#but in all seriousness a wedge between them is definitely going to slowly grow

[yourtypicalhopelessgay]

Sapphics will have a whole break up and not even be dating

#but in all seriousness a wedge between them is definitely going to slowly grow #birdie wing #birdie wing spoilers #birdie wing golf girls' story

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 4

the ackerman influence

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: consumption of alcohol and weed products, intoxication, swearing, pretty dang fluffy

AN: SURPRISE BITCHES it’s out tonight!! An infinite thank you belongs to my beloved @ghostlightprincess for her keen eye for editing and swoon-worthy compliments and encouragements. Seriously, this chapter is dedicated entirely to her. I hope y’all enjoy!! I hope y’all appreciate the love I gave Sasha this chapter because........reasons. Pleease feel free to come scream/squeal/chat in my DMs or askbox! In love with you all<3 ~valkyrie

(read part 3 here)

“Here, thisun ‘sblue!” Hange slurs as she passes you yet another shot glass with Greek letters etched on the side.

“Mmm, I like blue,” you giggle, then clink your shot with hers before you both tip your heads back to pour the liquor down your throats. It tastes inexplicably like turquoise, and you laugh loudly over the thumping dance music in approval. 

The poor freshman charged with staffing the drinks table eyes the pair of you skeptically. “Maybe you two should slow down, you seem like you’ve had enough—”

You round on him, offense written across your face. He’s definitely right, but you aren’t exactly gonna let some pimply, snot-nosed teen tell you how to drink. “Woah, Nelly, this ain’t cocktail hour, this is fuckin’ Greek row an’ I won’t have your judgment,” you waggle a finger in his general direction for emphasis, “harsh my vibe.”

“You tell ‘em, girlfriend,” Hange approves vaguely, hanging off your shoulder.

The freshman holds his hands up in defeat, amused. “No judgment.”

You nod once. 

“C’mon, Han, let’s see if we can find the snacks.”

“Pleeeeeeease…”

You turn away from the drinks table to do just that, angling towards where you remember the kitchen to be — honestly, this frat is huge — and set off through the crowd. Hange trails after you, fingers tangled with yours like they have been all night, yammering on about something you can’t be bothered to follow.

“‘Scuse us, comin’ through, on a mission!” You push past jostling bodies until you reach the far wall and lean against it for the last leg of your epic journey to the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

Someone calls your name and you look up through squinted eyes to see Sasha leaned up against the counter by the fridge, bowl of chips in her arms and dab pen tucked behind her ear. She’s dressed casually, sweatpants and DIY cropped t-shirt contrasting your jeans and flashy top.

“Sasha! My love! My dearest, sweetest darling!” You stretch your arms wide towards her, Hange jolting forward where you’re connected. “We come in search of snacks.”

Sasha laughs and lazily deposits her bowl on the counter, stepping forward to stabilize you both with a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve come to the right place, my friends.”

She steers you both to sit at the island, wedging you between the only other two people in the kitchen. You vaguely recognize them as soccer players on the university team: a shaggy-haired brunette and a tall blonde. Sasha passes you her dab pen before ambling over to the pantry. You take a hit, then pass it to Hange, who’s looking much better now that she’s sitting down.

“Sash, these your friends?” the blonde asks, peering down at you through red-rimmed hazel eyes. You pluck the pen out of Hange’s limp grasp and offer it to him in greeting, along with a drunk smile. He takes it and grins back.

“Yep,” Sasha confirms with half her body still stuck into the pantry. “It’s the mad scientist one and the architect.”

“Almost architect,” you correct. “Not official until I have my degree! Although, I will agree, Han’s a mad scientist.” You poke her in the side and she swats you away with an eye roll.

“Oh,” the brunette soccer player pipes up from Hange’s other side, now looking at you curiously as well. He’s also high, startling green eyes hooded and posture relaxed. “So you’re Braun’s ex.”

You hide your shudder of distaste by turning back to take a drag off the pen. “Please don’t tell me that’s all I’m known for,” you sigh out with a cloud of smoke.

“Eren, don’t be an ass.” Sasha finally returns with a box of chocolate pretzels and a bag of hot Cheetos. “Pick your poison, hot stuff,” she offers each in turn. You ponder for a second, then reach for the Cheetos. “That’s Eren—” she points to the brunette, who raises a lazy hand “—and that’s Jean—” the blonde reaches for the pretzels. Sasha makes an offended noise and cradles them to her chest.

You introduce both yourself and Hange while Sasha plays defense against Jean’s long reach.

“Sorry,” Eren apologizes to you, leaning over Hange to grab some Cheetos. “I heard what he did to you. Really shitty.” His tone is casual, but the way he’s practically pinning you in place with his eyes makes you twitch.

“Puh-lease,” Hange pulls out the word, long and sarcastic. “‘Twas more than shitty, what that douche did. I’d’ve wrung him out to dry, but she didn’t—”

You cut her off with a sharp poke to her side. “Drop it, Han, I don’t wanna think about it.”

“But— ooh!” She’s sufficiently distracted when you shove your food in front of her face.

“Sorry,” Eren apologizes again.

“S’okay,” you sigh and take another drag, then hold the pen out to him in a peace offering. He smiles slowly and takes it.

“You guys staying over? There’s plenty of room in the basement, and friends of Sasha’s are always welcome.” It’s Jean who offers, returning to his seat beside you with a singular pretzel for his trouble.

“Hmm, might be nice,” Hange muses, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Thank you, but my roommate’d probably have a conniption if I wasn’t home in the morning.”

Hange actually snorts at this, then starts coughing violently because of the hot Cheeto dust suddenly up her nose. You pat her back in mild concern.

“What, they got a stick up their ass or something?” Eren asks.

“Or something. Levi’s just protective.”

“Levi?” Eren’s eyes are suddenly wide, almost fearful. “Levi Ackerman?”

“Yeah.” Your tone edges on defensive. “Why?”

He takes a hit and shrugs before answering. “He’s just my foster sister’s cousin. Interesting family.”

“Oh, you mean Mikasa?” You didn’t know exactly how they were related, but she’d helped Levi move in and it had struck you how eerily similar they were in disposition.

“Yeah, Mikasa. She’s around here somewhere…” As though by magic, he turns to look over his shoulder just as Mikasa and another blonde boy you don’t recognize mosey in from the hallway. She’s leaning down to catch his soft words and he’s talking with his hands, stalling as his eyes light on the little group in the kitchen.

“Oh, hey guys,” he greets. 

“Armiiiin,” Eren greets with a genuine smile. “Come meet some new friends.”

The pair rounds the kitchen island, Armin allowing Eren to pull him in by the arm and Mikasa going to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sasha. 

“I know you,” Hange pipes up, tilting her head to observe Armin. “You’re in the sophomore biochem class I TA for. Arlert, right?”

Armin ducks his head in a nod. “Yep. Professor LaBelle is a wonder, I had a great time this semester.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Hange’s grin is almost slipping to the dangerous side of intrigued. “I graded your final paper, by the way, and just between us, you set the grade curve.”

He blushes red but his eyes shine with something akin to satisfaction. “Really? That’s a relief, it was a bear to write.”

Eren leans back behind Hange to gesture to you, looking across the kitchen at his foster sister. “Mikasa, this is—”

“—Levi’s roommate,” they say at the same time.

“I know.” Her dark eyes regard you interestedly. “Hi, again,” she greets, saying your name even though she’s maybe heard it once in her life.

“Hi!” You give a small wave.

“What, uh, what,” Jean clears his throat and you look up at him to catch a blush staining across his cheeks and nose. He’s looking at Mikasa. “What’re you guys up to in the basement?”

“We were just going to start a movie, Connie’s setting up the projector,” Mikasa says, eyes flicking from you to Eren. “Wanted to see if you guys wanted to join.”

Jean stands suddenly, his stool rocking from the force of it. “Y-yeah, we’ll join!” Sasha hides a snicker behind her hand.

Eren stands, too, between Armin and Hange, who are still chatting. He looks down at you and says your name like a question. “You coming?”

You find yourself shaking your head again. “I’m so crossed, I think if I even look at a couch I’ll fall asleep. And I, uh,” you yawn, slipping your phone out of a back pocket to check the time. 12:11 AM. “I should be getting home.”

It’s earlier than when you would normally call it quits, but suddenly all you can think about is going home and falling into Levi’s clean, soft-smelling sheets. Plus, it’s the Saturday preceding finals week and tonight was only meant to blow off steam between intense days of studying.

“You stayin’?” You bump Hange with your shoulder, and she looks around at you with wide eyes as though she forgot you were there.

“Hmm?”

“You stayin’ for the movie?”

“We’re watching It: Chapter Two,” Armin supplies, eyes crinkled in excitement.

Hange’s eyes grow impossibly wider behind her glasses and she grabs your elbow a little too hard. “You wouldn’t mind, right? I’ve been meaning to watch it.”

You smile and shake your head. “Wouldn’t mind at all. You stay, I’ll call an Uber.”

The whole group starts migrating in the lazy way drunk and high people do: Mikasa helps Sasha with the snacks; Eren and Jean grab canned drinks from the fridge; Armin and Hange gravitate towards the door, talking fast with words you’ve never heard before. You stay sitting at the island, tapping away at your phone to order a car.

When you stand to find the front door, your high hits you from behind like a fuckin’ baseball bat and you sway dangerously. You whistle through your teeth, low and soft, planting a hand on the counter. Sasha looks over at you in concern, her arms full.

“You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I just… what is in that dab pen?”

She laughs, head tilting back. “Good shit, right? Got that one new last week.”

“For real…” you trail off, getting your bearings.

“Here,” Mikasa starts, piling even more food into Sasha’s arms, “I’ll walk you out. Levi would skin me if he knew I didn’t make sure your driver’s not an ax murderer.”

Normally, you’d protest, but the room really is starting to spin.

“Okay,” you sigh and allow her to hook your arm through hers. She’s surprisingly solid, and you find yourself leaning heavily into her. “How’re you still sober?”

“I don’t drink or smoke,” she answers, gently pushing past Armin standing in the doorway. “Doesn’t affect me, anyway, so it’d just be a waste of money.”

“Huh,” you grunt, then twist to wave to the group. “Night, everyone.”

A replying chorus of “goodnight” chases you and Mikasa through the dark foyer littered with drunken party-goers. 

“Oh, wait,” she pauses with a hand on the doorknob. “Did you bring a jacket?”

“Oh,” you wrinkle your nose and think back to getting ready in the afternoon. It had been unseasonably warm and your coat didn’t match your outfit. “No, I didn’t bring one.”

Mikasa gives you an odd look and deposits you by the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Your body feels light as you lean back, tucking your hands into your armpits so they don’t float away. Your eye catches on movement in the dark shadows by the staircase and you squint, trying to see who’s there. It takes a second, but you eventually make out a pair of people, well… making out. They’re completely absorbed in each other, bodies impossibly close and you giggle quietly to yourself before your stomach rolls. No, don’t think about… too late.

You shut your eyes tight and turn away from the couple to lean sideways against the wall. The image is too similar, too gut-punchingly familiar.

“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to stick your tongue down my best friend’s throat? Didn’t mean to practically fuck your best friend’s girlfriend in public?”

The biting words and stuttered apologies are still rolling around in your head when Mikasa comes back, thick puffer coat in hand. She hands it to you and you mutter a subdued “thanks,” twitching to dislodge the dull pain that’s settled in your ribs.

“It’s Eren’s, but he won’t mind. He doesn’t wear this one a lot, and you can just give it back next time we see you.”

“Right,” you nod, head moving a little too easily as you slip your arms in and fumble with the zipper. The faux fur around the hood tickles your face as Mikasa flips it up over your head. She’s clearly experienced in the art of taking care of intoxicated people.

Outside, you’re grateful you bundled up because the temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon. Chilly December wind bites at your face and you bury your hands in coat pockets to save them from the same fate. Your fingers brush against something cold and metallic, and before you know it you’re pulling out a fistful of crumby objects: a super plus tampon, the packaging split down the side; two “for her pleasure” condoms; and, inexplicably, a Hot Wheels matchbox car. An ugly snort escapes your nose and Mikasa looks over at you in alarm. You raise up your fist and she chuckles through her nose as well. Squinting in the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, you find the expiration date on the condoms to be several months ago, so you lean over to a convenient trash can and toss both them and the tampon. The matchbox car returns to the pocket. Who knows, maybe Eren’ll miss it if it’s gone.

Mikasa doesn’t look affected by the cold, only winding her red scarf more securely around her neck as you both quietly wait on the sidewalk for your Uber. A quick glance at the app tells you that it’s three minutes away.

“Are you and Levi close?” You find yourself asking into the night sounds of Greek Row on a Saturday night.

You almost think she doesn’t hear you over the sound of a group spilling out of a neighboring sorority, but then she answers.

“Not particularly. We didn’t grow up together and only connected because of Uncle Kenny a couple years ago.” Her tone is light and casual as she talks about her family, as though you should know who Uncle Kenny is. Should I know who Uncle Kenny is?

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“We may not be close,” she starts again, eyeing you closely, “but I think we’re very similar. And I can tell he cares a lot about you.”

“Oh. Right.” Your palms are suddenly sweaty in your pockets.

“He may not show it,” her tone is careful, “But he does.”

You smile faintly and kick your boot against the curb. “He does show it, in his own way. He’s been really good to me.” Somehow, it’s easy to talk about this to Mikasa, even when you get all stuttery and weird having an identical conversation with Hange. Maybe it’s the drugs and alcohol, or maybe it’s because there’s not a hint of judgment in Mikasa’s eyes. Either way, it feels good to speak your feelings into the world.

“Good.” She nods and follows your gaze to where you’re still scuffing the curb. “Some unsolicited advice for you: if you ever want anything besides mutual pining to come out of it, you need to be really obvious. Or make the first move outright.”

This makes you stutter and wring your hands, she just puts it so bluntly. “R-right, the first move…. Oh, I think that’s my car.”

“What’s the license plate number we’re looking for?”

You read it out from the app while Mikasa steps to the back of the blue sedan that just pulled up. She nods, confirming it’s the same, then circles to the driver’s side window, which is cracked open.

“Hi,” you greet the driver, a blonde woman in her late twenties, and confirm her name matches the one in the app before sliding into the back seat. Mikasa leans down to murmur something to her and she nods, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

“G’night, Mikasa,” you call out the window. “Thanks for everything. And tell Eren thanks for the jacket.”

She waves as the car pulls away. You settle into the quiet hum of the car and let your mind wander. 

Mutual pining. Make the first move outright….

—

“Mikasa texted me,” Levi says by way of greeting as you stumble out of the car and thank your driver. He’s leaning on a lamp post outside your apartment building when your Uber pulls up, jacket and boots pulled on over flannel pajamas. 

“Levi, stand ominously on the sidewalk often?” you ask, dragging out his name long and sing-song.

“Only for you, kid.” He loops an arm around your waist and steers you towards the entryway

“Not a kid,” you grumble, masking the stutter of your heart at his usual pet name for you. Somewhere in the last couple of weeks, it’s gained a weightier significance, at least to you. It’s endearing and a little distancing and charged all at once and it makes your head spin as you climb the stairs up to your floor.

At your door, Levi unlocks it while you drift slowly in a circle next to him, trying to expend the sudden nervous energy you’ve gained in his presence.

The first move, first move, first move… Mutual pining. Mutual.

“What are you muttering about?”

You hadn’t realized you were thinking out loud.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and pass through the door he’s holding open for you. Your momentum carries you farther than you mean to go, and he catches you by the elbow, reeling you back to the coat rack by the door.

“Whose jacket is that?” He shrugs off his own and eyes the faux fur around your face skeptically.

You fumble with the zipper for a second before he sighs and reaches for it himself, stepping into your space. His face is so close to yours you can feel his breath ghosting over your collarbone as he unzips the jacket.

“Eren’s,” you finally answer. “Look.” You pull the matchbox car out of its pocket and show it to Levi with a wide grin. He stares at it for a second, then the tiniest smile twitches onto his lips.

“He’s a weird kid.” It’s almost fond, with an undertone of exasperation.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s in the art department, too. Graphic design major, marketing minor. I TAed his freshman seminar last year.” Levi slips the coat off your shoulders as he speaks, then hangs it by the loop next to his. 

“Ah, that makes sense,” you muse, wandering farther into the apartment. “He looked terrified when I mentioned you. What’d you do to those poor freshmen?”

“Nothing they didn’t deserve.”

“...ominous,” you hiss, your eyes wide as you let him gently push you into your room. The nervous energy hasn’t quite been expended, and you find your hands wringing with it. Suddenly, you’re rambling about your night as he sits you down on your bed among the laundry that’s taken residence there in its disuse. The stupid song they played at the first frat; Sasha’s excellent food; the blue mystery shot.

“It tasted like turquoise, I swear, Levi! It was like magic!” Your eyes are wide, insistent as you lean forward into his space.

“How does something taste like turquoise?” He ducks his head to avoid your face, fingers untying the knotted laces of your boots.

“You’re the artist, you tell me.”

“I don’t eat my paint.”

“Not even once? Not gonna lie, your paint looks very tasty, sometimes…”

“Are you always this annoying when you’re high?” He tugs the second boot off your foot as you let yourself fall back onto your bed.

“Come on, you love me,” you crow to the ceiling. Mutual pining.

Levi mutters something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Where do you keep your pajamas?” He stands and looks around your room.

“Middle drawer, left side,” you direct, lazily motioning to your dresser with an arm. Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to Levi pick his way across the floor and slide the drawer open.

Normally, you can get yourself in bed after a night out just fine. Normally, you slip into the apartment making as little noise as possible, and fall into bed without Levi even waking up. But it feels nice to have his steady hands on you when it feels like your organs might start floating apart at any second. It’s anchoring and reassuring and you can feel the safety of being near him lulling you into a doze.

Come on, you love me.

You shoot up to sitting, mind whirling and chest tight. “L-Levi?”

“What.”

“D-do…” Do you love me? “Do you think I’m pretty?” It feels petty in your mouth and you immediately regret the words, but it would be worse to try and take them back, so you just bite your lip and look down at the floor.

A hand plops onto the top of your head. Levi’s gray eyes meet yours, soft with something you can’t describe, when he tilts your head up. He’s quiet for a moment, then reaches his other hand to thumb your bottom lip out from between your teeth.

“I think you’re very pretty.”

--

(read part 5 here)

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female!reader #attack on titan fanfic #aot fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #snk fanfic #aot x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman #hange zoe #sasha braus #eren jaeger #jean kirschtein #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #swearing #alcohol #weed #intoxication #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #the ackerman influence #queue!! #valkyrie writes

[thatslikely]

Grilled Cheese - G.W.

Grilled Cheese- Chef!George Weasley x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: lots of food, super sweet domestic fluff <3

Word Count: 0.8k

A/N: just a cute George blurb inspired by a comercial I watched during lunch today. I’ve been on a huge George kick recently, so expect more where this came from!

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and thoughts are in italics.

George Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 

send me a dm or ask to be added!

You sat, upside down, on the cozy couch of your apartment, afflicted with an ever-growing appetite. Food-induced drool dripped down from your mouth, but you were too lazy to wipe it off. You desperately needed fuel.

Your gaze occasionally rolled towards the untouched and empty kitchen with intense yearning. You could vividly envision your boyfriend dancing around the kitchen with pots and pans full of food balancing on his head, his hands stirring and sauteeing the night away just as they always did. Instead, it lay deserted. The sun waned behind the horizon, its buttery yellow rays slowly reducing into golden, honey-colored beams, only drawing your eyes more to the empty room.

The muggle TV, set on the cooking channel, droned in the background, only worsening your rapidly increasing hunger. It was so cruel of them to repeatedly zoom in on delicious, gourmet foods, but you simply couldn’t look away.

You emitted a tired groan, eyeing the clock hung above the television. Georgie should be home any minute, you thought in an effort to make your grumbling stomach pipe down. 

Suddenly, just as your eyes drifted to the kitchen once again, a familiar high-pitched squeak rang from the front of the flat.

“George!” you loudly squealed, running towards the now open front door. George stood in the entryway, hanging up his keys on the hook with a playful and slightly cocky smirk.

You carelessly tackled George to the soft, carpeted floor, lovingly leaping onto his torso, draped in his whites. “Someone’s eager to see me,” he said with a laugh. You straddled him on the floor, a child-like grin on your face as you shut the open front door with your ankle. 

George sat up, your rear still planted on his waist, as he gave you a small kiss. The connection of your lips was light and messy; he tasted of the delectable food at the restaurant that he sampled every day. Your hand soon squeezed his muscular shoulder in syncopation, and his lips slowly peeled away from yours.

“Is my darling hungry?” he asked with a devilishly handsome smile. You pitifully nodded your head as you laid it on his beating chest, inhaling the intoxicating spices that were sprinkled in the stitches of his jacket. 

“Oh, c’mon, let’s go make you something to eat.” George picked you up with his strong, chiseled arms, carrying you to the kitchen. You laid slumped over his shoulders like a sleepy child until he gently placed you on a cushioned barstool. He stood opposite you, the counter wedging between, unsheathing knives and unstacking pots and pans from the cupboards that engulfed the walls.

“What does my little sous-chef want tonight? Would you fancy a juicy Beef Wellington, perhaps? Or maybe, if you’re in more of a Spanish mood, I could whip up a nice Paella.”

You thought very long and very hard before saying with a deadpan expression, “I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Very funny. What do you actually want, Y/N?” George scanned your eyes for any signs of sarcasm or mischief, only to be met with utter seriousness.

“I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You’re dating one of the top professional chefs in London, who went to the best culinary school in the world, and works at a Michelin three-star restaurant, and you want a grilled cheese sandwich, of all things?” George looked absolutely dumbfounded.

“Yes,” you said, the definitive expression on your face resolute.

“As you wish,” George said, reaching for a spatula and skillet from the cupboard below the stove. He moved around the kitchen mechanically, grabbing butter and various assorted cheeses from the fridge, and a loaf of bread from the small pantry.

With a loud cackle, a small square of butter was hit with the searing heat of the stove. It slid around inside the frying pan guided by George, coating it in gleaming goodness. While that was left to melt to his satisfaction, George swiftly moved to shredding blocks of cheese. Not a bead of sweat broke from his concentrated face as he slid chunks of pale, piccante provolone, Italian mozzarella, asiago pressato, and fontina cheese up and down the grater. 

He proceeded to place two soft slices of bread in the perfectly sizzling butter, evenly browning both sides. You admired his precision and skill (and maybe his muscular forearms, which were visible thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his chef’s jacket). 

Soon enough, the expertly-selected blend of cheeses was pressed between the two browned pieces of bread, and he laid it back on the skillet to melt.

Within minutes, he presented you with a succulent grilled cheese sandwich. The bread was an inviting shade of brown, accented with little specks of char. Silky, alabaster-colored cheese rested between the two slices, excess slowly dripping out the sides. A small sprig of basil accented the top. 

He placed all the dirty dishes into a warm, soapy bath in the sink before calmly sitting next to you, an identical plate in hand. 

“It looks delicious, Georgie. You never disappoint, even for the simple things,” you said, reaching to George for a quick, thankful peck on the cheek.

“After all, the simple things are the things that matter.” And with that, you two dug in graciously. 

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #fred and goerge weasley #fred and george #fred and george weasley #george weasley fluff #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george fic recs #george weasley blurb #george weasley drabble #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley headcanon #george weasley imagine #george weasley one shot #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x any house #weasley wizard wheezes #the weasley twins #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hp #harry potter fic #weasley twins

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Da Vinky?? - Leonardo

Pairing: Leonardo 

Content Warnings: Swearing? Mention of a knife for cutting apples? Honestly, it’s just straight up fluff. Wrote this in the middle of my Spanish class because I kept thinking about it <3 

Word Count: 941

The small knife glides through the apple effortlessly as you slice it into small, wedge-shaped pieces. You place each sliver on a plate to your right, wiping the juice off on a spare paper towel. No sense in getting apple juice on your blankets, especially not this early in the week. You grab an extra piece from the plate to snack on as you cut up the rest of the apple. It’s perfectly sweet, just as you like it. You smile at the tranquility of the moment as you whittle away at the apple. Silence, save for the methodical ripping of apple cells. 

What are the ethics of owning a turtle when your best friends are giant, anthropomorphic versions of them? Would it be the same as owning a monkey with human friends? Or is the genetic link too far apart for relation? Is the latter even ethical? Whatever. You suppose it doesn’t matter all too much, considering the former is only a temporary foster. You make a mental note to return to the monkey debate later, though. You glance at the large tank that rests on your dresser, peering in at its inhabitant. On a rock a small turtle lies, basking in the heat of the lamp. You drop a cut piece of apple into the tiny turtle’s tank and watch as he slowly crawls the foreign object. Ironic, isn’t it? Out of all the turtles the universe could have given you to foster, it had to have been a red eared slider. You chuckle to yourself. Maybe Leo would get a kick out of his name. No, he absolutely will. He’s sent you that meme far too many times. 

A dull tap on your window pulls you out of your thoughts and you smile to yourself. The universe really does have a sense of humor, no? You stand up from your spot on the bed, turning around to flash a smile to the turtle outside the window. You find yourself entranced as you walk towards him, breathing a gentle sigh at the way his perfect, cobalt eyes shine in the moonlight. Of course, you push the thought away as quickly as it comes, scolding yourself internally. This isn’t the time to deal with your feelings: that’s an issue for a later time. He shoots you a smile and a two-finger salute, swords bouncing gently as he moves. And thus, your heart swells once again. You delicately place the kitchen blade on the window sill to push the window open and it glides open effortlessly, loosened from hundreds of nights like tonight. The cold, autumn air rushes in instantaneously, and you’re suddenly very thankful that you made enough money to pay for heating. He clambers in quickly, eager to get out of the cold. A practiced song and dance at this point. 

“So, who is it this time?” you grin, picking up the knife and tossing it onto your nightstand. 

“You know me so well,” he smiles. “It’s Donnie, because of course it is! He read some big science paper, and now he’s trying to disprove whatever it said. Something about 4-D black holes, whatever that means. And of course his headphones are broken, because why wouldn’t they be? And now he’s playing his awful music way too loud, and honestly?” He flops onto your bed, bouncing gently: “I’m not dealing with that mess again. You couldn’t pay me. Anyways, what’re you up to?” He reaches over to grab a slice of apple, prompting a smile from you. “What?” He asks. 

Despite the mutagen, there’s still some similarities. Or maybe Hamato’s just like apples. You’ll have to ask Splinter about that later. “Well,” you start, “I’m fostering a turtle, for one.” 

He bolts up from the bed, and you laugh. “Dude, what? You should have led with that, my Donnie story can totally wait. Dude, introduce me.” 

“You’re gonna make friends with my foster turtle?” 

“Duh?” 

You laugh, gesturing to the tank. “You can’t pick him up or anything, but you can feed him some apples. He loves ‘em.” 

He rolls off the bed, squatting next to the large tank. He smiles softly when he spots the little guy, resting his head on his hand. He grabs a piece of apple and lowers it into the tank, smile growing brighter as he watches him eat. He’s cute. “So,” he starts, “what’s its name?” 

“Guess.” 

“Leo?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Blue?” 

“No.” 

“Theodore Seville, Copyright Alvin and The Chipmunks, Parenthesis 2007, Directed by Tim Hill?” 

How the fuck does he have that memorized? You laugh, “No, but close.” 

He chuckles with you, pulling his attention away from the mini-him and unto you, “Damn, thought I got it that time. I give. What’s the lil’ dude’s name?” 

You smile, pausing for a moment. He leans forward, and your smile grows. “His name is Da Vinky.” 

He pulls his hands up to his face, laughing into them softly. You smile and lean on the dresser to look at him fully, heart melting at his reaction. Yeah, you definitely made the right choice by going with the meme name. “Alright,” he breathes, reluctantly pulling his hands away from his face to beam at you, “Before we get to how cute it is that you technically named him after me, please tell me you seriously named this fucking baby after a meme. I’m actually gonna lose it if you’re messing with me.”

“Duh?” you mimic. “For real though, it was between Da Vinky or Tintoretto. I figured you’d appreciate Da Vinky more.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was blushing. But he’s cold-blooded, right?

#tmnt imagine #tmnt leo x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt imagine #rottmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #leonardo hamato x reader #leonardo x reader #rottmnt leonardo x reader #leonardo hamato imagine

[kunstpause-archive]

Read on Ao3

Day 8: Adroit

And again some more modern a - I swear I am also going to write something else this month - eventually 😅

Emet/Reader

When Hades shows up the following evening, he holds to boxes of steaming Thai food in his hands, insisting that if you are already staying late, you should do so with a somewhat decent dinner. And it’s definitely more than decent. Not to mention the company is delightful. You talk about this and that, not even looking at the time as you tell him how you are slowly making your new apartment habitable. Hades meanwhile regales you with some more anecdotes of his friend upstairs and his never-ending quest to get him to work less. Over an hour has passed until you finally get around to talking about anything work-related.

“So, what kind of name is ‘Emet-Selch’ actually?” you ask the question that has been repeatedly on your mind.

In front of you, Hades coughs, needing a moment to not choke on his food before he looks at you with a question written all over his face.

“Pardon me?” he murmurs. “What?”

“The boss,” you point out. “I’ve wondered about that; it sounds like a strange name, don’t you think?”

“It’s more akin to a title, actually,” he says after clearing his throat, and that information makes you perk up.

“It is? Oh, kinda like a stage name?” you wonder. “That makes sense; I guess he is an artist, after all.” With a frown, you add, “So what’s his real name then?”

Across from you, Hades lets out a laugh. “I am sure you can easily find that out by employing twenty seconds of your time into a search engine, my dear.”

You shake your head vehemently.

“I am not going to google my boss; what if I find out something I really didn’t wanna know?”

He looks at you across the rim of his glasses like you lost your mind.

“And how is this any different?” Hades asks with a raised brow. “You don’t know what kind of stories I could tell you, after all.”

“Yeah, but then it would be your fault for blabbing and not mine for snooping,” you claim, nodding gravely to underline your point.

“That… is not how it works,” Hades mumbles before he goes back to his food with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you have not looked up the company you’ve come to work for even once?”

You had not. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, but ultimately, you had decided against it, and so you give him a shrug.

“It has a splendid reputation, everyone in my class wanted a job here, and I didn’t see the point,” you say before grabbing another bite. “I guess I just like to make my own impressions?”

“An admirable attitude,” Hades murmurs with another shake of his head. “If, perhaps, prone to complications.”

“Huh?” At his muttered afterthought, you look up, but he just waves it aside.

“Ah, don’t mind me.”

You finish your dinner with some more not work-related talk, and before he leaves to get some more work done himself, you give him the small folder you prepared with your proposed changes. He assures you that he will forward them once again as he wishes you a good night and a relaxing weekend.

You have both, but you are almost tempted to go to work on a Sunday for having nothing better to do. You could finally unpack the rest of your things, get your apartment into a state that is actually comfortable to live in, but you’re still not feeling like it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not necessarily the work itself you miss and wanna sit around at the company for. Out of all the people you have met over the past week, you definitely like Hades the most. He is kind, thoughtful, unobtrusive, and he listens to your complaints as well as talks to you whenever you both seem to have a little time. And sometimes… Sometimes you notice his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and it is not only a welcome sight; it is one that sends little jolts of excitement through you each time you catch him. It doesn’t even matter that you have basically just met the man or that he seems to be a good few years older than you - you would like nothing more than to get to know him better.

A feeling that only grows on Monday when you go through your inbox, and an email from your boss already contains some parts of your proposed changes, together with a small thank you note for your very skillfuly adjustments. Hades didn’t waste any time relaying your thoughts, it seems, and you smile to yourself before you decide to visit the coffee cart downstairs and get him something as a thank you. You have no idea what he likes, except for coffee, of course, but the elderly lady behind the counter knows her customers, and a little while later, you are on your way up to his floor, carrying glazed donuts with you. You wouldn’t have suspected him of having a sweet tooth, but the coffee cart lady insisted that those were his favorite.

When you exit the elevator, you look around. You have no idea where his office is precisely, only the floor it’s on. You’ll simply have to ask the next person you see to point you in the right direction.

It turns out to be unnecessary, as you round a corner and practically run into the man himself.

“Persephone,” he greets you with a confused look, holding your shoulders steady to keep you from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”

The way he seems so surprised but at the same time genuinely happy to see you makes you smile. He looks a little different, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that, for once, he is not wearing glasses.

“Looking for you,” you say, holding up the bag with the baked goods to show him. “I brought a thank you for playing messenger for me.”

He looks a bit confused, but as he sees what’s in your hand, his eyes light up.

“Are those donuts?”

“You really do have a sweet tooth,” you laugh as you nod. “So, I was wond-”

You stop talking in surprise as his hands around your shoulders tighten, and he pulls you further around the corner all of a sudden, looking past you with a slight frown.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, unsure just how to react when Hades motions you to be quiet.

“Shhh, I think I saw Hythlodaeus,” he whispers, and now he has you thoroughly confused.

“Your friend?” you murmur back as you wonder about the sudden secrecy.

“He is trying to rope me into something, and I am avoiding him,” he explains quietly, shifting you just a little so he can peek around the corner. “Oh no,” he murmurs. “He’s heading straight this way. Get in there.”

He nudges you through the door right next to you into an empty office. Everything goes fast, and before you know it, you find yourself on the inside, slightly wedged between the office door and Hades, who quietly snaps the lock shut.

You look at him questioningly, trying to make sense of all this when he puts a finger over his lips, indicating you not to make a sound.

A second later, you nearly flinch when someone knocks sharply at the door.

“Hades, are you in there?” an impatient voice asks, and in front of you, Hades mouths the word ‘Hyth’ in a quiet explanation.

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know?” the voice comes again. “This fundraiser is happening, you are going, and if you want to look approachable for once, you’re bringing someone.!”

You have to swallow down a giggle as you realize what it is he is trying to avoid. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t seem like the very outgoing type.

“Come on,” comes Hyth’s voice again through the door. “You could ask that cute singing girl from downstairs you’ve been mooning over to come with you; it will be fun!”

Hades winces slightly in front of you, and your eyes widen at those last words as a sudden feeling of giddiness has your stomach jump. With the way Hades looks at you almost apologetically by now, there is little chance his friend means anyone else, and the thought is nothing if not exciting.

“I’ll just be back…” the voice from outside claims before you can hear the sound of someone walking away.

For a moment, you stay quiet, almost unwilling to say something. The slight tension in the air is far too precious, after all. But at the same time, you are not the calmest or most patient person, after all.

“Cute singing girl from downstairs?” you comment with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, Hades has a sheepish look on his face.

“Well…” he starts, but before he can say anything more, you give him a playful wink.

“You know, I think I’ve heard of her,” you say with a knowing look. “Rumor has it she has been slightly mooning herself about some upstairs guy. So…” you trail off for a moment, grinning at him. “If you ask her, she might actually say yes.”

Something between you shifts as the sheepish look from earlier is completely gone from his face now, replaced by something decidedly different. Unveiled interest is in his eyes as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Is that so?” Hades murmurs in a low voice, and you are suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is.

His arm against the door, he half cages you in, and with the way he is so much taller than you are, he is practically filling out your whole view. He gives you a long look, and then his other hand rises, and your stomach flutters as his fingers graze your cheek, gently brushing over your skin as he draws a strand of hair out of your face. He tugs it behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your neck in the process, and you swallow heavily as you look up into his golden eyes that are, for once, not behind a pair of glasses. He is so close all of a sudden, and you lick your suddenly dry lips, very aware of the way his eyes follow the motion. You barely dare to breathe as you wonder if the intense way he looks at you means he is going to kiss you when his smile slightly widens.

“Good to know,” he finally says, letting his hand fall away but still keeping close.

“Are you going to ask?” you wonder with bated breath, and there is a twinkle in those warm eyes as he gives you a slight nod.

“Eventually,” Hades says, still smiling before he finally takes a step back. “But Hyth is not going to let this rest,” he adds with a frown at the door. “I’ll leave to go look for him, and you can sneak out of here a few minutes later.”

The assumption that you would somehow need to sneak out has you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Sneak out?” you ask. “Why would I need to do that?”

“You really don’t want to get people talking,” Hades says with a sigh. “Everyone on this floor is a horrible gossip; you have no idea what you’d set yourself up for if you just walked out of here.”

It doesn’t lessen your confusion at all as you wonder just why anyone would even care if you walked out of a random office with him, but before you can point that out, his hands run over your upper arms, and he nudges you to look at him.

“Persephone, I’m going to come by your office tonight, and I’m going to ask you to go to a fundraiser with me,” Hades says in a surprisingly serious voice. There is a slightly crooked half-smile on his face as he looks down at you with clear anticipation, and you smile back at him at that.

“I look forward to it,” you say with a genuine smile, but Hades doesn’t seem to be done.

“In the meantime, please do me one favor, and google this company,” he murmurs, and just like that, your confusion is back, and you scrunch your nose. “Trust me, my dear,” he insists, “You really want to know some things before you decide to say yes!”

That is not ominous at all, you think, but with a final smile, he lets go of you, unlocks the door, and is gone faster than you can process. A bit forlorn, you look at the bag still in your hand before, for the first time after being dragged in here, you look around the room. It’s the most spacious office you have ever seen. There are shelves willed with folders on one side, a couch, and a sitting area on the other, but at the center, behind a large desk, it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that catch your eyes the most. The view from up here is so breathtaking that it takes you a few more moments to notice that some impressive things are hanging at the far wall. Honors, prizes, and rather prestigious awards. All made out to…

Emet-Selch.

You nearly let the bag of food slip from your grasp as you realize in whose office you stand, where Hades had dragged you in to. For a few seconds, you think you both can count yourself lucky that it was empty when you notice something else. There is a pair of glasses lying on the desk before you, glasses that look very familiar. You have stared at them quite a few times over the last week, after all. You realize that Hades’ colleague had straight-up assumed he was in here when knocking at the door, and behind the desk, the windows show a clear view of the nearby park as things suddenly click, and you are not sure if you are mortified, very confused or maybe even slightly angry. All you know as you put the bag from the coffee cart down on his desk for him to find later is that the first thing you will do when getting back to your office is heed his advice and look some things up. And tonight, when he shows up at your office, you will make him give you some answers.

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #Kunstpause writes stuff

[doctors-star]

“Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

and

“At least you’ll die doing what you love; Walking into danger.”

for the cowboys

“What’cha doin’?”

Tommy tilts his head back against the rock and looks up at the intruder. Once identified against the bright glare of the sun haloing him, Tommy reaches up and hauls on Johnny’s shirt until he too crumples and settles in the shade at Tommy’s side. “Hidin’,” he says, pressing a finger to his lips. “Sheriff's out huntin’ me, on account of how I pinched the paperweight from off of his desk.” He shifts and fidgets the fine glass hemisphere out of his pocket to show Johnny the chased leaves circling the edge and the cut lines along the top like a whisky decanter.

Johnny makes suitably impressed noises, leaning in so close that his hair brushes Tommy’s over the prize. “Dang,” he whistles in admiration, pressing his fingertip to an intersection of grooves hard enough to make it go white and bloodless, then pulling away to gaze at the lines as they slowly fade. “He’ll be hoppin’ mad. Your aunt’ll kill you,” he says, sounding slightly awed, and Tommy preens under the rightful worship.

Then remembers himself, and winces. Kill doesn’t cover it - she’ll have his hide, and then keep him locked in the house for weeks until she’s satisfied he’s learned something from it. He won’t see Johnny, either, except through the window in the short intervals before Aunt June notices and strides out with a broom to send the other boy skittering away like a stray cat. “Well,” he says sensibly, “that’s why I’m not home.”

Johnny nods seriously, kicking his legs out in front of him. He’s younger than Tommy, but shooting up faster; his new grown-boy trousers are already a good four inches higher than his ankles, and his shirts don’t fit as well as Tommy’s, and he hasn’t got any shoes in summertime, on account of how his mother’s given up on him until he’s really stopped growing - or so she had said when rounding up her son and stopping to have a quick cup of tea and a chat with Aunt June, which had inevitably turned into an hour of commiserating over having boys of their age to manage. Tommy turns his gaze on his own turn-ups, and decides that he doesn’t really mind being shorter if it means his clothes will fit him properly, and he can turn himself out presentably.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, “I can see how hidin’ behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

Tommy nods, pleased with himself and his prize. Which is, of course, when a voice sounds out across the narrow desert path. It is his Aunt June. She is, indeed, hopping mad. “Thomas Morrin, you come out here right now and account your actions to me!”

Tommy and Johnny spring to their feet entirely on nervous instinct, staring back towards town where Aunt June is striding out in their direction. The paperweight slips in his sweaty palm, but he can’t seem to put it down - or move, or anything, frozen in panic. I’m only twelve, his hindbrain squeaks unhelpfully. I’m too young to be put in jail, or skinned by Aunt June. I can’t die - Johnny and me were going to go swimming in the creek tomorrow.

He turns to Johnny - or more accurately, where Johnny had been, for Johnny is already several paces away to the northwest and the grasslands, and the creek. He turns back and offers Tommy an exhilarated, wild grin and holds his hand out. “Come on!” he hollers, dancing backwards on bare, dirty toes and gesturing for Tommy to follow. “We can make it!”

Tommy glances back at his aunt, and reckons he’ll take his chances. Who knows - maybe they’ll make it over the river, and Tommy can have one last swim before his inevitable incarceration for aeons, millennia, or at least a week.

--

Tommy is just gearing up to run when a voice cuts through his focus. “I’m terrible sorry, but could y’all just run through the plan for me one more time? I’m sure it’ll all make sense when you do.”

He relaxes out of his stance, catching Johnny opposite him likewise straightening and unlacing his fingers from the stirrup he’d made of them. They both turn hesitantly to their unexpected audience: it doesn’t sound like Noel is sure the plan will make sense. Don’t look like it either, with her eyebrow cocked sternly in their direction and one arm crossed over her waist to prop up the delicate fingers tapping her jawbone. Tommy resists the urge to doff his hat and shuffle his feet, like a badly-behaved schoolchild with a broken slate. “Well ma’am,” he says instead, “Johnny here is going to give me a lift. This should enable me to reach the porch roof, from where I shall climb onto the roof proper without any trouble.”

Noel’s fingers flick out to point at the roof apex instead. “In order to rescue the cat,” she says flatly.

Johnny puffs up a little, almost offended. “It’s a kitten,” he corrects. And it is - tiny and grey and mewling pitifully as it clings to the shingles. It’s the sorriest thing Tommy ever saw. It must be rescued.

Noel waves this triviality away easily. “The animal, which got there under its own steam and can doubtless return in the same way, I understand. And how will you get down, Mr Morrin?”

Tommy and Johnny frown at the roof. It doesn’t look that high. “I’ll be alright, ma’am.”

“Oh, alright,” Noel says easily. “At least you’ll die doin’ what you love: runnin’ headfirst straight into danger. Mr Williams,” she calls, ignoring how Johnny and Tommy both inflate in irritation at this slight on their wisdom and skills and instead waving her hand delicately to attract Will’s attention as he emerges from the home of one of his patients down the street, “won’t you come stand by me, just in case?”

Will’s dark eyes flick over the entire scene. “Oh dear,” he says conversationally, wandering over to stand at Noel’s side. She slides her spare hand into the crook of his elbow easily, tucking him into her side, and Tommy wonders all over again just what those two think of each other, ‘cause he ain’t got a damn idea. Then Will gestures invitingly at Tommy and Johnny. “Well, don’t stop on our account.”

Johnny glances sideways at Tommy. “But you reckon we oughtta stop,” he says, nearly a question.

Will shrugs and Noel looks like she’s chewing down a smile. Will’s eyes keep glancing off to one side, but that ain’t really unusual with him so Tommy doesn’t really notice it - not properly. “We wouldn’t dream of tellin’ y’all what to do,” Noel says sweetly.

The implication is clear. Unfortunately, Tommy is incapable of reading this as anything but a challenge, so he turns back to Johnny with new determination. Johnny braces his hands and Tommy bends down for maximum speed as he runs straight for Johnny, plants his boot in his palms, and is launched straight upwards and onto the porch roof. From there, without pausing for thought, he scrambles up the wall by wedging his toes in the gaps between the planks cladding the building, and doesn’t stop until he is crouched, cat-like, on the shingles.

Then he looks around him. Speaking of cat-like, there appears to be a distinct absence of kitten on the roof now.

He looks back down. Noel and Will are grinning without restraint, now, and Johnny is looking a little uncomfortable. Which is reasonable, as there is a small grey kitten clawing its way up his leg, and it is definitely not on the roof. It’s purring quite loudly, too, and Johnny’s finger keeps stretching out and stroking guiltily over its head.

“Did I scare it down?” Tommy asks, in a last-ditch effort to regain at least a little dignity in victory from this.

Will shuts one eye as he squints and shakes his head. “Naw,” Noel informs him happily, “it came down when the doc showed up.”

Tommy looks at the floor. It suddenly looks an awful long way away. “Johnny,” he says quietly, “how am I gonna get down?”

Johnny frowns, assessing the porch beams, the shingles, the siding. He tilts his head as he looks for routes and footholds and anything to make the return easier. He looks just like he had when they were kids and getting in and out of buildings without permission and fairly often with handfuls of sweets and brown sugar in their pockets, and with the maximum of mischief. They’d got into a lot of scrapes together, him and Johnny, but they’d survived ‘em all so far - Johnny would get him down.

Johnny squints up at him, shading his eyes under one hand. “Carefully?” he suggests.

#this one comes with the working title of 'tommy and johnny's mad lad power hour' #tommy and johnny are the only ones who are actually from danser can u believe #anyway just a short fun one! #a town called danser #this is your captain speaking

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Fourteen

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Fourteen: Pirates

Xavier-Yves Roth was actually a pretty decent guy once you got past the fact that his father had trained him wrong on purpose to be a self-absorbed, self-centered jerk.

Thankfully, Luka had done all of the hard work for the rest of humanity and had been teaching XY for several years how to be a better person. The result was that Xavier-Yves was now pretty tolerable. He was still occasionally annoying and not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he tried to be a good person, and, most of the time, he succeeded.

As XY hung around the Liberty and Adrien was exposed to him more and more, Adrien was surprised to find that XY was funny. Adrien honestly enjoyed going back and forth with him, trading jokes.

In an alternate timeline, Adrien even thought that they could be friends. Unfortunately, in the current universe, Xavier-Yves definitely had a massive thing for Luka, and Adrien’s own embarrassing crush on his housemate was only growing by the day.

Adrien had learned from anime that this “love rivals” status made a friendship between himself and XY impossible at this stage. Perhaps they could team up to thwart a third party’s attempts to steal Luka’s interest or maybe gradually grow closer if Luka rejected both of them, but, at this phase, they could only pretend to play nice in front of the object of their rivalry and secretly trade jabs behind Luka’s back.

“Hey,” XY whined as Adrien stole the last strawberry off of the communal plate on the makeshift coffee table. “That was mine.”

“I didn’t see your name on it.” Adrien smirked, reclining back into the couch cushions triumphantly.

“You’re mean,” Xavier-Yves sulked, crossing his arms and sticking out his bottom lip. “Six-Strings, control your pet.”

“Children,” Luka sighed, half in jest, half seriously, from the kitchen where he was cutting up more fruit. “Behave.”

Adrien stuck out his tongue. “I’m a pirate now. I take what I want.”

XY rolled his eyes, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in that you get to live with him. You’re still just a G flat.”

Adrien blinked uncomprehendingly. “What? What do you mean a G flat?”

Xavier-Yves snickered softly, “If he’s a C, you’re a G flat—a diminished fifth.”

Adrien jerked back away from his rival, recoiling at the sting of his words and what they implied.

It was more than the words themselves. It was the fact that Luka and XY were close enough that Luka had told him what Adrien had said about Luka being middle C. It was that XY knew Luka’s Perfect Fifth nickname for Adrien.

It felt like a violation of something Adrien had thought was sacred.

“Now who’s the mean one?” Adrien hissed defensively.

XY shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war, especially when you eat the last strawberry. I love strawberries.”

“What are you two mumbling about?” Luka called to them, started to get worried at the comparative quiet.

“Strawberries,” Adrien responded, putting on a brave face. “We’re out, and XY wants some more.”

“Give me just a sec,” Luka replied, going to the fridge to grab another handful.

He washed them and placed them on the plate with the rest of the snacks.

“Here.” He set the platter down on the coffee table before taking a seat between Adrien and Xavier-Yves. “Don’t squabble. You two make me never want to have children.”

Adrien and XY collectively winced.

“Sorry,” Adrien murmured.

“Yeah. Sorry. G Flat was just being a mega jerk. Totally un-dope,” XY sniffed indignantly.

Luka rolled his eyes. “And you can’t ever let anything go, can you?”

“He was harshing the vibes,” XY argued indignantly.

“Prune, you’re twenty-two. He’s eighteen. Try to be the adult sometime, yeah?” Luka wearily scolded.

Adrien bristled, grumbling, “I’m not a little kid.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Luka playfully mussed Adrien’s hair in an attempt to smooth his ruffled feathers.

The placating gesture worked until Luka turned and started rubbing XY’s neck.

“Be good you two,” Luka commanded, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Moodily, Adrien snuggled up to Luka, resting his head on Luka’s chest.

Xavier-Yves retaliated by wrapping an arm around Luka’s shoulders and cuddling up.

Giving up on trying to understand the strange feud his companions had going on, Luka suggested, “Let’s watch the movie now, okay?”

“Sure,” XY easily agreed, starting to wiggle in excitement.

“Sure,” Adrien echoed unenthusiastically.

XY had been the one to recommend the film. He was into cars and wanted to show Luka what quality movies they made in the US (though, Adrien had no idea why).

Luka had acquiesced to watching one film from the series in order to humor his friend, and Adrien ended up crashing the watch party because like hell was he going to let Luka and Xavier-Yves get all lovey-dovey on the couch, watching the movie alone.

“This film is super ballin’. It’s my favourite out of all of them,” XY explained excitedly.

“Who taught you to speak French?” Adrien snorted, still feeling vindictive over the G Flat comment. “The Académie Française would have a heart attack if they could hear you.”

XY winced as if a bucket of cold water had just been thrown on his flame of enthusiasm.

“Pst,” Luka whispered, giving Adrien’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He’s not a native speaker, Angel.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped, and he sat up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry.” He immediately attempted damage control. “I had no idea. Your French is really amazing. I never would have known. I apologize. That was really rude of me. Please know I was just joking, and I’m very sorry.”

Luka gave XY’s arm an encouraging squeeze.

Xavier-Yves shrugged, not looking at Adrien as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Eh. It’s okay. I mean, people have been giving me crap about it my whole life, so I’m kind of used to it. I’m not good at languages, and even though my mom was French, I only had to speak English in America, so I never learned French until after the divorce when me and my dad moved here when I was ten.”

“Still, just because you’re used to it, that doesn’t make it any less wrong,” Adrien insisted. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, so I’m really sorry for picking at a sore spot like that.”

Slowly, XY turned his head to study Adrien’s expression.

Xavier-Yves found sincerity there, and his smile gradually returned.

“Okay. Apology accepted.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.

Adrien readily complied, counting himself lucky for not having driven an even larger wedge between them.

Luka smiled, pleased at the development between his two friends.

It was then that Adrien vowed to be nicer to Xavier-Yves. He really wasn’t a bad person. In fact, Adrien begrudgingly liked him most of the time.

The only thing keeping them from being friends was their mutual feelings for Luka, and Adrien was beginning to see that a rivalry between Luka’s friends was not winning either Adrien or XY any points.

Adrien wasn’t a little kid. He could step up and be the mature one in this for Luka’s sake.

“So…shall we watch the movie?” Adrien suggested. “I hear it’s ‘super dope’.”

“So dope,” XY began to gush, giving Adrien the lowdown on the different cars used in the film.

Luka’s smile widened as Adrien and XY finally began to get along.

#Lukadrien #LuXY #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Xavier-Yves Roth #XY #Lukadrien June 2021 #MLB #Fluff #Rivalry #Love Rivals #Pining #Mutual Pining #Slow Burn #Friends to Lovers #Writing Prompts #Mikau's Writings #Your Hands Hold Home

[emerald-amidst-gold]

*kicks door in* Did I hear OTP asks?? Is it a chance to be nosy about the dragon and his wolf that I sniff in the air?? *dumps box full of questions on the floor*

Who has the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Thoughts on each other’s family?

Who has awful taste in music?

And

The most important question: Who can rap better?

💖

*jumps up from the couch and gasps* Nosy?! Oh, friend! You can be nosy all you want because you couldn't be nosy when faced with a wolf and a dragon who act like lovestuck fools?! >:D

Who as the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Eheh, I can safely say that both and Solas and Fane are pretty equal when it comes to the amount of nightmares that they each harbor. Fane's nightmares are just more...volatile due to how tangible they get. Solas, I believe, is so used to enduring his own that he's able to conceal just how unnerved they make him, but there would be moments where he'd split.

Fane usually deals with his nightmares by reaffirming solidity to his teetering mind. He searches for shapes (squares, circles, rectangles, triangles, etc.), and he'll rip open his balcony windows to literally gulp in as much frigid air as he can muster. He does the latter to try and stave of either a panic attack or a bout of retching. Sometimes it works, but most times, Fane can't stop his stomach from expelling what's inside. His nightmares do die down in intensity once he and Solas start to share quarters, but the first several weeks are...rough.

---

“Nightmares?”, Solas’ voice finally came in a murmur, tone laced with sleep even as stormy, moonlit orbs shone with awareness and gentle sympathy.

Fane grimaced a bit before nodding. “...Yeah.”, he said after a bit of hesitation, shifting his gaze away as the sight of more concern made him even more tired. Why couldn’t he get through one night without an interruption or seeing the sky reflect sorrow and guilt? “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

The command was brusque, mildly clipped and he cringed a bit as he heard his own tone echo. He needed to sleep, damn it! He knew he was being harsh, being childish, but he couldn’t take everything that was going on right now. In short terms, he was overwhelmed and for once, he didn’t know how to mitigate what was flowing through him! He never knew how to control this blighted form! He never knew anything beyond whining and--

More shifting of the covers had Fane’s ears twitching and sticking a wedge between his thoughts and the spiral they wished to delve into, but not turning his gaze back, keeping it glued out the frosty windows. Maybe the sight of ice and snow would help get his mind to shut. up. Not likely, but it was worth a shot at this point. Anything was worth a shot. Anything, anything, any--!

“Vhenan.” A gentle call, one used for moments like this and one that once again pulled his mind back from the edge, but Fane still kept his gaze turned, beginning to trace shapes along the stained glass of the upper windows. Maybe his ritual would work if he kept trying. He just had to keep trying. Try, try, try!

“Why are there always so many squares?”, Fane asked rhetorically and with a dry air, eyes slowly darting along jagged patterns and equally as jagged lines. “I should change the design. Maybe the Qunari one?” He sneered a bit. “...No. That one has more squares. I’m tired of squares.” The word for exhaustion made his eyelids feel dry and unfathomably heavy, but they still wouldn’t close. He really wished they would close. Why wouldn’t they close?! Why wouldn’t his mind be sil--!

“Fane.” Another call, this one more firm, but still just as well meaning as a warm hand came up to touch his cheek, beckoning him to look back at the sky. “Look at me, ma’isenatha.” A light stroke of fingers against his jawline made Fane shiver, even as his body rose in temperature.

“No.”, Fane said, even as he subconsciously leaned towards his beacon of comfort and warmth, the palm softly coming to cup his cheek. “Just go back to sleep, Solas.”, he practically begged, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Solas was as stubborn as he was clever, and more prone to worry than Fane was in regards to the other. They often butted heads due to their collective protectiveness, each arguing that the other needed to be more concerned about themselves whether in battle or not, but grudges were never held once they explained the situation or what made them panic so severely. Knowing that, Fane wanted to look to the sky, he did, but yet, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear to see more worry. Not right now. However, another warm sensation, not from a hand, against his cheek had him almost abandoning his squares. He was so, so childish…

“Ma’isenatha..”, Solas murmured against where he had placed a kiss upon his cheek, gentle concern making a normally smooth voice somehow smoother. “Talk to me.” A plea with a double meaning that had Fane sighing.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Solas.”, Fane muttered, gaze shifting downwards to the floor. “It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t puke, I didn’t tear from bed like a madman, but I can’t sleep. End of story.” The dismissal curt, but sufficient. For him, anyway.

---

This is a little snippet kind of showcasing how Fane deals with his nightmares when Solas is around. This is kind of early on, when they just start sharing quarters, so Fane is highly dismissive, but only because he doesn't want to keep worrying Solas about things that he thinks doesn't matter. *bonks the dragon on the head*

I think Solas would be very much the same way in terms of dismissing, but would be more likely to cave when faced with the fact that Fane understands. Cue crying!Solas because the world needs more of it! >:3 Fane would definitely offer Solas a sanctuary, opening his arms and silently waiting to see if the mage would take it. If Solas does opt to seek shelter, then Fane wouldn't utter a word, knowing that he can't say anything that man hasn't said to himself. Really, all Fane does is reassure Soals that he isn't alone.

Thoughts on each other's family?

Sooo...does the Evanuris count as family for Solas? I like to kind of think they do in some capacity! As such, Fane fucking despises them! Especially Elgar'nan! :D

Elgar'nan: "So this is a mighty white dragon? How disappointing."

*Fane slams his massive tail upon the palace floors, shattering the marble and crystal with a hard expression*

Solas: "And now?"

Yeah, fuck that guy! :D Seriously though, Fane's feelings towards Elgar'nan are...justified. I mean, his feelings towards all of the Evanuris are justified, but Elgar'nan was the one that made Fane leave his sky. *smiles*

Solas and Mhairi start of a bit...rocky. Mhairi tries to reach out, tries to connect with him due to being highly intrigued by his knowledge of the Fade and the elves, but since Solas is...Solas, he does the whole, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you would wish to regale me with luminous tales of the elves. You are Dalish.' Solas actually tried that line on Fane and Fane just goes, '...Presumably. Who knows?'

But back to Mhairi and Solas! Mhairi and Solas eventually warm up to each other after Adamant, around the same time Fane and Solas become an item, and he begins to teach her how to control her magic a bit better. There's actually a mini short story I want to write that shows a huge development between Solas and Mhairi where he literally becomes another brother to her. Get caught by templars and having to think of clever ways to survive and use your magic without getting silenced would endow two mages to grow close. You get me? Especially when one becomes extremely terrified from the mere sight of the Templar insignia due to a traumatic incident where they were silenced. *smiles again*

Solas ends up caring for Mhairi very much, as much as Fane does actually. And obviously, Fane is extremely happy by that. Even if betrayal is in the future, it's nice to see his sky take every moment of joy that he can.

As for Fane's father... *laughs nervously* I'll just say this: a wolf's bite is worse than their bark. I'll let you envision that because fuck does Solas want to let the beast within take hold and tear until there's naught but bones left. It'll be the one time that the Dread Wolf comes out to hunt, to kill. And if I play the 'power couple' card? *sips teas delicately* Then I'll play it in earnest. >:3

Who has awful taste in music?

I think both Fane and Solas are fairly good about choosing music! They both lived during the time of Elvhenan, so gentle cadences and calming refrains would only make them both long for what they lost. Fane enjoys Maryden's songs, too! He'll stand up with Cole in the tavern and listen to them with the spirit, humming each note under his breath since he'd be a fool to try and sing.

Also, Fane can actually coax a melody or two from Leliana if she isn't too closed up. Solas ends up giving his dragon a tiny, tender smile when he comes waltzing down the stairs with a look and smirk that asks, "How'd you enjoy that show? Pretty good, hm?"

...They are such dorks. I'm awful. *cackles*

Who can rap better?

*stares at this question like the pikachu meme*

I...honestly don't know, to be honest! X'D Like if I had to really, really choose I would say Solas because the man already speaks in iambic pentameter, so he's got a flow going already! PFFFT! I know it's not anywhere close to the same thing, but it's all I can think of to justify why! X'D

Fane isn't...wordy enough for rapping. He would seriously short circuit at a request of such a thing and just go, 'No. The fuck?' He's 5,000 years old. He don't roll with the kids and their words. *cackles before coughing violently*

*neatly shuffles all your questions and places them back in the box with the answers* There you are, my dear friend! Thank you so much for stopping by the mailbox for the dragon and wolf! Do come again! >:D

#oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #ask #asks #i have so many ideas for fics but i can't write them all at once! X'D #fane to elgar'nan: BITCH #solas to fane's father: DIE #*sighs wistfully* look at them go~ #i love them so much #SO MUCH #solas to mhairi: PROTECT #*rolls around on the ground like a fool* #thank you again! <3 #my writing

[buriedinbleach]

Along for the Ride

@blog-lady-vi​ asked: Kensei x Reader thigh riding scenario, pretty pleaaaaase 😱 Those thighs are made for sin omg 😍 

Bless your sweet sinful mind for gifting me with this incredible request. Seriously, this ask was a treasure. Its definitely been a while since I’ve written a fic, so I hope my dust isn’t showing!

*winks* Let’s see just what kind of sin those thighs are made for, shall we?

“Babe, please?” Your soft voice was in Kensei’s ear as you leaned over his shoulder; sweet, warm, and wanting. That would also explain why your delicate fingers were currently working their way inside his open shihakusho  –  stroking up, and down his firm chest. Kensei’s eyes temporarily lost focus on the stack of papers strewn out over the desk in front of him. The gentle graze of your lips, just close enough to sweep his skin, mixed with the kiss of heat from your breath as you moved up his neck and over his ear had left him perfectly distracted. 

Kensei inhaled deeply through his nose before opening his eyes to speak, summoning all his willpower. “I just have three more reports to review, then we can head home.” He heard your groan, knowing you made no attempt to stifle it and huffed out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I plan on making it up to you  –  more than once.”

The wicked smile that crossed your lips was hidden from view, but no sooner had Kensei turned his eyes back to his reports than your fingers resumed their path, moving further down his chest, your lips returned to ghosting over his ear. Neither of you spoke while you did your best to tempt  him –  and it seemed for once, Kensei was going to let you. 

What a fun game this could be...

The tip of your tongue peeked out from between your soft lips. It carefully traced the shell of his ear with precision while one hand continued working its way lower, easing his haori open a little further with every inch. Kensei’s relaxed breathing didn’t betray the hunger growing steadily by the second, deep in the pit of his stomach. A warm breath sailed down his neck when your tongue gently flicked the piercing on his cartilage. That broke him. 

Kensei let out a low groan before one firm hand clamped down on your wrist, pulling you around his chair with enough force for you to land right in his lap. Exactly where he wanted you. 

He gripped your hips, greedily palming your curves and jerking you forward on his lap. His kiss was gentle and slow, with one hand tucked behind your neck to pull your lips to his. Kensei’s other hand however, continued to caress and tease, drawing breathless gasps from your parted lips. 

Your fingers wound through his hair, tightly holding his mouth to your neck. “Kensei.”

“I told you, I am the super lieutenant! You do what I say!” Mashiro’s trilling whine broke through the quiet of the room. You both froze: your hips in the process of grinding against his, Kensei’s hand pulling at the collar of your kimono. Almost in tandem, both of your eyes shot towards the door. 

“How many times do we have to go over this?” The exasperation in Shuhei’s voice was evident  –  and it was definitely getting closer. 

You looked back at Kensei, quickly adjusting your kimono back into place. He held a finger to his lips and eased you off his lap. It was easy to hear Mashiro and Shuhei’s voices echoing down the long squad nine hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Kensei glanced around the room, formulating a quick plan, pulling you into a small utility closet at the front of the room alongside him. The door to the closet slipped closed without a sound just as the door to Kensei’s office swung open to reveal Mashiro and Shuhei  –  still arguing. Loudly.

“Ken-sei!” Mashiro stomped her foot dramatically, letting Shuhei brush past her only to find Kensei’s desk empty. 

It was almost uncomfortably tight in that closet, especially being shoved in there with someone of Kensei’s size. His back was to the office where Shuhei and Mashiro continued to argue out of sight.  You stood crammed in chest to chest, wedged together like interlocking puzzle pieces, one of his massive thighs between your legs. Kensei tilted his ear back towards the office to listen more closely. 

“Doesn’t look like he’s here.” Shuhei turned towards the door, shoulders slumped, irritated and exhausted. 

Mashiro crossed her arms, a look of indignation flashing across her face. “We aren’t leaving! He’ll be back soon. You would know that if you were the Super Lieutenant.” She flopped down on the couch, making herself very comfortable. 

‘Poor Shuhei,’ You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself in the darkness. 

The impact of the closet’s small dimensions began to resonate with you and Kensei almost immediately. With his shoulders spanning most of the door, Kensei’s heavy mass guaranteed no one was getting in any time soon. As he leaned back towards to door to listen, you inched forward, pressed tightly to his body. 

Your soft, quiet, panting breaths echoed through Kensei’s mind, pounding like a drum, until they were indistinguishable from the beat of his own heart. The hand that was resting against your lower back crept lower still before squeezing and pulling your hips against his thigh. 

“Ay!” You chided in a whisper, uselessly throwing Kensei a glare in the pitch black darkness of the closet. It took everything you had not to smack him across the chest in warning. What the hell had gotten into him?

You leaned in closer, bringing your lips to his ear and whispered, “They’ll hear us in here.”

Kensei grinned triumphantly when he noticed that you made no attempt to move your hips away afterwards. He could hear Shuhei grumbling something unintelligible while Mashiro drones on about a recent shopping trip with Rangiku. At least, that’s how it sounded to Kensei’s ears. Particularly, when he had you almost exactly where he wanted. 

He had all the time in the world for this. 

You had stalled in the darkness; frozen in place, anxious with anticipation until the tips of his rough fingers teasingly grazed your thigh, causing you to gasp in surprise before relaxing into his touch. His wide palm settled with a weighty pressure against your back, keeping your hips tightly fitted against his. Kensei’s fingers though, they trace an invisible pattern over your skin, inching under the hem of your kimono and up your thigh before retreating back down again, slowly progressing. 

Kensei repeated the pattern over and over. 

Teasing. 

Each time, his fingers circled ever closer to grazing your slit over your underwear. Always so close. So close –  but not quite. As a whimper caught in your throat, Kensei’s lips silenced your objections before you made them. His kiss was hot and possessive, but you wanted more, pulling him closer. 

Your hips shift, just an inch, but it made all the difference. Kensei knew the second you felt it; your body went rigid, your lips parted, and the sweetest  –  hottest –  pant escaped before Kensei’s teeth nipped your lower lip in teasing silence. 

“That’s it, babe. Might as well make the most of our situation, right?”

That voice. It sent a sharp chill racing down your spine, but a hot ache was burning through your gut. It began in his palm, firm against your back, radiating through your body and sinking into your core, penetrating every fiber of every muscle until you had molded yourself perfectly against him. Angling just right thanks to a little encouragement from Kensei. 

You gave a slow nod of agreement, letting your teeth sink into your lower lip to silence a surprised gasp that threatened to escape. 

“Now, where were we?” His teeth grazed your ear, causing you to subconsciously tilt your neck, placing more of yourself on offering. Kensei grinned in the darkness like a naughty schoolboy, one very close to getting exactly what he – 

Your hand clamped down around his wrist, catching him in the act, with one finger dipped into your underwear, testing for the wetness you both knew he would find. You wanted to let him continue, to see how far he was willing to go with his lieutenants on the other side of the door. Any excuse at all to sink down on that sinful  –  thick  –  digit, but the sound of Shuhei and Mashiro’s mumbled voices and a strange ‘thunk’ closeby reminded you of the presence of others, calling you back from the void. 

“What if they see, or even hear something?” You pulled his hand out from your underwear with a light smack to the back of his wrist, trying to suitably chastise him. Even if the effect was somewhat lessened by your panting breaths. Your mind and your body were at odds, that is, until your more primal brain took over. 

Kensei felt the muscles of your legs clench and roll around his thigh, slow and cyclical like a wave. The movements were understated, cautious, almost as if you were shy, or trying not to get caught, even by Kensei. With one hand at the small of your back and the other wrapped around your thigh, he jerks you up into his body with enough friction to leave you seeing stars. 

“Trust me, it’ll just be us. They’ll never know.” He whispered, letting his lip lightly brush the shell of your ear. His own voice was growing about as strained as the tight fabric of his unforgiving hakama the harder he got. Kensei eagerly made a mental note for another time: getting you turned on, with your heavy breathing and the way your fingers dig desperately into the hard muscles of his shoulders as you angled your hips in discreet attempts to find friction  –  fuck, it all made him hard as a rock. 

You turned through his words in your head over and over, all while your hips continued their tentative dance, tightly locked in place in Kensei’s firm grasp, yet slipping ever closer to the edge of an abyss. Still not quite wanting to give in so easily, but finding it harder to resist with each passing second.

Lost in thought, temporarily distracted, you nod ‘yes’ with contented submission. Kensei feels you relax into his touch, sinking down onto his thigh like you were being liquified. His grip on your body tightens, pulling you closer until his lips brushed yours, teasing your body and your senses with grazing kisses. 

Your hand wraps around the back of his neck, giving him a taste of his own medicine as you slowly trace his full lips with the tip of your tongue until it’s Kensei who hungrily devours you in another kiss. But, longing to tease and tempt him, that deep kiss drove you further against his thigh, brushing your clit over the hard muscle lightly rocking beneath you. 

Lightly rocking, and  –  

Oh gods! He was grinding now too  –  rutting your hips over his leg.

“Ke – “ He quickly silenced your hushed gasp, kissing you breathless while grinning wickedly against your lips. His hands may have been greedily palming your thighs  –  bracing, supporting, even gently guiding  –  but the wanton motions were all your own. 

“Ssshhh, babe.” He whispered, trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck, making himself at home in that one spot he just knew drove you crazy. “You can be as loud as you want when we get home.”

Kensei tried to act tough. He wanted you to think this had absolutely no effect on him. He tried to act like he could watch you get yourself off all night  –  grinding your clit against his thigh, taking the friction you needed rather than waiting for him. Except that by now, he was happily palming handfuls of your ass, angling your hips just right until you were pulling against the collar of his haori and burying your face in his chest, silently panting for breath. 

Heat builds in your core, flourishing like vines curling along the jungle floor, pulling and coiling ever tighter. Kensei’s hard cock twitched against your thigh, aching for attention, but he knew he could wait all night if he had to. Instead, his ears pricked with the telltale signs of your approaching climax. Your breathing speeds up, hitching one or twice as the muscles throughout your body begin to tense at the waves of your approaching climax. 

“Ah – “ You gasped, sinking your teeth into your lower lip to silence your cries. The only way this moment could have been any better is if you had your own hands full of Kensei’s sculpted ass, pulling him deep inside your core with every thrust. But, the main course could wait until you two were home  –  you didn’t think you could have kept quiet enough for that.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous babe.” Kensei murmured darkly, slowly enunciating every word. He presses his lips against your neck to lick and suck until you were sure he’d left a mark  –  you just didn’t care. He took control, guiding the roll of your hips over his thigh when he felt you begin to tremble and lose momentum, muscles clenching cyclically like the roll of a wave. Kensei groaned at your shudder, a long, deep sound that travelled from his lips at your neck, vibrating through your body like a plucked string. “So beautiful.”

The reverberations from his voice were like the first shockwaves unleashing your orgasm. Starting out slow and steady with a warmth that kissed your skin with flame and engulfed your muscles in liquid ecstasy. “Ssshh.” You pull his mouth to yours to silence him with a kiss. 

Kensei gently nips and kisses your lips as you hiss with pleasure, grinding your hips against his thigh, riding out every last bit of friction you needed until he felt your body relax in his arms. He held you close, brushing the hair from your eyes before bringing his lips to your ear. “Gods that was hot. You ready to get out of here and finish this at home?”

The mere thought of Kensei pounding you into the mattress back home had your head swimming as the warmth in your core began creeping through your veins again. You didn’t even notice Kensei open the door and step out of the cramped closet until the bright light hit your eyes, blinding you with a brief flash. “Wait!”

“Why? I think we waited long enough to make sure they weren’t coming back.” Kensei let out a chuckle then turned to straighten his desk quickly so the two of you could leave. You scanned the room, seeking visual confirmation that Mashiro and Shuhei had indeed gone, trying to riddle out when they had left  –  hoping it was well before you were trying to call out Kensei’s name. 

You groaned. “When did they leave?”

Kensei looked at you, puzzled, as you both walked to the door. “Did you think they were out here that whole time?” You would swear you could pinpoint the exact moment the realization struck him; the darkness in his eyes and the seductive smirk spreading slowly across his lips were the only clues you needed. “You did.” 

Damn Kensei. How did that smug grin always turn you on?

“You knew they were gone the whole time?” You narrowed your eyes darkly, walking up to him until you were chest to chest. Kensei didn’t flinch. He looked back at you with a knowing, damnably hot grin causing the flames of desire to bite and singe your skin. “I’m gonna make you pay for that.”

In one blink, Kensei had lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your back to the nearby wall. As your pulse raced and your breaths quickened, he kissed you, long and deep before whispering in your ear. “I’m counting on it, babe.”

#Kensei Muguruma #kensei x reader #buriedinbleach #warning: smut ahead #ao3 #reader insert #blog-lady-vi #Bleach #bleach imagines #welcome all ye kensei addicts #written in comic sans #i know #but the sorcery works

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader

Title: Throuple

Notes:

Granny Boone is bisexual and you can’t change my mind. 

This is way too long I’m sorry. My excuse? Its self indulgent that's why and I wrote it over the course of 2 days, both at night time so... 

Pick whichever Buckman you like best. 

Plot: 

Boone and Buckman just care a lot about you! A looooooot, a lot. Like, so much. A colossal amount, really- but you’ve never heard of a ‘throuple’ before.

Warnings: Uhh, polyamory? Sexual harassment, hint towards rape (Not of you or any known characters but still), 2001 Maniacs craziness? Reader might also have a mental illness, I don't know. Its not explicitly stated and I’m just the writer so how would I know? But she is really tired. Laziness in the last written sentence. I haven't edited the last half, so it might be illegible... In the morning I probably will edit. 

~~~

SET: Before the massacre, so everyone is alive except the 2001 Maniacs victims who have yet to be born because this is 1860

“Hey Y/N!” One of the men from table three - was it William or was it Lawrence? I don’t know, whoever-it-is’ voice is too slurred at this point for me to figure. Turning away from the table I was wiping off, I tuck the washcloth into the waistband of my apron and raise an eyebrow vaguely towards the table. “Come over here a moment, wouldja?”

“Why?” Now, usually, I would go over; No question. But its nearly closing time now, and its dark, and men like to get rowdy at this time, and I’ve been burned by that shtick before. Resting my working hands, course and strong, on my hips, I raise my eyebrows.

Put on a cold front and they’ll lose interest. Uh, usually.

“Just wanna get a betta look atcha! Larry here says you got a flat ass, but I got 3 coins on yer plump bottom. Y’ wouldn’t want me losin’ coin, would you?? Come on, now, just stand over here and lemme ‘ave a look-see. Wont even touch!” William, as I can now see, shows off his grotty yellow teeth in a wide grin.

He honestly think’s that crap will fly? He really, truly believes I’ll just submissively walk over to them and bend the fuck over?

What the hell do they take me for? I’m a waitress, not a prostitute.

Instead of snapping at them though I merely sigh, and clap my hands in a finished manner. “Come on boys, time to go home. It’s closing time and my snuggly warm bed’s calling out t’ me. Aren’t yours’? Come on, then!”

Groans and protests are my response, but the long drunk and tired men - they’re here after a long day of work in some mines, - get up and head for the exit to my building despite their complaints. I know neither of them are staying in any of the hotel rooms above, so that’s where they’ll go and that’s where I herd them. Out the saloon doors and down the street. I shoo them all the way, curbing their complaints with ‘Think about lovely dreams’, and ‘You can come back tomorrow for breakfast!’. Once we’ve gotten to the door, I wave them off, dish cloth in hand. “Goodnight boys, see you in the morn- Ah!” A high-pitched shriek comes out of me and is released into the cold night-time air in a puff of visible gas in the lamp light as I whip around. Someone pinched my-

“Theodore.” I gasp, eyebrows furrowed as I use my fists to cover my ass as I look up defensively at the tall, roguish looking man. I thought he left hours ago!

How dare he-

“Definitely plump / flat, boys!” He calls out to the two that are heading down the street, receiving raised hands in goodbye and laughs in response. Probably disgusting comments, too, but the mix of how far away their retreating backs are becoming, and the alcohol in their systems making their words blur together like flour and eggs mean that I thankfully don’t hear them with any sort of clarity. Theodore looks back down at me and smirks. “You said something about a warm snuggly bed, Miss?”

“Yes. Yours is a couple blocks from here. Be free to go forth, right now.” I roll my eyes, slipping around him so he’s closer to the door. He twists around and runs a hand through his greasy hair that’s far too long, and would be fair if he ever let water touch it. Good lord man, go see Al the barber and maybe you’ll learn some manners along the way.

“Aw, are you mad at me now Y/N?”

“Just cross.”

“I know a fun way we could work through those passionate feelin’s together, darlin’- “

Another voice joins the fray, just as I’m worrying if Theodore will ever actually leave, or more seriously- If he will ever actually pull through with the comments like that that he always makes towards me. “Oh, what’s that?”

Theodore and I look out to the street immediately to see who’s interrupted him. Who, with such a high and feminine voice, has had the audacity. Who, has become simultaneously his annoyance, and my saving grace.

My eyes land on Boone, and a grin makes its way over my lips. She looks cross herself, hands on her hips, shoulders anchored towards Theodore in a way a mother might look at her son when she is…

Totally pissed off.

I waive my dish cloth at her from behind Theodore. “Good evening, Boone!”

She doesn’t so much as say anything back, just glances at me and then back at the problem- Theodore. Oh man, if I were him I’d be backing off now. Boone scares everyone, me included. Not that I have to worry, she’s made it clear that she cares about me.  

… A little too much, but still. That’s neither here nor there right now. I’m glad she’s here!

“I think I heard some unsanitary comments comin’ from you, Mr Miller. At least I hope they were just comments. Why don’t you go on and apologise to our deserving waitress Miss L/N, before I let the Mayor know what you’re up to here. I believe he warned your ass last time we caught you cornering her.” Boone’s eyes darken on him and I wonder if I could slip off to the side and clean off the last table; the one William and Lawrence were at previously, so I can retire sooner. She’s got this all under control, if I know her.

But then Theodore just rolls his shoulders back, and the air around him seems to still. “You know, Miss Boone, I never see either you or our esteemed mayor every kickin’ up such a damn fuss over anyone else in this town. I mean, shit. I had some devilish fun with Miss Lyla the other day and you didn’t do nothin’!” A smirk slowly rolls over his mouth as he looks back at me for a moment, caging me in those dark, weaselly eyes for a moment. Oh, crap.

Boone, though, doesn’t even bat an eye.

But before she can say another word, yet another familiar voice calls from the shadows. I look down the path the way Boone was headed down before she heard Theodore and I and stopped by, to see Buckman walking down towards her. What are these two doing taking walks at 11 at night for, anyway? Why aren’t they together?? Seems a bit choreographed, to me. Let me just add that to all the reasons they creep me out.

Now, our Mayor is shorter than Theodore, who is much like a weasel in that he’s skinny, smelly and long, but that doesn’t make him an any less intimidating presence against him. Even with cheer in his eyes and his hands carefully in his pockets, its always been clear from the get-go, that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Its something about the way he holds all of his emotions inside, I’ve always thought. Mixed with the knowledge that he’s fought in a war.

It’s why we voted for him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Mayor.” Theodore swallows down a gulp of spit, stepping forward out of my saloon, finally. “Sir!” I take a deep breath and let it out, relieved, going straight to the doors and wedging myself between them; blocking him from coming back in and ready to shut the doors again as soon as I can. I don’t want Theodore coming back in, but I also don’t want to be left alone with either of these two nutters’, either.

Oh, by ‘nutters’, I mean ‘pillars of the community’… Mostly, I mean that. Uh, half.

Okay fine, they’re nuts.

“Mayor,” I greet, inclining my head for a moment politely.

“Evenin’ Y/N! I hope you’re not having too much trouble with this one.” Buckman immediately flashes me a bright, election winning smile. A real one. Like he always does when he see’s me.

“Well, he was. But I think Boones got it covered.” I grin back, unable to help it. He’s very charismatic!

Boone’s expression softens a bit and she relaxes her stance, giving me a little smile. “Thank you dear.”

“I’m sure she does.” Buckman agrees, and then they share a smile between them, and I look down at Theodore on the bottom step that leads to my saloon. Oh Jesus Christ, if he had suspicions before, then they are just growing now. This is just what I need!

I haven’t done anything, Theodore!! I promise!

Which is not to say I haven’t received countless offers, but I don’t need to be even thinking about that. Seeing as I declined. 

“Now, why don’t you head on home Theodore.” Buckman drops his nose to look up at Theodore with a little bit more menace and severity. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Good night sir! Boone, Y/N.” Finally, Theodore looks back over his shoulder at me, and then makes a break for it down the road past Boone. She gives him a stink eye for as long as she can before losing interest.  

And then its just me, Boone and Buckman in the stillness of the night.

And I wish I’d run off like Theodore.

“Well! Good night ya’ll! I got an early day tomorrow, so- “ I try to escape by weaving an excuse and locking the doors behind me, but it it’s not 2 minutes later when the only other set of key’s for this building stick into the lock, turn, and they walk on into my saloon. I sigh, now behind the counter washing cups.

Of course. He’s the mayor. Of course, they have keys.

Looking up at the ceiling, I pray for an easy time of it tonight. Please, let them be tired from their daily duties and they’ll go home soon.

I continue to wash glasses and plates and put them away, but I don’t get too far before Boone’s gone right ahead and helped herself to my special ‘only me’ area -behind the counter of my saloon,- and turns me around by the shoulders to look at me. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

I sigh, and tell her. “No. I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry for me.” She really shouldn’t, not in the way she does. She has a husband.

The part where he didn’t touch me is obviously incorrect, but I better not mention that to these two.

“Even so, we do worry darlin’. Come on, sit down for a bit. Give us some peace of mind, at least.” Buckman, immediately on the other side of the counter, asks and I sigh. I’ve learnt, that if I don’t comply, then they’ll never leave. And besides, the things they ask of me are never bad. Just, sit down and talk with them. Play cards. Have a drink. Generally, just lovely things like that.

It’s the intent behind them that concerns me.

“Yes. I’ll go and get you some water.” Boone says with a No-‘If’s’-or-‘Buts’-about-it kind of tone, and I try to open my mouth and protest against that, but she’s already guiding me around the bench. When we reach the end, she deposits me with her mayoral husband, and he leads me the rest of the way to a table. I sit down, sighing simultaneously and he sits down next to me. “I’ll wash the glass; Don’t you worry about that!”

“That’s… “I blow air into one of my cheeks and blow out gradually. “… Not what I’m worried about… “

“Now, he didn’t do anything nasty, did he? He certainly had the intention.”

I shake my head and set my hands in my lap. I want to tell them what he did, I really do. I don’t know why, but I always want to tell them things.

But I retain the believe that I can’t. I shouldn’t be that close with either of them. “No, sir, I’m fine, really! That’s not even as bad as some other men get at this time of night, anyway. I could have handled- “A moment after I’ve admitted the fact that other men have been worse than what Theodore just suggested to me, I pause. And peer guiltily up at Boone instead of Buckman as she hands me the water she promised and then sits down on the other side of me. “… I haven’t helped my case, have I?”

“No.” She laughs.

Maybe I do need this water.

I take a sip and look at neither of them, instead settling my focus on this glass of water and the far wall. I really need to repaint that wall…

While I do this, and they talk to each other about their day, I ponder my situation.

Now, I… I don’t consider myself a judgemental person. I don’t care what any folks do behind closed doors, in their bedrooms. Man and woman, woman and woman, man and man. But I am damn sure that it is only supposed to include 2 people. I’ve never heard of couples that are more then that, unless you count cults and I don’t.

So, it’s not that I don’t care for them both. Not at all. Its that I can’t be with them both, like they’ve asked, like they want. I can’t.

I’d like to be that open minded, I would, but… I just can’t picture it.

___TIME SKIP: Modern Day___

Since they arrived, I’ve been peering a little too long to be polite at a few of the newest group of victims. I’m a little worried that they’ve noticed, but I’m also really curious. I just can’t tell who is a couple and who isn’t. There is a particular group of 3, that’s throwing me off. I definitely saw the blonde one kiss the ginger one, but then I also swear saw the ginger one and the brunette ones holding hands. Could that just be a friendly thing? It had a pretty intimate feel, to me.

Now, I stand on the porch of my saloon, leaning my forearms onto the railing as I watch them. Buckman’s still with them, along with half- no, the rest of the town, remaining town I should say, inviting to the annual ‘guts and glory jubilee’. At this point, I really don’t get why any of these kids stay. Maybe it’s just because I know what going to happen to them.

Or maybe, its because this generation of kids are morons.

‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’? I mean, really? At first it was clever, but it was only a temporary name for the trap. And now its been a hundred years and its still called the same thing, and my saloon’s always full with disrespectful modern teenagers and my friends acting like loons to keep them there, and the kids aren’t getting any brighter. Too blinded by the way us Pleasant Valley women dress, and the inviting way we all -men and women alike, - smile, and laugh. They’re none the wiser to our plot.

Like I said, Morons.

As I’m watching the usual show on Buckman explaining with bright theatrics what a fun time it’ll be and how they should stay, as our honoured guests, I catch the eye of one of those guests. The blonde one from before, that kissed the ginger one. They smile through the awkward, accidental eye contact, and I paste on a smile back- too old and too tired to care about the awkwardness. I keep the contact until the moment they look away, honestly too tired to look away first.

I just want to go.

Where everyone else did. My parents, my fiancé, my… god, even my fucking cat… Where they went. Before we were massacred. Heaven, or hell, or wherever the hell we go after real, no consciousness death. Where we can’t, until 2001 of these dumbass teenagers die.

I just have to hold on a little longer.

A little while later, they agreed to stay and I went off into my saloon, ready to great them and serve them drinks. And clean tables, and fight off bastards trying to get a drunken feel, and snap back at rude ass, degrading miscreants who think I’ll just stand by and let them call me names.

Which is what I’m busy with now, as I dry off a now clean glass, ready to be filled with my sub-par rum again. A loud, brutish call of ‘Hey, any fucking rum left? Waitress!’ interrupts my quieter, calmer thoughts of fantasising about seeing my family again right after the saloon doors absolutely slam open. I whip around and am ready to have Jonathon, the only man in this saloon that I even remotely enjoy the company of and my only employee, kick the bastard out when my voice escapes me. Instead, I roll my eyes in utter frustrated and groan. This is just what I need.

“Theodore, what have I told you about calling me waitress?! You know my name.” I exclaim through grit teeth, throwing my now damp dishcloth onto the bench with vigour, causing a couple boys at the bar to reel back with a few irritating, obnoxious ‘Oooh’s. Theodore slowly smirks in that easy way that he does, and drops down in the bench across from where I’m standing. “Yes, we have the revolting drink you love. You know, we have rum. You basically live here!” I throw him a greasy with my eyes. “Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you; Do you have a home?? Because I’d be happy to send you off with a weeks’ worth of rum if it means I’ll get some peace and quiet from you for that time!”

“Naw, baby, I come here for your company. If you came home with me for a week, that’d be a different story. I’d stay away easy! Just stay… in bed… with you.” He winks.  

Dropping the ferocity in my body language for a moment, I just deadpan at him. “You disgust me.”

“In the best way.” Theodore grins, then leans into the bar, evidently done with teasing me for now, if his serious expression tells me anything. “Anyway,” He starts, sounding exhausted now as his hair droops around his face and the smile officially leaves his eyes. “Drink?”

Because it’s my job, and because standing near a quiet Theodore is a welcome alternative then trying to make conversation with the teenage boys down the left side of the bar who ‘Ooh’ed me earlier, I pat the bar and grumpily head off for the rum and a glass. “Coming right up.”

While I do that, Boone and Buckman; The nutters, the pillars of the community, the mayoral couple and the banes of my existence, come into the saloon and take the table by the door. I ignore them though, pulling my own stool out from under my side of the bench and sitting down across from Theodore, pouring him his drink and sliding it to him. Jonathon can handle the rush for a few tiny minutes, while I sit for a second. “Thank you, darlin’.”

I don’t say anything back, because I don’t like to extend pleasantries to him of all people. Instead, I look around the room and do my usual assessment. The room’s loud, and full of people -Boone and Buckman took the last unoccupied table, and Theodore took the last stool, -, acting loud and having butt loads of fake fun. I don’t really care about that though; all I care about is that in a moment I’m going to have to get up and ask around for any more orders and clean some more cups and plates. For a second, I let my shoulders relax and I rest my hands on the bar in front of me. Strong, work woman’s hands.

“You noticed the ‘throuple’ in the new group?”

Oh, Theodore is still talking to me.

Joy.

“Huh?” I look up from my hands to meet his eyes momentarily, raising my eyebrows at him. What did he say?

“The throuple, that’s what they called it when I asked ‘em.” He smirks for a moment. “It’s a relationship between 3 people.”

“Why do I care? That sounds like their business.” I sniff, then wipe under my nose a moment and then move to fixing my apron over my chest. It had slid to the side while I was working, it seems.

For a glorious moment, he doesn’t respond. He just stays quiet, and I think how lovely his company is when he’s on the other side of the bar and is quiet.

Then I look up at him, still with my eyebrows up my forehead, and see he’s looking straight into my soul. A knowing, mischievous grin on his lips. Its as if he ironed it in that way, all creases and wrinkles on his face from smiling so much in his life.

But I know what he’s insinuating.

It’s a different world out there now, that’s apparently allowed. It happens. Romantic relationships between more then 2 people. Maybe I should reconsider my answer, to Boone and Buckman. Maybe it would work.

That’s what Theodore is saying with this look that is so annoyingly painted on his face.

And to that, I say fuck off.

Or I would, if I wasn’t a good, Christian lady.

Instead I shrug my shoulders at him and head off to check the tables. “It’s a whole new world out there!” I call back, successfully, hopefully, ending the conversation.

Where does he even get off making suggestions like that to me- he shouldn’t even be that sure of what was happening -what they were, or are still, trying to make happen, - to mention it to me in such a forward manner. I definitely didn’t tell anyone except my mirror, and my… bathroom sometimes… but I certainly didn’t say it above a whisper! He couldn’t have heard, even if he was snooping around like the creep he is.

And the other two definitely wouldn’t have said anything. They despise Theodore Miller even more then I do.

He must just be smart.

… huh.

Who knew? Theodore has a brain and not just a penis under that grease, sweat and soot covered flesh.

Like a coward, I hit every other table in the room before I get the one by the door. They obviously can tell that I’m trying to avoid them, because saloon procedure is obvious to get to the table that was most recently filled as soon as possible before any others, but I don’t really care. If Theodore and I noticed the, uh, ‘throuple’, then the mayor and his wife, definitely, did. And I’m dreading the conversation that is about to occur.

When I do, finally, start heading towards Boone and Buckman’s table, I notice Theodore turning around in his seat to drink and watch the scene.

With his knees spread wide like a heathen. Ugh! Not in my establishment. Before I get to the table, I show him my middle finger and he turns around, chuckling to himself.

Okay. I take a deep breath, and stop at the dreaded table.

“Good afternoon, Mr Mayor. Mrs Mayor.” I beam, a pasted smile that’s obviously fake. Luckily, because I don’t think I could handle any more embarrassment and pressure right now, and unluckily because I think anyone else’s attention might actually be preferred then these two’s right at any time, no one else is paying attention to see such a grin. “What’ll it be? Today we have beans and bread as the special- like always. “I take out my notepad and pen.

Not because I need them to remember orders, of course. Just to have something to focus on.  

“Good afternoon Y/N, why don’t you sit here with us for a bit? You look bone tired from takin’ care of this lot! It’s a full house today.” Boone asks, even going as far as using her foot to push out the other chair at the table that isn’t taken, for me to prospectively take.

Absolutely not.

“I am exhausted.” I find myself sitting down, instead of leaving like I should have. Immediately on feeling the tension leave my legs, I feel like collapsing onto this table and falling asleep. “Thank you.”

Leaning into my hands for a moment with my eyes closed will have to do. A feel a comforting hand pat my shoulder and it does feel better. “Why don’t you let Jonathon handle business for a little bit- we actually happened to have a talk the other day about him wanting more opportunities to advance. This would be a perfect opportunity for him! And you look warn, sweetheart.”

He shouldn’t call me that.

But it does sound good. Especially coming from Buckman. And with Boone looking so worried about me, too. It feels too nice a place to be, with them, to be wrong. “Uh, well, maybe… “

Then I look up, past Boone’s head and, by complete chance, on the blonde, brunette and ginger that have been the topic of the day…

And all of a sudden, momentary blind panic tears through me.

I jump up from my seat, the chair toppling down onto its back as I stand back on to my exhausted legs. it barely interrupts the volume of the room, so no one else really notices. But I do catch sight of Boone and Buckman’s faces, even more worried and a little bit hurt, before I stutter through an apology and an excuse about having to work, and I rush off back to the safety of my bar. Of course, Boone has been back here before, but I choose to ignore that little fact.

Theodore watches me with wide eyes, as all the tension in my person just grew to level a thousand intensity, as I call Jonathon over and ask him to take his lunch break now.

I don’t need any excuses to go and take my break. One of them, or both of them, might come and ask me if I’m okay. And I’m starting to forget why that’s such a bad thing, but I know there is a reason, and… Jesus Christ, I’ve never been so conflicted.

Because yes, the world outside of Pleasant Valley has come far. Like I said to Theodore, it’s a ‘whole new world’ compared to what it was when we were alive a century and a half ago.

But we’re in Pleasant Valley. And you only have to look around and see how different we dress and talk and move compared to these new present time people and you know; We aren’t part of that whole new world. Boone, Buckman and I don’t fit here.

Maybe if things were different.

Definitely if things were different, actually. I know, if they were, I would be there. I would be all in.

But I’m not and things aren’t different.

___

An hour later, and I’ve calmed down at this point. I still feel exhausted, now because I work so much and because of emotional baggage, but I don’t feel the racing heartbeat that made me sick before or the adrenaline that caused me to run away. So, it’s better… Stable again, at least.

I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t look their way. I can become numb again to the feelings they make in me. Its an idiotic notion, but its kind of the only thing keeping me still right now.

Merciless God, grant me a break. Amen.

The saloon is starting to quieten down for the night, as the light goes away outside and visitors disappear to their rooms -some with a partner they’ve only just met, some alone, some with friends they came with. It’s a big group this time, - upstairs in the hotel part of my building. I’m sitting back down in my stool behind the bench by the time the ‘throuple’-I’m still not sure about that word, - finally, FINALLY, decides to retire up to their room. I bid Jonathon a good night as he went home too, a little earlier to his wife and son, and waived shortly when Theodore pushed drunkenly off the bar and hobbled out the doors.

I lean heavily onto the bar myself, and watch the three go up the stairs together. The brunette’s holding the ginger’s hand now, and the blonde walks ahead of them and holds the key to their room.

After they disappear onto the second floor, I turn to look at who else I need to wait to leave, so I can go to bed myself. Mmm, I’ll take a long hot bath first, and light some candles to go with it. Most importantly, I’ll let my hair out of his too bloody tight ponytail!

“Ah, that’s sounds good.” I mutter, already imagining it as I push off the bench and go collect some plates and glasses that are left out on the tables and wipe them down for the last time today.

“Miss Y/N?” A familiar voice, Boone, calls the softest that I’ve ever heard it from the door. I look around quickly, ribbing the back of my aching neck to see no one else around. Huh, I hadn’t noticed I was alone.

It was nice.

Still, I flash her a tired, half smile. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. We should know at this point not to go so hard on you. You work all day harder than anyone, even Buckman but don’t tell him I said that.” She pauses, walking fully into my saloon and as if it were choreographed, we both sit down together at a table. “Actually, go ahead and tell him. Its true.” I grin despite myself, rolling my shoulders back and then leaning back in the chair- entirely taken over by exhaustion. I don’t even have energy to put up walls. Boone looks at me again and gives me a soft smile. “We want you to know always, that we care deeply for you, and whenever you’re ready you can join us. But… we also don’t want to stress you so much anymore. So, we’ll pull back- a little. If that pussy Miller tries anything on you again he will be dealt with.”

I nod, sighing. But, then again, why doesn’t that make me feel better? They’re going to leave me a bit more alone! I should feel relieved… but I do not. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I hate to see you so pent up.” A devious smirk touches her lips and her eyes. “I mean, I would like to help you with that in a different way then leaving you alone… But I will. Because I love you.”

I take a quick, deep breath. There it is. I never actually thought those actual three words would leave her lips aimed at me. But it’s the most natural thing in the world, tell her. “I love you too.” A wicked beam is my response from her at that.

“Can I hold yer hand?” Boone asks, offering her daintier hand across the table. Trying hard not to glance around for onlookers but failing, I take her hand.

It feels so nice, relieving, to hold it finally.

I take a deep breath, and whisper the next words. I want them out, I want to confide in someone. I’m sick of keeping everything to myself, I’m sick of being all alone. It’s by my own will, of course, but… it still hurts, all the same. “Boone, I-I’m just so… so weary, of everythi- “

Buckman interrupts me, turning up at the door. “Howdy, what’s going on in here?”

Boone ignore him, gathers up her skirts and gets to her feet. When she rounds the table to me, she drops them to the ground in favour of cupping my face in her hands instead. “I know. Why don’t you let go of one thing? Let us hold some of the load, sugar. Please.”

Finally, I can’t tell myself no. And I absolutely can’t tell her no. I glance from her to Buckman who has apparently read the atmosphere and now stands beside Boone. He smiles, like he always does at me. Like he feels it.

God, I want to feel a smile again.

And I lose the strength to do this all on my own anymore. I shakily get up from my seat and throw my arms around (You choose one or both, because I’m lazy and its bedtime for me).

#Horror Villains Oneshot #Granny Boone x Reader #Mayor Buckman x Reader #Granny Boone x Mayor Buckman #Oneshot #Fem Reader

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 17

https://weeklyfangirl.tumblr.com/post/188826127780/frat-boy-pt-18https://weeklyfangirl.tumblr.com/post/188826127780/frat-boy-pt-18part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16

hi loves, s’been a while :) I’ve been working harder on the frat boy world than you know! 

I had the nightmare again. 

I woke up washed in relief that bodiless entities weren’t hanging over my head- but before the perturbed feeling completely vanished, it snapped back like a rubber band, stinging me harder. 

 The nightmare had gone further this time. 

 The gray crusting wallpaper was, at least, the same. There was a paper house, falling apart as it peeled, and me, trying to outrun the collapse and the ominous beings down its empty corridors. The Watchers, I’d decided to call them, came closer this time as if emboldened by my subconscious inability to dispel them. They’d survived my past dreams, growing stronger with it. And the all-encompassing dread that filled my body sprung each weighted step forward. 

 But before, I hadn’t known what I was running towards. 

 This time, my dream-self knew. There was someone beyond the wall whose animalistic cries weren’t just for anyone. They were for me. I needed to reach them. 

 I ran to the door, just barely ahead of the Watchers. It was barely open, a slight crack to a dark room - but still, it was open. I could kick it further and with a satisfying swoosh, I’d see what - or who - lay beyond it. I could reach them then. 

 It should’ve opened. 

 But it didn’t budge. 

 With impossible dream-logic, it was locked a stubborn two inches ajar. Hopelessly, I tried wedging my body through the opening. A dark shadow appeared at the end of the hall, drawing closer, closer. Slowly, though. It knew I had nowhere left to run. 

 My motions grew frantic, scraping myself against the door as I tried to jam my body further inside. The darkness expanded, trembled, delighted its prey was so easily trapped. 

 There was a flash of the knife from the shadows, the cries grew louder. But I couldn’t reach it, I couldn’t reach him. 

 Darkness stabbed me.

 I woke up drenched in my own sweat. 

 The ghost of the sliding metal lodging between my skin felt hot. My fingers trailed along the dry skin, just below my ribcage, almost certain I’d find a bleeding gouge. Typically, didn’t people wake up before feeling pain?

 --------------

 Dull thuds filled the room. I blurred my vision, imagining the swinging mass to be the thing of my twisted imagination. I socked the punching bag until I felt my fingers were going to fall off. Which was about two minutes. 

 “YOU’RE ALL DOING GREAT! ALMOST DONE GUYS, YOU’RE GETTING STRONGER... besides Y/N!” 

 It was true. My arms were weak noodles. It didn’t stop me from scowling when Renny jogged over in tip-top cheer captain shape. “Come on! Let’s go!! You were doing great!!!” 

 She’d harassed me into coming to the gym tonight screaming “if you don’t show up, I swear I’m going to drag you with me.” Nobody can say she wasn’t true to her word. She’d subbed in for the usual kickboxing teacher, and honestly, she was a natural. A true prodigy. Give a girl a pair of Lulu Lemons and a kickboxing class and she’d… kick its ass? 

 “It’s a free form of therapy eh?” she reasoned, squatting while she spoke. 

 I scowled deeper, hitting the bag weaker than before. 

 “I’m tired,” I managed to moan. So. Incredibly Tired. 

 “Okay I hate to do this, but…” She paused, making sure I’d hear whatever she’d say next. “Think of you-know-whose face.” 

 By sheer Dwayne-The-Rock-Johnson-level will power, I threw my weight against the bag. 

 “There you go!!!” she encouraged, jogging back to the front. 

 I did it once more, in good faith. But my efforts were short-lived and I stopped, breathless, as soon as she was distracted. A droplet of sweat ran down my cupid’s bow. I tasted salt. Anger. Frustration at how weak I was. How helpless I seemed to be. 

 Where was the legendary endorphin high I’ve been promised all these years???! I turned out to be a sweaty sasquatch of a human being, collapsing on the floor as Renny picked up the abandoned towels around me. 

 “You are so dead,” she chuckled. 

 I half-huffed, half-laughed, wholly aware that her statement wasn’t a complete stretch.  

 “So it worked, huh?” Renny asked, driving us out to the free parking lot across the street. Three cop cars whizzed by. No sirens. Non-emergency. 

 “What worked?” 

 “Picturing Harry’s face.” 

 “It wasn’t Harry’s face I was picturing.” 

 “Oh?” 

 She waved her hand to the car waiting to turn in front of us. “Hello? Let’s go fucker!!! Ugh, stupid bitch.” The car moved, begrudgingly, and Renny bee-lined it for the lot. Her tone turned from deadly to friendly in a flip of a switch. “Also, you know there’s a parking garage next to the gym, right?” 

 “Oh, really?” I feigned ignorance. I knew there was a parking garage next to the gym. I just couldn’t afford to pay.

 “Yeah.” We idled at the entrance, and I realized I hadn’t told her where my car is. “Wait, so who were you picturing if it wasn’t Harry?”

 “You know in my nightmares there’s this… dark figure?”

 Her face fell. “Oh my God, you’re still having those?” 

 No matter how much I considered Renny the sister I never had nor asked for, I couldn’t help but feel an odd distance. It was a distance that’d been building over the past weeks, and one that I’d been ignoring, but now, the task seemed impossible. I shrugged, not sure how to explain the unexplainable. I’d dizzied myself all morning trying to figure out what my dreams meant. But in the end, I was too tired. Too tired, too tired, too tired.

 “I’m telling you dude, you should seriously try therapy. I did it after my parents split. Best thing I ever did. It’s something that’s... ugh, it’s stigmatized you know? Therapy is healthy.” 

 “Just like hating yourself in the gym for two hours?” 

 “IT’S HEALTHY!” she shouted at me for the tenth time that evening. I cracked a smile so she knew I didn’t hate it completely. 

 A notification blipped on her phone. She smiled, typing a reply. “Want to hang out with me and Niall tonight?” 

 I half-smiled even though she wasn’t looking at me. 

 “I can’t, I have dinner.” 

 “Oh shit that’s tonight?” She looked up, brows raising. The clock on her dash said 6:48pm - I was definitely late. “Fuck dude, good luck. Tell me how it goes.”

 “I will,” I said. The bluetooth in her car suddenly screeched Timberlake’s “Sexy Back.” We jolted, hands covering our ears as she rushed to turn it down. Her phone glowed - incoming call from Niall - and she looked at me in question. I nodded.

 “Heyyyy boy,” she drawled. 

 His laughter on the other line made me smile. It was crackly through the speakers, somehow making it even more likeable. “Hey beautiful. Where you at?” 

 I got out absentmindedly, closing the door behind me. Her car idled, waiting as I pointed to my car just a stone’s throw away. Nodding, she suddenly laughed at something funny I couldn’t hear. 

 I dug for my keys and slid in the driver’s seat- but my hand paused on the ignition. What in the hell?? My dash was black. Completely black. 

 Did somebody throw a blanket?? Was there a homeless person who’d decided to rest their stuff atop my car? 

 I got out, completely confused, looking at my dashboard covered in a thick liquid. Paint?

 I smeared a finger through it, trembling, a familiar scent, a sick consistency running between my fingers. Knowledge fought against logic just as I caught the tail-end of Renny’s VW disappearing around the corner. 

 There were maybe four other cars in the otherwise deserted lot, dark houses lining the perimeter across the street. The world spun. Saliva bubbled up. Yellow fluorescent street lamps lit my surroundings, but the hue it cast was sinister. I was alone, they told me. Nobody else could see me. 

 Breathe.

 Breathe. 

 The nausea that ran through me at the sudden knowledge of what I’d touched made me convulse. 

 “STOP IT!” I cried, to whoever could hear. “JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKS.” 

 I hurried into the car, locking the doors. My fingers were still wet as I ran the windshield wipers. They weren’t going fast enough. It spread, making it worse. Air vents blew metal. 

 I didn’t care. The tires squealed as I tore out, sticking my head out the window to see. My car swerved on the road as I involuntarily twitched. The blood was drying on my hands. I just needed to leave. We needed to leave. 

 My nightmares no longer lived in the confines of imagination.

 -----

 I called Renny first. It went to voicemail.

 A man exited the convenience store, eyeing me curiously as he went back in his truck. Renny texted -

 With Niall bb. Call you later 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

 Fuck fuck FUCK.  

 I didn’t think when I dialled. I didn’t notice my hands were shaking until my phone knocked into my cheek. 

 The dial tone blared in the air. Voicemail. If I was going to die at least one person should know about it.

 I forgot to speak for a moment. “Oh, hi. Harry, uh… they found me. There’s b” - I covered my mouth. Bile rose in my throat. - “...there’s blood all over my car. I’m at the gas station off PCH and Harbor. But you didn’t answer so… never mind. I’ll be fine. I’m fine- fuck.”

 I hung up. The free windshield squeegee they had stationed at each gas pump was the only option. And their murky water were about to get a lot thicker. My dad used to do it all the time for my mom, just like my grandpa always got my grandma gas. Old school chivalry. Father would do it for me now. He’d take care of this. A part of me wanted to call him, but another part didn’t know how in the hell I would explain this. He was busy. Probably already eating with the rest of them or waiting for me. Oh, that’d be awkward. There wasn’t time. 

 I scrubbed with all my weight, pretending the blood wasn’t blood at all. It was thick paint. I just wouldn’t breathe. I wasn’t breathing.

 The squeegee smeared it to a dull red now, the stains lessened but still very much there. 

 My phone rang before I could try scrubbing the other side. 

 “Are you hurt?” the familiar gruff voice asked. Just hearing his voice slightly calmed the mania. 

 “Hi,” I whispered. Why was I whispering? How did I even begin to explain- “Fuck.” 

 Wow, I was eloquent.

 “Y/N, answer the question,” he rushed. 

 “I’m fine. I’m not hurt,” I stammered. “I’m fine.” 

 “Stay where you are.” 

 “I’m sorry, I tried calling Renny but she didn’t answer and now I’m late-”  

 “Just stay where you are. Keep to the lighted area. I’ll be there in ten.” 

 It was less than ten before the grumbling of a motorcycle grew louder, peeling around the corner. It slowed at the entrance, but its rider saw me and the engine roared, only stopping ‘til the sleek machine was propped next to my car. 

 He hopped off with ease, muttering something incomprehensible.

 “I can’t hear you,” I said. 

 He pulled off his helmet, irritated that it didn’t come off easier. Curls in disarray made the worry etched across his face all the more soft. Each time, I forgot how beautiful he was, and the sight of his tall body rushing towards me hit me straight in my unsettled gut. 

 “I’m sorry.” He pulled me in for a hug. “I’m so sorry.” 

 His body held me tight, an influx of Harry and warmth and protection embodied in the steadfastness of his grip covered every inch of me. If I wasn’t so shocked, I would’ve hugged him back.

 I breathed. For a second, the slow electric buzz spreading down my spine was all I could sense. “Y/N,” he breathed. For a second, I didn’t think about why he was holding me. Nothing else processed. 

 He held on a moment longer than I thought he would. His gaze passed me to the car. He was so tall in comparison to it, he didn’t even need to walk around to see the mess.  

 “Fuck.” His words echoed mine from earlier, and he ran a hand down his face. He shook his head, for once, speechless.

 “I’m okay,” I offered.

 He shook his head, backing up only a step. He took my buzz with it. “This isn’t okay, Y/N. I didn’t think they’d do this again.” But the last bit was spoken to himself. His eyes filled with something treacherous, a darkness I’d only caught fractions of before suddenly bore itself to me tenfold. The muscles beneath his black sweater tensed as everything about him tightened. 

 “Again?” I squeaked.

 “It’s pigs blood. An outdated scare tactic.” The obvious came out sharp between gritted teeth. 

 “Well it worked.” 

 His glare locked on me, and I tried not to flinch. He bat his eyes, lessening the sting, and I watched as he tried to return to the present. “You said you were going to be late.” He was trying his best to sound casual, but I heard the strain in his voice. He caught a glimpse of my car and I saw the darkness begin to return before he turned his back to me. 

 “I’m beyond late.”

 He walked to the motorcycle, and I watched as he swung his leg and kicked the stand up in one fluid motion. 

 “Hop on then,” he said, urging me forward with a toss of his head. I walked forward cautiously. 

 “But-”

 “I’ll move your car later tonight.”

 “-I don’t have a helmet.” 

 A ghost of a smile traced his lips. He handed me his helmet. “Don’t fall.” 

 We rolled down PCH, the harbor on one side, the hills on the other. Our coastal city looked different at night. More peaceful. The glitz and the glam more subdued, the orange hues of street lamps shining in a mirrored reflection of the deep blue waters surrounding us. Everything was more approachable and tranquil with everyone tucked away into their homes by 9 PM. 

 Which made it all the more unbelievable that I’d just abandoned my blood-stained car at a gas station.

 He stalled as we crossed the bridge over our beach town’s harbor, and I tugged his jacket to the right - the system we’d established of how I’d give directions. 

 Harry turned his head, the sharp planes of his face stunningly close with how tightly my arms were wrapped around him. Every so often, he’d let an arm fall to rest against mine, letting it warm my own and fastening it tighter around him before we took off again.

 I nodded. He turned. Cruising down Bay View Drive, we passed megamansions of all varieties - tropical Tommy Bahama gated villas with imported plants, Grecian marble fortresses with columns and underground garages. The steep hill to our left held the flower street homes atop them. I rested my head on Harry’s back, wondering what he must be thinking. The girl who always shuns me about money lives here? A nice neighborhood? She clearly doesn’t have the right- 

 He paused at a fork in the road. I tugged his jacket left and we reached the top of Petunia Park’s hill, the entrance to the flower streets. Just above Bay View Drive and the megamansions that were on the water, we were now surrounded by quaint $2 million two-story homes. He paused, the engine rumbling, gently quaking our bodies. 

 I lifted my helmet just enough. “I’m on Carnation.” 

 He remained still, looking out. From the hill, we could see the harbor and the peninsula creating its barrier from the ocean. The houses were twinkling safehouses against the abyss of black horizon. Our little seaside community. In another life, there weren’t as many lights. Traders and fishermen lived in simple homes with simple lives and returned from the sea to sit down at their modest table to have a simple meal and to be simply… happy. If I squinted, I could almost pretend this were something different. That we were in a different time. Time.

 “Harry, I’m late,” I said, as gently as I could. 

 His gaze tore, ripped from reverie. Without saying a word, he adjusted my hands tighter around his waist. Further up the street until there was no view of the ocean, smaller cottages were sprinkled in between the contemporary beach homes. I pulled his jacket hard and he stopped before an earthy gold Provence-inspired home - quaint blue shutters and balconies overlooked an impressive rose garden. 

 I hopped off, handing him his helmet. 

 “S’this it?” 

 “No.” Next door, I walked to the dark-shingled home half its size. I took a deep breath, salty air and dried grass hit my nose. The scent of my childhood. I smiled. “You don’t have to come in. Thank you so much for picking me up-” But when I turned around he was already walking past me, hand reaching back to tug me forward. 

 “Woah, Harry-” I dug in my heels.

 “I’m not inviting myself. Just let me walk you to the door.” 

 Voices drifted to us from the kitchen, the windows probably open. His black BMW was there in the driveway. It blended with the other cars on the street, but to me it looked strange. I’d never get used to it here. I looked to the boy whose black ensemble blended with the night, but whose tall stature made him rise above it.  

 “Okay,” I huffed, because the way Harry’s body was cemented to the ground, I knew that even if I’d said no, he'd walk with me anyway.

 Three knocks was all it took for chairs to scrape along the floor. 

 An excited “She’s here!!” came from beyond the door. 

 “Well thank God, I would’ve eaten the last steaks.” 

 My mom’s eyes brightened as soon as she opened the door - then confusion, then recognition to the boy stood beside me. 

 “You brought your friend.” Her smile grew warmer, opening up her arms. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

 If the BMW in the driveway was a bizarre sight. This, this right here, topped it all. Harry dwarfed my mom, but he effortlessly leant down, letting her scoop him up. 

 Over his back she mouthed - Nice, then winked.

 “Where have you been? Dad tried calling a thousand times.

 “We were…”

 “At school,” Harry finished. “Her car wasn’t starting.” 

 I shot Harry a look, casually tucking a hair behind my ear. The less they knew the better. 

 “We can have dad look at the car- oh my Gosh, what’s all over your hands?” 

 I looked down - blood. Blood was literally on my hands. 

 “Paint,” I said, ignoring the nauseating fact that pig DNA was stuck beneath my nails.

 “I thought you dropped the art class-?”

 “-It’s a friend’s project.”

 “She’s alive?” a voice called. For once, he was saving instead of berating. As if suddenly realizing we hadn’t even made it through the door before her interview, she turned to Harry with a smile only a mother could give. “Would you like to come in, get some dinner too?” 

 “Oh…” Harry looked at me, almost bashful. “I don’t know,” he settled on. 

 He leant a bit to the side, crossing his arms, then stuffed them in his pockets. It was the only time I could say I’d seen Harry look… awkward. A selfish curiosity wanted to see what he’d look like in my kitchen, in my room, in other parts of my life I’d never thought I’d be sharing with him. He looked like a lost little boy. 

 He must be nervous. 

 “You should stay.” I placed a hand on his arm and he almost flinched at the contact. He looked confused. I couldn’t blame him. Originally I was telling him not to walk me to the door, now I’m saying meet the family! “Stay,” I repeated, softer this time. 

 His eyes searched mine, looking for any hesitance, any joke. He didn’t find any. “Okay,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.  

 My mom flipped around, hands in the air. “Yay, perfect! There’s two steaks, one’s a little smaller. Y/N, you can have that one...” She continued walking away, heading for the kitchen. 

 I waited for Harry to walk through the door, but he stuck out his hand. Me first. 

 If only he knew what he was walking into. 

part 18

#fratboy!harry #fratboy! harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles #one direction #harry #one direction fan fiction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles preference #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #dark!harry #dark harry #harry fluff #harry imagine #harry blurb #angst #fanfic

[pi-cat000]

MSA: ‘Too Late’ fanfic edition.

A gift fic for @loveallthing. Hey, I love your art, thanks for being awesome :). This fic is based on this work. Hope you like it. 

Summary: Things don’t work out too well for anyone (Hellbent AU). 

.

“Get the hell away from Arthur.  YOU BASTARD!”

Vivi’s yell pierces the silence, drawing his attention. In amongst finding Lewis, falling onto a stone spike, and excruciating pain, he’s forgotten all about her. There is the sound of footsteps rushing nearby. He tries to blink or move but finds the action difficult. The space around him is a dense black, observing his vision.

Maybe, for a second, a flash of purple breaks through the endless dark. When he concentrates, he can feel vibrations. A second later he hears Vivi gasp in shock.

“No. No. Nononono.”

“NO!”

The yelling transitions from distressed to angry. Vivi is mad. Really mad. He should do something about that and let her know he’s okay. Only he isn’t okay. How could he be? That last thing he remembers is choking on his own blood. A spike wedged into his lower abdomen. Lewis standing over him, watching.

“You’ll pay for this!!”

Arthur’s never heard Vivi scream like that. Pure rage. He tries again to move, but everything is heavy, like his body asleep even when his mind is buzzing. Air is displaced nearby. Metal impacts metal, accompanied by more vibrations. Those footsteps grow fainter and further away.

“That’s right! You better run because I’M COMING FOR YOU!”

Vivi’s voice is far off now, only audible due to its volume. When Arthur concentrates, he thinks he can hear Lewis’s lower tone. All other sound fades. He needs to move. He needs to speak to Lewis. To explain himself. To apologies for…whatever he had done to deserve being skewered at the bottom of a cliff. To find out why.

Above him, as if in response to his new resolve, the darkness shimmers. The black expanse shifts from to grey and then lightens. It takes him second to realize that his eyes are open and he is staring up at the grey metal interior of a rectangular-shaped space.  He pushes, trying to sit up, struggling against the impossible weight holding him down. The more he struggles, the heavier the weight becomes, pulling him back.

No! He is not going to let himself be dragged away. Not yet! A horrible ripping sensation, like paper shredding, drowns out all other stimuli. Pain shoots up through his chest, akin but also different to the visceral feeling of landing on the spike. And, finally, Arthur sits up.

Reality materialises around him, solid, replacing the last vestiges of darkness with dim moonlight. He is sitting in a metal rectangle, resembling the bed of a semi-trailer. Out one end, Arthur can see the sky, moon, stars and the tips of desert cactus. One thing for sure is that this isn’t the purple cave. There are no spikes anywhere. No Lewis either for that matter. Where is Lewis? How is Arthur alive?

Troubled, Arthur rises into a standing position, scanning for answers. Dredd. The emotion is strong and vice-like. Something’s wrong. When he tries to move, he feels oddly uncoordinated and weightless. Almost like he’s floating.

He looks down at his legs.

He immediately wishes he hadn’t because he catches sight of the orange, yellow and red mess at his feet. Below him is…himself. Dead. Definitely dead. Dead and bleeding all over the metallic ground. Oh…So he hadn’t survived after all…White noise fills his head, blanking out his thoughts. This can’t be right. This can't be real. A high-pitched whine echoes, bouncing along the metal walls, and it takes Arthur a second to realise it’s him making the noise. Quickly, he backs away in horror, trying to put some distance between him and the messy scene.

/Arthur?/

The voice is deep, reverberating in his skull, snapping his attention up. He twists around, flinching to the side, raising a hand to cover his head. Blocking the entrance to the trailer is a large black and white fox. Its many tails fill the small opening, swaying back and forth in time to some unheard rhythm. Mystery. That’s Mystery. Arthur’s only seen this form once before now, and that hadn't exactly been a fun night either.

/Oh, Arthur. Do not be afraid./

The fox steps forward cautiously, head low. The tails still, dropping so they don’t look nearly as threatening as they could have. Trapped between Mystery and his own dead body, Arthur has nowhere to retreat to.

“What’s happening?” He asks instead, inching up along the wall. The action takes him closer to Mystery, but, right now, it is the lesser of two evils. He’s already dead, what more can Mystery do to him.

/I am so very sorry. /

He swallows nervously, but Mystery looks genuinely sad, like he feels responsible for this entire mess.

“Am I a ghost?” Lewis had been a ghost. It made sense that he was also a ghost. The evidence is pretty damning.

/I am sorry. / Mystery comes forward again, lowering his head to muzzle Arthur’s open palm. The hand, once made of metal, is now some sort of glowing yellow energy. Mystery’s nose is cool to touch. It has been a long while since Arthur’s felt sensation in that arm. Hesitantly, he reaches out with his opposite hand to ruffle the fur covering the fox’s head. When he does, the smell of rice fields, grass and dense forest waft up around him. For a second, he can almost hear a river rushing in the distance. The impression fades quickly, replacing fear with sadness.

“It’s not your fault,” He mutters, meeting Mystery’s gaze when the fox’s head tilts up.

/ I wish that were true, but I fear I have made a grave oversight. /

Arthur has no idea what to say to that, so he stands, floats, in commiserative silence.

“Mystery?” Vivi’s voice sounds from outside, causing both of them to shift in her direction. Her tone is flat and lifeless, very un-Vivi-like.

“You’re in my way.”

/Do not come ./ Mystery turns fully, using his bulk to shield Vivi from view. Yes. Good idea. Arthur doesn’t want Vivi seeing his body either.

/This is not something you want to see./

“Too fucking late!” Vivi snaps, anger returning, “Now, get out of my way. The least I can do is put him somewhere more comfortable before I hunt down that ghost bastard.” She spits the last few words.

/ I see. / Mystery wilts, eyeing him with a more unreadable expression, / Then perhaps you would reconsider those plans. /

“What are you…”

Vivi begins to argue, but her voice fails when Arthur pushes around Mystery. In the small space, the action is somewhat tricky. Arthur and Vivi make eye contact. She gasps. Slowly, he floats down out of the semi-trailer to hover on the dirt in front of her. Now he is away from his dead body, he can almost pretend everything is normal.

“Ah,” He greets unintelligibly.

“Arthur,” She breaths out his name, one hand over her mouth, belaying shock. Despite being partially covered by her hand, he can still see her red eyes and patchy face, meaning she’d been crying not too long ago. Arthur doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out why. Behind him, the air shimmers red, and Mystery reverts back to his smaller dog form, making himself far less menacing.

“So… I died. But I’m okay now,” He tries to reassure. It has the opposite effect, making her eyes go all watery, “Seriously.  No. Don’t cry!”

Vivi flings her arms around him in a hug. He almost expects them to go straight through him. 

They don’t.

. 

NOTE: You’ve done some nice art for my fic. Here is a fic for your art XD!

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #arthur kingsmen #Vivi Yukino #angst #whump #blood and injury #coarse language #arthur angst #Mystery the dog #inspired by others #gift fic #ghost arthur #character death #how many times can one author write the same senario? #a lot apparently #fanfic #fanfiction

[pugoata]

Day 7 - Growing Old Together/Future

Nora was huge.

Blake could see Yang’s look of mild alarm, and squeezed her hand. But even her size couldn’t stop Nora. She took one look at them, squealed excitedly, and bustled over, and Blake had the vague impression that she and Yang were only pins to this red-headed bowling ball.

“It’s been so long!” Nora exclaimed, throwing her arms around both of them at once, her belly sliding between them as if the gap had been made for it. “I never see you anymore!”

“It is harder now that you haven’t been able to go on missions,” Blake replied, shooting Yang a smile. “We’ve been keeping up with your pictures, though.”

Nora laughed. “Well, I haven’t had much else to do other than take pictures. I’m thinking I should just quit huntressing altogether and just become a food photographer or something.”

As she talked, her hand moved to her stomach, settling there with idle protectiveness. New habits popped up with pregnancy, and that slight movement was familiar enough to Nora to be one of them. Yang’s eyes lingered on her hand just a bit too long, the gaze soft, and her hand twitched, though only Blake noticed that subtle shift. Before anyone else could, she snapped her attention back to Nora’s face with a relaxed smile.

“I somehow doubt that. You’re not good at sitting still.”

“And the pregnancy definitely hasn’t changed that,” Ren said with a sigh, coming up to them. “Good to see you.”

“Congratulations, dad,” Yang said, lightly punching his arm. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Well, technically, it was Weiss who did that,” he corrected, gesturing with his head to where Weiss stood amid a gaggle of their friends. “She organized this whole thing.”

“She would,” Yang replied, amused. The formality of the invitations alone had led them to thinking that Weiss had played some role in the baby shower; the foil font, the embossing, all screamed Weiss. If it had been Nora’s doing, Blake figured there probably would have been more colors and more confetti. “She’s always loved anything that had to do with babies.”

“Ugh, well, once he’s born, she’s welcome to him. I’ve had enough of the heartburn.” Nora made a face, then leaned in. “And my tits feel like they’re gonna explode.”

Unexpectedly, Blake laughed, and though Yang smiled drolly, she didn’t join in. Again, Blake squeezed her hand.

“Well, I gotta make the rounds. We’ll catch up in a bit, okay?” Nora grinned at them, gave them one more belly-bumping hug, and marched off, a pronounced waddle in her step.

“Rounds,” Yang snorted, watching Nora go straight to the snacks. “Well, some things don’t change.”

“She woke me up in the middle of the night last week to make her a fruit salad,” Ren replied with a sigh. “And then she cried because there were blueberries in it.”

At this, Yang did laugh. “Other than that, everything’s going well?” Blake asked.

“The doctor says it’s a textbook pregnancy,” he replied, and a small smile curled on his lips. “But we’re both ready for him to come out. Nora’s just about had enough with being pregnant.”

“I could see that,” Blake murmured.

“So, you’re ready?” Yang repeated, almost skeptical. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“Probably not.” Ren laughed. “I don’t think we could ever be as ready as we’d want to be. But the love’s ready, and that’s the most important part. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

“You make it sound easy.” Blake’s words were light, but a touch dry. Yang, sensitive to her tones, looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, it can’t be any harder than taking down an evil, immortal queen.” Ren chuckled at his own joke. “It hasn’t been easy, and it’s only going to get harder once the baby’s here, but it’s not really different than fighting on a team. We’ll work together and we’ll flourish, just like we’ve always done.”

Ren’s words were so calm, so confident, that Blake couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease. He’d always been the sensible one, and he wouldn’t say something he didn’t mean. It was steadying, in a way, even though he didn’t know it.

“Oh, we brought this.” Blake held up the gift bag, decorated with pastel animals. “Where should we put it?”

“Oh, thank you. Weiss has a table set up for gifts, but I can take it there. I need to greet a few more people, anyway.” He smiled again as he took the bag. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Yang gave him one more light punch on the arm. “Dad.”

After he set off down the hall, Blake and Yang moved across the living room, hand in hand. Most of the people here were ones they recognized; Ruby, Weiss, Jaune and his date, Oscar, and, outside by the pool, the entirety of Team CFVY. Other huntsmen, too, more acquaintances than friends to Blake and Yang, milled around, making smalltalk. For not having any blood family, Nora and Ren had filled their house with family of their own making.

“I hope Weiss isn’t going to make us do any of those stupid baby shower games,” Blake commented as she dug around in a tub of drinks and ice. She grabbed a cider for herself. “Want anything to drink?”

“Just a water. Thanks, babe.” She took it, though she didn’t uncap it yet. She scanned the crowd, looking for other people she recognized. “Oh, hey, Saph! Gods, Adrian, how old are you now?”

Blake sat back, letting Yang take the reins on the conversations. Even now, Yang could carry on like nothing was different. She still spoke just as naturally with others, still laughed in the same way. Really, it had only when she’d spoken to Nora that Blake had seen some of her anxiety poke through. While they had talked, Yang had lifted a hand inward, making as if to touch her own stomach in the comfortable way Nora had done. Just as quickly, Yang’s hand had settled back by her side, nothing different.

As Yang talked, Blake put together a small plate of crackers, deli meats, and the blander cheeses. Anything smellier than cheddar was bound to make Yang’s stomach roil, and they wouldn’t risk that at the party. Blake gave a regretful look to the wedge of Roquefort cheese before making her way back to Yang.

“Hungry?” she asked Yang, holding up the plate.

“You know it!” With a final nod to the Cotta-Arcs, they wove their way through the other guests, making their way outside. “God, I’m hungry.”

“And we just ate lunch.”

“So?” Yang plopped herself onto a chair by the patio table, giving a brief wave to Coco and the others before zeroing in on her food. “Well, at least I’ve got a reason for it. Ruby has no excuse. Did you see her shoving that whole cupcake in her mouth? She’s gonna choke.”

Blake took the chair beside her, content to watch as Yang piled cheese and pepperoni on one of the crackers. She was one to talk about choking, she thought, amused, as Yang popped the whole thing in her mouth.

“So? Is it weird for you?” Yang asked when she’d finished chewing. Already, she was making up another cracker.

“For?”

Yang looked over her shoulder at Team CFVY and lowered her voice. “You sounded a little nervous when we were talking to Ren.”

“Oh.” Blake shrugged. “Well… I don’t know. You know how I am.”

Smiling, Yang nodded and bit into her cracker. She chewed it thoughtfully, then swallowed. “It’s all right to be nervous. Hell, seeing Nora like that makes me nervous. Am I gonna be that big?”

“You could be twice that size and still be beautiful,” Blake teased, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. “Seriously.”

“You have to say that ‘cause we’re married.” Yang laughed. “But, still. It looks uncomfortable, and she’s still got another month. I can’t even imagine--”

“You were the one who wanted to carry,” Blake pointed out.

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing. I’m not changing my mind or anything.”

“Good, since you can’t.”

With a wicked grin, Yang placed a daring palm against her abdomen, finally giving in to that tempting touch. Her back was to Team CFVY, so nobody else was there to question her. Still, Blake looked around worriedly. Someone else’s baby shower would be a bad time to announce their own pregnancy, and it was still early enough that they didn’t want to publicize the news yet.

“So?” Yang asked softly. “In a few months, we’ll be having a baby shower of our own.”

“And Weiss will be begging to emboss the invitations.”

At this, Yang laughed, loud enough to draw the attention of Team CFVY. Fortunately, she’d taken her hand off her stomach, and when Coco looked at them over her shades, there was only amusement, not suspicion.

“Something funny, Xiao Long?” Coco called.

“Oh, we’re just laughing at Weiss’s expense again.” Yang waved her hand dismissively. Coco rolled her eyes and pushed her sunglasses back up.

“Just like every other day.”

Yang snorted at this, then turned back to her food. Blake nabbed a cracker and nibbled on it. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the music and the chatter of the party inside comfortably dull. She knew they’d have to go in at some point, to face Ruby and Weiss and deal with whatever party games they were forced to play, but for now, they could enjoy the peace and sunshine. For just these few minutes, it was only them.

“Yang?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

Yang’s brows quirked at the question as she swallowed her last bite of crackers. “Well,” she said slowly, “I don’t think we would’ve gone through it if we weren’t.”

Despite her anxiety, Blake smiled. “Oh, I know. It’s just… Seeing them, in there… it’s different. Like... it wasn’t real before. But seeing them… I’m starting to see it now.”

“I know what you mean.” Yang’s smile was gentle. “It’s easy to envision it one way, but seeing it in person really makes you nervous about it. I mean, when Nora said that thing about her boobs--”

Blake laughed, which Yang had seemed to be going for. Her smile brightened. “But like Ren was saying… we’re a team. And as a team, we can handle whatever life throws at us. Even if our baby acts like a little Ursa sometimes, it’s something I know we can manage. Even on our hardest days, there’ll always be love. That’ll get us through.”

“Yeah.” Blake’s mouth had gone dry, but she leaned in anyway, brushing a kiss against Yang’s lips. “There’ll always be love.”

With a quick glance at CFVY, Blake slipped a hand onto Yang’s stomach. For now, her abs were still tight and sculpted. There was no sign of life underneath them, though she knew that would change. They’d listened to the heartbeat at their first appointment, that strange new sound that would soon bring a different kind of purpose to their lives.

For the brief time they’d been able to hear it, Blake could almost see the future. With the sound of that heartbeat in her ears, she could envision Yang months from now, sweaty and exhausted, bringing their child into the world. She could imagine holding this child-- their child-- in their arms, rocking them to sleep, reading them books, watching them grow...

But for now, Yang’s stomach kept the truth hidden. For now, their baby was little more than a new thought. For now, it was a secret for them alone.

“We should probably go in,” Blake finally said, dragging her hand away from that growing life. “Be good guests, or whatever.”

“So overrated,” Yang said, with a sigh, pushing her chair back. “At least we can take notes of what we don’t want Weiss to do, right?”

“Right.” Blake laughed. Yang gave her another kiss, then led her back into the house, and they readied themselves against the excitement and bubbly happiness that the baby shower would bring. Soon, that same happiness would be theirs. Still holding her hand, Yang looked back at her, her smile open and bright.

Scratch that.

It already was.

#rwby #rwby fic #bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #bumbleby week #bmblbweek

[outranks]

i hope this isnt a weird request but like..... could you write f!dep/sharky/john threesome pls? Cult or non cult au, your choice.

NONNY LISTEN, THIS REQUEST CHANGED MY DAMN LIFE. I never even thought about John/f!dep/Sharky before and now?? I talk about it all the time. so, thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I hope this is what you wanted???

There are a lot of benefits to John’s ridiculous oversized bed, made to fit at least two grown men and their smaller girlfriend with room to spare. It means that Rook can stretch out at night, practically spread eagle without touching anyone. And it means Sharky can twist and turn, nearly rotating halfway to the other end of the bed, without waking anyone up. And it means that John can get a full night’s sleep without getting kicked or squeezed by either of his chosen bed mates.

Or at least it should mean that.

More often than not Rook ends up draped over John, trying to leach the warmth from him as he is the worst blanket hog. And Sharky will have somehow ended up with his head at the other end of the bed and his foot somewhere near John’s throat. It’s always an accident, and Rook is trying to get better, but she hasn’t slept as well in years and sometimes maybe it’s important to leave well enough alone.

Except how there are times, though few and far between, that she’ll wake up to find someone missing.

Usually John.

Rook yawns and stretches, trying to pull herself out of sleep enough to crawl out of bed. “Where’s John?” she murmurs, poking Sharky in the side. “What’d you do with him.”

Sharky grunts, dragging the corner of a blanket over his head. Absolutely useless at this hour. The weather has been growing colder and John’s house is frustratingly difficult to heat and Rook knows the floor outside of the bedroom will be cold. She really doesn’t want to step on it.

Reluctantly, she does so anyway.

Rook grabs her pajama bottoms from where they were tossed on the floor earlier, and pulls Sharky’s hoodie from the chair it’s draped over. It’s not that she minds walking around the house naked, but there are always guards wandering the property and with Sharky around they’ve already seen enough. He has a habit of stepping out onto the balcony without a stitch of clothing on because the sunlight feels good on my junk, Rook.

Eventually John is going to stop finding him so endearing and start siding with her on the matter.

“John?” she calls softly, not wanting to wake up Sharky even though he absolutely deserves it. The floor in the hallway is as cold on her feet as she thought it would be, and sometimes being right just isn’t worth it. She checks the other bedrooms first, feeling a little guilty for poking her head into Joseph’s room when he’s not even there, before heading downstairs.

There’s a soft glow coming from the living room and the crackle of a fire in the fireplace. Meaning that’s where John is. From the moment the weather started to turn toward winter he’s been finding every way he can to make himself, and the house, warmer. It’s not even that cold yet, but if John wants to start a fire Rook can’t stop him.

She’s tried.

But with Sharky on John’s side it’s two against one. At least the Peggies have started practicing fire safety drills since Sharky became a regular presence at the ranch. So Rook will at least give them credit for that. The Peggies take John’s safety very seriously.

“John?” Rook steps into the living room, spotting John stretched out on the sofa, one arm behind his head. There’s a book on the floor beside him, and she would think he’s asleep except for how he turns to look at her as she gets closer. “What are you doing down here?”

John sighs, long and weary, though Rook suspects he’s only being dramatic for emphasis. “The people I have chosen to share my bed with were, apparently, both raised in a barn,” he says without a hint of true venom. “Sharky kicked me in the shoulder— I can’t even say how he got that turned around— and you cling so hard I thought you might strangle me.”

“You steal all the blankets and I was cold.”

“I— they’re my blankets.”

Rook hums, not willing to argue that specific point when she’s still partially asleep and John looks so comfortable. Instead she considers the best way to drape herself over him without hitting any sensitive spots. She ends up wedging her knee between John’s hip and the back of the sofa, and bracing herself on his thighs. “I guess we’ll just have to sleep out here,” she says.

John only gives the faintest protest as Rook makes herself comfortable on top of him. “The two of you are so—” he shifts until he can get an arm around her waist, fingertips just brushing the exposed skin of her side where the hoodie has ridden up.

“Charming?” Rook offers, “Delightful?”

“Frustrating.”

“Yeah, but you like us anyway.”

Rook can’t really see John’s face from the position she’s in, but she knows him well enough to guess at the soft, pleased little smile he’ll be wearing. The one that only shows up when he thinks no one is looking. Even after they’ve made all their vows and promises, he’s still guarded around them.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

There’s a creak of the floorboards and Sharky slowly walking into the rook, naked as the day he was born. “I guess we’re moving the party down here,” he says through a yawn while rubbing at his eyes. “The bed was empty and I can’t say that I like that.”

“I tried to wake you,” Rook says, reaching a hand out to Sharky and pulling him closer.

“I can be difficult to wake, I admit,” he says. “So, is this a late night, in front of the fire, sex thing? Because I could get it up for that if it is.”

“It’s a sleeping on the couch because the two of you don’t know how to sleep like normal people in a bed thing,” John says.

Rook considers the position she’s in— John between her thighs and Sharky standing completely bare beside her. “It could be a sex thing.”

“Great,” Sharky says, nearly flinging himself onto the sofa, sandwiching Rook between himself and John. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Sharky.” Rook can’t decide between laughing and trying to push him off. On the one hand, there’s not a lot they can do like this, but on the other hand it’s almost nice having her two favorite men pressed so close. Except for John’s annoyed huffs and attempts to wriggle himself free. Being at the bottom of the pile probably isn’t the most comfortable place.

John gets a knee up and one arm free, pushing at the two of them. “Can’t you behave?” he asks, dumping them on the floor.

Rook laughs, even as she hits the ground, though her fall is broken almost completely by Sharky. “You knew what you were getting yourself into when you chose us.” At least for the most part. And either way, she knows John wouldn’t have them any other way, no matter how much he likes to complain. “We should probably take this back to the bedroom.”

“No need,” Sharky says, pushing off the floor and grabbing the blanket from the sofa and one of the pillows John had been using. “We’ve got a nice fire going, we’ve got this nice set up—” he carefully lays out the blanket on the floor in front of the fire— “and, we have all the supplies we need.”

“How do we—” Rook starts, only to be cut off by Sharky shuffling over to the small table beside the sofa and pulling out a bottle of lube and some condoms.

“Gotta be prepared for anything,” he says.

John sits up, looking at Sharky with an expression that is absolutely perplexed. “You stashed that in here in case we decided to have sex in the living room?”

“Again,” Rook adds.

Sharky grins, tossing both items to John. “I stashed the necessary supplies in every room of the house, just in case,” he says. “Including Broseph’s room because you never know when he might need it.”

“Oh, God,” John says quietly.

Rook tries very hard not to laugh, especially at the utterly pained look on John’s face. Is it the idea of his brother using Sharky’s gifts that’s the problem, or the idea of the Father using them? There’s definitely a distinction there, but Rook is still trying to sort it all out. The Seeds’ relationships are a tangled web of unnecessary complications that she hasn’t even begun to unravel. “That was very thoughtful of you, Sharky,” she says instead.

“I’m a thoughtful guy,” Sharky says, grabbing Rook’s ankles and pulling her onto her back so swiftly that it startles another laugh out if her. “And I plan to show you just how thoughtful I can be.”

“Yeah?” Rook hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her pajama pants and pushes them down her hips as far as she can, only to be helped along by Sharky nearly ripping them the rest of the way off of her. “So what’s your— oh.” She feels light and practically giddy when Sharky lifts her up, hooking her legs over his shoulder, and running the flat of his tongue over her clit. “Fuck.” Her nails dig into the soft blanket that’s been laid out on the floor, needing something to hold onto.

She bites her lip, trying to stifle the whines that keep slipping from her throat. Sharky isn’t going slow at all, his lips and tongue are so wet and eager to make her come.

There’s movement beside her and John finally joins them in front of the fire, cast all in warm light. “I suppose it’s worth putting off sleep for this,” he says, running one hand through Sharky’s hair and the other up under her hoodie to gently rub at her breast. “Do you know what you want?”

Rook barely knows her own name. Sharky’s mouth is skilled beyond her comprehension, even after they’ve been together for a while. Every lick and gentle suck has her breath hitching on sobs she doesn’t get a chance to rein in before he does something else that has her soaking wet and hovering right on the edge. “I— fuck— I want you,” she says, wishing desperately for some kind of leverage to push against Sharky’s tongue. “Both of you, in me.”

Sharky gives another wet lick to her clit before pulling off, just long enough to say, “I like the sound of that.” And to emphasize his point, he moves a hand off her thigh to tease at both of her entrances.

“Good, I—” Rook can hardly breathe as she squirms on Sharky’s tongue. “I—” She’s so close she can’t hold any words in her mouth, especially not with Sharky’s fingers just the barest amount inside of her. It’s not enough and she reaches out, grabbing for John and pulling him down into a kiss that’s frantic and messy as her orgasm hits her fast. She moans, rocking her hips to ride out every last wave as Sharky draws it out with his clever tongue and John catches the sounds she’s making before they ever have a chance to escape.

“Exactly as I planned,” Sharky says, slowly lowering her to the floor and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “My ideas are always this good.”

“That’s not—” John sighs, slapping a condom to Sharky’s chest. “Come on, we’re not done here.” His hand travels down between Rook’s legs to touch at where she’s wet and still aching to be filled.

And she hasn’t even had a chance to catch her breath.

Rook sits, with a little assistance from John, then gets up onto shaking thighs to position herself in Sharky’s lap.

“You good?” Sharky asks, running a palm up and down her side.

Rook nods, eyes slipping closed, and sinks onto his cock with a groan. She’s still too close to her release, feeling right back on the edge with the gentle slide of him against her walls. “Fuck,” she whispers, knowing damn well that between the three of them, she’s the one who won’t be able to last very long. “Yeah, yes, fuck.” This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, and it certainly won’t be the last, but Rook is still getting used to keeping up with two men determined to have her naked and wanting as often as possible.

“I’ll take it slow,” John murmurs, pressing against her back, fingers wet with lube as he trails over her ass, gently slipping inside. “I’ll be good for you.”

Sharky snorts. “You say such sweet things.”

Rook huffs a laugh, curling closer to Sharky as John carefully stretches her open. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Sharky says, as if there isn’t pink staining his cheeks. It’s still hard to admit how easily John’s charm caught both of them so unaware, though it remains the best thing to happen in their lives. No matter how embarrassed Sharky gets at the thought of it.

John brushes her hair off her shoulder and leaves a gentle kiss against her neck. “Just relax,” he says, lining up his cock and slowly pushing in until he’s fully seated inside of her. “There you go.”

All the air feels punched out of Rook’s lungs and there’s a fullness she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to. She makes a sound like a whine, fingers spasming where she’s started to grip Sharky’s biceps. In the morning there will be bruises exactly the size of her hands and she knows she’ll be proud to see them. But for now, she’s just trying to keep from falling apart between these two men. “God,” she says, finding her voice for a moment. “I’m—”

John presses another kiss to her neck, reaching around her to play with her clit. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

Rook shivers, unclenching one hand from Sharky’s arm to grab for John’s waist. “Just… go slow.”

“Of course,” Sharky says, sliding his hands to her ass and spreading her open. “We are going to make you feel so good.”

“I already— fuck.” As slow as they’re going, there’s nothing that can ever prepare her for that first, perfectly in sync, push inside of her. Rook is stuffed full and she can already feel herself adjusting to them, wanting more. And John hasn’t stopped touching her clit which is only helping to speed up that process. She’s going to come on both of their cocks and soon. “Yeah, yes, just— you can— go faster.”

“You said you wanted us to take things slow,” John says, dragging his cock out almost torturously slow before pushing back in like he has all the time in the world. “We only wish to make you happy, my dear.”

There’s not a lot of leverage Rook can get, but she manages to lift herself enough to start her own rhythm, making both of her men groan. It’s music to her ears. If she’s going to come apart between them, then she’ll take them down with her. “Come on,” she says, finally feeling Sharky tighten his hold on her so that he can have her bouncing on his lap, his cock dragging perfectly against her walls. “I—” love you, she wants to say, but instead she drags him into a wet, open mouthed kiss, letting him swallow down all of the breathless words she can’t say.

John laughs again, soft and quiet, picking up his own pace and changing the rhythm again. He tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her back until her moans are exposed to the open air once more. “Think you’ll last long?”

Rook can barely think at all, but she knows that she won’t. Especially not with the way John continues to rub at her clit and Sharky has started snapping his hips up to fuck her deep. She grinds down, clenching around them as her muscles begin to twitch and her breath catches. There’s an ache inside of her that only they have ever been able to calm. “Harder,” she says, and that must finally be enough because John places a hand flat against her back, pressing her to Sharky’s chest, changing the angle.

“Damn,” Sharky says, “guess it’s gonna be like that,” and moves her up and down on his cock while John fucks her just the right side of too hard.

Rook’s mouth drops open, unable to get any sound out. She’s so close that she can do nothing but ride her two men as John’s clever fingers finally pull her back over the edge. She goes taut for a moment as the pressure builds and then crashes through her in waves. It’s too much and for a moment she thinks she’s going to break apart; every nerve alight with currents of electricity. And somehow, impossibly, all she wants is to pull John and Sharky in deeper. Like they should be trying to claim her from the inside out. She moans, feeling Sharky’s cock become wetter with her release, as the rest of her body becomes pliant and loose.

“Fuck,” John hisses in her ear, his own rhythm speeding and becoming stuttered.

“Yeah,” Sharky says, “fuck.”

Rook would laugh at them if she had the energy, but all she can do is hold on while they use her for their own pleasure. It’s good, though John still had his finger pressed to her clit like he plans to make her come again. As much as that idea has some appeal, especially with the little aftershocks of her orgasm, she doesn’t have the energy for a round three.

Not that she wants him to stop.

Sharky groans loud, pulling her down and slamming his hips up to meet her, and goes still. His face is flushed, cheeks pink even in the low light of the dying fire. He’s cute and Rook can’t help but to kiss him again.

John’s breath is coming out in soft pants against the back of her neck, practically in time with every hard push of his cock inside of her. He moves his hand from her clit, running slick fingers along her belly and up, over her breasts, before cupping her chin and turning her head just enough that he can share in the kiss. There’s a sound caught in his throat, halfway between a moan and a growl, that threatens to break free as he gives another demanding thrust, and another, and presses himself flush to her back as he comes.

They’re sweaty and sticky, and Rook knows she’s going to be a mess, but she feels like she’s never going to want to move from this spot.

“I would live in your pussy if I could,” Sharky says, the only thing louder than John’s breathing while he tries to catch his breath.

“Thanks?” That’s definitely a compliment, though Rook is too tired to understand it.

“You’re such a romantic,” John says, a soft hint of humor in his voice, no matter how much he likes to pretend otherwise. He is utterly charmed by the both of them.

“I hear that a lot.”

John hums, bracing one hand on Rook’s lower back to pull out slowly. She is probably going to be sore later, but it’s always worth it.

“Come on,” he says, gently lifting Rook off of Sharky’s softening cock and helping her stretch out in front of the fire.

“We really should get cleaned up,” she says, not making a single move to do anything about it.

Sharky ties off his used condom and tosses it in the vague direction of the trash can, like John isn’t going to lecture them about doing that. Again. Except he doesn’t. Instead John follows Sharky’s lead, with a small shrug, and joins them stretched out beside Rook on the floor.

“This is the life,” Sharky says, finding a way to sprawl across the both of them, careful to keep elbows and knees away from any sensitive parts.

Rook yawns and shifts closer to John. “I guess we’re staying down here.”

Sharky doesn’t say anything, but he does pat her on the hip which is probably an answer.

“I’m getting a bigger bed,” John murmurs, curling an arm around Sharky and pressing his face to Rook’s hair. “No more sex on the floor.”

“Yeah,” Rook says, knowing perfectly well they’ll have sex anywhere in the house, “sure.”

John grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more, and Sharky is already back asleep.

#anonymous #my writing #f!dep/john seed #f!dep/sharky boshaw #john seed/sharky boshaw #nsftumblr

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 24

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four (here) 

Chapter Twenty-Four Can we just pretend?

They didn’t talk. Even after they returned to the parking garage where Itachi had left his car. He simply killed the engine and slipped out of the little Honda, the keys still in the ignition. Sakura went without resistance when he opened her door for her and led her over to his Lexus.

She didn’t know where they were going and she didn’t ask, even as the world outside sped by. She simply sat, watching each streetlight as it came and went out the window if only to distract herself from the reality that she had just thrown herself at Itachi. She didn’t know if she was more humiliated by that or by the fact he had stopped them.

Silently, Sakura snuck a peek in his direction, only to find his attention was focused solely on the road. He kept both hands on the wheel, his gaze flickering from the pavement ahead to the rearview mirror and back again. Itachi hadn’t bothered to put his jacket back on, instead leaving it abandoned in the backseat. Without it, she could clearly see his shoulder holster now, his gun tucked just under his arm.

Her eyes continued to wander. Over his shoulders where his grey shirt fit comfortably, not too tight nor too loose, and up to his face. She couldn’t read anything in his profile but that didn’t stop her from trying.

At some point, they pulled into a residential neighborhood. It was then that she realized they were heading towards his townhouse. The very one she had gone to that early morning the day after Ino’s parents had been murdered.

Itachi pulled into a small driveway beside the house and parked the car before he led her around the side to the front door. She followed after him silently, slipping her boots off in the entryway as he headed further inside, switching on lights as he went.

The last time Sakura has been here, she hadn’t ventured inside very far. She had simply gathered the information she had wanted and disappeared back out into the dark. This time, she made her way in slowly, eyeing the craftsmanship of the crystal light fixture above and the beautiful, dark wood floors.

At the end of the hall was a staircase that led to the top floor and just before that was a set of wooden, double doors that led to the rest of the home. They were open now and Sakura headed towards them, not entirely sure where Itachi had disappeared to. Not entirely sure what she was doing there.  

He wasn’t in the living room, but she stood near the entrance anyway and gazed around. There was a rustic but modern feel to the place. She had half-expected Itachi’s house to be decorated in monotone greys but it wasn’t. All the furniture and cabinets were trimmed with wood of deep browns and auburns. The couch and large, floor rug under the coffee table were a matching off-white.

But it was the upright piano in the corner of the room that made her take a double-take. This one was tall and narrow, nothing like the baby grand piano in Tobirama’s condo. She barely saw it at all under all the piles of paperwork and miscellaneous items. More of a second table than a musical instrument.

Sakura had barely begun to study it when Itachi entered the room behind her and asked, “Do you want to shower?”

She pulled her attention away from the piano to look at him. In his hands he held a towel with a shirt and pair of sweats on top, both obviously his. She almost shook her head ‘no’ but thought better of it.

Under the spray of the water, it occurred to her that this wasn’t the first time she had showered under Itachi’s roof with nothing but his clothes to change into. Only this time it felt more intimate. Like things between them had shifted. Although, for better or for worse, she wasn’t yet sure.

Even after taking her time, Sakura’s head still wasn’t totally clear, but she couldn’t justify standing under the spray any longer after having washed her hair twice.

Itachi was in the kitchen when she finally wandered back downstairs. She paused in the doorway to watch him as he moved a kettle of hot water off the stove before he shut off the burner. It felt a little odd, not bad but odd, to be standing there in such a domestic setting.

“I know tequila is your favorite, but would you like some tea?” he asked with a quick glance in her direction before he opened a cabinet.

Sakura shot him a look. “You make me sound like I’m an alcoholic. I drink more than just tequila, you know.”

An amused smile crossed his face as he pulled out two mugs and filled them with water. The delicious scent of orange and cinnamon reached her nose as she approached the counter to accept the drink from him. On one side, the mug read: “Coffee, cause adulting is hard.”

She hid her smile as she sipped slowly. She could only agree with that.

The tea helped fight off the cold from her wet hair. It warmed her hands and her chest as she sipped, settling low in her stomach, but it was nothing compared to when she looked up and found Itachi already watching her.

He gazed at her over the top of his own mug. Just the two of them standing there quietly in his kitchen. Her wearing his clothes. Just being with him for no other purpose than company. They really didn’t have anything more to discuss and yet she found herself not having any desire to leave. Somewhere far in the back of her mind – or perhaps not even that far – she knew this was dangerous.

Not knowing what to say, Sakura chewed the inside of her lip. Fortunately, Itachi broke the silence, but it wasn’t exactly what she was expecting him to say.

“I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home.”

Alone again, Sakura didn’t really know what to do with herself. Her gaze wandered back over to the piano, but rather than making her way towards it, she eyed the rest of the room, giving pause when she saw a handful of photos on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. They were the only photos in sight.

With her mug in hand, Sakura wandered towards them. Immediately she recognized Shisui beside Itachi in almost all of them. Together, just doing ordinary things: riding dirt bikes on an unpaved road, playing soccer in high school or college, posing together in their nice button-down shirts at what appeared to be a wedding.

The last photo had Shisui in it as well, but between the two of them was another woman. They were all wearing matching team, baseball shirts with a field behind them. Likely at the local stadium. She was wedged in the middle of the pair, her arms thrown around their shoulders and a wide smile on her pretty face. She looked about their age, and with the same eyes and nose. Definitely a family member. Another cousin or perhaps a sister?

Sakura didn’t know. And an uncomfortable feeling began to grow in her chest, knowing she didn’t know because she had never asked. She thought back to all the times Itachi had ever asked her about herself. Perhaps back then she had thought he was prying, but now...now she wondered if he was just genuinely curious about her.

Turning away, Sakura passed the bookshelf and she paused to read a couple of titles there if only to distract herself. There was a mix of everything. From World War Two history to travel guides on places all around the world to poetry.

Still, she found her eyes wandering back to that piano in the corner. Glancing back towards the doorway, she listened to the quiet. She could just make out the muffled rush of water from the shower. Itachi wouldn’t be down for at least another few minutes.

Setting her mug on a coaster on the coffee table, Sakura wandered towards the instrument, her fingers skimming over the side in a featherlight touch before she lowered herself down onto the bench before it. She lifted the soundboard gingerly before she played a few slow keys, listening for their sound. The notes fell in tune, but she didn’t immediately continue. Instead she listened for the shower one floor above.

Only when it reached her ears did she finally raise both hands, her fingers falling on those familiar keys. Playing the song that had been buried so deep in her soul for so long, she no longer knew the name or if it even had one.

That was how Itachi found Sakura sometime later. He had heard the music from upstairs the moment he shut off the water for the shower, but had assumed she had found the radio. Only now did he realize how wrong he was.

Frozen in the doorway, Itachi simply stared, the hand towel-drying his hair stopped mid-motion. She was seated across the room, behind the instrument pushed into the corner. It had been there for so long he had nearly forgotten it was there. Her fingers moved over the keys so easily, so seamlessly. Like she wasn't playing a piece she had memorized, but instead playing a thought, a feeling. Just lost in the gentle sound her own hands were creating.

There were no words to describe the melody. It made him feel a little hopeful, a little sad and full of such a longing he couldn't quite remember the last time such an emptiness had settled so heavily in his chest.

With her back to him, she hadn’t yet seen him. And though he couldn’t see her face, she had never looked more stunning in that moment. Dressed in his shirt and sweats, her feet bare and her hair still wet and drying around her shoulders. Something that had nothing to do with the music rose up in his chest.

Without daring to make a sound, Itachi crossed the room towards her. He left his towel on the counter, his own bare feet not making a noise against the wooden floors. He stopped some paces behind her, waiting to speak until the song had passed its crescendo and had slowed into something softer and more drawn out.

“Where did you learn that song?” he asked. And he immediately regretted it when her fingers paused over the keys.

She frowned, seeming to seriously consider his question. “I don’t remember,” she murmured, briefly glancing at him over her shoulder. “It’s just always been there.”

Her fingers returned to the keys as Itachi lowered himself down into the seat beside her. Only this time she played softer. More like background music. He simply watched her play, unable to draw his eyes from her fingers as they danced so effortlessly across the keys.

Then she stopped again. “Do you have a sister?”

Blinking, Itachi lifted his head to meet her gaze. A little confused. Wondering where that question had suddenly come from. Still, he shook his head. “I have a brother.”

“And he's CIA?”

“No, he’s a helicopter pilot in the Army.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say after that and so resumed her song. Only this time she played slower like she was thinking less about the music and more about something else. Eventually she said, “You don’t talk about yourself very much.”

Neither did she, but he didn’t point that out. Merely canted his head. “What do you want to know?”

Sakura opened her mouth only to close it again. Like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to ask. Her uncharacteristic shyness was so charming, Itachi couldn’t resist smiling.

Then he pursed his lips, thinking what to tell her.

“My birthday is June 9th,” he finally began slowly. “I was born in Maryland but moved to New York at ten when my parents got stationed here. I have three Bachelor’s degrees.”

Sakura's brow rose. She looked like she was going to ask one question but changed it mid-thought. “What else?”

Itachi hummed thoughtfully. “I can speak Hebrew and enough Arabic to get by. In the morning, I need at least three cups of coffee to function, and you…” he started, his voice trailing off for a moment. “You have the most beautiful emerald eyes I have ever seen.”

Sakura’s fingers faltered on the piano. She stilled before she turned her head to look at him. He met her gaze unabashedly, a small smile pulling on the corner of his lips. She seemed like she didn’t know what to say, but her gaze dropped down to his mouth as she worried her own bottom lip between her teeth. Like she knew what she wanted to do but wasn’t sure she should do it.

Itachi made the decision for her. Ducking his head, he pressed his mouth to hers, starting where they had left off less than an hour before. Sakura responded without pause, shifting on the bench to better reach him. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist as he slid his hand across her jaw to angle her face towards his.

This time, there was no rush. No adrenaline to cloud their judgement. No worry or concern. It was simply them and all the emotion that had been building since longer than either of them were aware. He kissed her slow, taking his time to familiarize himself with her. Her taste, her feel, her scent. Only now he could only smell his own shampoo in her hair and his body wash on her skin.

Something primal reared in his chest. Adjusting his grip, Itachi pulled her closer until her legs were on either side of his hips. In one movement, he stood with her in his arms, her thighs secured around his waist. They only made it as far as the couch, his mouth never leaving hers as he lowered them both down.

There, they spent most of the night. With only soft moans and sighs to fill the quiet. His hands and lips traced every inch of skin, paying particular attention to the bruises still on her wrists, her stomach and her hips. Where the memory of her attackers would soon fade. His touch left her breathless and yet he gave her everything she wanted. When he finally pushed inside her, their bodies moved as one. Working together to find that release that made the rest of the world and all its problems fall away.

Itachi brought them to climax there and then again some time later after their hearts had settled to something less frantic before he brought her upstairs to his bedroom. Then they did it all again.

It was only much later when the horizon began to lighten did they lay still. Sakura rested half-across his chest, her head on his shoulder with her breath ghosting across his neck. Itachi dragged his fingers through her hair in lazy strokes, the action lulling him to sleep as much as her.

“This complicates things,” Sakura murmured into his skin after the silence had stretched on for several minutes.

Itachi frowned but didn’t stop the gentle motion of his hand. He liked the way her silky strands fell through his fingers. “I know.” Then he added, “I still do not regret it.”

“Neither do I,” she murmured. “But we both know this can't end well.”

Itachi’s grip around her tightened minutely. “Says who?”

“Itachi…”

He didn't answer her right away. He tried to remember the last time he had felt this content. He knew Sakura was right. Those very same words had been in the back of his mind, just waiting to spring forward. But he didn't want to talk about it right now. Right now, he just wanted one night.

Rolling them over into their sides, Itachi pulled her flush against him, until their breath matched every inhale and exhale, and their hearts found rhythm together. “We have plenty of other issues to concern ourselves with,” he told her. “Just for tonight, can we pretend this isn't one?”

Sakura didn’t respond, but after a moment, he felt her nodded against his chest. Itachi smiled against the crown of her head before he finally let his eyes slip closed. The warmth of her heat and the softness of her skin lulling him to sleep.

xx

When Sakura awoke in the morning, it was to a muffled shuffling somewhere nearby. She forced her eyes open abruptly, her mind already racing for where she had left her gun. Only to relax when she spotted Itachi across the room. The events from last night flooded her memory but there were no feelings of regret or embarrassment. Only a fullness she couldn't quite explain. It was still there when Itachi finished buttoning his jeans and turned to see she was awake.

“Hey,” he said with a soft, albeit apologetic smile. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” she lied, dragging a hand down her face. Then she glanced out the window. The sun was still out. “What time is it?”

“Almost three in the afternoon,” he told her as he grabbed a shirt and pulled it down over his head.

Which wasn’t surprising. They hadn’t fallen asleep until sunrise.

“I wish I could stay but my work called. I have to go.”

Sakura was surprised to see real guilt on his face. As if he honestly felt bad for leaving her there. She was just as surprised to feel disappointment rise in her chest. But she hid it behind a teasing smile.

“Or you could stay. Tell them you broke your phone,” she offered.

The guilt vanished to be replaced with amusement as he approached the bed to sit on the edge at her hip. “Unfortunately, it is important. But stay as long as you’d like. There is coffee already made and food in the cabinets.”

Sakura cocked her brow. “You tell me that like I actually know how to cook.”

“Surely even you can boil water for instant noodles.”

“I think you have more faith in me than you ought to.”

Itachi laughed – a true, honest laugh – before he leaned down to kiss her. He lingered for a moment before he pulled away and stood. “I have to go. I’ll leave a key on the counter.”

Then he was out the door.

Sakura laid there for a few minutes, just listening to the silence of the townhouse echoing back at her and her own breathing. It was this quiet she was used to waking up to. This stillness that echoed back at her. But never did she feel lonely. Not until now.

A long, heavy breath passed between her lips. She raised both hands to her face, her palms digging into her eyes. What did she just do? She had told herself only yesterday morning that she couldn’t get involved with Itachi and then the very same night she had jumped into bed with him.

She didn’t regret sleeping with him – Gods no. But she did regret sleeping with a CIA Agent. Kakashi had been annoyed when he had found out she had shared a bed with Tobirama. He would lose it when he found out she had done the very same thing with Itachi.

There were no outcomes of this that she could think of that would end well. The CIA didn’t exactly operate completely within the bounds of the law but they were still a government entity and she was an international criminal.

Dropping her arms back against the pillow, Sakura stared at the ceiling. Itachi hadn’t seemed too concerned about it. But then again, he had more to gain from this arrangement. Though she didn’t think he was using her. She had been manipulated enough times in the past to recognize it. Rather, she and Itachi were just strangely drawn towards one another. Like magnets, it had only been a matter of time before that invisible pull snapped them together.

But just as Itachi had said, there were plenty of other things to worry about. This one fell somewhere near the bottom of the list. At least for now.

That was enough to draw Sakura out of bed. She showered again, cleansing the stink of sweat and sex from her skin and replacing it with Itachi’s clean scent before she dressed herself in her clothes from yesterday. She grabbed her gun from under the mattress where she had stored it the previous night before retrieved her phone from the nightstand and headed downstairs.

Sure enough, there was a key sitting on the island counter. She pocketed it and took a sip of coffee from Itachi’s unfinished cup. Only to freeze as something caught her eye.

The piano, the one that had been so full and cluttered last night, lay bare. All the books and old mail that had been laid abandoned upon it were gone. There wasn’t even a trace of dust left. It had been wiped completely clean. Spotless.

Sakura knew without a shred of doubt Itachi had done it for her. Something settled in her chest. So heavy and full, that it felt both like happiness and sorrow. Her fingers itched for those keys. To feel their weight under her fingertips. To touch it and caress it as Itachi had done to her last night.

Sakura took one purposeful step back. Then she turned and made her way out the door.

to be continued…

#itasaku #itachi #sakura #hollow point #chapter 24 #lemon #finally rated #please don't forget to comment #chapters will continue to post as long as reviews continue #saria writes

[the-nysh]

Bkdk fic recs? Not any particular genre/setting; just stories that you fell in love with.

Ohoo!! *___* Yes, do I have a handful of them! Time to go through mypersonal notes and share what I’ve saved!

First up are some of my fav prolificauthors (and their well-known, must-read fics), whose attention to detail, emotionaldepth, and characterizations I trust and therefore I would read anything they write of the pair:

 @atomicblonde/lalazee (Blood Moon), for writingsome of the most riveting emotional roller coasters, whose power with words anddialogue can both raze mountains and completely swoon you asunder with theirintensity. All her fics are worth reading (and there are plenty!) But I thinkthe one that particularly touched me most was Ugly Beautiful. :’)

@driftingglass (Before Midnight), forwriting some of the most immersive stories coiled with gripping and buildingtension, both plot wise and relationship wise. Also has one of the mostdescriptive and intense voices. And for writing a Deku with thedetermined/defiant agency he deserves.    

@soulestring/soulstring(Falling, I feel you), for some ofthe most emotionally raw & vulnerable scenes of feelings realization I’veseen. Through all the extensive denial, fear, reluctance, and passion towardslove. Chronic emotional constipation at its crippling worst and most beautifullyrewarding. Oho, I’ve reread these many times for just how strongly they stuckwith me. (Also features Kiri as a valuable mvp, oh thank goodness

@osakakitty (Make Every Moment Last,Like the Moon), mmm,for a finesse with sweeping/honest tenderness with enough resonance to make oneweep. I know many readers who have fallen victim to it. Not from sadness, butfrom just how thoroughly touching and profound her stories are. :’) What ablessing, indeed.  

@kanaevr/Kanae_vR(The Space Between), forwriting with an awareness and careful handling of both the characters and plotthat I could best describe as sincere.The detailed realism and slice of life aspects are both relatable and fun, which contribute towards a whole,well-rounded package that is thoroughly engaging to read.  

Next, aside from the many works available from the authors above, are some fav individual fics that I’mparticularly fond of:

In the Eye of the Storm by @cheshirebutton,THE iconic naga au. If there’s one fic in the fandom I’d consider my fav, I think it’d be this one. Which I’ve read 5+ times, and would definitely reread again. 8D Ilove it that much. Everything is handled with so much impressive quality and care;almost anything introduced has a purpose that will become relevant again later(which is why rereading is so fun). From the impeccable world building to thecharacterizations, the absolute stakes and peril involved that drives them towardsbelievable, life-altering decisions (the weightthey must consider between duty and personal feelings)…from the wedges thatkept them stubbornly apart, towards a curious magnetism and blooming/meaningfulsolidarity that brings them closer together even stronger. :’)) This is classicenemies to reluctant allies to lovers done beautifully, and has me convinced oftheir mutual feelings 1000%. Omg, they feel somuch. ;A; Whenever there’s a ch update I have to immediately dropeverything because it’s just thatgood, ahhh.

Hunting the Past by Justaperson1718, theassassin and blackmailed!bodyguard au! 8D Which happens to be my fav actionfic. It’s so smart and fast-paced, from all the convoluted planning and tensesteps involved to set things right, damn! We have these expertly specializedpros, extremely capable in their respective fields…but who are also fumblingdorks unaccustomed to sorting out their feelings and properly communicating(esp after all the conditioning/exp they’ve been through). It’s so fun to watch them executemissions and then transition to the domestic (yet still very muchliving on edge) down time with them learning to bond while taking care ofKouta. Unexpected surrogate action parents due to dire circumstances, aha!  

The Mummy by Spectra, my favadventure fic. A retelling of the classic movie, but done so well and with style. Probably some of the most genuine fun I’vehad reading fics in this fandom, ahaha what a riot. XD From the crazyshenanigans they get caught up in to the wholesome heh copious amount ofbonding from their time together. Truly, all scenes are extremely well paced andallotted for the type of ‘meat’ readers are in for. Kacchan is so comically (andseriously) overprotective of Deku, omg I love it. (Considering the endlesstypes of human & undead enemies after them, ahh!) Bonus, Kiri is such a goodaccompanying bro, what a delight.

Some Read It For The Articlesby low_commotion,for some of the nerdiest awkward dork bonding, from their shared seriousinterest in hero mags, to their more hands-on practical applications in the gymtogether (ayyy!! ;D)…all while everyone else in the class assumes it’s over‘something else’ and blows it out of proportion (oho~ but things ARE slowlyhappening!) It’s such a hilarious and witty slow burn scenario where they helpeach other improve, but I think what really shines are the faithfulcharacterizations. Deku has such a distinct rambling headspace, and while thepov is limited, the respectable merits inherent to Kacchan’s character stillshine…like ahh, that’s it; that’s why he’s a fav. A very fun and unique ficindeed!  

Just Like The Comics by brichibi,oh man!! The angst and feels truly got me in this ‘what-if’ scenario where Dekunever earned ofa, never went to U.A., and slowly became so jaded/bitter athaving to settle for something other than his dream, his growing envywitnessing Kacchan achieve his burned too much to bear. It’s such a fascinating and segmented Deku characterstudy where he has to discover what he really wants in life, with plenty ofmeta jabs at canon that had me going whoa!!! :O Plus Kacchan is as patient andaccommodating to Deku’s pace as he can be. :’) (Which…became another point ofcontention for Deku, to not hold him back from becoming the best…yet I love the counter, ‘I don’thave everything; I don’t have you.’ fuufjgkgh!!! ;A;)

And now even MORE fics that I like/enjoy, which have caught my attention, orthat I’m currently eagerly waiting for more updates:

warm hands and shipwreck on the red sea byflowercafeAHHHHH!!! Warm hands features my most fav headcanon: heated quirk musclemassages. (Omg it’s so tender/intimate; I’m so weak ;A;) While shipwreck featuresshark mer!Kacchan! 8D I love the realistic attention to detail/descriptions andpenchant for marine biology, ohh it has such an immersive Life of Pi feel. (Pluswelcome room for spice, oho.) Actually, all this author’s works are great withtheir extremely strong starts, definitely keeping watch!

under a hollow sun by umbrage, probablymy personal choice for the classic fantasy au most faithfully adapted (YESSfinally one that matches what I’d been searching for 8’D with a fun supportiveKiri too! *grovels at author’s feet*) Many classmates are incorporated in a fun way too! (Authoralso wrote another fic featuring funny accidental quirk misfire during certain…activitiesand dang, I wish more authors would make use of that too, ahaha! XD)  

springtime of youth by claimedbydaryl,I’m extremely fond of the last chapter, for how realistic and awkwardly naturalthe approach is, definitely left a lasting impression.  

Incandescent Snow by Chicory, acarefully crafted au and scenario that is gorgeous and tentative, with well-madeoc’s who contribute their unique pov’s of the boys’ growing relationship.  

Collision by stardustacademia(cosmiclarents), one of the most thorough and in-depth looks into Kacchan’spsyche and angst I’ve seen, but it’s unfortunately been deleted. :’(( Noting itanyway for remembrance’s sake.

Ambivalent by bakuboi ohdang this was such a unique approach to Kacchan’s pov and source of his anger I’veseen, and impressive writing insight for being anime-only too.

A Haze of Crystal by semiautomatichearts,ooh I really enjoyed the emotional depth in this one; the author has anotherhanahaki story I’m keeping an eye on as well.

how he should’ve known (andhow it turned out) by vannral, theirapproach to the classic fake dating trope caught my attention, but all theirworks are fun and worth checking out too! :D Def keeping an eye on their stuff.

The Devil Blues by iknewamantheir police detective au is so fun and well done; oho those sparks fly! They’vewritten more stuff with unique/interesting approaches I’ve enjoyed too.

Map of Scars by Celestialgunfireopera,ohh :’)) a very touching and vulnerable moment, through particular intimacy andacknowledgment of past actions previously left unsaid. That type of meaningful tendernessand skinship really hits the spot.  

By Design by EtherealBeing(also author of Bluebird), this one is such a unique idea/premise I have not seenbefore! :O Extremely fascinated to see where it’s going.

Izuku’s Home for Wayward Petsby glamour_weeb,wolfdog-hybrid rescue and rehab au, omg it’s so charming and wholesome. :’3  

Shadows and Gold by Sonday, thedesert prince/servant au, whoa!!  

Fireflies for the Moon byBestTankTopist (Keyade), the historical samurai au! Definitely got my eyes onit for more.  

Lunch on Tuesdays by @rironomind,and of course, I have to rec my buddy for her casual, slice of life take ofthese disaster dumbasses that is both fun and surprisingly bold (for tackling that topic in a way no one else has)with authentic Japanese flair (only rom could think of the meaningful gesture ofDeku sitting in seiza, like wow why have I not seen anyone else incorporatesuch behavior before, dang). Thanks so much, rom.

And there we go! Hopefully that’s a big enough handful of fics toappreciate, as I’ve read plenty more where these came from. :’D There are somany talented writers and amazing fics in the fandom worth all the support!  

#Anonymous #replies #bnha #bkdk #fic recs #long post #nowadays i pretty much only read bkdk fics and check what's updated every day ahaha #(i've probably forgotten/left out a bunch uwah) #i've seen creator appreciation on twitter recently so ayyy might as well contribute some of mine as well! 8D #only know a few of the accounts here to notify ahhh :') #hmm i notice most of these are multichapters...welp i'm here for that emotional slow burn anyway