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give-soup-please · 2 years

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Rest (out of context comfort)

(When you try and write headcanons and then something else pops out. OOPSIE DOOPSIE!

Quick note. The problems presented in this fic are no one's fault. I have several issues due to my upbringing that I'm working on fixing. I don't want anyone to feel guilty for participating in what this blog does. Most days are fine, but sometimes I am more nerves than man. This is just a ventish hurt/comfort fic, not directed at anyone in particular. It's a long one, you may wish to open it in a new tab. Okay have fun!)

(Also I'll be taking tomorrow off, for personal reasons.)

“You need to rest, writer.”

I glared at him.

“This isn’t the time for stubbornness. You’ve been packing boxes for the move all day. You injured your hand because you wouldn’t stop writing. And your thoughts- your head is in such a scramble I can’t make anything out.”

I was not in the mood to hear this. I was not in the mood for gentleness, or the soft call out of someone who cared.

“Stay out of it. This isn’t your problem, it’s mine. Just- leave me alone.”

“It very much is my problem. Do you really think any of us want to stand by while someone we- when someone refuses to be kind to themselves?”

I felt my anger towards him grow. Fury boiled through me. I don’t even know why I was so upset, I just was.

“You’re a fiction. A concept.” I hissed. “You don’t belong in this world, and you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stay in your own goddamn lane.”

His voice was sharp. “Writer. Now, I can’t pretend to know what this is all about, but I do know that I won’t stand idly by and let you do this to yourself. Do you hear me? I will step in, in any way I see fit. That was part of the agreement we made. You write my words, I-”

“This is bullshit! Our agreement is over in two weeks! Why are you still here? What possible reason could you have to still stick around- when-” My breath hitched. “It’s going to end. Everything, I-”

I leaned against a box, exhausted. Sweat poured down my face, having spent most of the afternoon lifting heavy things.

“It’s all going to end. Why are you still trying to help me?”

His voice was soft. “Because you asked me to. Your request was so earnest, so polite- In the beginning- A few months ago, you wanted someone to step in. Someone who could talk to you when everyone else couldn’t, in the privacy of your own mind. We drafted that first script together, remember? It was glorious, reader-”

“I can’t keep writing for you past the deadline. I just- I can’t. The strain is so much, to be producing for others. It hurts.”

He looked at me as if I was missing something obvious. “Then write for yourself.”

“It’s not that simple! This is my job, to produce content for others. It’s why I exist, it’s what I mean to this world.”

“That’s a lie you’ve been told by people who were meant to be kinder to you. And for as many times as you ask, I’ll be here to reassure you-”

“I’m not asking! You just appeared, like you always do-”

“-Some part of you is crying out for help. This is what comfort characters do, we respond to the pain of the people who love us so dearly.”

I snarled and paced. “Even now, even now, while I’m writing to self-soothe because I can’t comfortably ask anyone to share the burden, I’m wondering if the audience will like this. I’m wondering if this will break the twenty notes mark. I am agonizing over word choice and description. I am broken, narrator. I am a machine that produces, and nothing more. You can’t fix me, no one can.”

He lurched forward, and held me tightly. I snarled again, and struggled, trying to shove him away. I pounded my fists weakly against him, trying to push back against someone I cared so much about. He took every hit, and I hated and loved him for it in equal measure.

“Listen to me. You are not broken. You have been terribly hurt, but it’s not the same thing at all. You don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore. Your friends are here for you, and when they can’t be, I will stand in their stead.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean every word of it. You are so- Completely and utterly loved. We love you because of who you are, not what you can do for us. We always did.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I will not. You need to hear this tonight, writer. I’m going to hold you close and tell you as many times as it takes.”

“Please- You can’t- I won’t let you.” My strength was starting to fail, and I leaned against him more and more. “You can’t- You can’t-”

“I can. You must be so tired. You don’t have to fight anymore. Let me carry you, until you’re ready to stand on your own again. You’ve done similarly with other characters in the past. It’s okay to ask us for help. The burden of being alive in your reality is so much-”

He leaned back a little, so I could see his face. “Did you really think we cared for you so little? Oh, writer… strong is the bond between a character and their fans. Didn't you know? You give us life, meaning… It’s only fair to return the favor and lend a hand. We would much rather you be alive and cling to us than not. It’s okay to need us, there’s nothing wrong with it at all.”

He wiped my tears away. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been shedding them.

“I’m deeply grateful to the other characters who helped you stay alive long enough to make it here. Their turn is over, and now the guardianship is mine. I will not fail you.”

“What am I going to do?” I asked. “I don’t want to give you up, but I've forgotten how to write for myself. I don’t know where to go after the end date.”

“...There are no easy answers, I’m afraid. I suggest that you take a break, a few weeks at the minimum. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll be there as your narrative guide. Honestly, I can wait. I’m sure there’s a technique to it, we just have to try and find out what it is.”

“And if I never write for you again?”

He smiled. “Really now, what do you think the chances of that are?”

I looked away, clearing my throat. “Well- you know- uh-” I shuffled my feet to ward off the excess energy.

“I meant it when I said- though I don’t remember exactly when- I’ll be here for as long as you need. My dedication to the story, to Stanley, is unwavering. It will be the same with you.”

“I don’t want to post what I write anymore, after that date.”

“That’s perfectly alright, and honestly, it might be a decent start. You’ve brought joy to others, and soon it will be time to give yourself the same. You deserve it.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You will, in time.”

“I’m tired.”

“Rest, dearheart.”

“...Fine. But I won’t enjoy it!” It was the last minor protest of a stubborn person.

“Oh, I intend on making you enjoy it. My narrative powers are too great for there to be any other outcome. Now…”

He cleared his throat.

“Writer then proceeded to take a shower to get the sweat off, ate a late dinner, watched an episode of his favorite television show, and went to bed after having some chamomile tea.”

I spluttered for a bit, but the grin was overtaking my face. I was caught between snarking at him and thanking him sincerely.

“You’re the best.” I said, followed by, “How dare you.”

He hummed a pleasant note. “I know I’m the best. And I dare quite easily. This is your health we’re talking about, after all. Now- Stop writing already and get to it!”

The writer snorted and wrenched himself away from his keyboard.

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp #headcanon #stanley parable #narrator #tsp narrator x reader #could be read as platonic or romantic #personal

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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 1 year

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Okay so I'm usually very comfortable and very relieved to be aroace. But sometimes, the repeated invalidation wears on me. And then I end up going through the whole questioning phase AGAIN so I just needed to get some things off my chest.

I hate when I share my experience as an aspec person, even within the community, and someone always has to pipe up with, "Oh, I thought I was a late bloomer too. Until I met someone and now I don't feel that way anymore."

Listen. And I mean this with all my heart: kindly shut the fuck up.

Unless someone is seeking relationship advice, don't say that shit. It's condescending and invalidating.

It also puts me right back into the questioning cycle all over again and I'm really, really tired of revisiting that phase for the hundredth time. It took me YEARS of research and questioning and denial before I finally felt comfortable saying that I was aroace and non-partnering.

Then someone has to come along and say, "You'll change your mind!" in some flavor or another.

And I'm spinning out again.

Am I really aroace?

What if I'm just picky?

Maybe I'm a really unlikeable person and no one wants me.

What if it's just generational trauma holding me back? What if it's social anxiety messing everything up?

Maybe I'm not trying hard enough. Maybe I need to date, even though I have no desire to do so. But other people seem to know what's best for me, right???

I'm tired of people telling me that my value and my happiness hinges on someone else. No matter which way you look at it. If I don't rabidly hunt down a romantic partner, then I better have a QPR. If I don't have a QPR, then I better have some really good friends.

NO. I. do not. feel fulfilled. with. people. End of story. I've lived for over thirty years on this planet and I've never experienced a very close personal connection with someone. AND THAT'S FINE. I'm tired of being told that I have to do everything in my goddamn power to change that because I can't POSSIBLY be happy on my own!!!!

You know what does make me very unhappy??? When I'm told that I'm inferior or screwed up because I don't have someone to validate my existence as a human being. As if my life has no meaning until someone, somewhere, in this big wide world, sees me and says, "You have worth because I said so."

When I was growing up, my parents told me to act more like my brother so people would like me. They pressured me to be someone I'm not because prioritizing other people's favor was more important than valuing myself.

I'm tired of waiting for someone to notice me. I'm tired of putting my life on hold, waiting and waiting and waiting for some "magical person" to make my life amazing and allegedly bring me happiness.

You know what that does? It makes me miserable. It makes me depressed. Every year that passes and I remain solo, I wonder, "What's wrong with me? Am I unloveable? Why does everyone else have a special person but I don't?"

If you met someone who changed your view of the world, good for you. But there are times where you should keep it to yourself, rather than bragging about how your relationship made your life so amazing.

And DO NOT get me started on, "Oh, your forever person will find you when you stop looking and when you least expect it."

Bullshit. Once again, implying that my worth and happiness as a human being hinges on someone else. Once again implying that EVERYONE will partner up eventually because YOU can't seem to fathom anything differently. Because it makes YOU uncomfortable to think that *I* do not have a partner which challenges your viewpoint so you try to MAKE IT FIT by saying, "You will change to suit me and what I believe."

Just leave people alone.

#aromantic #asexual #pride tag #ace talks to herself

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themrsackerman · 3 years

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Angel of Paradis

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death

A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..

Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.

"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.

You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.

"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.

Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.

You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.

"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.

"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.

You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.

You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.

Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.

The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.

"Did you hear that just now?"

Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.

"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.

"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"

"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.

Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.

That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.

Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.

Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.

Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.

You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.

From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.

You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?

And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.

"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper, "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."

"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.

"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.

"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.

Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.

"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.

If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.

You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.

Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.

But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.

Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.

Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"

By the looks of it, he still does not know.

"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."

Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-

"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.

No.

You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.

Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.

And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,

"Y/n-san.. is dead."

Levi's entire world shifts.

Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.

Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.

Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.

"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.

"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.

The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.

He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.

Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.

"Y/n?" He croaks.

Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.

Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.

Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.

He should have never let you out the damn door.

He should have held you tighter.

He should have you talked to you longer.

He should have told you.. he loves you.

He never even got to tell you.

Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.

The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.

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sapnotfoundbutwastaken · 3 years

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hey!! im new to tumblr but i love your writing and i was wondering if you could do a request for me? basically the reader is assigned to share a dorm with someone in your university, but it so happens that your dorm mate is dream, but you both hate eachother. you can try working out how they start to get a long. it could be something like angry sex or some shit but idk, feel free to play around with it!!!

brat • dream smut

a/n : welcome to tumblr, anon !! so glad you like my writing, here you go :)

POV: first person

gn!reader

pronouns: they / them

gn!physiology

warnings: smut/nsfw, enemies to lovers, “sir”, degradation, very very VERY dom/sub, bottom!reader

University. It was most definitely a mixed bag; you shove your hand into it and have no clue what you’re gonna grab out of it. Was I gonna be sitting out on the grass with my new lifelong best friends, or was I gonna end up in miserable and making half-joking comments about how much I hate my life? I guess the answer ended up being neither, but something much more complicated.

I walked into my dorm room for the first time. It was pretty bare, both of the beds completely stripped of sheets, pillows, and blankets. I walked in, taking in the new environment that I was gonna be surrounded by for the next few months until my first break. ‘This looks... depressing,’ I thought, putting down my backpack as well as the suitcases full of all of my things. I began to unpack.

I heard a person come open the door to the room. “Hey, I’m Clay... I think you’re my roommate. You can call me Dream.” I spun around, looking at him. I simply nodded, not knowing what exactly to say.

“Uh, yeah, I’m [y/n].” I turned back to my clothes, letting the silence that was once there envelope the room once again. He tended to his side of the room as I tended to mine.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh god, he’s one of those people.’

“Uh, I mean I just don’t really know you yet.” I pulled my sheets out of one of the suitcases, unfolding them.

“That’s dumb, how are you gonna get to know me if you’re all quiet?” I ignored his question. I know that simply letting him talk will give me all of the information I need to know about him. “See, you don’t even know what to say, I’m right.” ‘Cocky much?’

“I don’t need to talk to you to know you.” I could almost feel his glare into the back of my head.

He scoffed, “No, you don’t need to talk to me to make assumptions. Tell me one thing you know about me.”

I turned around and looked at him. “First, people only show their good side, so I like to make my own observations of their behavior. For example, you’re cocky as fuck.”

He rolled his eyes, turning back to his bed to unpack his things. “Okay, then here’s my ‘observation’, you’re a bitch.”

“Okay, and you’re an asshole.” I retorted, childishly, before putting in my headphones and deciding to ignore him as much as possible. ‘Out of every fucking person I could be paired with... why him?’

I walked from the bus stop up the stairs of the dorm building and to my shared room with... him. Dream, as he told me to call him. As much as I hated his attitude and almost everything about his annoying personality, I had to admit that after a month I was coming around in a way. Maybe I didn’t find him completely unbearable, but I definitely still didn’t like him.

I entered the space and set my bag next to my desk. Dream was laying on his bed, looking at his phone. “Hey, I’m having like 3 friends over here tonight, so could you find a place to stay?” I looked at him, my expression dripping with ‘say deadass’.

“Uh, no? You can’t tell me things like this last minute, dude. This is my place, too,” I stated, letting the truth onto him. His attention darted from his phone to me.

“I can’t just cancel!” He exclaimed in defense.

“Yes you can, and you will! Reschedule it for another time.” He was silent, staring at me.

“Fine,” He mumbled after a moment of quiet. I turned to my desk, taking out my homework for the day and setting it down. I walked into our shared bathroom with some comfortable clothes and turned on the shower. Stripping off my clothing, I stepped in as soon as it was hot enough. I sighed in content, the steaming water caressing my body and relaxing my muscles.

After a bit of washing myself and relaxing, I turned off the water and stepped out onto the tile. As I changed into my clothes, I could hear Dream talking through the door, “They’re fucking annoying, man, but they’re hot so whatever, I guess.” My eyes widened as he spoke. ‘...me?’

I can’t say that I never found him hot. He’s tall, broad shoulders, pretty green eyes... who wouldn’t be attracted to him? He’s hot, but he’s a dumbass, and I think that’s the only thing that was stopping me from pursuing him.

I walked out after I finished drying my hair, bringing the blonde boy’s attention to me. “I gotta go, talk to you later,” He rushed out, hanging up in a hurry. I quirked a brow at him in confusion.

“What was that about?” I asked, taking a seat at my desk.

“Had to cancel. Nothin’ else.” I chuckled at his attempt to not share much.

“So who’s this hot but annoying person you were talking about?” I questioned, my eyes changing course to look at his face.

His cheeks flared up, his freckled skin turning pink. “Don’t listen in on my phone conversations, bitch,” He said harshly.

I stood up. “Excuse me? Listen, I already told you to stop talking to me like that-”

“You’re so hot when you look like that,” He interrupted me. Now it was my turn to start blushing.

“L-Like what?” I asked, half mumbling.

“When you get all worked up. That’s why I like bothering you so much.” I was stuck in my spot, unsure of what to say to that. The thought of Dream finding me hot was so insanely flustering for whatever reason, and it never occurred to me until that moment.

He got up, walking over to me. I looked up and into his eyes. “Sometimes, when you make me really mad, I think about slamming you into your mattress,” He said, quietly, making the rasp in his voice stick out. “And just taming you... because you’re just such a brat, sometimes.” My breath got caught in my throat, I felt like I couldn’t even speak. “Sometimes a brat needs to be put in their place, don’t you think?” I nodded. “Use your words.”

“I, uh- yes, sir,” I stuttered out. A smirk pulled at his lips, and his hand made it’s way up to my cheek, cupping my face. He slowly pushed his thumb between my lips, causing me to start sucking it. He pulled it out, my mouth releasing it with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Get on your knees, angel.” I obeyed immediately and got down on my knees. “You wanna undo my belt?”

I nodded, eagerly. “Yes, please?” He nodded, humming an ‘mhm’. I bit my lip as I undid his belt before unbuttoning his jeans. I glanced up at his face before unzipping them as well and pulling them down. I could see the outline of his hard-on through his boxers. I slowly and softly palmed him over the thin material, eliciting a low, quiet moan.

“Take them off, sweetheart.” I nodded and pulled down his underwear, his cock springing up due to the sudden freedom. I licked the palm of my hand before wrapping it around his shaft and slowly moving it up and down. I looked up at his face, seeing his lip between his teeth as I touched him.

“Can I use my mouth, sir?” I asked him, even though I already know the likely answer.

He nodded, “Mhm, use your mouth.” I softly licked the tip of his member before wrapping my lips around it, sucking lightly. I started bobbing my head, taking more of him in my mouth every time I went back down. “Do you think you can deep-throat me, angel?”

I nodded. “C-Can I do that, sir?” He nodded, his hand making it’s way into my hair. I slowly started to take more of him in my mouth, eventually getting to the point of him hitting the back of my throat. I choked a little but pushed through it. I continued to take as much as I could down my throat, Dream softly fucking my face.

“Just like that, baby,” He groaned as I continued to bob my head. He pulled a bit on my hair, sending heat down between my legs. He pulled my head off of his dick by my hair, a string of spit bridging the gap. “Get on the bed, safe word is puppy.” I nodded and jumped up off of the floor and onto my bed.

He yanked my sweatpants down, pulling down my underwear with it. I pulled my shirt over my head and he did the same to himself. “You want my cock, baby? Look at how turned on you are.”

I let out a soft moan as he rubbed me right where I needed it. “I want it so bad, sir, please..” I begged. He bit his lip before pulling a bottle of lube out of his dresser.

“Get on your stomach, I’m gonna fuck your pretty little hole from behind.” Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I followed his directions. I could hear the slippery liquid being drizzled and spread all over his cock, it only made me want him more.

He slowly pushed into me, making a moan uncontrollably escape my lips. “Fuck...” I whispered.

“Yeah, you like feeling all full, don’t you? Such a fuckin’ whore for me,” He teased slowly moving with my permission. He gradually sped up, the two of us letting out moan after moan, the sound of our skin colliding being the only other sound filling the room. “You’re such a goddamn brat,”

“I... I know, sir... please- please don’t stop!” His hand made it’s way into the roots of my hair, pulling it, making it hurt so perfectly.

“Yeah? Don’t stop?” He asked, breathlessly as he started going faster. “I’m not gonna stop, angel.” I bit my lip, my eyes rolling to the back of my head as he pounded into me.

I touched myself as he fucked me, making everything feel double as good. “S...s-sir, I-I’m gonna... D-Dream, please!” I let out incoherent sentences.

“Aw, look, you can barely talk. Come on, sweetheart, cum for me like a good little slut.” The knot in my stomach fell apart as he spoke, a loud moan leaving my body once again. He let me ride out my high before pulling out and stroking himself and releasing all over my back. I bit my lip as I felt the warm liquid hit my skin.

He laid down beside me. “What do we say?” He asked, teasingly.

I giggled. “Thank you, sir.”

#dream team smut #dream #dreamwastaken #dream team #mcyt #dream smut #dream x reader #mcyt smut #mcyt x reader #fanfic #imagines #one shot #request #anon

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dorimena · 3 years

Note

Hello hello! Your blog is beautifully constructed. I hope there will be more dom reader blogs like yours in the future. If you aren’t busy could I please have g/n reader brat taming Bakugou or Shinsou? I’ll leave it up to you to decide. Remember to drink water!

Hello! Thank you! (´ ω `♡) I chose Bakugou, but I might do something similar for Shinsou later on huhu~ And thanks for the reminder! I hope you’re hydrated as well! ╰(*´︶`*)╯

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; bakugou katsuki

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.5k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; gender neutral reader, impact play (not too hard though), brat taming, crying, mentioned overstimulation, implied edge play, paddle, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; sex toy (cock ring), lowkey headcanon Bakugou being into impact play, some aftercare before round 2, mentioned safe word (cues like the traffic light colors), aged-up character, Bakugou is 18+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I hope you enjoy it notwhatiseem. I might’ve had to do some investigation, as I was unsure if my plan on how the story was going was a correct, or as correct, portrayal. Maybe in the near future Mr. Paddle will make a comeback-

𝕸𝖗. 𝕻𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊

“Baby boy! What has gotten into you today?”

You scold Bakugou as he glares at you from the couch, arms crossed and body relaxed on the cushions as he tries not to show how his anger is making his body tremble.

Unlike you, because you’re quivering in anger, in utter disappointment with the stunt he decided to pull during the Bakusquad’s monthly game night.

It was a fun time, a casual time and place where everyone could leave behind their prohero responsibilities before somehow being dragged away to missions, patrols, paperwork, all the glorious hero work.

But Bakugou decided that this very night, in the very moment Kaminari ‘accidentally’ placed his hand on your thigh, that he’ll be a brat. A jealous brat, which is worse than his usual bratty behavior.

But he isn’t usually a brat? It’s confusing and a whiplash for you, not really expecting to punish him after months of him being so obedient, so nice, so docile with you and everything you wanted or needed.

“Answer me, Bakugou.”

Okay, that made him furrow his eyebrows in worry, wondering if he’s crossing a line, but that already happened the moment he began sassing back at you and insulting you. Not even playful banter, it was just outright rude and degrading.

He went against opening his mouth or talking in general, just huffing as he slouched a bit more into the couch, as if he wants the cushions to swallow him in or maybe he’s trying to keep riling up your mood.

“Sit up correctly.” You snapped, halting your pacing as you standing in front of him, hands on your hips as you take in his sitting position. He’s barely such a slouch; he’s taking this too far.

Or maybe you got too used to him being such a sweet baby boy that you forgot just how impatient you can sometimes get.

This is one of those times.

“You’re not gonna talk?”

He shakes his head. Well, at least he answered, but his posture remains the same.

Sighing, you leave the living room and head to the bedroom, rummaging through your closet to find- aha!

Bakugou, in the meantime, is trying not to let his nerves get to him, not wanting clammy palms and possibly causing more harm with his reactions. All he can hear is stuff being moved around in your shared bedroom and then hearing a small shout of victory.

But for what- wait, why the fuck did you take that out?!

“Alright, baby boy. I hope you remember Mr.Paddle. He will aid me in your punishment.”

No, no! Anything but the paddle! You’ve never used it, at all. Even if there were some close calls, you still never had it anywhere near his skin, or him. It was a gag gift you gave him out of the blue.

“No!” Bakugou yelled, getting on his feet as his arms fell on either side of him, eyes wide in shock and slight fear. How hard could you go with that? How bad will it hurt?

But your amused chuckle seems to make him even more confused. Aren’t you angry at him?

“So you speak when threatened, but not when spoken to nicely? I told you to sit correctly-”

“I will!”

“Baby boy.” Oh he’s done it. He interrupted you just as he was kind of redeeming himself.

Well, shit.

“I’m s-sorry…” He trailed off, slowly sitting down on the couch as he never loses eye contact with you, waiting to see if you’ll finally use the paddle or you’ll continue trying to talk things out.

But you made a good point: why does he only speak up when threatened with punishment instead of avoiding all of this anger?

“Baby boy. Today you’ve gotten bold with your actions and your words. But you’ve been terribly rude with Kaminari! Isn’t he your friend? What did he do wrong?”

You do know, but you wanted to hear it from him.

But Bakugou kept his silence, fidgeting on the seat as he battled his inner, mini Bakugous about the pros and cons of speaking up and answering.

The main pro is that he’ll be given attention.

The main con is that that attention will be given with the paddle.

Well, his pride be damned.

“He was touching you! I hate it when other people do!” He spoke out, voice raising in volume just a bit at the end, but he shyly whispered, “you of all people know how jealous I can get.”

“Oh~ so baby boy was jealous?”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands before taking them away in a flash, grimacing at how sweaty they are and how sweet it smells.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, goddamn it.”

“Language.”

He grumbled, pouting as he looked at you again, slowly averting his gaze to the paddle as it just stared back at him.

Why does he feel like even if he spoke, he’s going to get that touching him?

He was right after some time, his body moving forward with every hit you landed on his ass with the paddle, a cry of the number he’s on leaving his mouth as more drool lands on the bed, more tears wetting the sheets, more precum falling in stringy drips on the sheets.

He can’t even come to care about the rapidly dirty sheets, or even come to think about anything really. Not with how every smack he receives, the hornier he keeps getting. The tighter his hands grip the bed sheets, and if he were at least conscious with his actions, he would’ve heard fabric tearing up and smell a bit of burning.

Is he into this? Has he always been into this? Well, yes. But he didn’t think taking the paddle instead of your hand would be so much better.

God, please-

“H-harder! Please! H-hardeeeeer- ugh fuuuuuuuck.”

You snicker before rearing back into a serious expression.

“Excuse me? You’re not allowed to speak, baby. Keep counting.”

Bakugou groans before it ends in a sob, a weak ‘68’ coming out as you land the last spank on his bruising ass and a small ‘69’ squeaks out of his throat as he falls forward, face resting on a nearby pillow. And if you somehow catch his hips gyrate slowly against the bed and small, hoarse whines leave his body, you decide to ignore and let him come down from the high the way he usually does.

You’re quite surprised at how he hadn’t used his safe word, or any safe cues, within the spankings, and actually asked for you to go harder. But his bruises are enough to make you feel kind of bad, just a bit.

“You know,” you speak, throwing the paddle on the floor before rounding the bed, squatting to look at his tear stricken, blush decorated, sweat sticky face, “I knew you were a slut for impact play, but I didn’t think it’d be this much.”

Bakugou just mewls weakly, voice lost in his trance as he tried recollecting any thoughts of his, especially the coherent ones so he could speak. Even if they’re just curse words.

“Sh-shitty y-y/n…” He blinks a couple of times, trying to unblur his eyes with the tears that seem to stubbornly stay on his lash line.

“Th-think tha-at be ‘nough? Hah… y-yer cute.”

Blinking yourself, you stare as you shake your head. So he wants to act difficult today, huh?

“Oh baby, baby, baby. All you had to do was ask nicely instead of being mean to your friends. You know I would do anything to keep you happy, to please you.”

You reach to pet him, scratching his scalp as soothing as possible, watching as his eyes slowly come back to being sharp, the fuzz lingering leaving as his mouth twitches into a smile, a relaxed, serene smile as his once tense body slowly melts into the bed, the small shudders from the intensity of the situation for his body slowly disappearing as he lets out something close to a purr.

How cute, he thinks he’s off the hook.

“Since baby boy isn’t satisfied with what I gave him, guess I’ll just have to fuck the brattiness and attitude out of you, hm?”

You slowly lift your hand, standing up as you go back to the closet, leaving him with enough time to gather his thoughts back together and come to realize how you’ve tricked him, how you’re not even done yet, how he’s still gonna get punished.

But, he loves overstimulation? How is that punishing?

“Oh! Forgot to mention: you’ll be wearing this until I feel like taking it off, okay?”

And in his line of vision is his cock ring, the horrible toy that vibrates in teasing tempos and makes him pathetically cum, humiliating him. God he hates that fucking thing.

He growls lowly, as if he’d have a threat ready between his teeth, but then you flipped him over gently, the coolness of the sheets soothing his ass as you flick one of his nipples.

He whimpers, puffing his chest out more for you to keep playing with.

“What’s your color right now, Katsuki?”

“Green m-master.”

#notwhatiseem #✿; impurity #bnha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #mha smut #𝖇𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖌𝖔𝖚 #ლ; blasphemy

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

Part 5 of Wonderful! Au. *boyband voice* banter’s back alright!

Also on AO3

~*~

Jon: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our regular format. If my husband being horribly soppy-

Martin:-hey!-

Jon: -turned you off the how, this should be a refreshing return to formula, though I can’t guarantee there won’t be further horrible soppiness-

Martin, performatively under his breath: -most people thought it was charming-

Jon: -as that tends to happen when one is recording with the love of their life. If last week’s episode is the only one that you like, too bad, I’m back in full form, and should be at least through the rest of the season.

Martin: This show doesn’t have seasons? Due to the whole lack of a narrative thing?

Jon: I was referring to spring.

Martin: Oh, right.

[A beat passes.]

Martin, flatly: Oh. Great goof hon.

Jon, smug: Thank you.

Jon, sincere: Also, before we get properly started, I did want to actually thank everyone who sent well wishes.

M artin: Yes! We got positively inundated with lovely messages, it definitely brightened both of our days. I would even say it was wonderful.

[Jon groans.]

Jon: I am..not proud of the energy we’ve created for this episode so far, and we haven’t even hit the small wonders. Speaking of, do you have a small wonder this week?

Martin: Mine’s bad action movies.

Jon: Really? I had no idea you even liked them, let alone consider them wonderful.

Martin: Okay, so, saying I like them is a bit of a misnomer? It’s more that I like what they can do more than the movies themselves?

Jon: Elaborate?

Martin: It probably comes as a surprise to no one that I’ve tried my hand at a fair amount of mindfulness and mediation techniques. I’ve found poetry and journaling have been helpful for actually processing life events and whatnot, but when it comes to giving your brain a hard wipe and reset, nothing is half as quick and effective as a shitty shoot-em-up. Somethings about 2 hours of cartoonish, pg-13 violence held together with the absolute loosest of plots brings me to a state of mental blankness that would make a monk jealous.

Jon: How have I never witnessed you doing this? When are you sneaking off to go see Micheal Tarantino or who ever films?

M artin: That’s definitely not the right name.

Jon: Martin, dear, I don’t care. And you’re dodging the question.

Martin, fond: I’m not dodging anything. Since apparently we’re getting into it, you haven’t caught me cavorting with a movie involving more explosions than character development lately because I haven’t been. Haven’t needed it, in recent years. Turns out when you’re not crushingly lonely and working a literal nightmare of job, there’s less of a drive to try and escape your own thoughts. Shocker, I know. Still, to anyone out there that feels like their brain is on fire, go try watching a fast and furious. Any of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Or even better, Chronicles of Riddick. I can’t remember a single goddamn detail of that movie, which makes it perfect for what I’m talking about.

Jon: I have the strong feeling that th is is a “mileage may vary” scenario.

Martin: Well, yeah, that’s this whole podcast. Plus, I imagine that movies like this would cause more stress to someone who cares about, say, world-building or rules consistency.

Jon: I wonder who you could possibly be referring to.

Martin: It’s a purely hypothetical person, love, don’t worry about it. Any small wonders?

Jon: Yes! Particularly relevant to the last week, my small wonder is stripping the sheets from your bed when it’s been too long between washes.

Martin: How very specific. M ost people would just say ‘clean sheets’.

Jon: Well, for one, I’m fairly certain that we’ve already covered clean sheets-

Martin: Shit, have we? Thank god other people keep track of this, otherwise this show would be unbearably repetitive.

Jon: Christ, yes. I typically check the website a good three times while prepping, and every about one out of those three times I find I’m trying to do an topic we did 30 episodes again. Anyway, um, it’s just nice, I think. When you’ve been too busy or sick or away for awhile, tossing the sheets in the wash makes a room instantly seem nicer. Of all the chores out there, this one, at least for me, has the highest reward to effort ratio.

Martin: Hard agree. Especially when the y have that slight funk of having been around to long, getting rid of that is such a relief. Speaking of, we need to change our sheets soon.

Jon: We can do it after the episode. Who goes first this week?

Martin: Considering last week was only me talking, I’m gonna say it’s you.

Jon: Alright, then. My first thing this week is Martin K. Blackwood.

Martin: Absolutely not!

Jon: Oh, you can do a whole episode on me, but I can’t do one little segment on my husband, whom I love very dearly?

Martin: Not while I’m sat here, no!

Jon: So you’re saying you don’t want me to tell the internet that your resolve to be kind even in the face of indescribable cruelty is one of the mot breathtaking things I’ve ever witnessed, or how I find it incredibly endearing when you get so emotional that your voice comes out as a squeak, or even that, on a more base level, you’re very physically attractive, and I could lose entire days thinking about your arms alone?

Martin, audibly blushing, voice the aforementioned squeak: Oh my god, Jon!

Jon, laughing: Then it’s probably for the best that my actual first thing is best friends.

Martin, peaking the audio levels: Oh you absolute bastard! Do you enjoy this? Do you get some sort of perverse sense of entertainment from riling me up?

Jon: Oh, don’t you start. As if you’re not as bad as I am. Maybe even worse.

Martin: That’s not…

Jon: Yes?

Martin: Okay. Maybe it’s slightly true. Really, what is romance for if not flustering your partner with compliments?

Jon, teasing: I certainly can’t think of anything.

Martin: Hush, you.

Jon: No, I don’t think I will.

Martin: Fine. I suppose you can tell our delightful audience about the power of friendship or whatever.

Jon: I would’ve assumed more enthusiasm, considering this segment is still, indirectly, about you.

Martin: In what way?

Jon: In the way that, to the shock of all, you’re my best friend.

Martin, pleased: Oh, is that what I am?

Jon, exasperated: Yes, dearest husband, I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. Though, upon reflection, I knew you were my best friend before I knew I held romantic feelings for you.

Martin: When was that?

Jon, letting out a breath that vibrates his lips: God it was...2016? I think it might’ve literally been the day after you told me about your CV.

Martin: That early? Huh. I wonder if that’s what people were picking up when they said they we were close.

Jon: What people?

Martin: I don’t know specifically, that’s just what Daisy told me.

Jon: Daisy? When the hell-?

Martin: It...was when she was interrogating me? And, because sometimes I have to be a parody of myself, pretty much my only take away from that interrogation was “people think me and Jon are close”.

Jon: Well then. It’s not like they were wrong.

Martin, smug: No, no they weren’t.

Martin, sincere: And you’re my best friend, too.

Jon: I was certainly hoping that you’re in this relationship for more than my good looks and incredible fortune, both in the monetary and luck sense.

Martin: You say that as if you aren’t good looking, which we all know is patently untrue.

Jon: You’re biased. You’d say I was good looking if I were nothing more than some primordial ooze with thoughts about its station.

Martin: I’m being completely objective. If you were primordial ooze with thoughts above its station, you’d be the cutest ooze of them all. That’s just scientific fact.

Jon: I’m starting to think we might be insufferable.

Martin: Starting to? Might be?

Jon:…

[Jon clears his throat]

Jon: What I find wonderful about the concept of best friends is, to me, they’re the closest thing real life has to soulmates. I don’t personally believe that there’s some..grand mystic force that drives people to be tied together in the manner that narrative typical soulmates are, and if there was I don’t think it would necessarily be the kind of emotional, heartfelt bond one would hope for, but I do believe that there’s individuals that get to know one another, and because of that knowledge, they chose to stick with one another. It doesn’t have to be a romantic, which is why I say best friend rather than specifically ‘spouse’, but I would argue that the basis of a strong romance like you and I have, is very much rooted in that connection. A true best friendship is an equal partnership, and there’s a sense of..matched sensibilities and understanding that can be utterly incandescent when it happens.

I also think that having one or more best friends makes living life on a day to day basis both better and just flat easier. The dark times aren’t as dark, and the bright times shine even more. I know from my own personal experience there are events that I..that I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you. Hell, last week my..recovery period would’ve taken much longer if you hadn’t been there.

It’s an amazing thing to have someone to share things with, both triumphs and burdens. Um, also, according to Dictionary.com, the term best friends in English has been around since the 1200s. Something about that delights me, like, yes, we’ve had this casual way of referring to a Favorite Person for roughly 800 years. That makes it a hold-out from early Middle English. I dunno, it’s one of those things that make me feel overall very charmed by humanity.

Martin, audibly smiling: No, yeah, hard agree.

Jon: What’s that look for?

Martin: Nothing. Just. I love you a whole lot, you know that?

Jon, voice soft: I may have heard you say that once or twice. Per hour.

Martin: Only that often? I really need to be more diligent about that.

[There’s a bet of silence, presumably where they’re making doe eyes at each other.]

Jon: What’s your first thing?

Martin: Oh, um, right. Rats!

Jon: The expression or the animal?

Martin: Jon, have you ever once heard me say “rats” as an expression? Obviously I’m referring to the animal.

Jon: Ah. Should’ve known, considering that what, a third?, of all your segments have been on animals.

Martin: Yeah? And? You got a problem with critters? With creatures? With lil guys?

Jon, laughing: No, no, it’s very sweet. I’m just surprised you never became a vet.

Martin: Oh believe me, I wanted to. But then I learned that it was not, in fact, a job composed entirely of getting paid to play with other people’s pets.

Jon: You had that job, though, didn’t you? I thought I remembered you mentioning a month long stint at a doggie day care.

Martin, sighing dreamily: Best job I ever had. Too bad that place was shut down after it was revealed to be a money laundering front.

Jon: Good lord.

Jon: Martin did you...did you know it was a money laundering front at the time?

Martin:

Martin: Would it make you feel better if I said no?

Jon: Martin!

Martin: I figured it out like a week in, but, like, who cares? The pay was decent and the floor was super easy to clean, which is very much a plus for even a front of a doggie day care.

Jon: That’s...rather a lot. How about instead of getting into that any further, you tell me about rodents.

Martin: I would love to. But first, we have a shoutout!

Jon: Ooo, a shoutout. Does it specify who should read?

Martin: Let me check. It...does...not…..

...

Jon: Martin?

[A beat.]

Martin: Right! Sorry, um. This week’s shoutout is from Tim, to Danny. It says, “Danny! My favorite person who shares genetic material with me! I wanted to say thank you for your podcast obsession from 4 months ago, and specifically for telling me about these marrieds. They’ve gotten me through many a dull hour at the publishing house. Also, with this shoutout, I’ve officially gotten ahead on the Superior [Last Name Redacted] Brother scoreboard, so suck it. Love you lots, and looking forward to your visit next month, Tim.”

Jon: Oh.

Jon: Um. That’s very..sweet? I think? Mostly?

Martin: Yeah, I’d say so. Uh. We have to take a quick break because, uh, someone is..at our front door! Be back with you all in, from your side of things, just a moment.

#wonderful! au #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #>:3 #shoutouts are their versions of jumbotrons btw

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thiserichann · 3 years

Text

cookies and cream - lee jeno

reader x jeno

genre: smut, strangers to fuck buddies, humor if you squint hard enough

word count: 4k-ish

warnings: recklessness (she met with a stranger online, don’t do it kids) excessive lying, 18+ scenes that includes: oral (f receiving) face riding, soft dom!jeno?

This is merely a work of fiction and is not meant to hurt the image of Jeno and NCT. Again, don’t be as reckless as OP. This was just a fantasy of mine that I’ve been dying to get out of my system.

Holy fuck.

That's the only word that you've managed to utter when you decided to check your messages that morning.

You got bored in the middle of the class and decided to sneak a peek on your phone to pass the time. The class is recorded anyways so you can always just go back to the parts of the lessons that you've missed.

But holy fuck.

You never expected to see THAT so early in the morning.

"Miss Y/N?"

You snapped back to reality and stopped malfunctioning for a second when somebody called your name. Everyone including your professor remained quiet and all eyes are on you.

"Oh. Sir what’s the question again?"

You answered nervously as you tried to review your notes and backtrack on what he is discussing a few moments ago.

"I see that you're distracted in the middle of my class again. Mind sharing what you're occupied with?"

"Uhm. I was watching KPOP fancams, sir."

"Fancams won't get you into law school, Miss Y/N. Phones off please."

You tucked your phone back to your pocket and never picked it up again since. The professor started blabbering again but no information is being retained on your head. It stayed that way at your other classes.

You wished you were looking at some KPOP fancams earlier. You’ve watched fancams at class before and got away with it unscathed.

Oh no. It was a goddamn dick pic.

A good one, too.

It was from a guy that you met in a kink site a few days ago. You created the account out of boredom and expected nothing to come out from it. It’s all the flirting and sexting without all the unnecessary commitment

It only took you a few minutes to set up an account. For some privacy, you made a random birthdate and a random nickname, because like hell would you share your real information to these people. You also picked a racy picture of a lady that looked a bit like you and passed it off as your own.

Within minutes, your inbox is flooded with messages. Most of them, however, are from men who are old enough to be your father.

Well, you were bored, so you entertained everyone and then went on back to your boring, vanilla life. A few political history and theory books later, you went back to see which ones messaged you on the site.

And that's where you've met him.

The most gorgeous piece of meat alive.

He seems like a nice guy. He introduced himself as LJ and your age aren’t that far off from each other. LJ is the only one who actually engaged in conversation besides "want to fuck?" or "are you horny?"

As soon as you started messaging back and forth, you scrolled on his profile to see what he looks like. The only thing is, his profile looked a whole lot like those high fashion male underwear photoshoots.

It was an array topless pictures (presumably his, you just can’t be bothered to check if it is actually his). It featured his sculpted abs and biceps, cropped up all the way to his full lips. Despite not seeing his whole face, you knew very well that he’s a hunk. To say you were intrigued is an understatement.

Since then, you've been talking back and forth through Snapchat (your secret one because you're not stupid) and sent him actual pictures of yourself, completely omitting the face. You took one from your bed, your bathtub, and probably every part of your house that you felt is sexy enough to be included on the pics.

You can't tell him if it's him or the repressed sexual urges finally manifesting itself after more than a year of not getting laid, but every text to and from him made your heart race. It was something that you looked forward to every hour everyday.

Hours went by that you totally forgot leaving him on read. You climbed up to your bed to rest your back to the headboard and opened your unread messages.

You: Hey svlr. School stuff.

He opened the chat and started typing right away.

LJ: Oh good. I thought I did something wrong to upset you.

You: Not at all. I loved the pic by the way. It literally knocked my socks off.

LJ: Just the socks?

You: You can take the rest of it off yourself ;)

You scoffed. The flirty banter has always been there ever since you started talking but nothing really came out of it.

LJ: If only I could :(

You: I know. Covid’s a bitch.

You set your phone aside for a second to go to the bathroom. On your way, you picked up some snacks at the fridge and sat back down to your bed, only to find your phone blowing up.

LJ: If you're down maybe we could meet

LJ: It's totally fine if you don't want to

LJ: I just made it weird, didn't I?

LJ: I'm so sorry I brought it up in the first place

LJ: I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable

LJ: Hello?

LJ: I'm really sorry

You: Chill. I'm right here

You: I just went to the bathroom

LJ: Oh

You: I'd be lying if I said I don't want to meet you as well

You: Well... I wouldn't write off the idea

You: But with the Covid

LJ: Thoughts?

You: I don't think it's a great idea

The screen says Seen right at the bottom but it took him a couple more minutes before finally replying.

LJ: I understand

LJ: But in case you change your mind, I'll leave the time and place up to you

LJ: I’ll take care of the rest

LJ: Deal?

You: I'll sleep on it.

You: Speaking of sleep, I gotta go. Morning class.

LJ: Okay. I guess this is good night then

You didn't, in fact, talk to him the day after.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't want to see him and his abs in real life. But as someone who overthinks a lot, you just can't shake off the risk.

You: Good night. Talk to you tomorrow.

What if he's not really the guy in the pics? Or he’s psycho in real life? What if he's infected the virus?

You sighed.

Why must some global pandemic ruin your sex life?

You waited until the end of the day before you finally replied to LJ. The last thing that he texted was a brief good morning from earlier in the day and nothing else. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy, totally not worth ghosting, and you actually liked talking to him as a friend that you can share your sentiments with.

With your guilt finally eating you up, you took a break from your assigned readings and sat back at your bed to rest for the day. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute, thinking of something to say to him. It took you a few tries before finally hitting the send button.

You: So, I thought about it

LJ: And?

You: I need to know I can trust you

LJ: Okay. How?

You: I don’t know. Send me a proof that you’re real. Get tested?

You: Is that fine with you?

Within a split second, he sent his reply.

He actually did it.

You couldn’t believe it but he actually did it.

LJ: Consider it done.

He got tested for physical, including the virus test, and passed with flying colors. He even sent you a vid of him inside a medical clinic.

He just sent the uncensored results this morning where you can clearly see his real name.

Lee Jeno.

LJ.

Seems legit.

Well, the uncreative nickname shouldn’t matter now because the results meant only one thing.

You’re gonna have to push through with your promise.

You got ready around noon that day. You can’t remember the last time that you actually got ready to meet someone that’s not a delivery guy or a relative passing on something to your family.

As someone who overthinks a lot, you actually got everything covered. You picked a place near a restaurant to eat. The police station is just a few blocks away just in case something happens, and right in front of a library…

“Where’re are you off to?”

You raised your backpack to show to your mother.

“I’m off to the library. I needed to get these renewed. Maybe pick up a novel or two.”

She looks at you from head to toe, eyeing that incredibly loose hoodie, faded denim jeans, some worn out sneakers that looked like it’s supposed to be thrown away years ago and a medical mask that covers about ¾ of your bare face. It’s just your usual attire whenever you go out for errands.

She just nodded and went back to watching her favorite soap opera.

“It’s nice that you’re out of your room for once. Take some cookies from the kitchen so you’ll have something to eat in case you get hungry.”

… as an alibi to get away from your strict parents.

As soon as you left the door and made sure that you’re out of sight, you found the nearest public toilet and grabbed a whole other outfit from your backpack. The hoodie is replaced by a white, ruffled see-through blouse and you ditched the jeans for a tight skirt that’s at least four inches above your knees. You tousled your hair a little bit and put on some powder and tiny hint of lipstick before putting your facemask back on again.

It’s been a while since you’ve done an elaborate scheme like this. Your skills got a little bit rusty, but they always work.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re really meant to be lawyer or a criminal instead.

You stepped out of the toilet and blended right back into society.

Now all you have to do is find wherever the hell LJ is.

Jeno sat anxiously as he waited for you right inside the café. He’s on his fourth cup of coffee but it didn’t do anything to calm his nerves down (geez I wonder why).

You: I’m almost at the café.

He’s been staring at his phone the whole time. Once he received your message, which is a pic of you in the bathroom after the outfit change, he almost choked on his drink.

This message sent him on a panic as he turned his camera on to see how he looked. He did some minor adjustments to his hair and he wiped off his eyeglasses clean with the sleeves of his hoodie (which did nothing for him by the way) and then casually sat down and played it off cool like he hasn’t been waiting for you for over an hour.

On your perspective, you walked inside the café and looked around for LJ. Fortunately, there was only guy inside the café, twiddling with his phone on his hands and as he kept on peeking through the glass windows as if he’s looking for someone.

From afar, he actually looked really cute. His appearance, a shy, nerdy dude with glasses, looked way off from the fuckboy image that you expected him to have in reference to the messages that you’ve been getting from him.

It’s always the quiet ones that are kinky. You should know, you are one.

You walked over to his table and tapped his shoulders to get his attention.

He froze for a moment before he finally managed to turn around and face you.

“You’re actually here.”

“I know. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

tap tap tap tap

The room is so quiet that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heels tapping against the tiled floor. You can say that that is one of your observable annoying habits tapping your foot on the floor when you're a nervous wreck.

Sighing in retaliation, you removed your hoodie, fanning yourself as you tried to relax and get comfy on the hotel couch (which should be comfortable enough since you paid a shit ton of money on that room), switching the TV on to get your mind off of things. The lackluster array of shitty sitcoms didn’t distract you at all, but it instead reminded you of the reasons why you’re in that room in the first place.

Having nothing to do to pass the time, you paced back and forth in the room, finally sitting down once you realized that it looks way worse than you just tapping your foot. You folded your arms right across your chest, looking at the watch from time to time but the hands of the clock seem to be moving slower the more you stare at it.

Quarantine started almost a year ago and it's been very hard for you. Sexually. It's been almost a year since you've been touched by a man and you’re more than ready to jump on anyone’s dick at any this point,

Too bad that that dick is taking his sweet time in the bathroom.

tap tap tap tap

Your foot found its rhythm once again, only this time, you’re not nervous anymore. Your patience is wearing thin.

As if summoned by the constant tapping, the guy comes out of the bathroom, just casually drying himself while wearing nothing but the towel dangerously hanging on his waist and a boyish smile on his lips.

No biggie.

"Hey."

Suddenly, you’re not tapping anymore.

Head empty, just thoughts of a hot guy patting down a towel all over his toned body.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long.”

He spoke, tossing aside the towel on his hands on the sofa, finally giving you a full view of him and all his glory.

You must admit, you’re skeptical at first. The guy that’s been sending you faceless thirst traps just days ago, telling you how he’d fuck you senseless looked a lot different from the guy who entered the hotel room just a moment ago.

He came in wearing those black oversized hoodies that did a great job in hiding his best features. His hair was a bit long for your taste, covering half of his face while the face mask hid the other.

But this man right here in front you, he’s Adonis.

You unconsciously bit your lower lip, earning a chuckle from the guy.

“I’m guessing that you’d like to start now?”

You nodded, the tension and awkwardness rendering you unable to speak.

He smiles as he takes the remote from you, turning off the television because the main show is about to start.

You started to tense up again, eyes wide as you realized that he’s now right beside you, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he sat down. He leans over, soft lips coming into contact with your exposed neck and shoulders, landing small pecks all over.

You sat there breathless as he slowly ran his fingers to the side of your thighs, tracing circles at it while giving small, reassuring kisses on your neck and shoulders. It’s as if he’s asking you for your consent, waiting for you to open up to him before he makes a move.

He got his answer when you turned around to face him, running your fingers into his cheeks before cupping his face, your lips finally touching his. He moved in the same pace as earlier, slow and calculating. You got a bit impatient once again, biting his lower lips gently to let him know that he can do more.

He grabbed you by the waist and successfully placed you on top of him. The kiss got even more sloppy as you ran your hands through nape, then into his soft locks. His hands travelled once again, finger running through legs again, stopping as soon as he reached the hem of your skirt, flipping it up to reveal the thin lace material that barely covered your core. You took that as initiative to remove the towel on his waist and grinded against his growing member, the friction and heat enough to earn a groan out of him.

He held your waist once again, firmly this time, halting your movement completely.

You broke away from the kiss, staring him in the eyes to read his face.

“Something wrong?”

“Hold tight.”

You were about to ask about what hold tight mean, but your arms cling unto him involuntarily as he lifts the both of you out of the sofa.

Jeno laid you gently in the bed, making sure not to break eye contact as he does so. He looked like he's about to eat you alive, which is enough to send flush to your cheeks.

“I would’ve loved to bend you over that sofa, but I think it’s just proper that our first time will be on the bed.”

"God. You're beautiful."

He then ran his fingers towards the thin fabric of your blouse, feeling every part of your torso like he's memorizing every detail of it. His hands then travelled in your chest, squeezing the swell of your breasts on each hand, fingers shaking as he does so. It felt like an artist admiring his delicate work of art.

He situated himself between your legs, taking a moment to admire you first before doing anything else.

He started to run his hand on your cleavage and stopped on the uppermost button of your blouse, taking his time to remove all of them and placing a kisses at the exposed skin. After all of the buttons are taken care of, you lifted your body up and slid off the fabric. Your black lacy bra finally made its appearance. You took the liberty of taking that off too, as slow and as you possibly can.

Jeno just stared at your body in awe, breathing heavily as his eyes scanned your naked glory.

"Gorgeous."

He said under this breath before leaning down to claim your lips once again. You're turned on by how much attention he's giving your body now. You're usually loud in bed but his gestures are making you bashful. You've never felt this beautiful before.

You can feel his hands trembling as it travels all over your body, his kisses getting even more needy. There was moans of satisfaction every time he would lick your lips. Jeno was kissing you like you were oxygen and he needed to breath.

His hands travelled south, running across your thigh and your now aching core. You're about to remove your skirt and underwear but he stopped your hands midway.

"Keep it."

He took your hands away from your skirt and placed them just above your head.

"Just sit there and relax baby. Let me treat you."

You did just like he told you and gave him full control of your body.

"Good girl."

His lips brushed your ears, whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful you are under him. His kisses then went down to your neck, using his tongue and teeth, marking everything he can get his mouth on with his saliva. Meanwhile, his hands finally touched you down there, massaging your still clothed wetness.

His middle and index finger felt your slit, moving it in swift motion in search for your clit.

"Oh my god. That's it."

You gasped as his fingers finally hit the right spot, tossing your head back as his fingers made circles at your bundle or nerves.

You opened your legs more, leaning on your arms on your back, head tossed back and eyes closed as you feel your impending orgasm.

He dipped his hand inside your underwear and collected some of your essence with his fingers. The mental picture of him licking his fingers deliciously is enough to get you off for weeks.

It didn't take long before he took your panties off and his ducked his head down. He opened your legs once again and licked one long stripe on your core, making sure to taste all of you. You sat there and watch as he hungrily takes all of you in his mouth, acting like your pussy is a full course meal and he's been starving for years.

Within moments, you've become a moaning, toe curled mess. You ran your fingers to his blonde hair, guiding him on how to move his tongue and fingers on you. At one point, he bit some of your sensitive skin, making you scream a string of curses under your breath.

"Stop stop stop."

You grab a fistful of his hair and he paused from what he was doing. You pushed him gently away from you, leaving him staring at you confusedly. The confusion didn't last long when you flipped your current position, you're now on top.

"Can I ride your face?"

At this point, you're bold and horny enough to use your words and ask him. He just nodded, sliding himself from underneath you and went back to eating you like a champ. You grabbed his hands and placed them across your chest, squeezing your breasts to send him a message. He was quick to pick up and followed suit, pinching your nipples right in between fingers while your ride his face to orgasm.

"Shit. I'm coming..."

You writhed from above him as you come undone. Your body felt cold all over. Your eyes are ringing, feeling dizzy as you almost passed out while you bucked your hips a few more times to milk your release.

You didn’t have time to recover when you heard your phone ringing from outside. Your legs felt a little shaky and you almost tumbled and hit your head in the wall if Jeno didn’t help you get up. You sat down on the floor, butt-ass naked as you frantically searched for your phone from under all of your stuff before you finally pressed the answer button.

“Yes mom?”

“Where have you been? Your father’s been looking for you at the library. He’s picking you up on your way home.”

You buried your head on the couch to shake off the buzzing feeling on your head. You placed a pillow on your body while you searched for your discarded clothes all over the hotel room.

“Oh yeah. I went to the café and got something to eat. Tell Dad I’ll meet him outside the library.”

“Okay sweetie. Can you pick up some groceries on your way back? I’ll text you the list.”

“Yeah mom. Bye.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as you started putting on the outfit that you wore when you left home.

“Where are you going?”

Jeno reluctantly got dressed as well, his shy demeanor came back as soon as he wore his glasses and fixed his hair.

“I got to go, Jeno. I’m sorry that I’m leaving in such a bad time…”

You went over to him and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

“I promise to make it up to you next time, okay? I’d love to meet you again.”

You grabbed a paper bag from your backpack and handed it to him, waving as you bolted out the door.

After fixing his things, he sat down for a moment and took a quick peek inside the package that you left him.

It was a ziplock bag of full of cookies and a whole other treat.

You left him your two-piece lace lingerie.

To be continued.

#nct #nct dream #nct u #nct x reader #nct smut #nct jeno #nct hard hours #jeno #jeno scenarios #jeno au #jeno smut #lee jeno #jeno imagines #jeno x reader

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disaster-by-chance · 2 years

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Saw Turning Red with my family today and let me just say, I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would.

I mean, I automatically knew that I would enjoy it once I saw how "alienated" it made the white dudebros feel on Twitter because if the dudebros are going to hate it, then I'm going to have it.

Liking or not liking a movie because of that relation connection you feel towards it isn't necessarily a bad thing, but that shouldn't be the only thing you base your opinion on.

There's a running joke that my siblings and I have about "Asian-led films" and how most of the time it's a Chinese character because China makes big bucks at the box office and that we Koreans won't get a film about us or our culture. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, I out of all people know how meaningful representation is, but being Korean didn't stop us from enjoying this film! Hell! I think this is the first time there's been a Korean in a Disney or Pixar film, or any animated film I've seen from any of the different animation companies! When Abby started going off in Korean I was like, "!!! AYO!"

Same with Encanto, we aren't Colombian, my mom's family is from Mexico, but Mirabel has been the closest character from any sort of film I've seen who looks like me. Right down to the large glasses! I don't have curly hair though, that's like the one difference. But still!

A movie doesn't have to be relatable to be enjoyed, but goddamn if you're going to shit on something because you "don't feel seen" and you're some cishet white man, my brother in christ, you need to sit down and just not say anything.

That being said though, I was rather surprised at how much I ended up relating to this movie once it ended. It wasn't the only reason why I liked the movie but it certainly was why I ended up liking it a little more than I thought I would.

For some time now, around the time when Luca came out, I've started realizing how drastically different my relationship with my mom is. And long story short, it's gotten way better than what it used to be.

Look, I grew up in a Christian household with a Hispanic mom and Korean dad, both of who worked as educators in the district I went to school in. Even if my dad was the more easy-going despite the stereotypes of Asian parents being hard on their kids, they were pretty strict. Bs weren't good enough, hell A- wasn't good enough, I never felt like I could share my interests with them because I didn't want to be made fun of, and every decision for my life was made by them. I didn't feel like I had control and it felt like it was just me and my friends against the world at times.

However, my friends left me and I became attached to my mom as a result. Like Mei at the start of the movie, we were attached to the hip basically. It was a complete turnaround from how I used to be with her.

I had had those moments of "this is my life, I can do what I want" so when those conversations were happening between Mei and her mother, I was wondering if my mom could recall those moments too. In movies like this, I wonder if she also sees herself in those parents who push their kids towards greatness because that's how they were raised or something along those lines. My mom doesn't have an overbearing mom or anything like that though, she's just the way she is because of her beliefs and personality. (If anyone gets enneagram shit, she's an 8 and I'm a 5, we don't get along normally).

When Mei was deciding to keep the panda but was afraid it would lead to her losing her mom I was just like,, "Damn..." because I feel the same way. How can I keep who I want to be and my mom? I feel like I have to give things up about myself to keep the relationship I've built up with her, and it scares me sometimes.

A few years ago I somewhat hated my mom. I hated that she made me scared to ask about going to a friend's house, hated that she was homophobic and transphobic, hated that she wanted me to be hyperfocused on grades, and really just hated how she made me feel.

Now, things are so much different. Now she wants me to get friends and get out of the house. Now she actively asks about different identities and respects transgender people. She still cares a lot about grades but at least now she can be understanding and accept Bs. Now she engages in whatever I'm fixated on and doesn't make me feel bad about me being me.

I think the film just really hit hard for me because I've been reflecting on my changed dynamic with my mom for the past week and watching the film with her was like a fluffy red panda paw to the face.

Not only did I see myself in Mei (albeit maybe just toned down a bit more and with a clarinet instead of a flute) but I saw my mom in Mei's. It just seemed to be a reminder of how different things are and how it was a good idea to stick around and see things get better.

TDLR; Turning Red was a really good movie and I enjoyed it a lot. Being able to relate to it on different levels essentially made me enjoy the movie more than I thought I would and helped me further reflect on my dynamic with my mom. If you get the chance, I recommend you watch it!

I think my only critique of the movie is that it made me hungry. I'm in desperate need of some steamed dumplings.

#turning red #long post #disney pixar #turning red movie #turning red mei #other critique is the 4town song getting stuck in my head #/hj #yes this is long #i just needed to get some stuff off my chest though

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hanibalistic · 3 years

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#67509E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff

word count | 1889

warning | appearances of vampire fangs, mention of blood sucking

tag | @fluffyskzclub

note | i miss hyunjin.

hyunjin pouted like he was throwing a tantrum—well, to a certain degree, he was throwing a small tantrum.

he curled himself around the fluffy blanket that you two left on the couch from yesterday's spontaneous movie night as he pouted at you bitterly. he tried to fit his tall body within the blanket, but his long legs awkwardly jutted out of the end corner, unable to bend enough to curl himself into a tiny ball. his head poked out of the blanket he draped around his shoulder and over his head.

"must you open the curtains all the time?" he whined with furrowed brows, lightly kicking his feet against the couch. "i hate the sun, you know that!"

you rolled your eyes as you closed the curtains after being drowned in his mindless complaints about the last half an hour. you had opened them so the plants could soak in some sunlight. you even took into consideration that hyunjin would be asleep for longer like he always does, otherwise, you would have never let the sunlight into your shared apartment. but for some reason, he decided to leave his stupid coffin earlier today.

to listen to the birds' chirp perhaps. that's the kind of leisure activity a hundred-year-old would like, you bet.

the same thing happens every time you open the blinds, which is that hyunjin does not shut up about him disliking the sun and how it weakens his vampirism as opposed to it actually killing him. he would not stop until you close the curtains and turn on the lights, which often made you scoff. not only was he annoying, for a vampire who was supposed to burn under the sun, he sure does speak of it a lot.

"we will need sunlight somehow, hyunjin," you said as you turned around to glare at him. "the plants you stole, from outside, in the morning, will need sunlight."

you emphasized your words to make sure he knew of all the heinous frustrations he has caused you. the puppy pout on his face, as well as the pitying glint in his eyes, only deepened with each emphasis of your voice, his body flinching and shrinking when he could tell that you were upset with him.

watching him, there was a rush of conflict brewing like bubbles in you. you weren't sure if you felt more annoyed or endeared about the fact that hyunjin, a not quite literally ancient but old enough to feel ancient vampire, gained such comfortability from you that he was fine with throwing a childish tantrum in front of you.

he looks cute, surely! he always does. but sometimes, you genuinely could not stand another second of him whining.

"stop yelling at me! you know what the sun does to a vampire!" he retorted.

oh, god—blah, blah, blah.

"yeah, a vampire that doesn't have an accessory of the sigil," you said cleverly as you moved over to him. you yanked the blanket off his body, ignoring his protest, and you pointed at his neck. "like the necklace you never take off!"

"i only got this recently! the witch would have never sold me this if you hadn't come with me," he argued, pulling the blanket around him again. "i'm not used to the sun yet, just let me have a little more time."

you pursed your lips together, your neck turning sour at his poor mumble as you softened. he did only just get the necklace—by just, it was about two to three months ago. however, while that alone may seem like a long period, comparing that to almost a whole decade of no sunlight, perhaps he really just needed more time to adjust.

but! zooming past the streets, leaving normal people wondering where the sudden gust of wind came from, and hiding in the apartment that leaves no room for any traces of sunlight was not the way to go about it!

"how about just a little bit, hmm?" you said then, suggesting a compromise casually while you walked toward the window. "take it little by little!"

hyunjin widened his eyes in disbelief as you moved farther away from him. he shook his legs in protest, his body moving animatedly on the cushiony couch as he protested loud and clear. "hey! you better not open the curtains, [name]!"

you grabbed the hem of the curtains, your mind occupied with calculating the correct amount you would flip open. it has to be a very small amount, to a point where the sunlight could only hit one leaf of the plant on the window rail, or just one square of your marble floor. it has to be the form of sunlight that could not hurt even a fly, so you could show him just how goddamn dramatic he was being.

"[name], i swear!"

"oh, bite me," you muttered under your breath.

there was a gust of wind—a familiar kind. it blew at the tip of your hair, making it waft around, and the hem of your thin shirt also danced at the breeze of hyunjin's vampiric speed.

blinking consciously, you loosened your grip on the curtains and turned around. immediately, upon feeling the heat of his face, you flinched back and closed your eyes to settle yourself.

"jesus–what the hell, hyunjin?" you muttered with a hand on your chest before you slowly opened your eyes.

hyunjin was glaring at you; no malice, just alluring intensity. his hair fell over his face prettily. the sunlight that he didn't seem to care much for now shone a soft haze over half of his face, making him glow and glitter naturally.

"those are some reckless words to say to a vampire," he said lowly, tilting his head to the side lightly as he arched a brow, "don't you think?"

your heart pounced.

the matter of blood, or just his general nature as a vampire, like his need to feed off of human beings, has only come up once.

he mentioned it to you when he was applying to be your roommate, having a foul plan to erase your memories in case the truth was not well-received by you. he told you that he has been a vampire for a while so he knew how to control his urges, therefore you would not be in any harm, and the matter was never spoken of again.

he held up his words. he has never discussed blood with you, he has never shown any blood-thirsty behavior at all. he acted like any other roommates you have had; being too loud at night, eating cereal in the living room and eyeing your bed-head with a judgemental gaze, knocking at your door and asking if you wanted to pick a takeout place.

if he used his powers less, you would have forgotten about his vampiric side.

why was your heart thumping then? was he too pretty for your own good? or was he standing too close for familiar comfort? or perhaps both?

you scoffed, making your thoughts vanish. "you won't bite me."

hyunjin softened in a way you couldn't catch. deep within the tender wash of his eyes was a sea of wildfires he hid behind closed doors.

you were right, he won't bite you, but he wants to, especially because the smell of your blood happened to be more enticing than others because he likes you.

the art of blood sharing (in a sense) is done between lovers; consider it like leaving a love mark, of a sort. it is an act of claiming and reassurance, and hyunjin has been wanting to sink his fangs into your flesh for a while so he could leave a bite mark.

but he could never do that. that was a desire trapped in his throat, urging to be let out and to be voiced, and hyunjin would not allow it. there were too many risks of unleashing the deep-seated yearning in his chest. it lingered in his head in withdrawal, cautiously threading through his mind to keep his urges contained.

he puts his want elsewhere. his want to taste your blood, to kiss your neck, has to grow somewhere, so he has to put it somewhere, and he puts in it his daydream which that manifests gently when he is with you, and ferociously when you were away.

"i won't," he muttered under his breath, to which you relaxed at. but then he grinned, and he opened his mouth to speak first, "doesn't mean i can't, though."

you widened your eyes when black veins draped beneath his eyes and his sharp fangs appeared. it was a terrifying sight, but you were only shocked to see it than scared. rationally, you reached your hands up and slapped your palms against his cheeks, startling him.

"hmmm... " you grumbled, sounding thoughtful as you surveyed his shocked expression.

the veins under his eyes retreated and the colors returned to his face. the innocence flooded back into him, bright and boyish, and he dared not move an inch under the pressure of your gaze—beneath your touch hyunjin is but a gentle boy hapless in love.

"ah...aah...wha–" he closed his eyes slightly and opened them with furrowed brows, confused and helpless with his head slightly tilted up. his words were muffled but jot too hard to understand. "[name]–why–uhh–"

you pushed at his upper lip with your thumb and looked at his fangs, wondering why they did not retreat with the dark haze of his eyes. then, ignoring hyunjin's muffled questions, you carefully poked at the tip of his teeth—razor-sharp, but very real.

he was whining again. his hands reached out to the hem of your shirt and desperately, as well as timidly, tugged at it. meanwhile, he put on a defeated face. as much as he would with your thumbs poking his fangs, that was.

"ahh, please stop–[name], stop touching my fangs–why," he feigned a sob, shaking his head as a blush reached his cheeks, "they're just teeth."

"teeth that puncture," you commented when you let go. the way your thumbs briefly smoothed over his top lip was not lost on him.

seeing his pout, you pursed your lips with faint guilt. rubbing the back of your neck, you shrugged. "sorry about that, i just got curious."

"it's okay," he waved you off quickly, "i was curious too when i first got them."

hyunjin looked at you when you giggled under your breath; soft, hearty giggles that tried to conceal themselves without the anticipation for his vampiric hearing. gentle, funny giggles that never once questioned his problematic past. lovely, adoring giggles that are here before and after he revealed who he is to you.

he came to your apartment begging for a home where he could be himself, and you allowed him safety with you.

"alright," you said with a curt smile, "i'm going to go change, need to get grocery."

"i–i'll come with!"

you seemed shocked for a moment, accessing him like a trick question. then you relaxed and nodded with nonchalance. "yeah, whatever."

he melted despite the lackluster reaction. it was the excitement that counted. smiling to himself, he twirled and twisted his body shyly as the sun shone from outside.

yeah. hyunjin truly is but a simple boy in love with you.

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

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dirtykpopsnaps · 3 years

Text

Oh, Shit...He’s A Swimmer — Dannyphantom.exe smut

Warnings: This fic contains 18+ material. Anyone under 18 seen interacting with this fic will be blocked!!

Contains: Swimmer!Danny. Lifeguard!Y/N. (Kind of) public sex. unprotected sex (he pulls out, but wrap it up). I think that’s it?? This isn’t really kinky...

Also, a short appearance from William_papa_

Requested: no

Words: 3, 541 (oh, holy shit)

A/N: Okay...the character Nicole in this fic is *heavily* based on my best friend. Some of Nicole’s lines are things that she actually says.

————————————————————————

All around me, students hurry from class to class. The sun is shining brightly overhead and I hum happily in the warmth. A soft wind tussles my hair as I make my way towards the main building. I hike my bookbag further up on my shoulder and pull open the door, looking around for my best friend. My eyes flit over several groups of students before I see her and smile brightly. “Nicole!” I exclaim, hurrying over to her. Nicole’s eyes meet mine and she smiles happily, pushing away from the wall she was leaning on. “Ready for lunch?” I ask.

“Ugh, yes. I’m a hungry hippo,” she complains, rubbing her stomach. I laugh lightly, rolling my eyes at her.

“Has Will shown up yet? I didn’t see him,” I say, looking around again.

“Okay, if he was here, you would see him. Your brother is a giant,” she reminds me.

“Tell me about it. Dunno how he got all the height in the family and I ended up a measly 5’4,” I sigh.

Chatting back and forth, Nicole and I walk into the dining hall. We grab a table and I set down my bookbag before heading towards the cafeteria line. I grab two plates and hand one to Nicole, looking at the food that’s being offered today. Calmly, I grab some fries and a chicken patty on a bun before getting a water bottle. Nicole grabs her food and follows me back to the table.

At the table, we both sit down. I notice some a new bookbag and ID have appeared and immediately know that Will is here. Nicole must notice, too, because she comments on it before sitting down and starting to eat. Our lunch conversation is fairly normal. We talk about classes and assignments that we have to do. When my brother joins us, I start talking about something funny that happened in one of my classes today.

All around us, other students are talking happily with their friends. When our conversation lulls, I start looking around at the other students. This is something that I like doing sometimes, people watching. It’s interesting to see what other people are doing and wonder what’s going on in their life. My eyes scan over the room, resting on no one in particular. Suddenly, my eyes are drawn across the room and I see...him. He’s sitting by himself at a table, just staring off into space. His white-blonde hair looks cute and fluffy and I have the urge to run my fingers through it. His strong arms are on full display, leaned against the table with his chin his palm. Truthfully, he’s very attractive, but I’m more just curious about who he is.

I must have been quiet for a while because I’m pulled back to the conversation with a shout of my name. I blink a few times, focusing back on Nicole and Will. They’re both staring at me and I flash an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry...what were you saying?” I ask. Nicole rolls her eyes at me jokingly.

“What am I, chopped liver?” She asks. I laugh lightly, shaking my head.

“No, no, sorry. Just people watching,” I say.

“Any interesting people?” Will asks, looking around the cafeteria. I look back over in the direction of the white-haired boy.

“Well...there’s this guy that I don’t recognize. He might’ve transferred this semester or something,” I say, shrugging lightly.

“Where?” Will asks, looking around again.

“Over there. He’s alone at a table, white hair.”

Quietly, Will follows my eyesight and he seems to see the boy, too. “Oh, that’s Danny,” he says calmly, going back to his food. I stare at him in surprise.

“You know him?!” I ask in shock. Will shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean, not well. I share some classes with him. He’s nice enough,” Will explains.

“Oh, okay,” I say, starting to eat again, too.

“Yeah, he sits near me so we talk sometimes. I occasionally tell him about my soccer games and he talks about his meets.” Nicole knits her eyebrows together, turning to Will.

“His meets?” She asks. Will nods his head lightly.

“Yeah, he’s on the swim team. Joined early this semester.”

For a few seconds, there’s silence between the three of us. Then, the information he just gave us settles in.

“Wait a second...he’s a swimmer?!” I ask in shock. Will gives me a confused look for a second before answering.

“Uh...yeah? I’m pretty sure, anyway,” he says slowly. “Am...Am I missing something?” His eyes quickly dart between Nicole and I. Immediately, Nicole and I make eye contact. She throws her head back, cackling at the situation I’ve gotten myself into.

“Nope...nothing that you should know,” I say, looking back down at my food.

See the thing is...I kind of have a thing for swimmers. Nicole knows this, as I’ve told her about it several times. Honestly, I don’t know what it is. I just find swimmers very...hot. I’m not really sure why, but I’ve always found them particularly attractive. Up until recently, I was on swim team myself. I only stopped when I started college because my major is very intensive and I didn’t want to have to focus on too many things. Maybe I’ll join again one day, but who knows.

For the rest of lunch, Will keeps trying to bring the topic back up. Thankfully, Nicole helps me change the topic again every time and I’m able to avoid telling him anything. As much as I love my brother, talking about crushes and things I find attractive can be hard. He can get a bit overprotective sometimes and it’s kind of frustrating. So, if I can avoid conversations like that, I do.

Soon enough, we finish lunch and each head out to our different things. Nicole and will still have lectures, so they head towards their lecture halls. My classes finished for the day, so I go back to my dorm to work on homework. Thankfully, I don’t have too much work and I’m done within a couple hours. I take a break for a while and just turn on some random YouTube videos. Around 5 o’clock, I change into my swimsuit and pull clothes over top. I’m having dinner with Will and Nicole like every night and then I’m going to head to my job at the school’s indoor pool. I’m the lifeguard, so I kind of need to be there for people to be able to swim.

Dinner is normal, small conversation between the three of us. Thankfully, Will seems to have forgotten about our lunchtime conversation, so I don’t need to worry about that. When I’m done with dinner, I say goodbye to Nicole and Will before heading towards the college’s sports center. The sports center is a large building over by the football field and holds a lot of the college’s indoor sports. There’s a gym, dance rooms, track and basketball courts, plus an indoor pool. I’m almost always here, even when I’m not working. Like I said, I enjoy swimming, so I usually swim when I’m not working.

Calmly, I walk into the sports center and make my way towards the pool. I unlock the doors and turn on the lights, pulling my clothes off and putting them in the lifeguard locker. For the most part, the lifeguard shifts are pretty quiet. Of course, there’s the regulars that come in, but they usually take Friday and the weekends off. I sigh softly, sitting in the lifeguard chair and just listening to the buzz of the overhead lights.

For a while, everything is pretty quiet. Then, out of nowhere, I hear one of the changing room doors open and close. Not thinking much of it, I look up to see who’s entered the pool. Standing just at the end of one of the pool lanes, slowly getting into the water is...him. The boy from lunch...Danny, I think Will called him. I feel my eyes get wide before I look down at my lap again, my mind going into a frenzy. ‘He’s never come before, why is he here now?! He’s here to swim, you idiot. Oh my god. Holy shit...I have to watch him swim. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.’ I’m internally screaming at the thoughts of having to watch this incredibly hot guy swim.

Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my head. Looking up again, my eyes fall on Danny. He’s in the water now and is slowly starting to swim laps. I watch as the water makes ripples where his arms and legs enter and exit. His drenched white-blonde hair sticks to his forehead when he comes up for bits of air. His arms are on even better display than they were at lunch and I can’t help but watch as his muscles flex while he swims. ‘stop that. but... no, stop that! he’s gonna think you’re some weirdo!’ my mind yells at me. I sigh softly, fiddling with the rings of keys that I have.

Suddenly, I hear someone speak up and my heart stops. There’s only one person that it could be. “You know...it’s rude to stare. Though, I’m not complaining,” he chuckles. His voice is a little higher than I imagined, but it doesn’t bother me. I scramble for words, trying to think of *anything* to say to him.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to, I just...I...you’re...you’re really handsome and I...I can’t help it,” I stumble over my words. Internally, I’m smacking myself over the head. Y/N...you are a goddamn idiot.

“Oh, well, I’m glad you think so. You’re rather pretty, as well,” he smiles. I stare at him with wide eyes.

“I...me?!” I ask, pointing at my chest. He laughs lightly, his beautiful caramel eyes lighting up.

“Is that so hard to believe? I’m surprised you don’t hear it more often.”

Resting his arms against the tiled floor, he looks up at me from the water. “It’s...not so much hard to believe as it is surprising to hear from someone as hot as you,” I explain.

“What can I say? I see a pretty girl and I just have to let her know,” he chuckles.

“I’m not complaining, just a little surprised,” I respond. He flashes a bright smile.

“I’ll just need to make sure to compliment you more often.” With that, he pushes off the wall and starts doing laps again.

While he’s here, I do my best to focus on my actual job. Though, my job is to make sure he’s okay, so...I suppose I was doing my job, anyway. No one else comes into the pool, surprisingly. For a couple hours, it’s just the two of us talking. Danny stops every once in a while and holds up short conversations to me. While he’s swimming, I try not to stare at him too much. Though, there’s not much else to do in here, so my eyes keep getting drawn back to him. Every few laps, he switches swimming styles, sometimes swimming free style and other times backstroke.

The time slowly ticks by and I’m bored out of my mind. Besides having Danny to talk to, nothing else is going on. I sigh softly, leaning back against the lifeguard chair. Against the wall, the clock clicks again and I look up. It reads back 9 o’clock and I stand up, getting Danny’s attention. He stops swimming and looks up at me, treading water. “Pools gotta close,” I tell him. He nods his head once and swims down to the end, climbing out of the water.

Yet again, I have to force my eyes to look elsewhere. The water droplets running down his broad back is so much more sensual than it should be. I jump in surprise when I feel his presence next to me. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I look up into those gorgeous, caramel eyes. “You know...I’ve been thinking of this all night,” he hums softly. I feel his cool hand brush against my face lightly. “Can I kiss you?” He asks. My breath is completely gone and all I can do is nod my head. He flashes a small smile and leans forward, capturing my lips with his.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel water dripping onto my skin, but I couldn’t care less. His lips taste slightly salty, most likely from the chlorine, but I don’t mind it. His hands are resting against my hips, kneading the skin. When he pulls away, I try to lean up and chase his lips. He just chuckles at me. “Darling...if you want this to go any further, I suggest we move to the locker room,” he says softly. My mind is so fuzzy that it takes me a few seconds to realize what he means. Then, it dawns on me. We’ve been making out in the middle of the indoor swimming area.

Looking over towards the locker room, I bite my lip. Do I want this to to further? There’s only once place it could go. Plus, I barely know him. I look back at Danny and immediately my mind goes blank again. *How* can he be so gorgeous?! All thoughts leave my head and I take Danny’s hand in mine, leading him towards the men’s locker room.

Calmly, I push open the door and head inside. Danny follows after me, letting the door shut behind him. Suddenly, I feel his hand start shaking slightly. Looking over my shoulder, I see Danny shivering slightly. “Are you okay?” I ask in shock. He laughs lightly, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I’m alright. The locker room is just cold,” he tells me. It’s only then that I remember that he hasn’t even dried off yet. I immediately let go of his hand and he walks over to the lockers. He opens one up and pulls out a towel, drying off his hair and then the rest of his body.

For a little while, I just watch him dry off. When he’s on, he sets the towel down on the wooden bench in the middle of the room. He opens his arms up to me and I walk up to him. I wrap my arms around his neck again and he pulls me into another kiss. This kiss is more sweet and soft than the last one. “Do you still wanna do this?” He asks softly. I nod my head and twist my fingers into his hair, but he shakes his head.

“Ah, ah. Use your words.” I sigh softly, looking into his eyes again.

“Yes, Danny, I want to do this,” I reassure him. He smile softly and starts to press kisses across my jaw and neck. I lean my head back, giving him more room to work with.

When I feel his kisses start drifting down more, I take my fingers out of his hair and pull down the straps of my top. Danny pulls down the other strap and helps me pull the fop off. When it hits the ground, he hums lightly, pressing more kisses to the tops of my breasts. I sigh softly, leaning back against the lockers. When he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, I gasp softly. Danny takes his time, moving back and forth between my nipples and leaving small hickies on my breasts. I tug lightly at his hair, getting more and more frustrated. “Danny, please do something,” I whine. He chuckles and nips lightly at my nipple before he starts moving down again.

Smoothly, he kneels down and continues pressing kisses down my body. But, as much as I want him to continue, I’m already overly frustrated. I groan in frustration and pull him to his feet again. “Danny, I swear to God, if you don’t do something, I might die,” I complain.

“Oh, someone’s demanding,” he chuckles darkly. I narrow my eyes at him, taking deep breaths. However, before I can open my mouth again, he snaps the elastic of my swimsuit against my hip. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to wait much longer.” He tugs my swimsuit bottoms down and they fall to the ground, joining my top. Now I’m completely bare in front of him.

Normally, this would make me feel a bit self-conscious. But, right now my mind is too focused on him. I help Danny tug down his shorts and they join my small pile of clothes. My eyes are immediately drawn to his hard cock, but Danny lifts my chin up lightly. We make eye contact again and he smirks at me. I’m pulled onto his chest, but we don’t break eye contact. Danny takes one of his hands and rubs his cock between my folds, collecting the essence there. Then, he lines himself at my hole.

As he pushes into me, I feel a slight stinging. I hiss at the feeling and he immediately stops, but I shake my head. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Don’t stop,” I tell him, my voice faltering a little. He continues pushing into me and I take breaths, raking my nails down his back. Danny groans at the feeling, but doesn’t stop until he bottoms out. When he’s completely inside me, he holds me tightly to his chest and allows me to adjust for a little bit. I take deep breaths, trying to relax my body.

Once I’ve relaxed a little bit, Danny presses me up against the lockers again. I told tightly to his shoulders as he pulls out, then snaps his hips back in. When he snaps his hips, I’m pushed up the locker a little further. He slowly begins to build a rhythm and I hold on tight, slowly starting to feel the pleasure take over. I twist my fingers into his hair, leaning my head back against the locker. “F-Fuck, Danny,” I mutter softly, panting.

“God, you’re so fucking tight. Is this your first?” He groans. I shake my head, my eyes screwed up.

“N-No, just...it’s been a while,” I pant, my nails digging into his shoulders.

Over and over, Danny snaps his hips into me. As he pulls out, he rubs against the spot within me that even I can’t hit. I moan loudly, not even caring that anyone could walk in at any moment. The exhilaration and fast pace pushes me to the edge very quickly. I rake my nails down Danny’s back again, moaning. “D-Danny, I’m gonna come,” I moan.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he pants. At his words, I fall over the edge and clench around him. The feel of euphoria floods my veins as my orgasm hits me hard.

Just as I’m coming down, I feel Danny pull out. He pumps his cock in front of me for a few seconds, then he spills over his hand and onto my lower stomach. He head is thrown back as he moans loudly, letting the pleasure run through him. His hair is sticking slightly to his sweaty forehead and I smile softly, brushing his hair off his forehead.

For a few seconds, we both catch our breaths. Danny steps away and comes back a second later with a paper towel. He wipes his cum off of my stomach and throws the towel away, then we both start dressing again. There’s silence between us and my thoughts are yelling that this was stupid. He’s probably gonna leave us now and never talk to us again. I pull on my swimsuit before turning and starting to leave. However, before I walk off, Danny grabs my wrist. “Where are you going? I thought the pool closed,” he says. I nod my lightly.

“Uh, yeah, but...I still need to lock up,” I remind him.

“Oh. Is it okay if I wait with you? I wanna walk you back to your dorm.”

As soon as he says that, my heart swells. That is actually really sweet. A huge smile spreads across my face. “Yeah, Danny, of course. I don’t mind,” I giggle lightly. He flashes me a bright smile and we head back into the pool area, locking up. When I’m done locking up, I throw my clothes on overtop of my swimsuit. I make sure that I have everything before walking back over to Danny. He holds the door for me and we both head back towards main campus.

On the walk back, we exchange phone numbers. We talk a little bit about things like our majors and what we like to do. “You should come to one of my meets,” he offers, looking down at me. I nod my head happily.

“Yeah, I’d really like that. Maybe I can get Will or Nicole to come,” I suggest.

“That would be nice. But, yeah...it would be cool to see you at one of my meets,” he smiles.

Too quickly, I’m back at the main door of my dorm. I pull out my ID and open the door before turning back around. “Text me!” Danny calls. I giggle lightly and wave to him before heading inside. As soon as I’m out of sight, I squeal to myself and do a little happy dance. Wow...that is not how I expected work to go tonight.

#dirty kpop snaps #tiktok fanfic #tiktok #smut #dannyphantom.exe #dannyphantom.exe smut

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valdomarx · 3 years

Text

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #where my fellow classical music nerds at this one is for you

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caranfindel · 3 years

Text

Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

#spn #15.20 #my fic #episode coda #sam winchester

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43sparrows · 4 years

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d e s e r v e d - {Five x Reader AU}

WARNINGS: drunkenness, language

Word Count: 2,416

Note: r e j e c t but from Five’s perspective! Come scream at me in my inbox

When Five comes back, there's a series of post-it notes next to the key rack written in Vanya's loose script. Call Y/N back.

The next post-it is stuck to the first. Y/N called again & asked when you'd be back. Said it's not an emergency, but she does need you? Of course Vanya was confused by that. The code shouldn't be too hard to crack, but sometimes her wellmeaning-ness gets in the way of her astuteness.

The last post-it is beside the first two: Out with Allison + Klaus at Don Pablo's. Come if you can!

It's a tempting offer after the day he's had. He loves Don Pablo's margaritas, and even if he doesn't want to put up with Klaus' nonsense or Allison's fans, he does love his siblings.

But Y/N always calls him back when he needs her to. She deserves the same.

Before he can dial her number in, the flashing red light of the answering machine catches his attention. There are six messages.

Hey, it's Y/N again. I'm so sorry for calling too much. I just...I changed my mind if you want to come over. You don't have to, but I'll be here. All night. Bye.

Hi. It's Y/N. I, um, I would love your company right now. Or like soon. Or you know, as soon as you're available. Unless you don't want--don't want to. That's cool too. Um, ok, sorry again for calling so much, bye.

In the next voicemail, he hears music in the background. Hi. I'm not trying to be needy. Everything's just shit, and you're not. So thanks for not being shit, and call me back. Or just come over. Whichever. Both. No, the second one. K, thanks, byeee.

The music is slightly louder, but her voice is even closer to the phone, almost muffled. Hi, hey, so, I just...I wish...I'm probably stupid, but I think I...yeah, no, nevermind, I'm stupid. Ok, byeeeeee.

The next voicemail starts out in the middle of her sentence. Or rather, lyric. -- thing that got me trippin' This one thing your soul made me feel it It's this one thing you did oh, oh-- Oh, shit. She giggles. It's your voicemail. Sorryyyyyy-- She cuts off then.

This song is softer, and her voice is more slurred than even the last message. What the fuck am I doing. What the fuck am I even doing? Look if you're with someone else, that's ok. It's ok. I get it. Ok? I get it. I'm sorry to keep calling. I don't know. I--I'm sorry. I hope you guys are happy together. You deserve to be happy. I just--fuck. There's a pause before she hangs up, and in the pause he catches the lyric: We'll be playmates and lovers, and share our secret worlds.

Margaritas will have to wait.

He's in her living room in the next second, and he's never seen her like this. The voicemails were one thing--the range of emotions and descent into intoxication--but she's thrown a one person party, and it's one of the most goddamn pathetic things he's ever seen. He hates it.

"Y/N?" he asks, and she falls off the fucking couch in her effort to turn around.

"Five?" she asks, as if surprised to see him there. As if she hadn't called him eight times just to make sure he came. He nods. Her mood seems to have changed from the last voicemail at least, but this still seems all wrong. As wrong as it felt earlier to see her come to do the door with smudged mascara and a tight voice.

"What are you doing?"

She doesn't respond right away, her face still screwed up in confusion.

"Dancing. What are you doing?" She stands then, wobbly on her legs. She's never been the most graceful person, but if Five had to guess, he'd blame this on the assortment of empty bottles on her coffee table. There's too many of them and they're way too big. He can't tell if he should be impressed or concerned, so he settles on an emotion somewhere between the two.

"You called me," he reminds, picking up a bottle of Tennessee honey whiskey. One of the two bottles that still has any liquor left in it. He wonders if he should drink this now or find a way to hide it from her. "Eight times. Did you drink all of these?"

She scoffs, but seeing as she's drunker than he's ever seen her, he's not sure he deserves the derision. Scratch that, he's certain he doesn't deserve the derision. "No, they were mostly empty."

This makes him feel a bit better, but he's not completely sure he believes her. Instead, he does what he does best and runs some quick calculations in his head. Either she started before he stopped by earlier or in the past six hours she's done nothing but sit and drink. An uncomfortable feeling springs up in his chest at the thought of her turning him away so she can drink alone on her couch. He should have pushed her earlier on the lie. This isn't about work. She hates her job, he knows that, but not this much. There's something more.

"Are you going to tell me what's really going on now?" Five asks, facing her. She's silent for a moment before nodding. He thinks that she must be worse off than he thought when she begins searching around the newspapers on the floor, throwing page after page back down before finally thrusting a paper in his hands. It's an engagement announcement, which makes no sense until he begins to read and a lightbulb comes on when he reaches the names. "Your ex?"

She nods, bouncing with anticipation or maybe to the music. It's hard to tell. "He's getting married," she sings at him, and he winces at the offkey tune. His eyes fall back on the picture, and he takes in the bleached white smile, the girl's hand on the ex's chest flashing a ring too big and flashy to say anything but insecure.

"Statistically, it'll only last eight years," Five says, his eyes returning to Y/N. She's attempting to lip sync with the song that's playing but is about two seconds behind the actual verse. There's an all too familiar twinge of anger in his chest. She's a complete mess over another man.

Objectively this should only be a problem because he has enough messes to deal with between his siblings--he doesn't need her on the list too. But he'd be lying if that was the only reason he was angry. He'd be lying if that was a reason he was angry at all. She shouldn't be so upset by this. People get engaged. This guy dumped her. He didn't deserve this. It was over between them.

He wonders if she held out hope of going back to him. He wonders if he's been nothing more than a distraction for her.

He wonders why that idea bothers him.

"You're still...in love with him?" he guesses, and a chorus of no's fall from her lips. The amount of protest is suspicious, but there's fire in her eyes as she moves towards him and grabs his arm. She stops then, squeezing his tricep, and he wonders if she's about to admit something. He doesn't know what he'll do if she does.

"Y/N," he prompts, and she looks up at him with big eyes. Fuck.

"I just wish I had something to shove in his face," she says. Fuck.

"Something to show him how wrong he was about me. You know?" Fuck.

"I'm fucking future material," she asserts, shaking her hands in his face. And then she retreats with a sigh, grabbing a hold of the only other bottle with liquid in it. "But it looks like he was right. The fucker was right. I'm a reject."

She thinks she's a reject.

She thinks she deserves this.

He snatches the bottle away from her before she even has the chance to take a sip.

"Hey," she shouts, grabbing at him, and Five turns away from her to finish it off before she can get to it. She doesn't need any more alcohol, and he doesn't need any more truth. "Asshole," she grumbles. He's been on the receiving end of that word his entire life, but this is the first time he actually feels like one.

"You didn't need it," he tells her, placing the bottle back on the table before turning his back to her. He should get out of here. He should tell her to take a shower, drink some water, and go to bed. But instead, he's walking to her bedroom door. Because he can't leave. When he calls, she comes. Every time. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't push. She's steady. A constant. She deserves the same. She deserves more than this pathetic pity party.

"Are you coming or not?" he asks her, and then she's moving towards him with alarming speed considering her present state, but not quite enough to make it into the bedroom at the same time as him. Instead, he finds himself alone for the moment, looking around the room he's so familiar with. The work clothes thrown at the closet door, the scattering of papers and chargers and books and pens on her desk. The seven goddamn candles, all at various heights and always lit whenever she's home. It's a fire hazard, but she refuses to let go of the habit. None of them are lit now, though.

There's a large thudding sound outside the door, and he already knows what he'll find. Sure enough, she's on the floor, pants tangled in her legs, flailing with all of the dignity of Klaus. He sighs, walking back over to her, slightly relieved when she frees herself before he has to deal with being kicked for trying to help her.

Years of rescuing hostages and dragging around his brothers makes it easy for him to sling her over his shoulders. Thankfully she's allowing herself to be carried and not scared half of her mind which makes the journey significantly easier from the last time he had to do this to someone.

It's a bit of a process to fling back the covers so he can put her in bed. It ends with her more falling onto the mattress as opposed to being placed down, but he's thrown her on a bed enough times that she doesn't seem to mind the slight bounce as she hits the mattress.

As she settles herself in, he starts cramming all of the stupid pillows he's normally tossing onto the floor behind her back so that she doesn't die. He feels a bit like Vanya, which has that bittersweet feeling blooming in his chest once more.

He's about to tuck the edge of the blanket under the mattress when she sits up slightly and pulls him in, bringing his lips to hers. She tastes like whiskey, but sweeter. There's no burn as her lips move against his with a surprising amount of dexterity. For a fleeting second, Five wonders if he can get secondhand tipsy from her kiss because it must be the alcohol that's causing the spinning feeling of intoxication in his head.

He knows that's not it though. He knows he should pull away. There's a reason he stopped kissing her after their third time together. Why he only lets himself get tastes of her skin. But her tongue is slipping into his mouth, and she's drawing him in, pulling him closer to her. His whole body is practically buzzing to follow her lead, and it takes every inch of his willpower to pull himself away from her and back out of her grasp.

Her brow furrows in confusion as she drops back into the bed, her head hitting the pillow. "Youdon'wan'meei'er," she mumbles, and it's hardly more than sounds, but he understands.

"No. Not tonight," he says as he pushes the comforter between her mattress and boxspring. She sucks her teeth, turning away from him as he stands. Her eyes are closed, and there's still the small crease between her eyes. He shoves his hands in his pockets but keeps his eyes glued on her, and he can't bring himself to move until he sees the comforter rise and fall with her breath.

It would be irresponsible to leave her alone like this. He should stay at least until her roommate gets home. She deserves that much.

Outside of the room, music is still blaring, so he walks out to turn it off. It takes a few minutes of searching to find her phone buried in the cushions so he can pause the playlist. When he comes back in, she curled up on her side, facing the edge of the bed. It makes him feel a bit better.

Five wanders over to her bookshelf, scanning the shelves before plucking out One Hundred Years of Solitude and then settles down on the other side of her pillow wall and cracks open the book.

Her roommate still isn't back by 5 am, and Five is over halfway through the novel and almost an entire carafe of coffee down. He shuts the book slowly, turning to look at her. She's hardly moved since he put her in bed aside from the steady rise and fall of her breathing. If anything was going to happen, it probably already would have.

Quietly, he stands up from the bed, returning the book to its space on the shelf. He exits the room into the still apartment, shutting off the lights as he goes. When he enters the kitchen, his eyes land on the mostly empty coffee pot.

He should clean that.

Instead, he dumps it out and sets up a new pot, making a calculated guess on when she will wake up. The aspirin is conveniently located next to the bags of coffee, and he takes that down as well, along with a clearly handmade mug that screams Y/N.

He glances around the kitchen one last time before switching off the light and heading out to find the living room lightswitch. It's as he passes the coffee table that he pauses, his eyes falling on the page of the newspaper she threw at him hours ago. He takes it up, flicks off the light, and goes home.

#five hargreeves #number five #number 5 #five hargreeves smut #number five smut #number 5 smut #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number 5 x reader #tua fic #number 5 fic #number five fic #five hargreeves fic

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hoe-doroki · 3 years

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stay

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Bakugou x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

It seemed stupid to have any kind of mental illness around someone like Bakugou.

Bakugou had experienced near death multiple times by his mid-twenties had had witnessed the worst of the world first hand. His teens had been littered with trauma and, as an adult, his work was constantly throwing him into circumstances where his body, his life was at risk. He did this day in and day out and it wasn’t even a question. He survived it all and, more than that, he let the world think it was easy.

Sometimes just getting out of bed wasn’t easy for you.

You felt like your body was rotting. You’d been on the couch all day and it smelled stale from the layers of lazy sweat you’d gotten on it. From the shower you hadn’t taken and the hair you hadn’t touched. But was it rot from the outside in—something a bit of soap and buffing could slough off—or was it the inside out? Harder to reach, harder to fix. As your brain sent your every thought clenching on your veins, your vital organs, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was both. Rotted from the inside out and the outside in.

You tensed when you heard the door to your shared apartment click, a key being shoved into the lock. Over the cold numbness that you’d felt all day, a shot of panic sprinted through your bloodstream as a million ways to lie popped into your head. You popped off the couch and tried to think of a way to look busy, so you ran to the kitchen and started boiling some water.

This was something Bakugou couldn’t see. The last thing you wanted, the last thing he needed was for you to be another person that he had to save. Another person to risk himself for.

You eyed Bakugou when he came in, shoulders drooped, gait wide. He looked tired, but otherwise normal. You usually tried not to worry yourself with the cuts and scrapes he often showed up with after work, and, so long as he was walking, he usually told you to calm down and that he was fine. You weren’t going to test it today.

“Hi, babe,” you said, putting strained effort into your pitch, your tone, your face. Maybe your voice was too high, maybe the smile spread a bit too wide, so you turned back to the water, watching it heat.

“Hi,” Bakugou greeted as he kicked off his sneakers, voice gravely as it usually was after a shift. He was in civilian clothes now, having showered and changed at the agency. A black tee and jeans that never fit quite right on his narrow hips and tall frame. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I, um…” You looked down at the water, still cool enough to stick a finger into. You’d done nothing all day, having skipped out on all your classes with half-assed emails sent to the teachers. The idea of going had been too much to take—for reasons you had no language for—so you’d wallowed on the couch as the hours of the day had bled away. So the question felt like an interrogation about to put a scalpel to your flaws. “I’m just heating some water for tea. Was gonna get started on dinner.”

“What were you gonna make?”

Bakugou was in the kitchen now, coming up behind you to press a kiss against your temple. Your heart rate increased but not in the good way. Not in the way that it should. Instead of flutters it was pounding, smacking against your ribs in a reminder that he was too close, you were too visible—you might explode and you would hurt him.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure,” you said, the answer sending shameful heat to your cheeks. And then you were slapped the other way by how stupid that was. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay,” Bakugou said, going to the fridge. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Bakugou was always insistent on having a stocked fridge. With his job and you in your master’s program it was hard to find the time to grocery shop, much less eat consistent meals together, but those were the kinds of things that Bakugou prioritized. The things behind his sharp persona and shrinking legacy of reckless anger that made him a good boyfriend. An amazing partner and enviable roommate.

And what did you offer him? Emotional instability without just cause? A nascent—at best—career while he was climbing the pro hero charts every cycle?

Who were you kidding? You hadn’t even gone to class. You hadn’t done any of the work that you needed to do—the evening was a wash now, so you wouldn’t catch up. You were just wasting everyone’s time, like you always did.

“Hey, babe?”

By the tone of his voice, you realized that Bakugou had called you multiple times. Your eyes flicked toward him, but your head felt heavy to lift. “Hmm?” you asked, squeezing every last bit of breath into that hum.

“The water’s boiling.” Bakugou walked over to you, two mugs with teabags slumped at the bottom. He set them on the counter and put a hand on your shoulder, turning you a degree closer to him.

“Oh,” you intoned, pulling away and turning off the fire. Stupid. You were about to grab the pot when Bakugou dropped his hand down to your elbow, giving a firm squeeze.

“Are you okay?”

You ignored his gesture to stop and reached for the kettle, putting all of your effort into keeping your hands steady as you poured hissing water in one mug and then the other. Doing something was the only thing keeping you upright as your thoughts continued to swirl in your head poisoning each brain cell you had. You hadn’t done anything worth living for today. But goddamn it, if you couldn’t make these mugs of tea, then you should just walk out of the apartment and let Bakugou be better off without you.

“Woah, woah, what’s happening?”

Bakugou’s hand was on your chin as he pulled your face a little too roughly towards him. Or, rather, it wouldn’t have been rough, if you weren’t resisting it. But you didn’t want him to look you in the eye. See what a failure you were. Someone who couldn’t even overcome a bad emotional day to go to class while he’d been out saving lives—as usual. He took the pot from your white-knuckled grip and set it on the stove.

“Why are you crying?”

Were you? You hurriedly brushed a hand under your eyes and they came away slick, the water hot as the tea you were steeping.

“The…The steam…” you started, prepared to lie and lie and lie until there was nothing real left. The real stuff was too hard to hold. “I think…It just must have irri…tated my eyes.”

Your breathing was running away with you, chest heaving as you pulled away and faced the other direction. Your attempts were thin, too threadbare to hide behind. And your boyfriend wasn’t nearly stupid enough to be fooled, even by your best efforts.

“Babe, tell me what’s wrong,” Bakugou said forcibly, stepping around to face you again.

His eyes were searching for yours, but you held fisted hands to your cheek as you turned away from him. Now you could feel the tears streaming, and you couldn’t turn them off. But what was there to tell him? That you were just a big, stupid idiot who cried for no reason? That watching him become a better man only emphasized how totally shit you were? That when the two of you were on the street together, you knew that people wondered what a guy like him was doing with a person like you?

“I just want you to stop crying,” Bakugou said, and you could hear him getting desperate, only making you feel worse. You were biting your lips closed to keep the sobs from tearing out, but that only made embarrassing little huffs come out your nose, whimpers sneak past the back of your throat.

You couldn’t stop crying. How could you stop it when you didn’t understand what had started it?

“I’ll just,” you hiccupped, backing away from him. “Just give me…I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou said, grabbing your wrist. “Do you want me to go because you want me to go, or because you think you deserve to be alone?”

The words felt like a trick, a riddle from some fairytale turned nightmare intended to make you fail either way. Telling him the truth would trap him in whatever trip wires had you tied in knots right now. But, at the same time, he was expecting the lie. He wasn’t letting you save him from this.

But why? He was always saving people. Why, for once, couldn’t you save him from you?

“Idiot,” Bakugou said, pulling you in to him. You cried harder, the weight of your failure dropping in your well and spilling more tears out of you. “Why would I leave you alone?”

A sob crashed out, breaking through haphazard letters of attempted defense. He needed to go; him seeing you like this only made it worse.

“It, um,” Bakugou’s voice was low, a register that was unfamiliar even to you, unsteady and unrehearsed. “It seems easier to be alone. I know it does. But…you’ve shown me that’s not true, so just. Let me show you the same, okay?”

You could feel how hard he was trying as he pressed you into his chest and you finally, finally let him. The sobbing made you weak in the knees, light in the head, but he held you. He held you up, held you close, and he wasn’t letting go.

Everyone always talked about how crying felt good. About it being a release that helped you process your pain. And maybe that was right when talking about grief or loss, but not this. These tears felt like nothing more than splashing in the masturbatory wallowing hole of your self pity. Embarrassing and stupid.

“Why?” you finally whispered when the sobs subsided a bit, letting you keep enough of the air in to at least say that.

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything, and you wondered if you’d imagined the words. If you were imagining the whole thing and he really had left like you’d wanted. But then you heard breath catch in the back of his throat as he seemed to try and fail to find the words a couple of times.

“In another world,” he finally started. “I’d come home from a day of work fucking exhausted, slump on the couch, eat, and pack it in to go to bed before starting all over the next day. And I’d probably be fine with that. But I’d be a fucking idiot, because coming home to you makes it worth coming home.”

Your breathing was steadying as he talked and you could feel the tears cooling against your cheek, against his wet t-shirt.

“Even with you looking like a damn mess like this,” Bakugou said and you could hear the smile in his voice. His smile, which had grown less rare over time, was always so wide that it made his words sound different. Warmer. They managed to draw a haggard chuckle out of you. “I’m happier just to be around you than convincing myself that being lonely at the top is the best way.”

“I don’t want to drag you down from the top,” you said. “Your company shouldn’t be dead weight.”

“Dead weight?” Bakugou repeated, pulling back to look at you. “Dumbass.”

He pulled you in again, both of his arms around the back of your head so that you were nearly smothered in his chest.

“That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard. You’re fucking incredible, and if that’s why you’re crying today, then you and me have to do some talking.”

Another laugh managed to crawl its way out of you and Bakugou let you pull back to breathe again.

“Are you okay now?”

‘Okay’ felt like such a far ways away. But you were above water again. Somewhere next to okay, distance undetermined.

“I’m surviving,” you decided.

Bakugou looked at you, a couple different things flashing over his eyes, too quickly for you to identify. “Well, that’ll do for now, but we’re not settling for that. Just talk to me. I’m not the best at this, but…I want to be better at it.”

In that moment, you remembered that Bakugou wasn’t perfect either. That he constantly had voices in his head telling him that he wasn’t doing enough and, not only that, he had the public constantly critiquing his attitude, his skills, his work. That, to some degree, this was already something you were going through together.

“I think you’re better at it than you think.”

Bakugou smiled again, this one not so wide, but more private. “You too, he said. Whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—you’re better than you think.”

He pulled you in close again, and this time you sunk into it, enjoying his warm muscles, the way that his hair was still a little damp from the shower. You weren’t sure if anything had changed—all your problems were still present as they’d ever been. But yet, there was one thing. Now, with Bakugou’s arms like a buttress to your shaky but standing foundation, you, paradoxically, hoped that he would stay and stay and stay.

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugou #bakugo #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #hurt/comfort

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