaze. “My sect colors are red and white, after all – just like the two of us. A matched set.”

His hands burned too hot on Lan Qiren’s shoulders.

“White is a traditional color for the Lan sect as well,” Lan Qiren said, and his voice only quavered a little bit. “Anyway, it’s…mostly grey.”

“White,” Wen Ruohan disagreed. “As pristine as a pearl resting in the palm of your hand.”

His thumbs pressed lightly just by Lan Qiren’s collarbone. There were acupoints there, he thought, although he was having trouble recalling which ones or what they did.

“Yes, a pearl is truly the most apt comparison,” Wen Ruohan mused. “Simple and natural, yet shining with its own luster – I’d thought rubies, to make you fit to my taste, but perhaps pearls will suit you better.”

“I have no need for jewels,” Lan Qiren said, a little alarmed. Had Wen Ruohan really drunk so much the night before that he was still intoxicated, confusing his new sworn brother and his new bride?

“And yet I may wish to give them to you,” Wen Ruohan said. “Surely you won’t deny me – after all, I need to repay you for the charming gift you gave to me.”

Lan Qiren had a sinking feeling.

“Uh,” he said. “You saw it? Already?”

He’d searched the room briefly earlier that morning for the personal gift he’d bought for Wen Ruohan, intending on packaging the bowls away in his return clothing – why hadn’t it occurred to him to simply give it away to one of his fellow disciples, or even to trade or sell it? That way he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by giving such a simple gift amidst all the opulent luxury of the Nightless City.

It seemed, however, that it was too late for that.

“Oh yes,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused. “A set of drinking bowls, painted with a flowing border reminiscent of vermilion birds – made by your own hand?”

“I only applied the glaze,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “There was another gift, too –”

“I have dozens of golden crowns of better make and greater utility,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “Such a heavy thing. If you told me that you’d picked it yourself, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“No, I did pick –”

“Without constraint? Or from a selection of predetermined choices, each one deemed ‘appropriate’?”

Lan Qiren fell silent.

“Do not tell lies,” Wen Ruohan said, rolling the familiar rule in his mouth as if tasting a wine of fine vintage. “Yes, the guan is a very appropriate gift, neither too distant nor too familiar, too rich or too restrained, perfectly reasonable yet conveying nothing, giving nothing away...I’m quite certain your brother picked it out. But you were the one who picked the bowls, weren’t you? Did you pay for them yourself?”

Lan Qiren felt certain that the conversation was leading to some sort of trap, but he didn’t know what, or how, or how to evade it. “I did,” he admitted. “With my sect allowance.”

“How many months’ worth did it cost you?”

Lan Qiren thought back, calculating. “About three?”

He’d thought to get something nice enough that he wouldn’t lose face in giving it, though naturally he’d underestimated the luxury of the Nightless City. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed the money for much, anyway. The sect supplied him with basic clothing and gear, equipment to tend to his sword and musical instruments, and even access to books; he did not buy himself too many luxuries beyond that. Other than the fees he paid for various sect purposes, it was really only the occasional trinket that caught his eye or rare books on foreign musical techniques that he purchased with his own money.

It wasn’t anything like a sacrifice, not really, but Wen Ruohan still looked pleased about it, smug and satisfied as a cat right after the hunt.

“Three months’ worth,” he murmured, and his hands which were somehow still on Lan Qiren’s shoulders slid inexorably inwards to rest on the sides of his throat. “Even assuming you were extraordinarily parsimonious, little Lan, you could only save a third at a time; that’s nine months of your life that you spent for me. Nearly a twentieth of all the months you’ve lived so far.”

What a strange way to calculate time.

It wasn’t even right, since Lan Qiren had turned seventeen in the interval and that made the interval closer to a twenty-fifth than a twentieth, but also – who thought like that, treating time like a percentage, as if it could be measured and spent like coin? Perhaps it was simply that Wen Ruohan was so old already…and perhaps that, in turn, was why he looked at him so strangely, so unnervingly –

Lan Qiren swallowed, decided he didn’t need his pride more than he needed to get away, and ducked out of Wen Ruohan’s loose grip.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready or something?” he asked, turning and pretending to fuss with his robes to avoid making eye contact. “It’s the morning of your wedding.”

“Indeed it is,” Wen Ruohan said from behind him. He was standing too close: Lan Qiren could feel his breath on the back of his head. “Tell me, little Lan – little brother. What do you think of my marriage?”

Lan Qiren hesitated.

“The truth, if you will,” Wen Ruohan added. “I would hate for the purity of our relationship to be tainted by misdirection, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to lie.”

His voice was mild and even, almost sweet, and Lan Qiren was abruptly convinced that it was far more threatening than any of Lao Nie’s rages or his brother’s ice-cold sarcasms.

“I think you made it up to distract people from swearing brotherhood with me,” he said, turning back to face his fears and sworn brother, and felt his face go red as he realized how self-involved that made him sound. But it was what he thought, and Wen Ruohan had asked him not to lie. “You made a mistake, underestimated people’s reactions, and Lao Nie yelled at you because it was affecting your reputation and mine, so you came up with a better story and made everyone else believe it.”

Wen Ruohan hummed. “What an interesting theory. You don’t think the engagement was merely kept private before being revealed at an appropriate time?”

“No.” Lan Qiren shrugged. “If I’m wrong, of course, I’m wrong. But you asked what I thought.”

“Is that why you got me a gift?” Lan Qiren, surprised, glanced at Wen Ruohan, who was still smiling. “To thank me for clearing up the mess I made of your reputation?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re getting married,” Lan Qiren said, bemused. “What does my reputation have to do with anything? You’re not the one making everyone gossip, and even if you were, you cleaning up something you did is only what you should do. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

This time, Wen Ruohan gave a little huff of amusement, and he sounded almost surprised. “Charmingly blunt.”

“You told me not to lie or misdirect!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Now Wen Ruohan was chuckling in earnest. “Ah, little Lan,” he said. “Someone is going to get you into trouble one day, and it may very well be me…you’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“About the wedding,” he said lazily, and put a hand on top of Lan Qiren’s head. “Both in terms of motivation and timing. You’re entirely right, except for one part.”

“What part?”

His fingers tightened, the too-sharp nails digging into Lan Qiren’s scalp and pulling at his hair until his head was forced back to look up at Wen Ruohan.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Wen Ruohan said. His eyes were boring into Lan Qiren’s own, the pressure of his will strong, as insistent as his voice. “You were not a mistake, little Lan. You’re mine.”

“Of course I am,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly irritated for no reason he could tell. “Your sworn brother. Doesn’t the whole world know it by now?”

“Mm. I suppose they do.”

“And on that note,” Lan Qiren said, “what are the terms, anyway? I never got to see them.”

“The – terms?”

“Of our brotherhood! My brother confiscated the paper you gave me before I could look it over, and naturally I don’t remember, so you have to give me another copy. I think I’m entitled to one, since I’m a part of it, and presumably you did the drafting. Was it one of the classical oaths? Which clauses were included? Provisions? Curses? Was there any consideration of – stop laughing!”

Wen Ruohan had released Lan Qiren’s hair in order to brace himself on the wall, he was laughing so hard. Laughing with big laughs that came up from his belly and stuck in his throat, and no matter what Lan Qiren said he didn’t say one single thing in response. Lan Qiren eventually gave up with a huff and stormed out.

Let the irritating bastard be late to his own wedding, for all he cared.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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thebigbadbatswife · 3 years

Text

One Single Thread Of Gold Tied Me To You

Summary - Everyone is tied to their soulmate with a red thread tied to their wrist. All except Y/N’s, who’s thread is gold. Tired of waiting for her soulmate to come and find her, she decides to go and find them. It doesn’t go quite how she expected it to.

Warnings - A little angst

[A/N] - This is a soulmate au where you and your soulmate are attached by an unbreakable red thread (or, in this case, gold), tied to your wrist. This was inspired by the song 'Invisible String' by Taylor Swift.

Word Count - 4k

As the early morning sun slowly filtered into your room, through your blinds, you carefully examined the thread attached to your wrist. Everyone had one; it was your link to your soulmate. Yours was different to everyone else though. While everyone had red, yours was gold. As you turned your wrist, it caught the sunlight and glistened a little.

Everyone you knew had always been fascinated by it. As was nearly every stranger you met. Why was it gold? What exactly made you and your soulmate so different to everyone else’s? Questions you had often asked yourself as well. Why were you two so different?

Your family had a theory that whoever it was, they were rich. Very rich. That was surely the reason it was gold. Nothing else made sense to them. Meanwhile your friends were completely convinced that your soulmate was some kind of God.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Tracey said before taking another sip of her third glass of wine. Her usually bright emerald eyes were glazed over from all of the alcohol. “Why else would it be gold?”

“You gotta admit, Tracey might be drunk right now, but she has a good point!” Skylar joined in. She took her brown eyes off the blonde and looked over at you before continuing. “Oh! What if your soulmate is like Wonder Woman or Superman or something! How cool would that be?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your own glass of wine. “Stop it. You’re both being ridiculous,” you had told them because they really were being ridiculous. There was no way your soulmate was a member of the Justice League, let alone an Amazonian Princess or the Man of Steel.

You were, of course, curious of your soulmate yourself. Who wouldn’t be curious of the person they’re destined to end up with? But you didn’t think up the crazy theories your friends and family liked to come up with. Instead you wondered things like, what kind of hobbies do they have? What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Were they a cat person or a dog person? And other things like that.

Another thing about the thread that tied you to your soulmate was that, while everyone could see the thread around your wrist, only you and soulmate could see where it led. While you had always wanted to follow it, you had decided that it would be better to focus on having a decent job and place to live first.

During that time a small part of you had hoped that maybe your soulmate would come looking for you, but since they clearly weren’t, maybe you should? After all, you had a well paying job and a great apartment, so why not? Every job was legally required to allow people time off to go search, so that wouldn’t be an issue. It was paid time off as well so you didn’t have to worry about money. You also had a car so you wouldn’t have to spend a shit ton of money on travel. At least, you hoped you wouldn’t. In truth, for all you knew, your soulmate could be in a completely different country. Now that would certainly complicate things.

Shaking that thought away (because there was no way fate could be that cruel), you got out of bed and set about putting the wheels in motion that would allow you to start following your thread

‘ Welcome to Gotham City! ’ the sign read as you drove past it. When you had told those close to you, your plan, they had been super supportive. Now, if they knew where your thread had lead you, you doubted they’d be as supportive. Hell, even you were rethinking things now. Out of all the cities for your soulmate to be in, it just had to be this one.

How did you know it was this city that they resided in and it wasn’t just another stop along the way? It was hard to explain, but you had a feeling deep within your gut, almost like a sixth sense that just yelled “Yep! This is the place!”.

You felt extremely uneasy as you drove through the city. It was night-time as well which did absolutely nothing to help. Honestly, of all the times to arrive in Gotham, night-time was definitely the worst. Well, there was nothing you could do about that now, you just had to keep on going, so you did.

The golden thread snaked through the gothic city and went from the “posh” part of the city all the way to the worst part of the city. The buildings were run down and most of the windows were boarded up. Each turn you took there were shiftier and shiftier characters on every corner. You started to get the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. Plus you were starting to wonder if you really wanted to know who your soulmate was if they were hanging out in neighbourhoods like this.

You brought your car to a stop in front of a particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway. A particularly dark and sinister looking alleyway that your golden thread lead straight into. Coming to this part of this city was already a bad idea. Continuing to follow that thread to what had to be your certain doom was even worse. Yet, at this point in your mission, you were pretty much committed.

You couldn’t help out a quiet and very nervous laugh as you climbed out of your car. ‘ This is fucking insane ,’ you thought as you stepped out of your car. Before shutting and locking it (though you doubt that would do much to protect it in this area), you grabbed your pepper spray. ‘ I really hope your worth all this .’

As you followed the thread down the alleyway, you heard a sudden loud bang. A gunshot. You stopped in your tracks and you could feel your heart pick up its pace. Your thread lead in the direction the shot had come from. ‘ I really hope you weren’t involved with that .’ Taking a deep breath, you continued down the alleyway.

The alleyway lead out onto another street. There was a small crunching sound as you stepped out onto the street. Taking a step back, you looked to the ground to see what you had just stepped on. The ground was littered with small shards of glass. Looking up, you figured the shards of glass were from the bulbs from the streetlamps. Something had broken them. It didn’t take you long to figure out what, or rather who ,was responsible.

Further down the street, taking on group of ten men, was none other than Gotham’s Caped Crusader. The Batman.

You quickly ducked back into the alley you had just left. You then carefully peered around the wall, so you could watch the fight. You were well aware of the fact that your thread was leading straight toward the fight. Which meant that your soulmate was involved.

You watched the fight intensely, both intrigued and terrified to figured which one of the men was on the end of your thread. There was a voice in the back of your head praying hardcore that it was the hero in the centre of the fight.

Batman was a blur of black and dark grey as he rapidly made his way through the group of men. With a variety of different punches, kicks and gadgets, he made short work of them. During his combat flow, you followed your thread with your eyes and a small gasp left you as you realised who the other end was attached to.

Holy fuck. You’re friends had, kind of, been right. While your soulmate wasn’t Wonder Woman or Superman, like they had suggested, he was apart of the Justice League’s ‘Big Three’. Your soulmate was Batman . At least now you knew why he hadn’t come looking for you. He’d been busy saving the world.

Now you had to figure out how to approach him before he ended up disappearing into the night.

Exiting your cover, you took your thread between your finger and thumb and gently tugged on it a couple of times.

Batman looked at his end of the thread curiously as your tugs had gotten his attention. Then his head drifted upwards, following where it lead till his eyes settled on you.

If he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, his eyes never leaving you. Part of you wanted to cower away from the intense stare, but you willed yourself not to. He was your soulmate, and you weren’t a criminal, you had no reason to be afraid.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, finally ending the silence between you. His voice was deep and almost robotic sounding. Probably some sort of voice modulator to help hide his identity, you figured.

“In Gotham? Yeah, this place really sucks,” you replied, thinking about all the things you had heard about this city, “but I came here to find my soulmate; to find you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” His voice was sharp and serious as he spoke. He also sounded irritated at your sudden appearance, which caused you to frown. That couldn’t be right… could it?

“What?” You hated how meek and pathetic your voice sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Wasn’t this supposed to be a happy moment? One of the happiest in your life in fact. Instead you felt like you were being scolded rather than meeting the person who was supposed to be your other half.

“I didn’t want to meet you. Now I suggest you go home. It’s not safe here.”

What? You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. There was pressure behind your eyes and your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath as you took a step backwards away from him. It quickly sunk in that the man you’d been destined to be with, the man you had thought about since you were old enough to understand the concept of a soulmate, wanted nothing to do with you.

“I-I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Your voice broke as you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. You weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. You then turned around and ran back toward where you had left your car.

As fast as you could, you started your car up and made your way to a safer part of the city. It didn’t take you long to find a somewhat empty parking lot to park in. Once the engine was off, you screamed and aggressively slammed against the wheel as you let the tears freely fall.

You felt like a complete and utter fucking idiot. Of course he didn’t want you. You’d probably just get in the way of him saving the world or something like that. Besides, what was that article you had seen a few months ago? Something about Catwoman and a relationship between the two? While it happened very rarely, some people in the world had been known to reject their soulmate because they had found someone they deemed better. Is that what had happened? Whatever the reason, you could feel your heart breaking.

You had used to think that, out of all the members of the Justice League, Batman had been one of the cooler members. Now all you could think was that he was a massive jerk.

Maybe it was your own fault for romanticising the whole thing and thinking that your meeting would be something out of a fairytale. Apparently fate was far crueller than you could have ever thought it to be.

Bruce watched as she ran away from him, back down the alleyway she had come from. A small voice in the back of his head told him to go after her. To grab her, hold her close and apologise, tell her that he hadn’t meant it. He ignored it and headed off in the opposite direction, back to where he had left the batmobile.

Over his comms, he heard a barely audible sigh and he could easily picture his butler and lifelong friend shaking his head in disappointment. No doubt he was going to get an earful once he got back to the batcave. Well it certainly wasn’t the first time.

As the batmobile pulled up in the batcave, he could see Alfred waiting for him. ‘ Here we go ,’ he thought as he got out of his car and removed his cowl.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he stated as he walked past him and toward the batcomputer. He set his cowl down on the desk. Even as the words left his mouth he knew he had wasted his breath. If there was one thing that Alfred had done consistently since Bruce had started down this path, it was letting him know when he disagreed with something he did.

“Was that really necessary Master Bruce? She’s come all of this way…” Alfred started, but ended up trailing off. There was a small moment of silence before he continued. “You know, I remember a small boy who couldn’t wait to go out there and find…” Before he could finish what he was saying, Bruce promptly cut him off.

“What would you have me do, Alfred?!” His voice echoed off of the cave’s walls and disturbed some of the bats still hanging on the ceiling. Bruce gestured toward his equipment and the display cases that held some rather badly damaged batsuits. All of them testaments to injuries that had come far too close to killing him. “Would you really have me force this life on to her? The dangers, the no guarantee I’ll come home…” He took a deep breath and rested both his hands on the surface of his desk. “She deserves so much better.” His voice was quiet, but still easily heard in the, almost, silent cave.

“With all due respect, sir, I believe she should be allowed to make that decision, not you,” Alfred replied before leaving the batcave, not giving Bruce a chance to respond.

He looked in the direction of the stairs that lead up into the manor. The direction that Alfred had headed in. Was he right? Should he be leaving it up to her to decide what she wanted? But with all the dangers he faced nightly… No, it was better for him to stay far away from her.

Over the following week Bruce found himself distracted. It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing, he couldn’t focus. And considering what he did once night fell over Gotham, to say being unfocused really wasn’t good was a complete understatement of the situation. He had been having far too many close calls recently.

He couldn’t get it out of his head. The way she had looked at him as he told her he didn’t want to meet her, that she should leave. Alfred’s words echoed in his mind and he found himself questioning the decisions he had made that night. Something that Bruce rarely, if ever, did. Everything he did was meticulously planned and there was never any doubt when he made a decision. Was this what happened once you met your soulmate and rejected them?

Bruce was sure that the rest of the Justice League had taken notice. With how off beat and slow to react to certain things, it would be hard not to. Of course, if they had, none of them had mentioned it to him. Apparently they knew better. For the time being, at least. He was sure it wouldn’t be long before they did try to pry into his personal life.

Which lead him here. On the roof of the building opposite of Y/N’s apartment building. He hadn’t needed to do any extensive research to find her, or learn her name, because he had been in this exact spot a couple of years ago.

Two years ago Bruce’s own curiosity had gotten the better of him. He blamed Clark and his soulmate, a reporter by the name of Lois Lane, for it. He had seen them one too many times in the Watchtower together and had found himself wondering who exactly his soulmate was and what they was like. As a result, he had gone looking for them. Not because he wished to finally meet them, but so he could make sure his soulmate was safe and happy. And she was, so he had left. Only ever checking up on her every now and then to make sure she had stayed that way.

He looked down at the golden thread that came out of his gauntlet and lead down toward the apartment he’d been watching. Both as Bruce Wayne and Batman he had made sure to keep it well hidden. With its unique colouring he couldn’t allow anyone to see it. It would be all too easy for his enemies to find her if they did see it.

He knew that by being here he was easily undoing everything he had done to keep her safe, but, then again, had she not done exactly that when she had tracked him down in Gotham? Besides, and while he would never say it out loud, Alfred had been right. It should be up to Y/N to decide whenever or not she wanted all the baggage that came with him being in her life. Baggage that had driven more than one person from his life…

He shook that thought from his head and got up from his crouched position on the roof. Bruce then leapt from the roof and allowed himself to fall for a couple of seconds before opening up his cape and let it catch the wind that was rushing past him. He silently glided over to her apartment’s balcony.

Y/N was in her apartment alone. She was sat on her sofa, the light from the tv was the only thing illuminating the room.

Bruce was unsure of how exactly to go about this. Back in Gotham he had originally thought of approaching her as Bruce Wayne, but quickly discarded it. Bruce Wayne showing up at an out of the way apartment building was sure to garner attention. As would Batman using the front door, so the balcony had seemed to be the best option. But now that he was here, he wasn’t entirely sure it was.

Should he just knock? That seemed like the best way to go about this. It was going to scare the everloving daylights out of her, but he could deal with that.

He gently rapped the glass of the balcony door with his knuckles. As he had expected, Y/N leapt up from her seat. A bowl and the contents of the bowl followed her and scattered across her carpeted floor. She spun around and when she saw him, the look of shock on her face quickly turned to anger. Her eyes narrowed and he swore that glare would be enough to make even the toughest of Gotham’s thugs would cower at its intensity. Maybe she would deal with his life better than he thought.

After a minute of glaring at him, she turned around and walked toward the lightswitch. At the same time, she gestured for him to enter.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded as soon as he had entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. The rage in her voice was evident and Bruce was sure he could cut the tension in the room with a batarang.

“I came to apologise,” he said, his voice gentle despite how distorted his modulator made it sound. Y/N scoffed immediately. He didn’t blame her. If he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe him either. After all ‘Batman’ wasn’t exactly known for making apologies.

“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m being truthful. I… I shouldn’t have said what I said. It wasn’t right.”

“Then why did you say it?” A fair question and one he had an answer to. Before he even said it, Bruce was aware how cliché it sounded.

“I wanted to keep you safe. This life isn’t for everyone.”

“So without even meeting me, you decided that it wasn’t for me.” She shook her head. “That’s not your decision to make!” she yelled at him.

“I know. It’s been pointed out to me before.” In fact that night in the cave wasn’t the first time Alfred had told him that. “But that’s why I’m here now. To give you all the information you need to make that decision.”

You listened intently as Batman explained the dangers of the life he was leading. The dangers that effected the people in his life in one way or another. He also made it a point to reiterate the fact that when he left at night or was summoned by the Justice League there was no guarantee he would return. You asked the occasional question, but for the most part you just listened to him to talk and let his words sink in.

You got it. You understood the very clear concerns that Batman had about this whole thing, they concerned you as well, but you weren’t about to let it deter you. You wanted to know your soulmate. Even if it ended horribly, like he was saying it would, you felt it in your core that you would regret not knowing him, especially if the worst truly did happen. And you told him so.

“Even if you’re not wearing a mask, this life is dangerous. Anything can happen.”

“Anything could happen to me when I leave my apartment each day.”

The superhero life wasn’t special in that regard. As you spoke, your voice was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. In fact, as he had spoke and explained you had found your anger slowly fading. You still wanted to slap the jerk superhero before you, but that was a considerable downgrade from your overwhelming need to deck him when you first saw him standing on your balcony.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge before.”

You admired his commitment to deter you, but it wasn’t going to work. You were too stubborn to let it. Something you were positive he was learning very quickly.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you that this is a bad idea, is there?”

“Nope.” You made sure to pop the ‘p’.

Batman sighed deeply. You watched as he looked away from you and toward the golden thread that linked the two of you together. You could almost hear the gears in his brain turning as he thought. Then he was looking back up at you.

“In that case then.”

You watched as Batman brought his hands up to his cowl. Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help the small gasp that left you as he removed the cowl and revealed his identity to you. Bruce Wayne. While you didn’t live in Gotham City, you were well aware of Gotham’s favoured son. You would’ve had to have lived underneath a rock to not know who he was.

And apparently your family had been right on the money, literally. Not that you cared about the money, you weren’t superficial like that. Personality was far more important than the material items someone may or may not have. In your eyes, at least.

You both stood in silence, his blue eyes studying you, probably trying to gauge how you were going to react. To be truthful, you weren’t entirely sure how to react. Except maybe…

“Well, it’s… it’s nice to meet you Bruce Wayne. I guess this is the part where we forget about what happened and start over?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Yeah, sure, this was probably going to end horribly, but you were looking forward to the adventure that lie ahead.

#bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagines #batman imagines #soulmate au #my writing

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silkylious · 3 years

Text

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking – and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo angst #this is so bad :'))#i kinda gave up at the end fuck #i literally hate this so much whats wrong with my writing #is it just me or does it suck idk #im going night night

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

Text

My Vow to You

A/N: Dragon King!Bakugo has my heart and so I wrote a little something based off a dream I had awhile ago. I like writing Bakugo with a spouse that’s just as much of a hardass as he is :’) I’m not sure if I’ll make a part two. This could stand alone butttt we’ll see.

Important things to note: ~*Aurea: It means golden in Latin. This is your family name that is used in public. Even though you’re married to Bakugo, I made it tradition that you keep your last name for distincition purposes, but you’re a Bakugo when I addressed elswhere. That’s based off something from my own culture. Also, it’d be kind of weird if Bakugo said his own name lmao. You’ll get it as you read. ~*You and Bakugo have dragon-like traits? Idk man. I just thought the red eyes and fangs added flare.

Word Count: 1.6k Pairing: Bakugo x Fem!Reader Warnings: blood, injury, death, there’s a severed head in there but the description isn’t gory, cursing

All Characters are 18+

My Vow to You:

You remembered the day you were wedded to your husband. It was one of the most treasured days between both the Crimson and Golden Tribes. A day so powerful and glorious in meaning that it was named the Holy Matrimony of the era.

That day, two of the most powerful tribes in the nation joined in hand to rule. Their people prospered, their land grew rich, their army went by the hundreds, and best of all, this would happen out of true love.

There was no contract—no arrangement. The only reason the two tribes had encountered was to trade. When you and Katsuki had first met during the primary meeting, the next day, he brought you his most precious stone to begin courting. From then on, it was like destiny took ahold of the reigns. At the wedding, you wore it proudly upon the crest of your head.

The dress, the decorations, and the gifts were all beautiful, but nothing could compare to the sight of your groom. When the warriors parted, revealing his path to the alter, you almost forgot how to walk.

Matching ceremonial tattoos were painted across his bare arms and chest. He stood tall under the weight of precious stones of ruby and gold and led the length of his white fur coat across the floor. And despite his heavenly appearance, his crimson eyes, full of love, regard, and dignity were what led your feet to stand before him.

Katsuki was as gorgeous as he was powerful. There was a moment of reverie between the two of you before you both kneeled, bowing your heads when the past Kings and Queens walked to the alter.

You remembered when you shared your vows, words of strength to affirm the sacred bond the two of you would never break. When you both spoke, each word was a threaded swear into the other’s heart. From that moment, you were not two, but one. You were no longer just a couple, but a union. Once the religious leaders had said their prayer, you two shared a kiss, anointing the other with the love you were ready to boundlessly give.

That promise was seared into your heart. You would act on it every second you were married.

So, even as your guards worriedly rushed you into the infirmary, blood dripping from the open wounds on your body, you wickedly grinned in triumph. No one would be able to take this away from you.

Not that foreign king. Not his weak ass army. Not your worried parents.

And certainly not your raging husband.

“What the hell were you thinking? Damn it, Aurea*! You could’ve been killed!” he roared.

Honestly, he looked worse for wear. If it wasn’t the dark circles underneath his eyes, it was the obvious stiffness in his neck. Apparently, he had been at your bedside every minute during your three-day coma. He was worried to say the least. Bless his heart.

You tried to lighten the mood with a smile. “Aww, you do care. How kind of you, my beau~”

Evidently, the joke wasn’t appreciated. Katsuki’s face soured into an expression only a mother could love. His eye twitched and the guards winced.

“You want me to put you back in your shitty coma?”

“Bakugo, I’m fine,” you sighed, relenting to the seriousness of the situation. “I know you’re worried, but I made it out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That’s beside the point!” he snapped. Perhaps you wouldn’t have felt so attacked if it weren’t for the harsh glare he gave you. “I told you the Black Fleet was dangerous and yet you still acted foolishly! If Kirishima hadn’t found you—“

“I endangered no one—“

“No one but yourself, and that’s what you fail to understand!”

Despite your conscious telling you to calm down, his scolding got the better of you. And your temper rose like an ugly beast. “And if it were for the safety of you and any one of our people, I’d do it again; because when they threatened to put your head on a platter, it was personal! I won’t be scolded like a child for doing my duties as Queen!”

In better circumstances, Bakugo would’ve treaded lightly. He would’ve empathized with your sentiment. However, he had done nothing but stare at your bloody bandages and bruises for the past three days and his patience with just about everything ran thin.

“And I’m doing mine as King! If I tell you to stay away, what I fucking say goes!”

“I don’t know what kind of women you dealt with before me, but if you think that you can just order me around like some bitch, you’ve chosen the wrong woman to marry,” you seethed.

Bakugo’s furious scream thundered the hall and the guards jumped as his fist hit the wall. “ARGH! FUCK Y/N! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME!?”

The use of your personal name in the presence of guards made you reel. Now he was just being disrespectful.

“YOU ARE NOT MY MASTER!” you shouted.

His eyes glowed with rage as he grew in size, a feat that would’ve sent anyone running. “NO, BUT I AM YOUR HUSBAND!” he boomed.

Your eyes turned to blood and fangs shot out from your lips as you roared, “AND I AM YOUR WIFE!”

Katsuki tried to subdue you with an intimidating growl, abnormally large canines bared towards you. However, you only matched it with your own. There was an intense moment between you two as your energies nearly bubbled over. However, one of the nurses at your bedside reminded you of your injuries.

“Please, my queen. If you’re not careful, you could reopen your wounds,” they softly spoke.

The gentle hand on your abdomen reminded you of the ache. You winced and sighed away the sizzling anger as you were led back into the comfort of the cot. The weight of your husband’s glare fell upon you for a moment more before he frustratingly blew out of his nose and turned on his heel, out the door.

Once the door slammed shut, you rolled your eyes. If he wanted to throw a tantrum, then so be it.

“Ungrateful brat,” you muttered. Just then, a sharp pain shot up your leg from one of the nurses changing your bandages. “Ow!”

They shrunk back and gave you a shy smile. “My apologies, your highness,” they giggled.

Despite your sour attitude, you just huffed a laugh from your nostrils. “Careful there,” you sighed. They ducked their head again in slight embarrassment and went back to tending to your wound with a softer hand.

The silence gently settled in the air as the atmosphere returned to its once lax state. When the nurses had finished patching you up and left you and the guards stationed in your room, you found yourself finally able to process the harsh exchange of words between you and your husband.

You couldn’t believe he would just order you around like that! Talking to you as if he didn’t know the type of woman he had been married to for the last five years. And to use your first name in the presence of non-family members? Mitsuki would have his head if she knew!

Regardless of that, you thought back to when you two truly lost your cool and frowned. You hated acting out of character, especially in front of a crowd, but you couldn’t help it. His words were an insult to your pride and abilities.

He was being ridiculous. You were the Dragon King and Queen, damn it. The fiercest rulers the earth would know, governing over two tribes with armies that sent shivers down their enemy’s spines at the mention of your name. And just as their people stood strong, their leaders were stronger, and that meant protecting their honors to no bounds.

When the enemy sent your kingdom a severed head of a deceased warrior as a threat to have Bakugo’s next, there was nothing left to be said. You saw your chance to humble your foe and took it. And you succeeded. That should’ve garnered celebration, not a dispute.

You carefully turned on your side and noted your crown with the lone jewel he gifted you before you courted. Memories of your spoken vows ran across your mind and reinforced the stubbornness in your heart. You remembered the way his eyes, brighter than any precious stone, glowed with pride and love as he swore his life over to protect you by any means necessary.

You could still feel the warm squeeze he gave your hands when you repeated those same words back to him.

So if it was an apology he wanted, then tough luck. You wouldn’t apologize for defending his honor.

Not when you knew he’d do the same for you.

#bnha bakugo x reader #barbarian!bakugo #dragon king!bakugo #katuski bakugo #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha fics #mha fics #bnha oneshot

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kewltie · 3 years

Text

thinking of bkdk in their late 40s when all their friends have already settled down with a family, izuku muses a lil forlornly how he would like to have someone to come home and katsuki just stares him dead in the eyes and says, "marry me then. i wont let you be lonely in that empty apartment."

the thing is bkdk are super successful heroes, they're the ranking no.1 and 2 and everyone knows their name but because izuku put so much effort into his career he never give himself the chance to meet someone and fall in love because the next things he know he's already 48 yrs old and still very single. as soon as he got right out of UA he had put himself right to work and hasn't truly stop since so izuku feels like he misses out on his youth, the flutter of first love, and now he feels like it's too late to grasp that chance again because he's too old to be stumbling around at love BUT here is katsuki suddenly telling izuku to marry him as though that would solve everything, solve izuku's worries and fears that he'll never experience love the way his friends had or knows what it feels to come home to a waiting arms that will comfort him after a hard day at work.

izuku first tries to laugh it off because katsuki cant be serious right?? but katsuki doesn't crack a single smile. "Do i look like im the type to joke about this kind shit to you?" he asks, voice steady and true. it is then that izuku realizes katsuki had meant every word he said.

but izuku still cant wrap his head around why would katsuki want to marry him of all things?? it is because they're both bachelor and wretchedly alone standing at the very top of their career where nobody can touch or hope to nobody can understand them like they do to each other?? izuku thinks that's a very dry reason to marry someone for the sake of convenience and not love at all because even though he'd devoted all his time to saving the world and helping ppl and HE'S OLD NOW but he still earnestly yearn to fall in love the ways all his friends had.

"If you needed company, we don't have to marry each other. I'm here for you always, you know that," izuku offers instead. "We're partners."

katsuki is silent briefly, then, he says, "You think i want to marry because you're convenience?"

Izuku blinks. "is that not it?"

"No," he says, all grave and serious, and for a moment izuku is breathless with realization.

"Oh," izuku replies, looking down at the table like it has all the answer in the world. "how long?"

"Since our third year at UA."

izuku jerks his head up, eyes wide with shock.

"what—I, wait, you can't mean that right?" he shakes his head as he flounders for the right words. they're both almost hitting their 50s now, so if it started in their third year then it would be 30 years of katsuki waiting for him, of pining over izuku and all that time was lost because of it.

katsuki press his lips into a thin line. "I have never lie to you."

"I—I'm not—" izuku flushes, because this wasn't anything he had plan for. who would anyway? no one would ever believe that katsuki has been in love with him for almost 30 years and izuku only found out about it now. even though katsuki has revealed the secret he has been hiding for 3 decades, izuku has no answer for him. he didn't notice katsuki's feelings for this long not because he chose to willfully ignore it but because he has never thought of katsuki in that light and that is the sad truth of it all. katsuki must have realizes that too because he doesn't press for more from izuku.

"i'm sorry," izuku says, mind racing to come up with a proper reply to katsuki's feelings because he deserves that much. "it's not you—"

Katsuki scowls. "shut the fuck up, don't even start that with me."

izuku quickly shuts his mouth, floundering for another reply that with save both of their feelings.

"Six months," katsuki says instead, eyes firm and never once dull since izuku has known him. "give me six months to convince you and if it doesn't work out we can get divorce then."

"you still want to marry me?!" izuku asks in disbelief. "shouldn't we like date first at least? isn't that how normal relationship work?!"

katsuki roll his eyes. "we co-own an agency, you have your toothbrush at my house, and we spent 18hrs out of 24 together almost everyday. our friends joke about us being a married to each other as much as to our work, we're each other's first emergency contact if something were to happen," he continues, straightforward like he's listing their grocery for today, "and i cant ever imagine wanting anyone more than i ever want you."

throughout this strange turn in their conversation, izuku realizes not once has he ever heard katsuki said he loves him but the way katsuki had revealed his unwavering devotion that lasts 3 decades and the dry, bluntness in which he spoken of wanting izuku, it's heavy. this hefty thing that katsuki has carried with him for nearly 3 decades, and in those years what izuku thought katsuki was just disinterest in any romantic connection because not once had izuku seen him look at another person, but it's because he has eyes only for izuku and nobody else.

izuku should have known never to expect anything less then 120% with katsuki because if there's anything that means something to katsuki, he would give it all and then some. it's humbling really, to be loved so fiercely and with such devotion that 3 decades is worth every second of it but izuku doesn't know if he's worth it especially when he's hesitant about his own murky feelings. he loves katsuki undoubtedly. they're partners in more way then one, but he doesn't know if he can love katsuki the way he deserves to be love in return, to return that same level of intensity.

"and what if the six months went by and there's nothing show for it?" izuku mumbles, hands clasp together under the table. i dont want to ruin this friendship of ours, he doesn't say. "what if you get bored with me and realized this isn't something you want now. what happen then?"

"you're stuck with me for life even if we get a divorce. i won't let you ever get rid of me either way," katsuki says, lips twitching with the slightest hint of amusement. "and if you're worry about me getting bored of you, don't. i fucking wont." It’s firm, assured, and completely sincere.

izuku thinks anybody with a half a brain at all would see this admirable man right in front of them with his unwavering affection and devotion that he had nurtured for 3 decades would be half way in love already, but izuku neither race or skip a beat; it remains dull and unmoved. maybe he's really too old to love like this. maybe, it's not that he's too busy to ever search for it like everyone else but because he has all the love for everyone but none ever hold a special place in his heart. for all of katsuki's sharp edges, his feelings burn ever so brightly while izuku has since been numb to his own emotions. to give too much to the world, to his job that he has never let himself fall freely and unconditionally. it's terrifying.

"what if i hurt you instead?" he says, quiet and severe. "what if in the end i couldn't return what you've given me?"

katsuki doesn't answer right away. the air around them tenses, threatening to suffocate them in the waiting silence. then a hand grab his and draws it toward katsuki's chest. "don't fucking underestimate me, idiot. i can and will make you fall in love with me in 6 months. 6 months is more than enough to make you realize what a fucking dumbass you have been the entire time for not taking notice of me while i have been looking at you for almost half of our life," he says with the cocky assurance that propelled him to the no. 2 position and beyond.

for the first time since this exchange had started and taken a strange, strange turn that left him his world shaken to its core, izuku's heart feels lighten. He stifles a giggle. "i still think we should date at least. marriage is maybe jumping the gun a little too soon."

"No." Katsuki's eyes narrow, and he squeezes izuku's hand firmly. "i'm not giving you any chance to escape from this. we can do all the dumb dating things you could ever want but we're getting marry first."

izuku tries to draw his hand back but katsuki remains undeterred. "Kacchan, please," he says. half begging for his hand back and half pleading against his insane idea. who in their right mind would ever marry first then date each other?! That's just not how it work! yet, katsuki is an unmovable fortress against increasing izuku's distress.

"deku," he says, thumb running across izuku's knuckles in a soothing circle, "give me this chance. let me prove it to you that i can do it. take this leap of faith with me and i won't disappoint you. trust me with your heart like you trust me with your life and i promise i will keep it safe."

izuku draws out a long, lingering breath that leaves his head heady with a dawning realization. "o-okay," he finally acquiesces, shaken with the knowledge that his heart suddenly doesn't feel safe at all for the first time in a long time in the hands of the man in front of him. bakugou katsuki is dangerous, but to the tender beat of his heart.

Katsuki's lips stretch upward into a small, precious smile that rarely see the light of day, leaving izuku breathless just for a moment. "we'll go get the marriage license tomorrow."

"tomorrow?!" izuku shrieks.

maybe he has been wrong all along, maybe you're never too old fall in love and experience it for the first time and that sometimes the things that matter the most to you are always worth the wait even if take 3 decades and katsuki always been more patient then people give him credits for.

#bakudeku #not!fic

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silkling · 3 years

Note

Hi! I remember you said you liked angst. So... Can you write another fanfic on the AU where the rescue bots were found by the Autobots, with the following plot: Blades is forced to repair one of his comrades, who was seriously injured in battle?(either Chase or Heatwave, your choice) 👀

Ooh, I like this idea! Imma do it. I’m going to make it worse though. Just because. Apparently I really like hurting my favorite characters. Go figure, huh? Also, for those who didn’t read the first, this fic is in the same verse as this one.

Also, beware that there will be descriptions of graphic injury, so be wary if that’s something that upsets you.

———————————————————————————————————

The stars were silent. They always were, of course, but during the Ark’s recharge cycle the silence was all-consuming. Blades was in the rec room, sitting in the little viewport alcove that took up a small portion of the wall. They were passing by the same star system where the Sigma had been found by the Autobots, all those stellar cycles ago. 5 vorns or so had passed since then, which felt both like an eternity and like no time at all.

Blades knew Cybertronians lived a long time. In reality, 5 vorns was barely any time at all for one of their kind. But for Blades, who had once only ever known what it was to save lives, the past 5 vorns that he’d spent learning to take them had dragged on and felt almost unbearably long. He hadn’t actually killed yet, but he’d already learned how do so with a blaster, how to do it by hand, and even how to get in close and use a blade. Apparently, he was particularly talented at that last one. Given his name, the Protectobot found it rather ironic.

“Blades? What are you doing up? You do not have any duties this night cycle.”

The motorcycle startled, his engine revving and his processor snapping to attention at the unexpected voice. He hadn’t killed any bot yet, but he’d been in many, many, many battles now, some of which still gave him nightmares. He’d developed battle protocols very quickly after joining the Autobots, and now took being surprised as poorly as most of the others did. His optics sharpened and focused on his unexpected visitor with unnerving intensity, before his sighed and relaxed, tense armor plating loosening once more.

“Chase.” he greeted. “I know. I couldn’t sleep. I was remembering that last battle.”

“Ah.” Here, his friend’s voice softened, and the blue and white bot walked over to join him. He nudged the slimmer youngling aside until there was room in the small alcove for them both, sitting opposite from his friend and letting their pedes entangle. “I understand now.”

And he did. The last battle had been fought on a young planet, one with plentiful energon mines, and where the local species were still primitive. It had been a difficult fight. Blades, like always, had fought on the front lines with Hot Spot, Groove and Streetwise. Chase and Heatwave had been nearby, too. Somehow, they always found themselves fighting near each other. As with most of their battles, Boulder and First Aid had remained behind at the Ark, away from the battle proper. It hadn’t been a very unique battle, at first. Then the Deceptions had unveiled a new weapon. It had destroyed the planet, and every life that called it home had died with it. The Autobots had been too late to realize what was going on. They hadn’t been able to stop it, only flee before they too fell to the new weapon.

Blades had taken it particularly hard. The small motorcycle was a deeply empathetic bot, and it had hurt him to know they they had brought their war to another planet, and that it had resulted in the destruction of that planet and the loss of the lives there. Chase couldn’t blame him. All of Sigma-17 had felt that loss particularly hard. For all they had become soldiers after being awoken from stasis, all four younglings were still Rescue Bots at spark.

“We will simply have to stop Megatron next time and destroy his weapon before he can ever use it again.” Chase said after a moment of silence. He knew Blades wouldn’t be reassured by useless platitudes.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, distant. “Yeah.” he repeated, sounding a little more present as his optics hardened. “We will. He can’t do that again.”

Blades turned to meet his friend’s gaze, chin lifting. “We won’t let him do that again.”

Chase smiled, nodding. “No, we will not.” he agreed.

Blades relaxed completely then, sighing and shifting until he could lean into Chase’s chest. “Thank you, Chase.” he whispered.

“Of course.” he said, his arms coming around to press the smaller bot to his chest. “I will always be there to support you, when you have need of it. I am your Amica, after all.”

That was another thing that had changed in the past few vorns. Blades and Chase had always been fairly close, since they found they balanced each other out quiet nicely. Even before stasis, they’d been close friends. Blades appreciated Chase’s calm, peaceful logic and found it helped bring him him back from some of his nervous breakdowns, and Chase found Blades’s natural easy-going and sociable demeanor soothing and helpful at understanding situations which normally gave him pause. It had only taken them a couple vorns after coming out of stasis to formally perform the ritus and become Amica Endura.

Blades laughed, his hands raising to curl across the arms pressed to his chestplate. “Yeah, you are. And I’m yours. You can always count on me, Chase.”

A small smiled tugged at his lips, and he turned his gaze to the stars outside the viewport, in his chest, his spark pulsed, warm and fond with affection and belonging. He knew that Blades was feeling the same right now, both younglings basking in the quiet peace and comfort of each others’ presence.

“I know.”

Outside the Ark, the vast expanse of space stretched on. The billions of stars shone brightly, and life moved ever forward. Time ticked on, and though this moment was calm and soft, there would be many moments to come that would not be. What the future held exactly, only Primus knew. All his children could do now was hold on and ride out the storms to come.

——————————

When it finally happened, Blades would later reflect that he was surprised it had taken as long as it had. But then again, First Aid and Ratchet would probably have done their best to keep it from happening, to make sure his own emotional turmoil wouldn’t cause him to falter. They couldn’t stall it forever though, because this was War and at the end of it all that only meant he would have been forced into a situation like this eventually.

The orn had stared out like most other orns. The only difference has been that the Ark had landed on a planet that apparently was fairly rich in energon. The planet was also largely uninhabited, save some plant life, so they wouldn’t have to worry too much about harming the local inhabitants. Everything had been going well. They’d managed to collect energon, enough to halfway fill one of the storage hangars, and had been in the process of mining more when the Decepticon attacked.

Blades still wasn’t sure where they’d come from. Maybe they’d landed the Nemesis on the other side in the planet and travelled the rest of the way themselves. Maybe the Nemesis was still above them all, and the ‘Cons had just made planet fall on their own in order to attack. Either way, Megatron and his soldiers had showed up, and once again a battle had begun. Blades hadn’t been near his team or his brothers when the attack had begun, so he hadn’t been able to join them for the fight. That had made him nervous, but he’d fought anyway, shooting at any Decepticons who got close and using the terrain as cover.

It hadn’t been long before there’d been a call for medical attention, and Blades had reacted on instinct. He’d sprung from behind the large stone he was hiding behind, following the call until he came across Cliffjumper and Arcee. The other two-wheeler was unconscious, a shot leaking energon from her neck. Blades had been quick to get Cliffjumper’s help to drag her behind another nearby outcropping, and he’d settled down to begin triage care. As soon as he’d been assured of her survival, he’d swiftly ordered the red mech to bring her to the med-bay. Usually, he didn’t have the rank to order other bots around, but he’d found that all the Autobots would tend to do what he told them when it came to medical matters.

He’d turned to rejoin the battle when Sunstreaker had dragged his twin around the outcropping, dropping Sideswipe with a snarled demand to fix him. Blades hadn’t taken offense. They were split spark twins. They shared a spark bond with each other, like he did with his brothers. It wasn’t the same exact type of bond, but it was close enough that he understood the panic. He’d fixed the severed fuel lines, patched up the sparking wires, and welded the gashes in red armor before telling Sunstreaker to get his brother out of the battlefield. Sideswipe wouldn’t be able to fight further with his wounds, even though Blades had managed to repair the damage completely. He’d need to recover.

It had seemed that, after that, the Autobots must have figured out that the outcropping was where emergency triage was being done. They’d probably passed the information along their comm. system while Blades had been working on Arcee. After the Twins, Blades had found himself busy with many bots. Most had only surface level wounds, injuries that needed a quick patch so they could rejoin the fight. Others needed a full field repair and a retreat, like Sideswipe had. Blaster had been dragged to him by his Cassettes in critical condition, and Blades had had to quickly patch the life threatening damage, then order Ironhide, who’d come in to get a leaking fuel line patched, to take the host mech to Ratchet and First Aid immediately.

Once he’d done that and turned to his next field patient, he’d caught sight of blue and white armor. His processor was deep in its rescue and medical protocols, so much so he initially tuned out all his surroundings. It wasn’t until something in the back of his mind whispered that the shade of blue was familiar that he paused, taking in the full extent of the damage. It was bad. The bot’s chest was the worst off. It looked like they’d been hit point blank with an explosion. The metal armor of the chestplate was melted and twisted, with large areas gone altogether. Blades could see into their chest and realized that even their internals were damaged. The fuel pump was dented and had been pierced with a shard of blue armor, there were several sparking wires and spurting lines, and worst of all, the bot’s spark chamber was caved in and cracked. The motorcycle could see the weak glow of the bot’s spark. That wasn’t even all the damage. The poor bot was missing a leg, and it looked like one of their arms had been practically shredded. Even beyond that, most of the bot’s frame was dented or damaged in some way. Blades could barely pick out the paint job under all the damage.

Even so, his processor started screaming louder as he realized that, despite all that, the colors and patterns of that paint were familiar. Blades froze, his spark almost spasming with dawning horror, and he turned his gaze up to the bot’s face. As soon as he locked onto the slack face, saw the darkened optics that he knew should be a glowing amber, he couldn’t hold back the agonized keen as his medical protocols stuttered.

It was Chase.

His next vent came out in a harsh whine, and he couldn’t take his optics off the slack face of his Amica. Blades almost jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jazz looking at him with a grim expression. The Third in Command nodded his helm at the prone form of his teammate.

“I know it’s tough’.” he said. “But ya gotta take care o’ him. If he don’t get the care he needs now, he ain’t gonna survive the trip to old’ Ratch. He needs you, mechlin’, so don’t spiral now.”

Blades stared at him for a sparkbeat, and then jolted as if he’d been physically shocked. He turned back to Chase, trying to ignore that it was his Amica who was wounded and dying in front of him, and got to work. He took in the damage once more, fingertips transforming into the tools he needed, and with a hard vent he forced his emotional processes to mute themselves in his processor, letting medical response protocols rise to the surface uninterrupted. Abruptly, his previously distraught EM field went blank and numb, making the bots around him wince with the suddenness if it.

Jazz stepped back, a flicker of regret in his visored optics. He recognized what Blades had done. He’d shut down his emotional response core. It wasn’t something the average bot could do, and he suspected the youngling only knew how to because of his medical training. The only other bot he’d seen do that was Prowl, and the Praxian had to do it if he wanted to come up with his tactics without crippling himself emotionally. Luckily, the emotional core could be brought back online later, but he knew it was never a pleasant process for the bot who had done so to come out of the emotional numbness. He only regretted that Blades had found it necessary to do so in the first place. No youngling should have to do something so drastic. It wasn’t right.

In front of Jazz and the other Autobots who were gathered behind the outcropping for minor repair, Blades worked on. He ignored the sounds of weapons fire and destruction beyond the small safe haven he was huddled in, focusing only on the task in front of him. He had to make sure Chase survived. He had to.

Failure wasn’t an option.

——————————

The rest of the orn passed in a haze. Blades was aware of things distantly, but wasn’t processing anything emotionally. He knew Jazz took Chase off to the Ark as soon as he’d ensured his friend wouldn’t die in the next few groons, until Ratchet or First Aid could get to him. After that, things happened quickly. He’d patched up the other bots around his outcropping who’d only needed minor repair, but he’d had no major patients after that. And then Megatron was calling a retreat, and Ironhide had come to guide Blades back to the Ark. None of the older bots seemed upset at the two-wheeler’s numb demeanor. He was in shock. He knew it. They knew it. They didn’t hold it against him.

Once he had been safely delivered to the starship, Ironhide had gone off. Blades wasn’t paying attention to where he’d gone. Maybe some of the others were gathering the last of the energon. Maybe everyone was preparing for take off. He wasn’t fully aware, wasn’t fully processing his surroundings. He drifted along in a haze, until he found himself in front of the medbay doors. That was when his focus sharpened. Usually after a battle, he’d join Ratchet and his brother in the medbay and do his part to help. He needed to go in.

The only thing making him hesitate was Chase. His Amica was in there. He’d done all he could on the battlefield, but had it been enough? Could he face it again?

He would have to. He stiffened his spinal strut and steeled his resolve, then stepped forward and the doors opened. He stepped into the medbay, his optics roving over the occupied berths, until they landed on a trio of berths by the far wall. On one, there was a familiar blue and white frame. Chase. On the second, a red mech lay prone and limp. Heatwave. On the third, a bulky green bot was resting on his side, unconscious and unaware. Boulder.

No.

Blades’s spark screamed in agony. He could see some of the damage from here, but he couldn’t see it all. Heatwave’s lower half looked like it had been crushed under something extremely heavy. The metal armor was dented and almost flattened. Blades could also see that the red mech’s optics were blackened and shattered, if if they’d been hit by a blaster bolt. Boulder wasn’t much better off. His entire back was a melted, twisted mess. Blades could see his spinal strut poking out of the ruined armor. There was so much energon. All three of his teammates were covered in it. It almost looked like they’d decided to incorporate pink into their paint jobs.

An agonized keen tore its way free from his vocalizer, and and medical protocols he had been ready to engage fell away under the onslaught of emotional anguish. He didn’t notice how First Aid had gasped and pressed a hand to his chest plates the second he’d noticed Sigma-17’s damaged states. He didn’t hear his brother call out to him in concern as he keened. He didn’t see Ratchet curse and begin to turn towards him, looking both irritated and worried.

He did, however, feel the hands that clasped his shoulders, the chest that pressed up against his back. He startled, drawing in a rasping gasp, and then he felt a soft warmth wrap around his spark. He knew that presence.

“Streetwise.” he whimpered, twisting to stare up at his oldest brother with wide, over-bright optics.

“Hey, Blades.” Streetwise gave him a small smile. “Let’s go, yeah?”

“B-But I have to stay. I need-“

“Ratchet and ‘Aid can handle it. This was an easy battle. They handled a lot worse than this before you came along.” he cut it. “You won’t be of any use in the state you’re in, Blades. Besides, I’m fairly sure it goes against medical code to come in and treat patients when you’re covered in filth from outside.” he said sternly.

Blades made to protest, but the soothing pulse in his spark from First Aid distracted him enough that Streetwise was able to guide him out of the medbay. He started gently ushering his brother towards the communal washracks, making sure Blades didn’t run into anyone in his shocked state.

“Streetwise, I gotta go back. They need me, I-I can’t-“

“None of that now. You did plenty today. Blades, let them handle it. Your well-being matters too. Right now, that’s actually all I care about. Your team will be fine. Have faith in Ratchet and ‘Aid, yeah?”

Blades whimpered, but he didn’t have the chance to argue further because that was when they came upon the washracks. Hot Spot was there, and he grimaced when he saw the state of his brother, but he forced a smile a moment later and reached out to rub Blades’s audial fins in a way he knew the smaller bot liked. The finial under his fingers quivered faintly, and Hot Spot wrapped a hand around Blades’s wrist to tug him into the washracks. He’d managed to get the others out earlier, and they’d been fairly understanding when he’d explained that Blades was in shock and needed a proper cleaning.

“Come on, bitty Blades.” The largest Protectobot whispered. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? You’re covered in energon, that can’t feel good.”

Blades went stiff at his brother’s words, looking down at his frame and noticing for the first time that his armor was covered in energon. Chase’s energon. A pained whine was pulled from his vocalizer, and Hot Spot winced when he realized he’d said the wrong thing.

Streetwise shot the bigger bot an unimpressed look, but both knew that talking to Blades now would be useless. The smallest Protectobot, though not by too much, had always been prone to worry and panic. Blades was an anxious bot, it was just part of who he was. It meant that sometimes, his worry overcame him and he spiraled. His brothers could always tell when that happened, because his spark pulsed almost frantically and they could sense the overwhelming panic through the bond. When Blades got like this, he lost awareness of his surroundings. They’d long since learned that the best way to soothe him was to use the bond and send comfort and safety along it, to wrap their brother’s spark in feelings of love and reassurance and peace, and pull him out of his panic that way. Thankfully, Blades didn’t spiral often. He was overly nervous, sure, but he’d never let it stop him from doing what was needed of him, and he’d learned to not let it control him. That didn’t mean his emotions didn’t get the better of him sometimes, though.

Hot Spot gently tugged them all over to one of the cubicles, where he’d already grabbed the items they needed. With all three of them in there, it was a little crowded, but they could make it work. The spray of solvent was turned on, and Blades barely twitched as it hit his frame. Neither Streetwise nor Hot Spot were bothered as their younger brother remained silent. They worked together to clean up the mess that was Blades, using wash rags to wipe away the dirt and energon, and then smaller brushes to get in between the armor plating and into the transformation seams. It took some time, especially with Blades so unresponsive, but eventually they had him fully cleaned and dried, and were tugging him back towards their berthroom.

Blades himself was still in a daze. The energon was gone from his armor, and that certainly helped, but he couldn’t stop thinking of his teammates in such dire condition in the medbay. He couldn’t get the image of Chase’s broken frame on the battlefield out of his processor.

Blades was a gentle spark, perhaps even more so than his easy-going flyer brother. Groove was a pacifist, and Blades was deeply empathetic and his brothers knew that he felt things on an emotional level far more keenly than they were really able to grasp. The rest of the Protectobots had been able to adapt to the War, especially since their introduction to it had been more gradual. But Blades, who had always hated seeing anyone hurt, to the point he’d taken any extra classes he could at the Rescue Academy just to be able to help as many others as he could? The War was hard on him. He’d adapt, in time, but with how sudden his introduction to it had been it would be a while yet before the violence stopped making him so upset.

The trio eventually arrived at their berthroom, and when the door closed behind them Blades felt Streetwise and Hot Spot move away from him. A klik later, he felt another frame press against him, and a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It took only a beat for him to recognize Groove. He whimpered, his fingers twitching and clinging to the copter bot. Blades felt soothing warmth wrap around his spark from the bond, coming from all four of his brothers. Love, warmth, assurance, and peace soaked into his spark, and Blades let out a broken noise as everything from the day crashed into him.

Groove crooned gently, tightening his grip on his younger brother. “Easy, Blades.” he whispered. “We have you. We won’t let you fall, yeah? Just let it out.” he soothed.

Blades shuddered, then sobbed and clung tighter to his brother. He felt Streetwise press up against his back, and Hot Spot’s arms came to way around them all. The four of them stood there for a while, Blades sobbing and gasping as all his panic and worry rushed through him at once. He hadn’t been able to really process it, before. That was the danger of muting ones emotional core, as he had done earlier. It meant that he’d need to handle the emotions he’d blocked off all at once instead of steadily and as they came. So, he was forced to stay in his brothers’ hold, letting them keep him from falling as everything crashed into him. For many breems, he wept into Groove’s shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with the force of what he was feeling.

But, finally, his cries petered out, and then he was just venting harshly, shaking faintly in the aftermath of it all. He felt Hot Spot smooth a hand down his side, then come back up to rub his finial before his biggest brother spoke.

“How about we watch some of that old drama we used to like before the War? We still have the whole series downloaded on the old travel holo-pad. I know you missed a lot of the episodes that came out while you were in stasis, bitty Blades.” he said.

Blades reset his vocalizer, wincing at his staticky and rough his voice was even after doing so. “You have the whole series of But a Chance?”

Streetwise hummed. “You bet we do. We kept downloading the new episodes that came out after…” he paused, trailing off. Blades knew what he was talking about. “Well, we kept downloading the new ones. Never watched them, though. Not beyond the ones that came out before them Purge.”

“Didn’t feel right. Not without you there to make all your little comments.” Hot Spot quipped.

Blades huffed a weak sound of amusement. “You still watched some without me, though.”

“Awe, only a couple, bitty Blades.” Hot Spot smiled. “Not too many. So? What do you say?”

Blades gave another huff. “Yeah.” he agreed,

“Good, because I’ve already got it set up.” Groove said cheerfully.

“Presumptuous.” Streetwise teased.

“Shut it. You’re the one who told me to prepare for a Blades Cheer Up Night.” Groove snipped back.

“We all knew it was time for a Blades Cheer Up Night. Why are you sparklings arguing?” Hot Spot asked playfully.

“I’m older than you.” Streetwise said, frowning.

“Only by half a breem.” Hot Spot sang.

“And I’m not a sparkling!” Groove protested.

“Hush, little brother.” the two older Protectobots said at the same time.

Blades giggled weakly. “Yeah, hush. The big bots are talking.” he rasped.

Groove turned an offended look on him. “We’re all older than you. And bigger.” he sniffed.

“I’m prettier though.”

There were noises of outrage around him, and Blades felt his lips quirk up. Even as Hot Spot tweaked his finial in retaliation, he just felt his smile relax a little more. His spark was still heavy with grief and fear, but already it felt warmer and lighter. He didn’t protest as Streetwise eventually got the other two to simmer down, pushing them all towards the large berth. At the head of the berth, the holo-pad was set up on a small desk. As soon as all four brothers were settled, Groove started the episode Blades remembered having left off on, and they settled down to watch.

Things were peaceful, for a while. They got another episode in, and Blades couldn’t help himself then as he watched the characters go about on screen.

“I’m sorry, Clearview did what now? That’s stupid. She’s stupid. Why would she even do that?”

“Well,” Groove purred. “It could be because she’s actually-“

“No!” Blades hissed, drawing back a pede and planting it firmly in his brother’s hip, sending the flyer tumbling off the berth. “No spoilers!”

Groove cackled, but crawled back onto the berth and flopped on top of his younger brother. “Okay, okay. Have it your way.”

“You two are being far too loud for anyone else to enjoy to show.” Streetwise said blandly.

“Blame Groove.” Blades sniffed. “He started it.”

“You’re the one who kicked me!” Groove squawked, outraged.

“I will not be spoiled! Bots who spoil the show for other bots recharge on the couch, remember? That’s the rule!”

“Well, we don’t have a couch.” Groove said smugly. “So there.”

“We have a floor, don’t we?”

“I’m not recharging on the floor!”

“You are if I make you!”

“Try it!”

“Fine!” Blades huffed, and proceeded to launch himself at his brother.

Groove yelped, not expecting Blades to actually go through with it, and the two wrestled on the berth before their elder brothers pulled them apart. Streetwise grabbed Groove and rolled on top of him, while Hot Spot dragged Blades into his lap and wrapped the motorcycle in his arms.

“Hush.” he admonished. “It’s show time now, not wrestle like feral sparklings time.”

“We’re not sparklings!” Groove and Blades protested in unison.

“Then stop acting like it. Now shut up and watch.” Streetwise said, though they could all hear the grin in his voice.

There were grumbling protests, but the two younger bots obeyed and went still. After another couple episodes, they were released to drape across each other. Time wore on, and the Ark slipped into it’s nightly recharge cycle. By this time, Blades’s brothers were in recharge themselves, curled around and on top of each other while Blades himself continued to watch the drama. He was waiting, after all.

Another groon passed, and the door to their berthroom opened. First Aid trudged in, exhaustion hanging from his frame. He went straight for the berth, tipping right into it and not even bothering to get his legs in. Blades huffed a laugh, gently tugging his younger brother up into the berth. He reached out to turn off the holo-pad, then refocused on First Aid as the youngest Protectobot cuddled firmly into his side. He knew his brother was tired. Pit, he could feel the depths of First Aid’s exhaustion over the bond. But he had to know.

“‘Aid? Are they…?”

“They’re fine.” First Aid mumbled. “They’ll make a full recovery. You don’t have to worry, Blades.”

All at once, the last of the fear and worry left him, and Blades released all tension in his frame with a heavy vent. “Thank you.” he whispered.

First Aid hummed softly. “‘Course. They took care of you when we couldn’t. I won’t let you lose your team if I can help it, Blades. ‘Specially not your Amica.” he mumbled, his words slurring towards the end.

Blades smiled, his arms wrapping around the little medic as First Aid nuzzled into his embrace. “Yeah.” he murmured. They really had taken care of him. “Recharge, ‘Aid. You need it.”

“You too.”

“I will.” Blades agreed. “Goodnight, little brother.”

“‘Night.” First Aid made a sleepy, content churring noise. “Love you…”

Blades blinked, then tightened his grip around him. “Yeah.” he whispered. “Love you too.”

He watched his youngest brother drift off into recharge, then offlined his optics ans let himself drift off as well. Just before he fell unconscious, he felt Groove roll on top of them both, and Hot Spot’s arms coming around all three of them. From the other side of the largest Protectobot, Streetwise’s hand came to rest on Blades’s head, his thumb twitching against his finial.

Comfortable and warm, his frame and spark both surrounded by the peace and love of his brothers, Blades drifted off into recharge, his rest easy and quiet with the reassurance that his Amica and his team would recover. His spark was warm with the sheer joy, adoration, and contentment that pulsed all along the bond, and his rest was easy and undisturbed.

Beyond the walls of the Ark, the stars were silent.

———————————————————————————————————

And here it is! What did y’all think? For those who don’t remember, the Purge that Streetwise mentioned was the massacre of the Rescue Bots.

Also, poor Blades. He has it rough. At least he’s not alone, right?

Let me know how you liked that! If you want more of this verse, I might expand on it after I take care of more prompts. (Or you could request a specific scenario yourself.)

Until next time, folks!

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