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#do your own savage ways in your APARTMENT SPARK
tessa-liam · 10 months
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Ti Amo Molto
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Ti Amo Molto
(I love you very much)
The Royal Romance
Liam Rys x Riley Brooks-Rys, OTP
Rating: E 🔞*Warning NSFW material,
Song Inspiration: Truly Madly Deeply
By Savage Garden
Words: ~1650, Not Beta'd, please excuse all errors.
A/N: My submission for Spring Fever Pitch
• Phrase/Sentence prompt:
“Look what you do to me.”
• Location: on a blanket under a fireworks show!
Duchy of Valtoria, Cordonia
“So, what do you think, Mrs. Rys?” Liam flashed a broad smile at his bride of two weeks, taking note of her delight at seeing the rolling hills next to the crystal blue water of the lake. Across the way, distant sounds of the Valtorian spring festival could be heard echoing between the mountains.
After spending the evening exploring the lush countryside of Duchy Valtoria on horseback, Liam and Riley dismounted from their horses onto the plush grasslands surrounding the lake.
“Oh Liam, this view.... is absolutely incredible!” Riley gushed, squeezing his hand.
Walking slowly, hand in hand, towards the shore, the beginning rumbles of the sound of fireworks echo across the water.
“The fireworks are starting soon! Let’s watch them from over there.” Riley spins to the right and points to a small hill.
“That is a perfect spot, love. Yet, I was thinking that since Bastien and Mara are following behind us, we should find a more private spot that is not in the open.”
“Good point, as always,” Riley smiles and shakes her head.
“I am still not used to being guarded at every moment.”
Smiling and chuckling at her expression, Liam draws her close, “I make it into a challenge to evade their ‘watch’ from time to time. There is a cove just past those trees.”
“I love how you think, your majesty,” standing up on her toes to place a sweet kiss on his lips, Riley sighs contentedly.
Lit by the glimmering red glow of fireworks, Liam wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulders as they enter the cove. Liam’s lips meet Riley’s in a tender kiss that is interrupted only by occasional bursts of light. A sweet breeze blows through the air as Riley's hair flutters in the gentle spring wind. Liam moves to stand behind her, sheltering her body from the chilly night air with his own. Riley reaches up to caress Liam’s face while he slips one hand down to cup his wife's firm round ass. The other hand is on her hip, pulling her close. Slowly, they move apart to face each other, stealing a glance at each other before returning their hands to their respective lovers' bodies again. They begin kissing passionately once more, slowly moving closer until their legs touch and then intertwine. Now as their hips grind against each other, their tongues dance against each other's mouths as their hands continue to explore each other. Finally, they break away from each other, gasping for breath as they collapse on top of each other, and then their lips once again lock in a heated kiss.
With a gentle push, Liam guides Riley down onto the soft blue blanket beneath their feet. Reaching for another blanket, he lays it over both of them, not sure if it was too cold, or not, for Riley to be out here under the stars.
Reaching around her waist his hand moved underneath her top and pulled her body close to his. As Riley puts her arms around Liam’s neck, pressing her body close to his. Resting his hand on her thigh and pulling her leg overtop his. Riley can feel his warm breath tickle her ear as he whispers, "I want you." Riley replies, “then take me."
Interrupted by the first few fireworks bursting in the sky above, Liam continues kissing Riley passionately once again, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth as he is spurred on to keep up with the burst of light. Riley wraps her arms tightly in return, pressing herself against his body. As the display continues, they both feel the sparks of excitement building.
Riley places her hand on Liam’s chest and lays down on the blanket. She undoes the button on her jeans and begins moving the denim down her legs. Liam reaching down to remove them completely and pushed his leg between Riley's thighs, her wet center pressed against his skin. Kissing her neck, Riley moans softly as his hands run up and down her back. Moving her fingers through his hair, she urges Liam to go further as well. Burying his head between her breasts, he squeezes and pays attention to her taut buds. Riley runs her hands down his strong biceps, down lower to his bulge, eliciting a moan from Liam. As Liam kicks off his pants, he notes that her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes glazed over with pleasure.
Riley sighs quietly as he slips his finger through the band of her underwear, slowly peeling them down and revealing her naked form. His hands wander over her slender waist and hips as he kisses her passionately once again. His hands slipping underneath to caress her bare bottom. The two of them groan in unison as Liam presses his hardness against her, feeling her wetness surrounding him. He moans into her ear as he rubs his shaft against her, stroking her gently as his fingers graze over her smooth mound.
"I want you.” Liam whispers. "I need you."
Riley responds by pushing her hand down, grasping his throbbing member and squeezing. Both moaning loudly, unable to hold back as they give in to their desires. Riley grunts as he squeezes her breast, his thumb rubbing circles around her hard nipple. She reaches down, grabbing his erection and guides him towards her tight warmth.
"I want you too," Riley moans. "Now.”
The two of you cry out in unison as your bodies press together, your arms wrapping around each other as his hips thrust into her. Liam can feel the heat of her slick walls gripping him, sliding along his length as he plunges deeper and deeper inside her. He groans loudly as he leans his head against hers, sharing a passionate kiss. The two of them move together in perfect harmony, her hips grinding against his, her breasts pressed against his chest. Riley gasps as he rocks her hips, moving in and out of her, his thrusts becoming more and more urgent as Riley feels herself nearing orgasm. Her moans turn into cries as he pulls her lips against his, his tongue intertwining with hers as the sounds of fireworks explode above you, sending a shower of sparks raining down. A few seconds later, another one bursts overhead as Riley gasps and clings desperately to her husband, moaning loudly as she feels her climax approaching. He grinds his hips against hers, feeling his own release coming closer and closer.
Riley bites her lip as she watches the fireworks explode overhead, their lights bathing the night in a dazzling array of colors. Riley's cries grow louder and louder as she reaches her peak. It does not take long for Liam to follow as the last of the fireworks explodes into the sky, he collapses against her body.
Liam kisses her forehead tenderly, moaning softly, as he pulls himself away and turns to lay down beside her. He smiles widely as he leans forward, reaching out to rest his hand on her cheek.
"Guardo cosa mi fai, ti amo molto!"
(Look what you do to me, I love you so much!)
Riley’s heart swells with love as she smiles back at him, reaching out to embrace his cheek.
"Amore mia, tu sei il mia tutto, ti amo cosi tanto!"
(My love, you are my everything, I love you so much!)
Kissing her deeply, his hands moved onto her waist to hold her close. After a moment, Liam pulls away, gazing into her eyes and smiling broadly.
"Thank you for bringing me here, Liam. It has been an amazing night."
“Anything for you, my love!”
Turning to gaze out over the lake, the bright glow of the fireworks is still bursting into the air, illuminating the night with their brilliant light. Liam and Riley watch the display together until the show is finally over. Slowly but surely, the night returns to normal.
Riley turns to look at Liam, as he gives her a sly grin.
"That was truly extraordinary. "
Riley laughs and gives him a playful smack on the arm.
"I think so too, your Majesty. We should do this again, soon.”
"Cheeky as always, my love."
"Just wait,” he smirks. "Until we get home."
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@springfeverpitch @choicesflashfics @choicesmonthlychallenge @choicesficwriterscreations @moodmusicmonday
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weatheredleatherhat · 2 years
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Could I request a Heis x Reader where the Reader’s like a takes-no-bullshit, badass and outspoken person and Heiseberg has heart eyes for someone for the first time ever. He constantly tries to get their attention and loves that they play hard to get. Maybe it turns into some rough! smut if you’re comfy with it?
((Honestly I love the thought of Heis getting whipped by someone even mouthier than him. Here you go!! I went a lil ham, and basically made it smut with a sorta plot if you squint. Also added a bit of fluff at the end, because Karl and Reader deserve nice things. Hope you like it!!))
Content warnings: Smut, rough sex, reader has a vagina, unprotected sex (use a condom kids!), fingering, fluff at the end
18+ MINORS DNI
“KARL HEISENBERG!!”
Ah, shit.
For a second, he was tempted to make a break for it, hide himself somewhere that you couldn’t find him. Whenever you called him by his full name, it probably meant you considered him to be in deep shit. To be honest, he’d first kept you around as nothing more than a novelty; he enjoyed the fact that you refused to bow down and kiss his ass like so many others would. You’d yell at him like he wasn’t able to snap your spine in half, and you weren’t afraid to speak your mind whenever he did something that displeased you. But most of all, you laughed and joked with him. Treated him like he was just a normal human being, not some monster he was used to thinking himself as all these years. Your smile could light up a room, and he found himself wanting to hear your laugh so badly he’d go out of his way to get you to do it.
Then again, he also quickly remembered this was his own damn factory, and he wasn’t gonna hide from shit.
The door to his workshop slammed open, and if looks could kill he would have been struck down on the spot. In your hands were what looked to be the remnants of a radio, wires spilling out of the body like guts. Leaning back in his chair as he puffed on the cigar in his mouth, a wide grin spread across his face as if nothing was wrong. He looked smug as he always off, hat placed on the table and cigar in his mouth. “Buttercup!”
“Don’t you fucking ‘Buttercup’ me, you son of a bitch,” you snarled, stomping over to his desk and slamming the radio down on his table, crumpling the blueprints underneath. You heard him swore in protest, but you ignored it. “This was my goddamn radio, and yet you decided you needed a receiver and just took it apart?!”
He frowned at you, shrugging as he looked down at the remains of the machinery. “I couldn’t be bothered to find one through the damn scrap pile.”
Your fury seemed to increase tenfold as you rubbed a hand over your face. You started laughing, but there was barely any humour in it. He knew his response had struck a nerve, and he was in even deeper shit. Then again, you were kinda hot when you were enraged.
A finger was pointed at him as you jabbed it towards his chest. “You’re either fixing it, or finding me a new radio.”
He scoffed, raising an eyebrow towards you. “Or what?”
“Or that,” you gestured your head towards the radio, “is going over your fucking head.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth, calmly stubbing out his cigar in the ashtray before standing to his full height. He took careful strides towards you, his face unreadable, though a spark of savage want flickered in his eyes. You stood your ground, arms crossed as you craned your neck up to look at him, your jaw squared and posture strong. “You really think it’s wise to threaten me, doll?” he asked, voice low with a gravelly edge that caused heat to pool in your core. Lifting a hand, his fingers tangled into the ends of your hair, giving a playful tug. He couldn’t help but notice the pink to your cheeks, and he wondered how far he could go with this. “You get a little thrill out of it? That it? You yell at me because you get off on it?”
You rubbed your thighs together as subtly as you could, but he noticed, his grin widening to levels of near lunacy. “I-it’s not like that,” you stammered, dropping the eye contact to look down at the floor. The grip on your hair moved to grab more purchase at the base of your skull, forcing you to look back up at him. He stepped forward, making you move back until your ass hit the edge of a workbench behind you.
“Oh, but I think it is,” he cooed, using his free hand to take off his shades and carefully tossing them to the corner of the bench. Now you could see his rust coloured eyes, vivid in their intensity as they scanned every feature of your face, your breath caught in your throat as he lowered his face towards you. You could feel his breath fanning over your face, and could smell the tobacco and whiskey he liked to indulge in. It was a heady scent, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the intensity if you weren’t careful. “If I were a betting man, I would wager you’d want me to punish you a little for that filthy mouth of yours.”
Your mind whirred at what he meant by punishment. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of it before, when you were alone and needy for release in your quarters. Him taking you roughly from behind while you were bent over the nearest surface, smacking your ass hard while he pulled your hair for leverage. A hand around your throat, squeezing lightly while he watched your eyes roll back in their sockets as he fucked you hard into his bed. You realised you’d lost a few second at all the possibilities when he was staring at you with amusement, head tilted as his eyes raked over your body. Your mouth opened, but closed quickly as the words escaped you. As per usual, he decided to fill the silence for you. “Went a little quiet there sweetheart,” he murmured mere inches from your lips. “Wondered what your filthy little mind was thinking, hm?”
This was the closest he had got when it come to rattling you, and he found it addictive. Sure, he had tried the usual routes of shameless flirting and playfully smacking your ass when you were comfortable with it, but you’d rebuffed each and every advance with a little quip of your own. But he had always seen that glint in your eye when he was flirty, how a little colour came to your cheeks that you tried to desperately hide. Truthfully, you were beginning to become something of an addiction to him that he just couldn’t quit. Didn’t want to quit.
“Maybe I wasn’t thinking of anything,” you mumbled, hating how small you sounded. It wasn’t the best comeback, but it was all you could think of.
“Sure you weren’t,” he scoffed, letting go of you for only a moment before he gripped your waist and all but threw you on top of the workbench. Your little squeal of surprise fuelled him, and the way your eyes widened with lust blown pupils at the show of strength caused his erection to strain painfully in his trousers. He slotted himself between your parted legs, hands gripping your waist as he rolled his hips against your core. Your eyelids fluttered, hands flying up to the lapel of his jacket for support. He ducked his head down so his lips grazed your own, desperate to kiss you but not wanting to cross a line you didn’t want to. “You don’t have to do this with me sweetheart,” he said, barely above a whisper. Dear God, he desperately begged to whoever was upstairs that he read the room right, and you were as desperate for him as he was for you. “If you wanna stop, no hard feelings.”
The thought of this moment ending caused a whine to catch in your throat, threatening to overspill any second. You’d fantasised of this for so long, and you were desperate to find out if it would match your expectations. You were the first to initiate, giving your consent wholly as lips crashed against his. It took him a moment for him to return it, but when he did it was overwhelming. The kiss was full of desperate frensy; all teeth and tongue, his hands gripping your hips so hard you were sure they would bruise. You returned it with vigour, breathing small moans into his mouth that he growled in lust whenever he received. You pushed off his jacket, and his hands were only off you long enough to let it fall to the ground. They found the straps of your overalls, pushing them off in a frantic need and letting them fall to your waist. You felt him grip the front of your shirt, and with one strong tug it was torn to shreds. You let out a breathy sigh as that fire in your stomach was fuelled by the action. You could be mad at him for fucking up what little clothes you had later. Right now, it was hot as fuck.
“Fuck, Karl,” you breathed into his skin as you kissed the junction between his neck and shoulder, feeling his grip on the waistband of your overalls as he tried to pull them off. Ever since you found out his first name, you barely used it. He was always Heisenberg, Heis, or some form of creative insult. It didn’t escape your notice that when you used his first name, his need for you somehow grew even more than it already was, became frantic to see you naked. As you toed off your boots, he took the time to pull off his shirt and tank top, leaving him topless and leaving you panting at the sight.
He was back all over you, tugging off your overalls and panties in one movement. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck as you felt his fingers at your core, swiping up your slit in a movement that made your legs quiver. “So fucking wet,” he growled, diving back in for another intense kiss as his finger sunk into you. He pumped into you and tested which angle, which curl of his finger made you moan the loudest into his mouth in a way that made his cock strain at the sound of it. Another finger was added, his thumb circling around your clit in time with his movements, and your head fell back with jaw lax as your eyes rolled backwards. He dove to attack your neck with his mouth, teeth clamping down on the soft flesh as his tongue teased, adding to your pleasure. If he kept this up, you were going to lose it, the tension deep in your stomach threatening to snap. “Fuck me already,” you pleaded, an edge of feral need in your voice.
He huffed out a laugh as he felt your hands trail quickly down his chest, moving to fumble with his belts. “So fucking needy, aren’t you?” he murmured against your neck, though he found himself getting impatient too. A low growl escaped him as you finally freed his cock, wrapping your hand around it with widened eyes as you stroked it. You always wondered if he was big, but you never expected it to be like this. The length was a little above average, but he made up with it in thickness, the girth making you swipe a tongue over your lip in need. In the back of your mind, you wondered if you needed more prep, but that logical thought was blown away by feral lust. You could deal with the ache later; for now you needed him.
You pulled him towards you with your heels dug into his thighs, but he held fast, holding your chin tightly in one hand while the other gripped his dick and teased your entrance with it in a way that made you whine. “Beg me for it,” he growled, pressing lightly into you. “I wanna hear it.”
“Fuck, please, don’t you dare fucking tease me,” you snarled, pressing yourself forward as much as you could without falling off the table. When he quirked an eyebrow, you knew for a fact he’d leave you here needy when he pulled away, teasing you for as long as you could hold out for if it meant getting his way. The dam broke; fuck, you needed him, and you couldn’t stop the words tumbling from your mouth. “Karl, please, I need you,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes. “Please, fuck me.”
The grip on your chin loosened and fell away, the arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed his length into you, going as fast as he could without hurting you. Heavy panting from the both of you was the only thing that could be heard over the thrum of the factory. Your brain short-circuited from pleasure; you clung onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling, and he held on with just as much intensity. When you finally opened eyes you didn’t realise you closed, he was looking right at you, eyes flickering over your features as if he was watching everything, taping it to memory. You’d never seen him like this. Blissed out with pleasure, yet the intensity still remained. There was something else too, that you couldn’t quite place. A look of… Adoration? Maybe you were just imagining things in a lust filled haze.
You rolled your hips to urge him to move, finding that your mind had too much space to think. You ran your hand through his hair, gripping the back as you bucked against him, matching the intensity as you picked up speed. You heard a sound from somewhere, though you had no idea where it came from, and at that moment you couldn’t give less of a shit. You panted as you kissed him again, slipping your tongue into his mouth, which he devoured eagerly as he pounded into you. All the nerves in your body came alight as you reached your edge, threatening to come apart at the seams if it wasn’t for his strong grip around your waist, anchoring you to the table as objects clattered off the surface from the intensity.
Your soft staccatos of gasps, ending with an intense scream as you tightened intensely around him while you came hard caused him to fall headlong into his own release, gasping for breath as his hips stuttered from how hard he came. “Fuck, Jesus…” He ended his growled words with your name falling from his lips, his head falling to rest on your shoulder as he caught his breath. You were both left in the afterglow, both trying to get your brains into gear again from the fuzziness as you recovered. He slowly slipped out of you, his cum starting to leak onto your thighs as he tucked himself back into his trousers and looked around for a rag you could use. When you looked down, you realised that the sound you heard earlier was Karl’s hand warping and breaking the table with his harsh grip. You forced back a smile at it; at the fact you’d made him lose control with his need for you that much.
You exhaled a forceful sigh, rubbing your face with both palms as you grinned through them. Yeah, this was worth it. And it was ten times better than you thought it would be. He caught your smirk when he turned around, handing you a small piece of clean cloth as he quirked an eyebrow while picking up his clothes. “What’re you smiling about?” his asked, his tone amused. “That good, huh?”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, leaning forward to snatch his tank top from him before you pulled it on and cleaned yourself up. He opened his mouth to complain, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that shut him up when he saw you wearing his clothes.
“I’m smiling because I’m assuming you think you’re getting out of getting me a new damn radio,” you answered as you found your panties, pulling them on. He laughed at that, shaking his head as he continued getting dressed, now without undershirt.
“Even fucking your brains out isn’t gonna stop you from being a brat, is it?” he drawled, picking up a cigar from the small box he kept on his desk and lighting it up as he took a few puffs.
You chuckled, stepping over on bare feet to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Absolutely fucking not, and you love it.”
He snorted, but deep down, he knew you were right. He was elated that you still treated him exactly the same, even after your passionate encounter had taken place. In fact, this was probably going to make you even mouthier. But he found himself not minding that one iota.
~
“Oh honeybun!” you heard him boom out in a singsong voice from outside your workshop door, kicking it open for effect though you knew full well he could use his powers or God forbid, use the fucking handle. You barely looked up from the welding project you were working on, waiting until you’d finished with the bond that took most of your attention.
You flipped the visor you wore upwards, looking up to focus on him with narrowed eyes of suspicion. He had something behind his back, but you couldn’t see what. To be honest, you’d got used to working in silence without music the few weeks since the ‘incident’, but you had been fucking pretty much every night since then. That was all worth it, to have him rather than a hunk of junk whose stations you didn’t even particularly like.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on those reactor cores? I’ve been sweating my ass off getting these leg frames made.” You tried to keep the amusement from your voice, but he probably heard it enough to warrant that laugh he gave in return.
“Almost done doll, I promise. But I thought this would be something better to use my time with. Close your eyes for me.”
You looked puzzled. “Why?”
He sighed in exasperation, tilting his head back in frustration. “For fuck sa- Just trust me, alright?”
You sighed dramatically, making a show of placing your gloved hands over your eyes. You heard him shuffle around your workspace, mumbling something to himself in German like he usually did when he was concentrating. It sounded like he was doing something at your desk, though you weren’t quite sure.
“Alright, you can look now.”
When you let your vision adjust and looked towards him, he held his hand with a flourish towards something new on your desk. It took you a minute to figure out what it was. A large rectangular box, the time of day shown in the middle on a screen. It had buttons on the top of it across the edge, and a strange metal thing that looked like a charging cable sticking out of the middle. Your eyes widened as you realised what exactly you were looking at. “Holy shit,” you breathed as you ripped your welding mask off, setting it down as you joined him at his side. “Is that an iPod dock?!”
He looked a little puzzled as he shrugged. “Iunno. I found it, did some fiddling and found out it plays radio stations sorta decent.” He rubbed the back of his head as a slightly sheepish look crossed his face. “I didn’t forget, you know.”
You squealed as you threw yourself at him to hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his. He chuckled, arms encircling your waist as he looked down at you when you pulled away from the kiss. “I take it I did good?”
“You did good,” you echoed, pulling away to look for something in your upper desk drawer. To be honest, you’d completely forgotten about it ages ago. You considered it a remnant of your past; of your old life, and had retired it to live anywhere other than your pockets since you started working at the factory. The old iPod nano, screen slightly smashed and green metal scuffed from your tribulations of surviving your journey into the village was nestled right at the bottom, and you held your breath as you stared at it in your hand. Would it even work? God knows what it went through, but you had to try. It’d lost it’s charge a couple of weeks into you working at the factory, and you’d slightly mourned the loss of listening to it through headphones whenever you could. But now? If this worked, you didn’t have to worry about that.
Karl looked thoroughly engrossed in whatever it was you were doing, as he usually did whenever something new technological wise caught his attention. With a little prayer to the machinery Gods, you fitted the iPod into the dock, holding your breath to see if it would power on. To your surprise (and joy), you saw the darkened screen as the apple logo popped up, and then switched to the main screen.
“What is it?” Karl asked from beside you, but at first you ignored him, looking through the song list. They were all still there. All your favourite tracks, ready to play. You decided on your favourite to listen to first, pressing play and keeping your finger on the volume up button until it filled the room with its melody.
Karl looked fascinated as he listened, his mind figuring out what was happening to the best of my abilities. “Huh. I’ll be damned,” he murmured, tilting his head as he listened to the first few beats. He watched as your hips swayed to the music, and you softly sang along to the lyrics. A grin spread across his face as he leaned against your desk. “You listened to this shit?” Though it was a jab, there was no malice behind it. Just amusement.
“You shut your mouth, this is a classic,” you answered back with a smirk, slotting yourself between his legs and looping your arms around his neck as you swayed. His hands found your waist, and he pulled you in for a soft kiss.
“So, I’m off the hook?” he asked with an amused lilt to his voice.
You nodded. How could he not be? He’d given back something you thought you’d lost, without even realising what he’d done. He’d given you this, but he’d also given you a home. He’d given you protection. And even if you didn’t know it yet, he’d given you his love and adoration.
“Yeah,” you murmured as you kissed him again.
“You’re off the hook.”
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mmvalentine · 3 years
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Hey. Can you write a canon divergence where feyre runs into Issac when she visits her family in acomf and jealous Rhys👀
A little 'fresh mating bond' feysand? Oh yes. Yes I can.
We're All Just Animals
We arrived in the human world a day before the meeting with the mortal queens. Now that we were mated, Rhys was voicing a new interest in the village where I grew up, and wanted to spend a day walking around my old town. More importantly, we wanted time to walk around with each other in a place where we didn't get stopped every other minute to be congratulated by doting citizens. With the bond so fresh we... weren't always up for being around other people for extended periods of time and avoided being caught in casual conversations.
So there we were, wandering the market place like newlyweds. At home, I had put a stop to Rhys buying me lavish gowns and precious jewels. Leave the hoarding to Amren, I always said. But here I let him spoil me with trinkets from local vendors: wooden rings, pressed flowers, and spun sugar in the shapes of birds.
To our great satisfaction, no one approached us. No one knew who we were or wanted to make small talk. I supposed I looked very different now to what I used to- where I had been a pale, dirty starveling last I lived here, I was now fae with decadent meals every day and months of Illyrain training. If I walked past nineteen year old me, I'm sure she wouldn't recognise me.
But Isaac Hale did.
"Feyre?" he called.
"Isaac!" I beamed. Since Rhys and I had been mated, it felt like everything delighted me. Despite the looming tensions with Hybern, I was just so deliriously happy, and the feeling was as intoxicating as it was unfamiliar.
Isaac? Rhys echoed in my mind. He knew exactly who Isaac was.
"How are you?" I asked him. "Where's your lovely wife?"
"I'm good. She's at home," Isaac said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to not stare too hard at me. I remembered how it felt to be dazzled by the beauty of the fae, and I felt a little sorry for him.
"I'm supposed to be bringing home a bag of salt and a few other spices," Isaac said. "Should we walk together?"
Ice crackled into my veins, starting where Rhys's hand held mine and shooting through my arm to my heart. I glanced at him, and if his grip hadn't turned vice-like, you couldn't tell that he was bothered at all.
The mating bond was a strange thing. The ever calm, ever suave Rhys I knew was consumed by the possessive instincts of evolutions past, and I wondered in the last few days where his reasonable self had gone to. I was all too aware of his absolute intolerance of males around me- even his own brothers, sometimes.
"Sure," I said, smiling beatifically at Isaac.
Then again, maybe the mating bond did strange things to me, too.
We turned and strolled down the street together, and as we did, Rhys's hand slipped from mind and slid round my waist instead. Tugged me into his side, and dug a little too hard into my flesh.
"So," he said, his voice perfectly light. "Isaac is it?"
"Yes," Isaac blinked, as if only now becoming aware of Rhys. My smile grew slightly wider, while Rhys beside me only got colder. I couldn't deny the rush I felt when Rhys got like this. When I could make Rhys like this. "I'm an... old friend of Feyre's."
"Funny," Rhys said casually. "I'd never heard of you."
Liar, I shot at Rhys. His talons scraped against the shield of my mind, found purchase and latched on. I shivered.
Isaac chuckled good-naturedly. "Ah, well, I suppose that makes sense, given... ah, our relationship." Wrong answer.
The talons twitched tighter, and the edges of my vision blurred for a second. I swatted at them, and they loosened again.
"It's been a long time," Isaac said quickly, noting the way Rhys and I walked together, the way Rhys was holding on to me.
"Too long," I purred. "We were going to stop by the tavern for a drink, if you'd like to join us." Rhys stopped dead in his tracks.
Feyre, he murmured, dangerously low.
"That would be lovely," Isaac said, and only noticed a second too late that Rhys's expression had lost all pretense at civility and was now openly hostile.
Rhys, I mimicked.
"Fantastic," Rhys said, eyes sparking. "Lead the way then." He gestured dramatically out in front and Isaac, now wildly uncertain, glanced at me before walking ahead of us.
What are you doing? I asked Rhys.
Going for a drink with your ex-lover, apparently, Rhys replied. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He's an old friend, I reasoned. Don't kill him.
Rhys's eyes slid sideways to mine. Feyre I know you what you're doing.
I blinked innocently back at him. I don't know what you're talking about.
I pried his talons off my mind primly, and they sulked away.
I hadn't been to the local tavern since leaving the human world. It was dark and dingy just like I remembered- although my fae nose now picked up scents that I really didn't need amplified.
There were tall barrels dotted around the room that stood in as tables, and in the centre of the space were a couple of worn couches. We picked up our mugs of ale and sat down on one of the latter. I had Rhys on my left, and I leaned my back against his shoulder as I turned to Isaac. Isaac set his drink on the low table, and sat down on my other side. Moved a little further away when a low warning growl emanating from Rhys as soon as his backside hit the cushion.
"How are your sisters?" Isaac asked, now clearly uncomfortable. Rhys's arms slid around my middle, and his chin rested on my shoulder.
"They're doing well," I told him. "They're much more comfortable since my father's trade has picked up."
"Yes, I've been glad to see your family's good fortune return," Isaac said. He reached for his mug, which happened to be near my knee. Rhys's teeth snapped loudly next to my ear, and I slapped his thigh lightly.
"Behave," I said mildly. I reached up and stroked his hair without looking at him, and he moved his head to touch his nose to my palm.
Isaac, on the other hand, was looking at Rhys with wide eyes and had snatched his hand back so fast you'd think the tankard was on fire. Without a drink, he rubbed his hands together awkwardly. I picked up my own mug, and slid Isaac's across to him at the same time. The taste was sawdust on my lips now, but Isaac drank his down quickly.
"See the Archerons often, do you Isaac?" Rhys asked lightly. He was now circling his nails on my knee, and they were just a bit too sharp. I could feel it all the way up my legs. A craving for more, more, more of Rhys's touch stoked in my belly. Isaac blanched a little at how Rhys's mood seemed to be lurching.
"Uh, no, but the family is well known around town, of course."
Dear gods, I thought. His hands are actually shaking around his ale.
Rhys saw this too, and his gaze went straight to them.
"I see," was all he said, and then he pulled me right into his lap. I would have objected, it was far too intimate for this public setting. But then his hands squeezed on my hips and I realised he was hard beneath me, and all thoughts emptied out of my head. I shifted my hips automatically.
Isaac tipped back the rest of his ale, and stood hurriedly.
"Well," he said. "It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Feyre."
I held out my hand and he touched my fingers. Rhys went deathly still around me, and as soon as Isaac turned to leave Rhys was up and walking me roughly across the floor. Down the hall toward the staircase that led up to the rooms, where the shadows were dense and we were away from the main room. Then he spun me roughly and pushed me toward the wall, where my hands caught me and my breath came fast. Rhys threw up a shield so hard it cracked the beam on the ceiling, and then he had his lips on the back of my neck and his hands pushing up my skirts.
"Mine," Rhys snarled in my ear. His nails raked up the backs of my thighs and I gasped at the sensation. "You're fucking mine." And then with no further preamble he yanked my hips back toward him and sank himself inside me.
I cried out with the sudden movement, and then a wild little laugh escaped me.
"Oh so you think it's funny, do you?" Rhys asked, and started fucking me with his hands tight on my hips.
"A little," I said breathlessly. "Are you jealous of a young mortal man?"
"No," Rhys growled, and one of his hands landed on the wall next to mine, bracing as his pace increased. "No I'm not jealous of that boy."
"Then what's- oh, mmm what's wrong?"
"What's wrong is you're my mate and no one, fucking no one gets to touch you but me." He punctuated his sentence with sharp thrusts of his hips. I arched my back to get him deeper, and his teeth gripped my neck at the junction of my shoulder.
"Well make me yours then," I said, and the words set Rhys off into a frenzy. His hands slid over my chest and squeezed my breasts on top my clothes, and he was fucking me so hard I could barely breathe.
"You wanna be mine?" Rhys panted. "Fuck me back." I moaned and tried to keep up with the hurtling pace he had set. "That's it," Rhys said. "Fuck me back and come on my cock."
Indeed the pleasure was piling fast now, and I gloried in this unhinged, savage version of Rhys that so rarely got let out. Now, mating bond in hand, I had its collar on the end of my leash and I loved it.
My head fell back against Rhys's shoulder and caught my ear lobe between his teeth. My hand reached for my clit, but Rhys stopped me and put both my hands firmly on the wall in front of me. Then his own fingers slid between my thighs and his tongue continued under my ear in time with his hand.
"Come on my cock Feyre," he said roughly. "Do it. Do it now."
And my body knew who it was answering to. My climax stuttered out of me and I spasmed in the cage of his arms. Rhys tightened around me as he fell into release too, and we were shaking and shuddering and coming apart against the dull wood of the tavern.
Rhys rested his forehead on the top of my shoulder while we caught our breath, and then he cleaned us up with a wave. The sounds of the crowd floated back in as the shield protecting us dissolved, and Rhys grinned against my beck as he hugged me once more into his chest.
"Such a wicked, cruel mate," he purred. I turned my head to kiss him, far too pleased with myself, before walking back out in front of him.
I ran straight into a man with as much ale on his breath as was left in his mug.
"Oh hello sweetheart," he said.
And Rhys stepped up behind me and gave such a feral growl that the man backed away very fast.
"Home," he gritted out, and I kissed him hard on the mouth as he winnowed.
****
It occurs to me that I could also have done a whole bit about Rhys reading Isaac's memories of Feyre in the barn, but also it's 11.24pm you get what you get 😂
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bimswritings · 3 years
Text
Savage Opress x Reader
Request: Open
Warnings:Yandere Themes, canon-typical violence
Summary: On their conquest of the universe, Savage finds himself drawn to one of the newest captives in their spread of power.
A/n: The next chapter of ‘This is our way’ is up on my Ao3. It will be posted here after I finish and upload my current Armorer x reader fic.
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Your planet wasn’t anything special. Located out in the outer rim, it was little more than a moon compared to its neighbors. Its land was barren and cold, an almost ever present frost covering the ground.
Yet you and your people had made it your home, learning how to grow a small amount of crops and mine the rare metals underneath. A job you had yourself, providing enough money for you and your younger brother to live on until he was old enough to work as well. What was produced was enough to give your people an economy, yet remain under the radar and out of the war that ravaged the rest of the planet. The Republic and Separatist had limited interactions this far out at best, and you were able to enjoy a peaceful life, if not a bit exhausting.
Unfortunately, it was this isolation that had been your saving grace for so long that also proved your downfall.
Their ships arrived in numbers you had never seen before, landing on the grey dirt and unloading copious amounts of armored men and women. Your village didn’t even have time to put up a fight, overpower and subdued before you could even think of a weapon to protect yourself.
Soon you were corralled into the town center, separated into groups seemingly at random. Families were torn apart, mother from child and husband from wife. The entire time your brother clung to your leg, hiding as the armed guards shoved you along through the crowds. You tried to stay out of sight the best you could in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention to yourself, hoping, praying, that you could go unnoticed enough to keep him with you.
Above it all, standing out against the dull sky with their vibrant colors, were two Zabraks. Creatures you had only ever heard about in stories from the occasional trader that passed through, and had been just that, stories, until now. Their horns alone were enough to send shivers down your spine, each one protruding from the crown of theirs heads like a twisted version of a crown. Unlike a crown, you knew they weren’t for decoration. The damage they could undoubtedly do if provoked only solidified their threatening presence.
Now they stood above you all, tattoos illuminated in the light of the setting sun. The shorter red one stood in front, chin raised and chest puffed with pride as he looked over your people with another armored man, this one clearly human. He seemed to not even notice the cold, bare chest on full display for anyone to see the unique markings that marred his skin. Just beyond him stood the second Zabrak. His yellow markings stood out even more than his companions, only emphasized by his large size. None of the others even came close to his height, let alone the bulk you could tell he possessed under his armor. Even from here you could tell he could wrap a single hand around your neck and snap it easily with his strong fingers.
His gaze was just as impassionate, if not more so, seeming more bored than anything as he watched the proceedings.
“Come on! Move it!” One of the guards yelled, catching your shoulder as he pushed you forward, reminding you bitterly of Telik being led to slaughter. You kept Jay close, keeping your head down as you passed more guards, pace increasing. Just a few more yards and you would be with the others. Whatever the future had in store for you, at least you would still have each other.
“Hey, you!” A voice called, clearly directed your way, though you pretended not to hear. A cold sweat broke out across your skin as footsteps closed in, hand reaching out and stopping you in your tracks.
“Children don’t go in this area.” He growled, prying Jay from where he hid, ignoring his cries and your screams as he was pulled away. A guard stepped forward to hold you back, another coming to his aide as you fought to get to your brother, who was making it just as difficult for his own captor to drag him away. Even with the muscle gained from the mines you struggled against them, putting up your own desperate fight.
“Stop moving you little- fuck!” He yelped, pulling his arm away and out of Jay’s mouth, which had latched on to the only unarmored part of the hand holding him.
Immediately he turned and was running back towards you, tears streaming down his face and blue eyes wide with fear. In his panic to get back, his childish coordination caught up to him and his feet caught on one another, throwing him to the ground as he was left to scramble. All the while the guard he had bitten approached. 
“You little brat!” He snarled. His hand moved to his hip, producing a whip from its depths. The long weapon crackled to life, sparking with energy as it extended to full length.
Your own stomach dropped in fear as you watched. 
Jay, the one light in your life, the only person you had left, was in danger. You were his older sister. You were supposed to protect him, guide him into adulthood in place of your parents. Be there to kiss away every injury, wipe away the tears after every nightmare.
A new burst of energy flooded your system, giving you the strength needed to push past the guards, leaving them stumbling as you flew towards Jay.
The man brought his arm down, whip swinging in a wide arc aimed at the defenseless boy on the ground. 
It didn’t even have the chance to hit him. You slid the last few feet on the rough terrain, body covering his at the last second and jolting as the electric weapon met your clothed back, ripping through the material like a stone through water. A pained scream tore itself from your lips. Not even when you had gotten a burn from a small explosion in the mines had it hurt this much. In fact, you would take a dozen burns before this. This was just pure agony, the pain not even limited to a single area as the electricity coursed through every part of your body, invading every nerve.
The man was far from done though, and he repeated the action again and again, turning your skin into a bloody mess as Jay continued to cry underneath you, struggling in your protective grip. Still you held tightly, biting your lip to muffle your cries with every lash.
No one lifts a finger to help, not even looking in your direction in fear of the same treatment as they continue to shuffle along. You don’t even have it in your heart to blame them, knowing your reaction would be much the same if the situation was reversed.
Unbeknownst to you, your little altercation has caught the eye of the golden Zabrak, a small twinge in his heart at the deja-vu feeling he gets from the scene. From your age, he can only assume that the boy is your brother. You look too young for him to be your son.
He has flashbacks to his own brother, giving himself to the cursed Nightsisters in exchange for his life, only to be forced to kill him in a cruel show of power.
Before he realizes it, his hand has fallen to his lightsaber, already taking a step to where you are. He only gets a step before Maul calls to him, pulling him away to the ships and leaving him to look back over his shoulder at you crumpled form.
“Come. We must set up camp. The prisoners will be dealt with later.” Maul chuckles. “Those that survive anyways.”
And so he follows, leaving your fate to the Mandalorian who has yet to relent in his cruelty. But out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind, and the memory of your form curled on the ground, taking every lash with little more than a jolt and muffled cry, sticks in the front of his mind and prevents him from having a single moment of rest.
It's hours before he’s able to slip away. Between his brother and Death Watch, it’s nearly impossible for him to make his way to where the captives are being held. They’re all gathered in one of the far corners of the camp, held in place by the ropes around the wrist and looking miserable as they huddle for warmth against the lightly falling snow. He feels no guilt for what their eventual fate will be. They’re nothing to him, mere insects in his brothers plans. Animals to the slaughter. All for the greater good.
The fear he can feel radiating off them feeds a twisted sense of pride within him. The Sith side of him. They know who he is. They know he could easily kill them with no consequence should he choose. 
He’s not here for them though.
A dozen yards away, your body is still laying in the same spot as before, more lifeless than when he last saw you. This time there’s no Mandalorian enforcer above you. Instead, he’s replaced with the small boy from earlier. What remains of your shirt is peeled back from the skin and even Savage, who’s used to many grisly sights, grimaces at your wound. The skin that isn’t lacerated is red and swollen, and he now notices that the young boy has shed his own shirt, using ripped strips to clean the blood away and form a crude version of bandages. He’s busy fumbling over himself, fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold as he does his best to care for the wound with no medical supplies.
So focused on your wounds, he doesn’t even hear the large Zabrak approaching, not until it’s far too late. To his credit, and Savage’s amusement, the boy refuses to leave you, placing his body in front of yours. His bare chest is rapidly moving up and down with fear, thin body on full display. Not an ounce of muscle on him, Savage muses, moving closer to your body. If he doesn’t get you proper medical attention soon the wounds will undoubtedly become infected and kill you, if the blood loss hasn’t already damned your fate.
When he goes to pick up your limp body however, he’s stopped by your brother. Well, stopped is being rather generous. It’s more like he’s latched himself onto Savage’s waist, small fist beating at him with the strength one would expect of a child. He might not have even known he was hitting him if he wasn’t watching it happen.
It’s times like this that he’s most grateful for his cursed strength, easily detaching the boy from him and holding him by the back of his neck, tucking him under one arm as the other reaches for you. It's almost concerning how cold your body is against his own skin, and he’s more careful as he lifts you over his shoulder. His brother would surely find it laughable if he saw how gentle he was being with you.
Without hesitance, he turns back to the main camp, ignoring the looks the others cast his way as he carries your unconscious and broken body over his shoulder, your brother still fighting under his other.
Let them gossip. There’s none that will stand against him.
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The first thing you’re aware of is warmth. Surrounding and enveloping your form, begging you to stay as it threatens to drag you back into the land of dreams. That in itself is enough to alarm you. The heating was always turned off at night to save energy, replaced in favor of thick blankets made from the local TekTek wool.
That’s your second red flag. TekTek wool is warm, yet coarse and scratchy. The fabric currently piled on top of and under you is significantly softer, having a slight musk to it.
Finally managing to drag your eyes open, the sight that greets you is not one you were expecting. 
Dark fabric makes up the majority of the tent you find yourself in. It’s clearly worn, yet does a surprising job of keeping the wind outside from entering, slight ripples waving across the fabric yet never entering. A fire sits in the very center, smoke curling up and through a hole in the ceiling. It’s glow provides the only source of light in the space, illuminating the few objects scattered around, including the cot you currently find yourself residing on. Buried under layers of blankets, your hands travel to the bandages wrapped around your chest, the only thing covering your upper body and providing little warmth in comparison to the blankets you were previously under.
How did you get here? Where was Jay? The last thing you remember was the invaders arriving, then nothing. So the question was, how had you gotten from there to here? Alone in an unfamiliar tent.
Your questions are soon answered, a shuffling from the front of the tent drawing your attention. From between the flaps emerges a large figure, his horns nearly catching the fabric as he enters.
You both freeze, eyes locking on one another, equally surprised. There’s a moment of pause, each of you trying to determine your next move. It’s only broken when he takes a step forward, cautiously, but still sending you into a panic. Ignoring the nearly debilitating pain coming from your back, you scramble to the edge of the cot, pressing your back against the fabric and you can feel it straining against your weight. Trying your best to look intimidating, you send a glare his way.
“Where’s my brother?”
He says nothing for a moment, and you almost repeat yourself, cut off as he begins approaching. He’s there before you know it, long legs easily eating the space as his arms reach for you, forcably turning you around despite your resistance. He lets out a grumble as he inspects your back, scoffing about how you’ve ‘reopened them’.
The next thing you know, his hands are worming their way under the wrappings, loosening them as he goes to remove them.
The panic you had felt before was nothing compared to now, knowing where this scenario was going all to well. The stories of what you had heard from other village girls filling your mind, darkening your thoughts as you could only imagine what this monster was about to do to you.
“No! Stop!” You sobbed, knowing full well that there was nothing you could actually do against his strength. The bandages become looser, only held up by your hand as you wildly swing out with the other. All the while you try to distance yourself from him. 
“Please!”
To your surprise, he pauses. His first sign of even showing he heard you since entering. His gaze never leaves you, and you can see the debate going on within his eyes. About what, your guess was as good as any. All that you cared was that he had stopped for the moment, allowing you to cover yourself with one of the many blankets in an attempt to preserve any decency you had left.
Growling, her turns and storms out the way he came, a wisp of freezing wind invading the tent as you're given a glance at the dark night sky outside before you’re once again left on your own. Not for long though, and you think he’s returned once again when the flaps open, only to reveal a young woman in similar armor that you had seen earlier. Not the person you trusted the most right now, but you still preferred her over the large Zabrak from earlier.
She approaches slowly, setting a medkit down on the bed as she smiles your way. “I’m here to change your bandages.” She extends a hand your way, which you only look at, neglecting to come out of your little corner. 
“Please. You’ve opened your wounds again. If you don’t come out now, I’ll just wait for you to pass out and change them then.” she sounds a bit exhausted, and it takes a few more minutes of coaxing before you allow her access to your back, keeping your back towards her as she slowly unwraps the bindings. She deposits them into the fire, leaving you to watch them burn to ash as she retrieves a small container from the medkit. 
Inside is a blue gel, surprisingly warm as it touches your skin and leaves a pleasant numbness. You can almost feel her gaze burning into your skin as she applies the gel, eyes skittering across old scars, fingers even tracing them when visible underneath the new wounds. Seeming to sense your unease, she rushes through the rest, quickly wrapping new bindings around your torso, apologizing with every small grunt of pain you let out. 
Far too quick for your liking she’s done, packing up her things as she prepares to head out. If she’s leaving, then that means there’s more of a chance that he’ll come back. In fact, you have no doubt that she’ll go and tell him once she’s out of here.
Snapping the case closed, she turns back to you and hesitates for a moment.
“I don’t know what you did to gain Savage’s attention, but believe me,” her green eyes lock onto yours, holding a sense of severity that chills you to the bone. 
“, he’s your best chance of surviving.”
With that you’re alone once again, left to your own thoughts and the crackling of the fire, which has gone down a significant amount since you first woke.
What did she mean by that? Gained his attention? And he was one of the ones who lead the attack on your home. Why would he be your saving grace? If anything, he would be the most likely to kill you.
Once again the flap opens, and you almost want to groan about the number of people going in and out, letting the heat out of the tent.
It’s the Zabarak. Savage, you remember the woman from before calling him. This time he has some additions. A cloak draped over one arm and a plate in hand. He moves slower than before, almost cautiously approaching you as he sets the items on the far end of the bed.
“Eat.” His voice is a deep baritone, rich yet monotone as he speaks, nodding towards the plate before moving towards the fire. Your eyes never leave his form as he tosses more wood onto the flame, moving them about without a fear of burning himself. Despite the fear still gripping your nerves, the food is tempting and only now do you realize how empty your stomach is, almost turning in on itself as it lets out a low rumble.
You grab the plate cautiously, picking at its contents as the man continues to poke at the fire. When you do finish, you find yourself wishing you had taken more time with it, no longer having the small distraction from your current situation. Despite the desire to throw on the warm looking cloak, you don’t. While he had directed you to eat, he had said nothing about the cloak. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, especially after he had shown how easily he could manhandle you earlier.
“You’re going to travel with me from now on.” He spoke, his back still towards you, yet it still carried loudly through the air, leaving no room for you to mistake his words. “If you have any objections, your fate will be the same as the rest of your village.”
You have no idea why he’s saying this, not when he could just direct you without any information. There’s only one thing on your mind though, present from the very beginning and still burning on your tongue.
“Where’s my brother.” You ask once again, praying to the maker you’ll get an answer this time. “What about him?”
His shoulders tense for a moment. The first emotion he’s shown besides anger.
“He will be allowed to come along given that he trains as a Mandalorian warrior. This is the best option for him.”
You let out a sigh of relief. While being forced to train with the ones who captured him wasn’t an ideal situation, you could only be thankful that he wasn’t fated for something more unfortunate. The only thing that worried you was his size. He was never much of a fighter, too kind to want to cause others pain. You would need to be there for him.
“I...I can still see him.”
“Yes.”
You bit your lip, trying to decide if you should ask another question. He already seemed to be wearing thin with his patience, but you had to know. You would never get a moment's rest until you knew.
“Why am I here.”
He doesn’t answer right away, throwing a few more logs onto the fire before turning to face you. His face was nothing but shadows, eyes standing out in startling contrast. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he made his way over to your form, unable to back away any further as you already find yourself in a corner. He grabs the cloak as he passes, the article almost ridiculously small in his hands.
As soon as he’s close enough, he lifts his arms and you flinch, expecting him to strike you out of annoyance and anger. It never comes though. The only feeling was that of heavy fabric settling on your shoulders, only there a moment before it’s clasped and you feel yourself being pulled forward. 
Savage’s hands are wound tightly into the fabric, forcing your face to nearly touch his. This close you can see every detail of the markings splashed across his skin, the black only making his amber eyes burn even brighter, nearly suffocating with the intensity with which they stare. Almost like molten gold themselves.
His breath fans across your skin, lips nearly brushing yours as his forehead grazes your own, making you whimper as his horns roughly scrap the skin.
“You’re mine now. You will never leave my side, there at my every beck and call no matter what I may need. If you even think about trying to leave or betray me,” he pushed further, forcing you to lean back onto the bed. His weight pushed down enough to keep you in place without being crushing, one hand releasing the fabric of the collar to travel up your face. It brushes the hair away, catching the tear you hadn’t even realized had escaped.
“I’ll force you to watch as I kill your brother in the most painful way imaginable.”
Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, baritone voice speaking lowly in your ear as his lips tickle the skin.
“You’ll wish, beg, that I had killed you as well instead of what will happen to you after.”
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Text
"Fuck you." Hero hissed, coughing out dirt out of their mouth as they felt a heavy leather boot weigh on the back of their neck. They could hear the faint smell of blood on them, after all they had just fought.
"If you insist, darling. Tell me, how do you want me to," The villain spoke, putting up quotation marks as they said, " 'fuck you'. See, there's various ways to do so."
Hero blushed intensely, glad that they were faced against the soil, at least for now. Gritting their teeth, hero murmured, "...that's not what I meant..."
"Say it louder, I can barely hear you, darling." Villain said in their goddamn gorgeous voice, elegancy laced throughout it.
"I said-" Hero coughed out, finally getting out the sentence, "That's not what I meant."
"Oh?" Villain smiled, licking their lips, and removing their boot from the back of heroes neck and crouching down, a finger lifting up heroes chin, allowing villain to see heroes face in perfect view.
"Then what did you mean, hero?" Villain grinned, staring at heroes bloodstained face. Villain's tone was addictive, venomous with lust.
Hero narrowed their eyes, growling, and punching villains finger out of the way, propping themselves up and leaning against the closest wall.
Pain echoed through their leg as they dragged themselves into a good position. Their bones hurt, their body ached with the need to rest, the very effort used to get up was exhausting, but they couldn't rest yet.
Not until villain was gone. They wouldn't accept weakness in front of villain.
Villain watched as hero panted from the effort of getting up, wincing at the pain in their own ribs as hero reminded them of their injuries. Despite how unaffected villain seemed, their ribs hurt.
But villain was not about to show weakness in front of the particular opponent they'd beta. After all, they had a reputation to maintain.
"I still didn't get my answer. How would you like me to fuck you?" Villain smiled, crouching down in front of hero, "Maybe you want my finger inside you, little hero-"
Hero blushed, hard.
Villain smirked harder, knowing hero was becoming even more flustered, "Maybe you want a cock inside you, baby, imagine it. Velvet sheets, gripping them hard as the pleasure reaches a climax-"
"STOP-" Hero yelled, but villain continued despite their protests.
"-the hickeys on your neck as you gasp and moan for more to be had, after all- you want me, don't you?" Villain continued on their charade, placing a hand on heroes cheek, caressing it.
Hero held their breaths, trying to control it when all they wanted was to let villain do just as they were describing.
"You want to be fucked until you can't even think, overstimulated-" Villain raised an eyebrow as heroes imagination finally went wild, hero going silent.
Finally. Hero had given into whatever whirlwind of sexual fantasies that had filled their head.
"The sexual tension on the battlefield isn't for nothing, you know." Villain said, leaning in closer, whispering huskily, "What do you think, little hero? Will you wait for your friends to come," Villain paused, sitting in heroes lap and trailing the hand that was formerly on heroes face down to the edge of their pants, "Or come with me back to my apartment? Maybe get busy."
Hero chided themselves- they weren't actually considering this! Their friends would... Come for them, right?
"Do I have a choice...?" Hero said weakly.
Villain considered for a moment, "Of course. I'm not a savage, sweetheart. I won't do anything without your consent, I have not and will never ever stoop to these levels ever."
Hero bit the inside of their mouth, seriously considering it.
Villain was pretty sexy, and besides- they probably wouldn't have to be a hero. It didn't pay well.
It didn't sound bad.
"Kiss me." Hero blurted, "Then I might consider it."
"...oh?" Villain smirked, wrapping their arms around heroes neck. Leaning in close to make their foreheads touch, villain licked their lips- "I've wanted to do this for so long." Villain whispered.
An audible gasp escaped hero as there lips mixed with each other, perfectly moulding to each other.
Hero was shy, hesitant at first- but slowly wrapped their arms around villains waist, deepening the kiss as more confidence came to villain.
A small moan surfaced from hero as the kiss continued.
They separated, heroes mouth slightly open and panting, villain staring into heroes eyes.
"...I don't know why I didn't do this earlier..." Hero murmured, energy at a near low.
"Louder, dear. Let me hear you." Villain said, using a finger to tip heroes forehead up.
"...I-I don't know why I didn't do this earlier." Hero said.
"That's better, hero. Acceptance, I assume?" Villain smiled, removing the finger.
"By flying colours." Hero said dimly, feeling blackness fill their vision. The kiss had sapped away all of the energy that they'd had remaining.
Villain traced their finger on heroes jawbone slowly, lowering their touch to the neck. Their hero.
"My hero." Villain smirked, before unwrapping their arms from around heroes neck after a moment of apprehension.
The heroes were going to track them down soon, they needed to go.
Grabbing a phone from their own back pocket, villain looking through their emergency contacts.
They found their driver, and rung.
A voice on the other end answered.
"I need a ride, Carlson. I'm in Orangen forest..." Villain said, gazing down at hero, "Bring two intensive medical kits, as extras."
The voice on the other end laughed humorously, with agreeance.
A beep signaled the phoned call was over.
Villain got lost in thought.
"I'll keep you safe, hero. I-" Villain teared up slightly, "I don't know how to make anybody happy, I only know chaos, but..." Villain stared up at the stars, a soft, hopeful smile filling their face.
They didn't have to keep up their protective layer anymore.
A spark of hope. Maybe they'd learn.
"I'll learn how to take care of you. I can't live without you. All... the fights, were just plays." Villain closed their eyes, placing the hero down onto their lap.
Their smooth hair was always so adorable, but... Villain could never pet it properly.
"...v..ilan?" Hero stuttered out as villain looked down at hero, petting heroes hair.
"Hey, hero. I'm going to keep you safe, you just wait." Villain smiled strangely softly to hero, an identical smile on heroes face.
Hero leaned up, somehow, magically with zero to none energy, jumping into villains lap and wrapping arms around the shoulders of villain, pulling their foreheads together.
"I want to return the favour, villain." Hero smiled, pressing their lips against villains.
Villain sat in shock, wrapping arms around their torso.
They separated yet again, foreheads still pressed against each other. Maybe it would be all okay after all.
Collapsing against the chest of villain with their arms still wrapped around them, hero fell asleep.
Villain could learn if it was for hero, you know.
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shorkbrian · 3 years
Text
Bakufeed
Little update real quick - college is duplexing me into the ground. I’m so tired. I’m sorry if it takes a hot second to respond to DMs and comments and things I’m tagged in, but I genuinely enjoy the thought and will get around to answering and seeing everything as soon as possible!
Once again this was supposed to be a Drabble but then it turned into a not-drabble idek anymore take it or leave it
TW - non-con, nipple play, wet and messy, not fully NSFW, just titty sucking
It’s ironic that I got that last ask when I did. I’ve been thinking about Bakugou and titty-sucking for a hot minute now (like a week lol I watched “The Hills Have Eyes” and there's a scene where non-explicit breastfeeding happens. the context was very sickening because as always! this is literally violation! very bad behavior! should never be done, and I am not joking. Please be safe everyone), didn’t want to commit to making anything for him but then that anon pops up with the delicious imagery of firelight bouncing off Kiri’s naked chest as the two of you sprawl out in front of the fireplace on a cold night.
But BAKUGOU
hoohooo boi.
Probably kidnaps you just because he wants to play with your tits. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if they're big or small, they’re tits - he’s gonna suck on ‘em.
Catches you in an alleyway, as you quickly walk home from work. Shoves you up against the wall and then his chest his against your back, his large hands grabbing and groping at your chest. He’s breathing softly into your ear, and lets out a quiet little “fuck” every now and then. 
Of course you’re terrified; you could scream or try to run, but you recognize that voice, the man behind you is definitely Ground Zero, and you are definitely going to die.
But then you’re being dragged along behind him, further into the alleyway. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but you hear a door open, get shoved inside, and then the door closes. 
A light flicks on, and you get a good look at the probably the last thing you see before you die.
You’re in a one-room ground level apartment, and on this side of town you’d expect everything to be grimy and dirty but it’s not. It’s immaculate, sparkling and pristine, unnervingly clean.
Everything’s clean except for Ground Zero.
He’s got on civilian clothes, a hat pulled over his blonde head, a large hoodie hiding his frame. You aren’t stupid - you’ve heard about the fights that involve him and the hero’s, you know that he could kill you without breaking a sweat.
But the man doesn’t want to do anything of the sort.
He forces you down onto the bed that’s pushed into a corner and rips off your shirt, throwing it behind him. Next is your bra, but when you struggle incrementally the blond gives up and burns through the fabric instead, sneering as you gasp in fear while his hands spark so close to your body.
The second your chest gets uncovered, the man stills, staring down at you-no-your tits with his eyes wide. The air stills, and you don’t know what to think, don’t know what to expect.
Then the villain is hunching over you, attaching his mouth around a nipple and sucking.
Immediately your back arches off the bed, and you cry out for him to stop. But the man doesn’t listen, just growls through the tight suction his lips have around your nipple, and you flinch when the vibrations send jolts of pleasure down into your tummy.
When he lets your spit-slicked nipple pop out of his mouth, he growls out his name - Bakugou. Figures you should know his name before he violates you, ‘cause he’s nice like that.
And then he really goes to town.
It’s almost savage, the intensity with which Bakugou attacks your chest, kneading and massaging and grabbing every inch of soft flesh he can. He groans lowly about how fucking soft you are, so warm. 
Then he’s mouthing at you again, sucking on one nipple and then the other, not even bothering to let his mouth close as he switches, drool slipping out and landing on your tits. 
Unfortunately, it feels good.
You don’t want it to, won’t allow it, so you stay silent, try not to writhe too much underneath his concrete hold on your chest and against the hard body straddling your hips. Bakugou doesn’t really care too much, he’s getting what he wants, and that’s all that matters.
He gets to lick over each breast, mouthing wetly at the hot flesh before occasionally letting himself bite down. Or he gathers the saliva in his mouth, spits it in a fat, wet, nasty glob right in the center of your chest, then uses his rough hands to spread it around, grabbing at your tits like a child eager for it’s mothers milk.
Bakugou’s obviously getting off on it - hunching over your chest like a predatory bird, red eyes occasionally meeting your own as he spits out a degrading compliment or two.
Snickers about how fucking stupid you are, walking around this part of town alone - and at night? You were asking for it, stupid bitch. Yeah, be a good little bitch for him and lie there and take it, and maybe he’ll let you fucking live after this.
But you’re too distracted by the rough, wet movements of his hands sliding against your tits, pulling and slapping and jiggling each mound on your chest as if they were his to touch.
His hips are slowly dragging over your own, not necessarily trying to rut against you, it seems more of like an unconscious reaction, the man idly rubbing himself off against you while he pays attention to your chest.
It’s all so wet, each slap of his rough palm against your chest, each pressing suck to your nipples, the way he licks and mouthes and nibbles at the flesh around your areola like it’s a five course meal. 
The man pushes your tits together, mashes his face down onto them, pushes forward, feels your skin against his face and how the fat of each breast squishes him between them.
It’s humiliating.
It’s humiliating and awkward and embarrassing and you wished you had enough money to call an uber, or at least a cab to take home from work. Maybe then you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.
Pinned down by a man determined to get his rocks off using any passing citizen.
He’s suddenly over you, face flushed, gasping for breath, teeth bared like a feral animal as those red eyes stare you down. Then he rushes forward, lips meeting your own. Bakugou uses your mouth like he had treated your chest, not hesitating to bite and pull and push and lick and do whatever the hell he wanted.
It’s not like you could stop him.
When he pulls away, he immediately swoops back down to your breasts, latches on to a nipple again. This time, Bakugou shifts his legs, maneuvers so he’s laying down between your legs, suckling at you like a calf. His movements are gentler now, less frenzied and painful.
It’s like the fight went out of him, like suckling at you like an infant is relaxing him. You still can’t move - one hand is on your shoulder, pressing you closer to him, and his other hand is playing with your other breast, languidly pinching the skin, rolling your wet nipple between his fingers, placing his palm flat and rubbing over your entire breast in a circular motion.
He reminds you of the babies you’ve seen latched onto their mothers, greedily gulping down milk, making little grunts and soft suckling sounds as they try to huddle themselves closer to their mommy.
Bakugou’s like a child.
Immediately as you think that, Bakugou decides to bite down, chew a little bit on your nipple. 
It hurts. It hurts so bad. You grab at his hair, too afraid to pull him away, just anchoring yourself as he plays with your abused nipple, catching it between his teeth.
The chewing slowly settles down, and then Bakugou switches to your other nipple, immediately latching on and suckling and slurping and massaging your tit as if he was trying to encourage-
oh god, was he hoping you had milk? 
There was no way.
But a man could try, and Bakugou enjoyed every second he spent nursing at your chest.
The suckling faded to a comforting, tiring sensation, especially after having adrenaline pumped through your body at being snatched off the street.
You feel asleep to the sound of Bakugou, the villain Ground Zero, sucking messily at your tits
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hotchley · 3 years
Text
pallbearer
Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?
It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)
As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...
Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 
read on ao3!
After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.
Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.
Why is Reid going there? All alone?
To apologise.
He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.
When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.
They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.
“I’m sorry.”
Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.
So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.
It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.
“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.
“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”
Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.
He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.
Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”
Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”
It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.
“I know that.”
“So why would you not have asked?”
His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.
That people came back when they were angry.
The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 
Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.
“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.
Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.
“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.
“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”
“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.
Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.
Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.
“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.
“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”
Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.
It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.
But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.
It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.
It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.
It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.
Because he is right.
Because Aaron failed.
Again.
It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.
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Note
loving the angst!! can we get cygate for the oxygen loss prompt?
Absolutely! I think I'll just start doing one character or couple per ask for this one, because I always make it so long and drawn out! As usual, links to previous posts for this prompt are below!
Part One: Here!
Part Two: Here!
Part Three: Here!
Part Four: You're Here!
Part Five: Here!
Part Six: Here!
Part Seven: Here!
Part Eight: Here!
Part Nine: Here!
Part Ten: Here!
Part Eleven: Here!
Part Twelve: Here!
Cygate
(Cyclonus/Tailgate/Reader)
·As the three of you have become inseparable, you're once again spending the day together in your shared quarters, in a basket style cuddle position that has the massive Cyclonus lying half on his side, the smaller Tailgate cradled in a mirror position, and teeny you in the little basket shaped space between them. From the berth it's a perfect way to watch something on the monitor together, or to just spend a lazy afternoon napping and talking, or to simply enjoy each other's company. You would suppose that's probably why it's a favorite activity for the three of you, but you don't care to do much thinking from your safe and secure spot between the two bots you love more than anything.
·You were all on the verge of drifting off when the lights unexpectedly flicker, a not too worrisome sight, that is until a number of other things start to glitch and go offline. With communications amongst the downed systems, there's no way to find out what's going on from where you are, so to the disappointment of everyone involved you all three decide you'll have to do some investigating. Tailgate hugs you tight before preparing to do just that, playfully saying he wants just a few more minutes to cuddle, nuzzling his helm against your head as he buzzes sleepily. How can he resist? You're so soft!
·Thankfully both he and Cyclonus have developed some quick reflexes, as the sudden rumble that shakes the ship nearly sends all three of you to the floor, and between Tailgate's secure hold on you whilst Cyclonus stabilizes you both you're saved from falling and/or being squished. There's little time to celebrate though. Cyclonus recognizes the signs of an enemy ambush, and Tailgate quickly puts together the system glitches as being related, meaning that you're all facing some serious trouble. Particularly the very squishy you.
·Cyclonus is armed in seconds, his demeanor one of focused contemplation as he tries to strategize despite a total lack of reconnaissance. Tailgate, still holding you, jumps in with confirmation that you have to be taken somewhere safe! The two of them will have to aid the defense, but you can't be left alone, so they'll need to find somewhere secure and guarded by lots of bots. Thankfully Cyclonus has an immediate solution; the medical bay. It has guards assigned to it in the event of an occasion like this, it's certainly fortified, and you'll be more than safe while they hold off enemy combatants.
·You never want to be left behind, but you concede that it's the logical choice, especially because you know Tailgate will refuse to hear any arguments against it. With your plan settled on, a path is decided next to save as much time as possible. Tailgate begins to buzz with worry as Cyclonus lays out the many potential ambush sites and choke points they need to avoid. Though he's the one holding you protectively, you give the minibot a gentle pat on his Autobrand, knowing very little of his anxiety is for his own wellbeing. The buzz of worry is starting to make your hair go static though...
·Cyclonus breaks his resolute guardian persona for a single instant once the path is decided upon, dropping to one knee so he can be closer to both of his much tinier partners. He looks to Tailgate and then you, reaching out with a clawed hand to gently cup your tiny face with a precision he's honed well these past few months. There's a single moment where all three of you seem to make the same wordless vow; I won't let anything happen to you. You're briefly hugged between the two of them to drive the point home, and when they part you see that between those two red optics and a bright blue visor there's enough dedication to make you certain they'd take on a Titan for you.
·You can't help but feed off their on edge energy when your room is left behind, though you have plenty of your own anxiety to keep you company. Nothing is responding, not even comms, so you're all running totally blind beyond what's right in front of you. There could be a full battalion of soldiers barreling your way, and you wouldn't know... Only being with the two bots you love more than anything keeps you calm. Tailgate isn't holding you especially tight, but there's an unrestrained kind of daring in his visor as it scans the hallways, like he's challenging anyone to just try and get to you. Cyclonus is similiarly inclined, but in his own way, the occasional glance of his optics in your direction so subtle each incidence could be mistaken for a trick of the light.
·It shouldn't have surprised you when there was trouble before the three of you had even passed the station of terminals about a third of the way to your goal. In fairness, they'd emerged from a hallway looking almost shocked to see a towering Cyclonus and a tiny Tailgate cradling you, so the group of hostile aliens obviously hadn't been expecting any resistance in this area either. You hadn't needed to prepare any defense of your own once their bullets started flying, as you'd been expertly tucked behind a corner by the minibot just as a greatsword had started lopping off limbs. With an emphatic "please stay!!" in your direction, Tailgate is right in the fray with his hubby.
·It's hard to think of danger while watching these two tear it to shreds. Their enemies are massive, hulking aliens armed for an invasion but they don't stand a chance against your partners, both of whom fight as if these brutes threatened you directly, which they likely would have if given the chance. Between the great arcs of a deadly blade and the powerful blows of two blurry fists, you can't help but be confident this won't be that long of a delay... You're a little giddy but not all too concerned about it when the universe decides to call you to task, something it seems to enjoy doing in moments set up for great irony.
·The alien that appeared so suddenly beside you could have killed you with its lazy swipe, but thankfully you're only sent sprawling in the hallway, your survival instincts kicking into overdrive once they realize the situation. You're overwhelmed by the urge to run, but your legs become more of a hindrance to this end than an aid. They're like sticks of lead beneath your teetering body, and you find yourself taking great gasps of air just to keep moving, unable to make yourself flee or feel as concerned about that fact as you should be. Something like a growl and a taunting chuckle comes just as the shadow you're certain will crush you comes barreling downwards.
·Death doesn't come. Not for you, anyway. There's a blur of purple and then you're just able to make out Cyclonus grappling with an equally titanic lifeform, the latter of whom struggles especially savagely, likely because they've been impaled on the former's horns and are certainly not about to be set free. Cyclonus is making the most of that fact, twisting and tearing with raw strength to punish his enemy for his transgressions against his tiny partner. Tailgate is right behind him, helping to ensure the little body he watched go tumbling is alright before moving you a safe distance with words of comfort. He doesn't wait for a reply before turning on the spot and hurling himself into the fray. Tiny fists deliver superpowered punches on his helpless target, and in his defensive rage he can't help but shout at the colossal bully for picking on someone so absolutely harmless to him, but he and Cyclonus leave little chance for a rebuttal.
·There's not much left of your attacker by the time you finally manage to get your legs beneath your body, save for the not insignificant bruises they gave you. Said injury hardly explains why you're incapacitated to this extent though; you're dizzy, shaking, out of breath, and your entire body feels heavy as could be. Before you can question the issue further, you're scooped up into frantic arms, your whole world turning blue and white with shades of purple as you're embraced with a high pitched exclamation of relief. Only your lack of enthusiasm gets the little mech to stop, and as you take hold of your spinning head the two faces looking down on you twist with worry.
·Cyclonus acts first, hurrying to the few still operating terminals and trying to see if he can get a systems report up, hoping that any kind of additional information might assist them. Just knowing where more enemies are could make sure you receive obviously critical medical attention sooner. Tailgate tries to get you talking; did that alien hurt you? If so, what hurts and where and how can they help? You try to answer, but it's getting rather difficult to take this seriously, especially while you're so carefully and securely cradled. Not even a small sound of concern from Cyclonus of all bots can get you to wake up completely.
·The next thing you know everything is in motion again. There's an explanation about atmospheric generators being offline and air being dumped from the ship, and a bit of panic regarding the speed at which oxygen concentration is dropping, then something about the medical bay having a storage of elemental oxygen... Truthfully, it's a little hard to follow with everything else going on. You can't help but be a little thankful though, how many people had two loving partners ready to tear aliens apart in their defense? It had taken so much for them to come together, and in addition to that miracle, they'd welcomed you into their sparks for the happiest days of your life... you couldn't believe your fortune sometimes.
·Tailgate is the one you can see most clearly for a time, his visor bright with panic and fear in a way you don't think you've seen before. There's very little time to think on it when suddenly he's being carried too, and you see Cyclonus come into view as he runs down the halls with Tailgate in his arms and you in his, the giant bot moving with such speed that you can feel air whistling past to stir your hair. It would have felt nice if not for the tears beginning to leak from your smaller partner's visor, and as you notice those you also begin to hear his faint encouragement for you to stay awake, his gentle voice breaking as obvious worry tears at his spark.
·Above all else you want to reassure him that you are awake! Seeing him upset just breaks your heart, so despite everything you're obviously willing to try, and that feeling doubles when you spare Cyclonus a glance and see fear in his optics. The sight makes little sense to you, especially with his bloodied horns making it clear that he shouldn't fear anything. Still, you try to stay awake for them both, but it's the hardest thing you've ever done. Between the bruise on your side and the creeping exhaustion you want nothing more than to sleep. Only the buzzing of a panicking minibot keeps you from slipping away now, but as the need grows you doubt it will be sufficient for long.
·A gentle servo cups your cheek to keep you looking upwards, and you grasp it on reflex. A warm and painless darkness is closing in on all sides, and you know sooner or later it will overpower you. All you can do is try to convey how sorry you are to those two worried faces you love so much, even if you don't really understand why you need to stay awake still. You never want to let them down. They're your everything, and you theirs, which is what makes you feel so guilty when your eyes finally close.
·Tailgate is on the verge of a panic attack when the little form he's cradling goes limp in his arms. He can still see breathing, but it's haggard and uneven, and he knows that's bad. All he can do is hold them tighter and pray as Cyclonus crosses the ship in what has to be record time, and though he says nothing the large mech is similiarly fraught with dread, his spark threatening to burn at the grief looming over him. He fought so hard to be with Tailgate, then the universe blessed them with you... would they truly be forced to suffer this loss together, so soon after receiving?
·The bots in the medical bay clear out fast when they see who's inbound, but thankfully the medics are quick even in the midst of a host of injuries, though the lack of communication has made everything chaotic to say the least. All they need to hear is "oxygen" and they're moving, commanding you to be laid on a berth while the necessary components are fetched, and the two fraught mechs are laying you down as commanded. Somehow the sight of you laying unconscious in the medical bay strikes both mechs in the spark, as if your little body on the gigantic slab just seems wrong. Cyclonus only holds his softly weeping partner as you're stabilized, and neither is much motivated to leave even when the battle is declared victorious, their intertwined fingers staying firmly together as they keep watch.
·You awaken to a gentle digit stroking your face, and just as you open your eyes there's movement and a familiar shade of blue fills your vision. Tears of relief from Tailgate patter against the medical bay in your private room, and so much comes flooding back when you realize there's an oxygen mask attached to your face, and that you're still more than a little sore. Cyclonus is softly asking if there's anything you need whilst Tailgate fusses over your blankets, and when you start to fully awaken you realize their residual fear is still holding on. Guiding their hands to you, it's hard not to shed a tear as you hear weak whispers of confessed fear, with both expressing the pain almost losing you made them face. You can only thank them for what they've done, and this spurs them both to reassure you it was worth every moment of struggle, just as love has always been. This odd but wonderful love the three of you share is proof of that every single day.
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misslynn99 · 3 years
Text
Epicenter: Chapter Two
Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
Link on AO3: Epicenter
Link to Chapter 1
Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)
The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.
It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.
“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?
“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.
“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.
“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”
“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”
“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.
“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.
“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.
“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”
“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.
“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”
Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”
“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”
“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”
“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.
“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”
“Here you go, boys.”
“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”
“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.
“And you did?”
“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”
“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?
“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”
“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.
“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.
“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”
“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”
Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.
“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”
“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”
“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “
“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”
“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.
“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.
“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”
Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”
Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.
“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.
“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.
“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”
“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.
“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.
Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”
“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”
“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”
“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”
Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.
“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”
“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “
“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.
“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”
Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”
“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”
Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.
“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”
In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.
Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”
“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”
“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.
The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.
“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”
“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.
“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”
The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.
The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.
Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.
It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.
Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.
Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,
... there was a knock.
Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”
He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.
“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.
“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”
The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.
At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”
“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”
The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.
“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”
A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.
Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”
“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”
“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.
The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.
“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”
“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”
“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”
Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.
“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”
“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “
“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”
“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.
“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”
At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.
“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”
“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”
“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.
“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”
“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”
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tracybirds · 3 years
Text
I can officially switch the status of Being Known from “stuck” to “WIP” again :) It’s been over a year since the last update for various reasons but I’m very excited to go back to this one and provide a new chapter!
For those new to the story, this was prompted by @kenzie-running-free in March 2020 and slightly got out of hand 😅 I’ve never stopped thinking about it and I bit the bullet and deleted the entirety of Chapter Four a few days ago and let myself rewrite it from scratch.... and it WORKED!!! (use technique with caution... scariest thing I’ve ever done.....)
Anyway...
A ‘what-if’ story based on “The Man From TB5” where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).... and then he gets kidnapped :)
[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]
-----------
Darkness bled into John’s line of vision and he scrubbed desperately at his aching eyes. Time collapsed around him as he worked, the abruptly extinguished bulb the only hint of night. And every new day seemed to bring new weariness as he jolted awake by the sudden onslaught of light which interrupted the deepest part of sleep.
Just another tactic to keep him from gathering his wits together.
This morning, if it was morning, the brightly burning bulb was coupled with the scraping sound of a breakfast tray being shoved through the small slot that had been crudely and hastily carved in the door after he’d lain in wait and brought the tray down over one of the guard’s head. He’d left the man stunned on the floor and made it all the way to the end of the corridor before another guard had grabbed him from behind and thrown him bodily back into the room.
He’d woken to security footage of a fire ravaging a building, his own family on screen.
“They’re not looking for you,” sneered the Hood as he swept from the room.
No guards came in anymore.
Two days later, he’d been savagely poked in the eye when he’d tried to look through the new slot that had been hastily added to his door.
He spent hours every day, searching for a way to send out a message, or even create another receiver. Any link to the outside world would do. But it soon became apparent that the Hood had done one thing right in giving him access to an isolated system, keeping the holomonitor he’d been provided with separate even from his own devices.
One thing right among many.
John peered at the screen with his good eye, wincing at the torn skin that pulled over bruised muscle. His head spun as he stared at the endless commands, trying to replicate the spark of life no-one had ever found before EOS.
Not even him.
And that was the rub of it all.
John didn’t know, not after all his time studying EOS and her abilities, just how she’d been born of code and logical absolutes. How she could grow and change and evaluate her own mind in a way that not only seemed human, but was unquestionably so.
He glanced at the clock he’d created from scratch, counting the oscillations in the electrical current and spitting back a digital time at him. This ‘morning’ truly did correspond with the morning, and that meant the Hood would be paying him a visit for an update.
He wasn’t sure how much more time he could stall for until things got truly desperate.
How much time he had until he had to conclude that he was truly on his own.
*                            *                            *
“Scott, the floor’s unstable there!”
“I know what I’m doing, Alan.”
“Yes, but I have the numbers,” Alan replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He spun the holo in his hands, checking and double checking the analysis that was running under his fingertips.
“Then the numbers are wrong.”
“They can’t be!”
“Alan,” said Scott, patiently. “I need you to check the parameters over again. I’m seeing two trapped vehicles, with no sign of ground stress, both much larger than me and more importantly containing passengers. I need to get them out of there.”
“Yes, but hang on–”
“There’s no time!”
Alan watched in horror as his big brother barrelled forwards. He crouched low as he ran, grabbing at nearby pylons for support. The ground heaved beneath his feet, but still Scott moved forwards steady and sure. Always with his eyes on the scared little boy in the back seat and a gentle smile on his face.
An alert ticked over into the red.
“Jump, Scott!” he yelled, watching the model floor cave in a split second before a real sinkhole opened beneath Scott’s feet.
“Alan, what’s happening up there?” came Virgil’s urgent voice, bound for home with Gordon from their own rescue.
Alan flipped the channel, realising in his hurry he’d accidentally broadcast his message to everyone.
“He’s fine,” he said, eyes still wide as he watched Scott shakily stand on the other side of the chasm. “The floor went.”
“What?”
“He’s fine, he’s fine!”
“Didn’t you run the simulation?”
“I did,” said Alan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen.”
Silence fell over the space station.
“Hey Alan, can you pilot Thunderbird One over to us? Got my hands full here.”
Scott’s voice rang out loud and clear. Five clear thermal images were standing around him, including one in his arms.
Alan fumbled for the call button.
“F.A.B. Scott.”
“I’ll talk to him, Alan,” said Virgil. His eyes were focused beyond him, but Alan could read the quiet fury beneath the clear focus on his own piloting.
“I can’t do it, Virgil,” whispered Alan. “I must have done something wrong, there must have been something he could see that I couldn’t.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” interrupted Virgil.
“He never would have done this to…”
Alan’s voice failed him.
Twenty-two thousand miles below, Virgil choked back his own distress. Gordon was chewing at his lip, staring anxiously at Alan. He leaned forward so he was in view of the holo.
“Hey, Allie,” he said. “John’s gonna be okay. And he’ll be giving Scott hell for ignoring the modelling like that soon enough.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Absolutely, I do,” said Gordon, cracking a grin. “No way, John would let Scott get away with that crap. Not even if he had to haunt him for the rest of his life in ghostly fury to do it.”
“Is he wrapping up now?” asked Virgil, eyes still pinched.
Alan looked down at the display.
“Yeah, he’s on his way home.”
“Right. EOS?”
“Virgil?” Her quiet voice was sullen and more than a little distracted.
“Got room in your processors for another task?”
EOS’s lights flashed suddenly, and Alan’s blood ran cold at the sight. Three weeks he’d been stationed on board Thunderbird Five and he still found himself walking on eggshells around EOS. Her frustration at turning up nothing in the holonet that could lead them closer to John morphed quickly from long, silent sulks to short outbursts of flying bagels and spinning gravity rings. He’d never forgotten the sight of John floating limply like a rag doll that had been torn apart one too many times by a playful, thoughtless, destructive child.
An angry EOS felt too close to losing his brother for good.
“Will it help, John?”
“It’ll keep his brother alive, and that will make it more likely for us to find him.”
“What can I do?”
“Lock Scott out of his controls, Order TB2-5711FR. Make sure Alan gets to Tracy Island before him. Redirect all calls to local authorities in the first instance, follow Protocol 24.”
“I’m not leaving,” argued Alan. “Don’t pull me from duty, I can do better.”
“No arguments.”
Alan wilted, knowing he had no choice but to follow Virgil’s instructions.
“This is done, Virgil,” said EOS, blankly.
“Thank you, EOS,” said Virgil, his manner still stiff and terse. He shifted his gaze from the open ocean in front of him to Alan, his expression softening. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alan. If Scott takes his life into his own hands, that’s not on you. But we can’t have him in the field like that, cutting corners to get back to finding John. So, we need you down here in his place.”
“You can’t pull Scott,” said Alan, his eyes wide. “What would… well, what would Scott say?”
“We’re doing him a favour,” remarked Gordon with a sarcastic twist of his lips that made a mockery of his usual grin. “He wants to find John, we all do, but if he’s willing to risk lives and rescues to do it then he should put his energy into searching and we shouldn’t stop him.”
Alan swallowed, his eyes filling with tears that he angrily swiped away.
“Does he think we’re not looking just as hard?” he asked. “We haven’t forgotten him. Have we?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” said Virgil, firmly. “John would have our heads before we put the possibility of finding him above the certainty of ignoring people who need our help.”
“So, we keep going out there,” agreed Gordon. “And when, when Allie, Kayo and Lady P and Parker find something, and they will, we’ll be right there without a moment to lose.”
“I just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten him.”
“John’s too smart for that,” said Gordon. “Promise you, Allie.”
*                            *                            *
He’d worked it out. Every time he did something to anger the Hood, innocent people paid for it in blood. There was no point in harming him directly, not when what the Hood wanted was inside his mind, ripe for extraction. But his heart and spirit could be broken, as a video feed periodically forced itself over his work to make him watch. Earthquakes, landslides, tidal waves, anything that would get International Rescue on the scene and off his scent.
Senseless destruction and despair epidemic across the world because he couldn’t make an AI fast enough.
But senseless destruction that he could use.
There was no doubt in his mind that his family knew the natural disasters were anything but, he could see it in the determined fury in Scott’s face, in the tense draw of Virgil’s shoulders, in the sardonic mockery in Gordon’s smile as he quietly pocketed yet another piece of equipment.
He didn’t see Alan, and he thought of his baby brother up in space often. None of his brothers had any real idea of the full extent of his contribution, no matter how grateful they were for his guidance, and he hated to know Alan would be forced into that knowledge.
He also suspected that when Alan did spill the beans, he’d find his own rotations scrutinised with a lot more care.
Still, the limited glimpses of his brothers did nothing to discourage him, and he found himself contemplating a plan of escape well into the long, cold nights.
He needed more information.
He needed access to an external holonet connection. And the only way he’d get near one was with a working AI.
Or something that could pass for a few minutes as one.
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armageddontyoudare · 3 years
Text
Forever and Always
Ryder x Reader (Into The Badlands)
So, since nobody was requesting, I decided to write something. I hope you like this....
Warnings: Mentions of torture, kidnapping, mutilation and sex. Pining. PTSD. Death. Angst angst angsttttt!!
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Lydia was worried sick. Every waking hour, she stood by the window, silently cursing her heartless husband for choosing pride over their young child, Ryder. She didn't dare to imagine what those savage Nomads were doing to her baby boy. Was he tied up? Unconscious? Bleeding? Wounded? Or worse? She shuddered at the thought.
She was snapped out of her thoughts when a young girl of nine trotted up to her.
"Mama is asking whether you'll come down for dinner or will you eat up here." The child asked nervously.
Lydia smiled weakly. "Tell your mother to bring it up, Y/N." She told her handmaid's daughter.
She nodded and turned to leave, but didn't. Instead she asked, "Baroness, when is Ryder coming home?" The young girl had tears of worry and sadness in her eyes.
You see, Ryder and Y/N were barely 3 months apart in age, Y/N being older. The two had been close all nine years of their lives, and swore to keep it that way. Ryder and Y/N were practically joint at the hip, you couldn't find one without the other. They were like soulmates. This was the first time they had been apart for so long and young Y/N was worried sick.
Lydia sighed, "I don't know, dear. But I know he misses his best friend." She smiled a bit. Y/N did too.
The day Ryder finally returned, was the day Y/N realized what he was to her. Seeing her soulmate all bloodied up and mutilated lit a spark in the child, she knew that it was now her duty to protect her best friend, regardless of her status. She loved her partner in crime, and would go to the ends of the Earth to keep him safe. Even if it meant receiving training from Minerva, the wife of the Baron of Oils.
Y/N grew up to be a beautiful and formidable woman, the only female Clipper in Armadillo territory, and skilled enough to hold her own against Sunny. She became Ryder's personal guard and confidant, and stayed in the room next to his to keep an eye on him.
Eleven years later, Ryder and Y/N grew closer, but at the same time, the pair drifted apart. Y/N was still the one person he poured his heart out to, but ever since Jade became more prominent in their lives, it felt as though Ryder and Y/N were miles apart, even if they were sitting side by side.
The day of Ryder's 20th birthday, was the day she realized she was hopelessly in love with her best friend.
She loved the way his eyes gleamed when he was happy, she loved his scars, his endearing risque persona she had only seen with Dolls, his soft and curly hair, his painfully perfect plump pink lips, that curled into a rare smile, and his smile.... the beautiful smile that wasn't laced with sarcasm. According to Y/N, that smile of pure joy was probably the most beautiful thing to ever exist. She loved it when he laughed. He got little crinkles in the corners of his eyes, he lips would stretch out to form a huge grin, and he would laugh. It took all of her self control not to kiss him where he stood.
It broke her a bit, every single time he brought a Doll home. It broke her even more when she found out about Jade's affair with Ryder. She couldn't help but feel jealous every time she heard Jade walk into Ryder's room, wishing it was her instead.
When they were twenty five years of age, she pleaded with Ryder to let her accompany him to the Opium warehouse. But Ryder being Ryder, refused, claiming that he couldn't put her in danger. 'Put me in danger my ass.' She thought to herself, but let him go. That turned out to be a huge mistake.
The day Ryder barely clung to life, was the day she realized she would die for him. Y/N found herself crying in the barracks, spending many sleepless nights worrying about the young man who had stolen her heart.
One night Ryder dragged Y/N out of the barracks to get drinks. This was the night where Y/N got hopelessly drunk with Ryder, and spilled her heart out to him, the jealousy, the worry, the feelings, all of it. Thankfully, the young man was just as wasted as his best friend. The night ended with Ryder acquainting his best friend with a man's touch, more specifically, his own. The night was full of lust, love and passion, something neither of the two will ever regret. The morning after, however, was awkward, since neither one remembered anything from the night, apart from the passionate love making. They decided to put it behind them, and continue with their lives. This broke Y/N's heart, but nevertheless, she got over it. Or at least tried to.
The day of Ryder and Jade's wedding, was the day Y/N disappeared. She slowly and silently broke apart at the altar, standing behind Jade as her bridesmaid, she watched the love of her life marry another woman. This truly destroyed her.
That night, Y/N didn't sleep in the room next to Ryder's, and went to the barracks instead and disappeared in the night.
The day she disappeared, was the day Ryder realized how much she really meant to him. She was a constant in his life, she was always there. She held him when he had nightmares, she patched him up when he got hurt, she comforted him when he broke, she protected him, she gave him all the love he needed, but he never noticed. And now that she was gone, Ryder was lost. Sure, he had Jade now, but his Y/N was irreplaceable. He searched the entirety of the Badlands, leaving no stone unturned in the search for his best friend. Even the words 'best friend' couldn't describe what she was to him because she was so much more.
When he finally found her, all bruised and bloodied up, he feared he'd lost her for good this time. He tended to her himself, claiming that he should treat her as she did him.
But she never woke up.
Ryder broke the day her buried his soulmate, realizing that he had loved her all along. His heart had always belonged to his Y/N, but he never acted on it.
Truth be told, Ryder felt a twinge of relief as his father killed him. At least he would see his Y/N again, and this time they would stay together.
''Will you stay with me, Ryder?'
'Forever and always, my love.'
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hope-to-hell · 3 years
Text
A Possession, part three: Dissolution. August Walker x Henry Cavill. Warnings for the entire fic: possession, dubcon (possession-related; our hero never asked for this), mentions of past torture (prior to story events), some degradation, praise kink. Roughly 6k words altogether. Section heading titles largely pulled from whatever music I was listening to at the time. This is it: the last chapter. A little smut, a little angst. Nothing lasts. Part one is here, part two is here
—-
Shake, shake
—-
Somehow, impossibly, you make it more than a week without touching him. And somehow, you figure out a way to exist in the same space. Thank god for quarantine, at least, so you have an excuse to stay at home, to keep this weirdness out of the public eye.
Walker turns out to be a surprisingly competent cook, but hesitates when you ask what his favorite foods are. And despite everything, it’s so hard to shake the feeling of being a host, of providing for your guest, however uninvited he might be. So you make a grocery order and start in on the best dishes you know: pies and roast lamb, hamburgers, risotto, whatever comes to mind when you think of meals you’ve enjoyed. He eats them all dutifully, but it’s not until you hit upon rainbow trout in parchment that you get your first real sigh of pleasure. Huh. You would’ve pegged him for a red meat kind of guy.
And everything you do, everywhere you go, he’s there, watching. Considering. Ten feet away.
It’s like this. One evening he braces one hand against the wall of the shower and drops his head in a pose you know so well. You don’t mean to look, but Christ, he must want you to. Must, because he draws open the shower door to stare straight at you from under his sopping curls as he fists his cock. Must, because he kicks his legs apart to press hard behind his balls with his other hand. Must, because he hisses your name like a curse when he paints the bathroom floor white. And the whole time his eyes are locked on yours.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he says again, and somehow you find the voice to answer.
“Wouldn’t mind isn’t good enough. You’ve got to tell me you want it.” And you have the satisfaction of seeing August Walker poleaxed, however briefly. He hmms a little, thoughtfully, and brushes past you into the bedroom, water droplets shining on the curve of his ass. His gait hitches as he approaches the limits of separation, and you hurry to follow, clean enough to get by for another night but feeling filthier than you have any right to. And when you slide carefully under the covers, he inhales deeply, like he’s scenting you. He smiles, victorious, in the half-dark as you lie there with both hands fisted in the sheets just like you have for days, but now you know exactly what he looks like when he comes.
Fuck.
He escalates, because of course he does. He waits until you’re soaking up sunshine in the kitchen window, then presses in close to cage your body against the counter. He brushes scarred fingertips down the side of your face, and it’s like your mind has been ripped straight out of your body. You feel him touching you, and fuck. You feel him touching you. It’s the strangest sensation, touches doubling and echoing. Licking into his mouth and tasting your own tongue, pulling him in by the hips and feeling matching bruises rise on your own body. And from the way he surges against you, he must feel it too.
Remember. Your nerves are my nerves. You want me to say it? Here it is, directly from my mind to yours. I. Want. This.
This is the part of the movie where it fades to black, where the last thing the audience sees is the lovers, entwined, maybe a flash of light on a naked thigh. This is the part where the music swells, climaxes, spills into silence.
This is the part where the next scene is either a soft, affectionate embrace or a hasty exit from the bed, a quick redressing and an angsty downtempo tune, maybe a walk in the rain.
This is the part where he starts to rise, where you wrap your hand around his wrist and whisper, “stay.”
—-
Untethering
—-
It isn’t clear, at first, what’s happening. A little extra hair in the drain is easy to explain away; you’ve got two people sharing the shower now. Same with the bruising that appears on his arms, his back, his ribs, because for all he grips at you, you give back in equal measure. And if he takes a little longer in the shower than before, if he seems to spend an awfully long time just leaning back and letting the spray hit him, well, maybe he’s finally relaxing a little.
It’s days and days of rutting against one another, of watching in the mirror as he takes you apart. And he loves it, that grinding ache in his fingers as he presses them inside you. He loves it, and you know because you feel it; you feel an answering ache in your own hands and a twinge in your cock that’s almost but not quite unlike anything you’ve felt before (it’s close, so close, to the first time, when he was still just a voice in your head).
Somehow, it’s still a surprise when he shakes you awake and hisses, “Get inside me. Now.” And when you reach for him, a little hesitant because you’ve had each other in nearly every way except this, you taste something strange and metallic, chilly on your tongue. He’s anxious, desperate. The metallic taste increases in its intensity as he surges at your mouth, licking into you with savage competency.
“Are you—“ are you sure is what you want to say, but he’s pressing lube at you with one hand while trying to tear your sleep pants off with the other, and it feels like he’s got half a dozen hands roaming all around you, and it’s unfair because he knows exactly what this does to you, exactly how you respond to every touch. It’s overwhelming, and soon you lose that peculiar metallic taste in the static that sparks hot down your spine and right into where you swell and pulse with the sudden desperate need of him.
And you want to watch his face, watch those eyes shine in the darkness, want to rub your face against his as you open him but he’s turning away, over, hitching a knee under himself and reaching blindly back for your hand. “Now,” he grits out in a voice like the bottom of a dry well. And it’s too soon, has to be, before he’s demanding two and then three fingers and then “godfuckingdammit, that’s enough. Get in me already.”
And when you press into him it’s, fuck, for a moment your vision whites out and you are nowhere, hurling aimlessly through a great expense of nothing, and it’s simultaneously the most terrifying and exhilarating thing you’ve ever felt. Is it like this for him? Can’t be, he’s always so controlled, so precise. It’s impossible even to think like this,
I’ll think for you. Don’t worry, just act.
so you don’t think, and when you return to your body it’s to find yourself draped over him, clinging, rolling your hips like a ship in a storm. Desperation doubles back and builds on itself until you feel as though if you don’t come right now you will die. And you don’t want to die, but you also aren’t sure what the rules are, so you try to withdraw and that’s when his hand closes around your wrist, hard and tight and don’t you fucking dare.
And that’s it, that’s all it takes, his touch and his blessing, before you’re spilling inside him in long shivering pulses. And even then, even when he clenches so tight around you it’s like he’s pulling all the blood from your body, he doesn’t let you go.
You stay with him, in him, until you soften and slip free, and when you wrap an arm over his belly he lets you. He feels warm, as relaxed as he ever gets, and most of all relieved. “Better?” you ask, and in return he twists his neck, rolling his shoulders back till he can reach to kiss you. It’s soft, but almost mathematical in its precision. And he still tastes like metal.
—-
Waves and light (how bold I was)
—-
He’s stopped sleeping. In the night you reach for him and find the bed cold. He’s there, of course, ten feet away, staring out the window. He’s all hard muscle, luminous in the moonlight, a demigod or an avenging angel. He turns and tilts his head, and you can see his breath hang frosty in the air. You wake in the morning to find him still standing at the window, and for a split second you could swear the light passes right through him.
He’s stopped sleeping, and he hovers a little closer than he used to but he doesn’t touch, not until you sigh and tell him to “get over here. C’mon. I don’t have to touch you to know you’re worried about something.”
So you enclose him in the circle of your arms, bump your face against his scars to feel that little spark, that staticky sensation from nerve damage, to feed him the pleasure that touching him brings. You breathe softly, saying nothing, until he relaxes by degrees.
He smells like blood, but then again he always does. Chaos and death are embedded into every fiber of his being. If he were to shed his skin, to slither pink and naked into the world as a man reborn, maybe it would be different. But he is who he is, and you are who you are, although tangled like this it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference. One of you sparks a slow-burning arousal, the kind that takes hours to come to a head if it does at all, a slow soft yearning. You sigh into it, nuzzling at him a bit, feeling your stubble scrape across his cheek. Like this, you can almost forget who and what he is.
And he hears you, huffs a little. What I am doesn’t matter anymore, not outside these walls. And I—
He sucks in a breath, harsh and wet, sucking air up from your lungs. It burns, scraping bloody up your throat.
Metal again. And pressed against him like this, you can catch the echoes of fear, of a strange sort of dissolution. Light through greasepaper, snow drifting through broken windows. Shoulders straining against his jacket. Blood and bone and a lonely valley. Trying to breathe but the shards of his ribs dig into his lungs—
Oh.
Oh fuck. You realize, then, that he’s dying, pulled back to that moment. None of this mattered in the end; all it did was delay the inexorable march of fate. You can almost see it happening, scars brightening and blooming into wounds, bruises rising where he hit the ground. And you hear it too, the slow scrape of metal across the floor, the heavy tread of boots and a soft susurration of fabric. She’s here.
And it’s strange: you’d expect her to revel in this, finally capturing this soul that’s eluded her for so long. But it’s almost like she’s trying to be comforting. Things fall apart. Entropy comes for us all, in the end. And you got more time than most.
Listen, I don’t want to you have to go. His fingers tremble against yours, coppery fear blooming heavy on your tongue.
I’m not unkind, you know. It’s just the way it has to be. Think of this as a gift. Better than falling apart piece by piece, isn’t that right?
Is it? Maybe, with more time, you could figure something out, maybe if he took just a little more, a few of your years, you don’t need that much time, you could spare him that—
No. Hey. We. We had a good run, didn’t we? Just, remember me. Please.
He’s terrified, pulse rabbiting in his chest, fingers clutching yours as the scythe descends. And you feel it when the connection breaks, tension dissolving as he fades, the cruel hard core of him pulling free from your chest. Your hand is your hand again, grasping at nothing. He manages a smile, almost, shimmering through a film of tears. Hey, listen. I—
And then he’s gone, nothing more than motes of dust in the air, as you blink hard, trying to pull him back into your sight.
—-
Epilogue (the last thing inside the box was)
—-
You see him sometimes, a flash of cold eyes in the crowd or a particular way someone has of standing. You listen to the wind, and watch frost crawling up the windows in winter, and you miss him.
You return to the world, you smile and wave and show your teeth. It’s not a real smile, not quite, but you’ll get there. You always have.
You bake trout in parchment, and American biscuits, and you eat alone.
On a wintery afternoon you climb aboard a packed train, mercifully anonymous in the crowd. Your bare hand brushes against a stranger’s. You feel a spark, pins and needles, like a waking limb.
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jazminebrightxx · 3 years
Text
LIKE MAGIC
°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°
SHOW: Teen wolf
CHAPTER FOUR: Poetic
EPISODE: 3x02 “chos rising” part three
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later that night, Kaitlin sat in Derek's place with Stiles and Peter. She had insisted they would need her and her magic but the older alpha protested, saying they needed her to keep her strength In case something goes wrong. She didn't get that logic at all but just agreed. In her short time of knowing the Hale, she's come to one agreement with herself, don't question his ways.
She now lay across a couch, staring out the window Stiles was stood at. Her eyes went to him occasionally, thoughts ran through her head of him, he was still the same sarcastic spaz even after everything he has been through, she respected him for that. She had always respected the pale boy, losing your mom at such a young age was bound to affect you, and it did. She had seen it happen and was there for him through it. She just wished she had been there for him and Scott when they were going through the things they did, the kanima, peter, she glanced at said alpha, well... beta now I guess.
Something about him was familiar to Kaitlin, of course she could see auras and could tell what type of person you were, but something about peters aura felt odd to her. She couldn't place her finger on it. But it was there.
"I can't take waiting around like this, ya know, it's nerve-wracking, my nerves are wracked, severely wracked, wracked" he complained, bringing Kaitlin back from her thoughts, she eyes him curiously
"wrecked" she corrects him, he turns to look at the redhead, a confused expression on his face
"What?"
She moves to look at him better, hanging upside down slightly on the chair.
"It's pronounced nerve-wrecking" she continues, stiles face scrunches up, shaking his head
"No, it's not"
"Stiles, literally no one says wracked" she states, stiles looks at the girl for a second before sucking in a big breath
"That is not the point, Kaitlin!" He explains, waving his hands around, his sudden outburst causes Kaitlin to raise her eyebrows, though she wasn't quite dazed by his skittish behavior "my nerves are wracked or wrecked or whatever you wanna freaking call it"
"Wrecked"  Kaitlin interrupts him, muttering, which he ignores and continues
"The point is that I can't stick waiting around like this" he finishes
"I could beat you unconscious and wake you when it's over" peter speaks from across the room where he sat opposite Kaitlin on a couch of his own
Stiles sighs, walking around the table with a hand on his chin
"You think Erica's dead?" He questions which spark concern inside Kaitlin, while she didn't know the girl personally, she vaguely remembered her from her childhood and didn't want the blonde getting hurt
"You think I care?" Stiles ignores peters words continuing
"It's just, I don't understand the bank though? Why not chain them up in some underground lair or something, their an alpha pack, right? so shouldn't they have a lair?" Stiles rambles, Kaitlin looks at the boy dumbfounded, she chooses to remain quiet.
"Their werewolves, not bond villains" peter states, not looking at stiles
"Wait a sec, wait a sec! Maybe their living there, you know?" Kaitlin's ears perk up, she eyes the boy questionably, not moving from her place on the couch
"Maybe the bank vault reminds them of their little wolf dens!" He exaggerates, Kaitlin sighs, the little spark of hope in her mind gone.
"Wolf dens?" Peter looks at Kaitlin who shrugs, stiles turns back around
"Yeah wolf dens, where do you live?" He questions the older hale who's Demeter doesn't falter, he keeps a straight face when talking to stiles
"In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods"
Kaitlin's snorts, holding back a laugh as she waits for stiles reaction, Peter keeps his face blank, trying as hard as he can to make the pale boy believe him
"Woah really?" Stiles beams
"No, you idiot, I live in an apartment downtown" Peter laughs, his hands folded in front of him
"Okay, fine, still that just proves that there's something up with the bank, and why wait around for the full moon, huh?" Kaitlin rolls her eyes
"Stiles why doesn't it matter, maybe they think it's poetic and maybe their poor and can't afford an apartment" she states, waving her hands around, she turns to sit up straight, her back becoming strained from the position she was in
"They've already had three full moons to be poetic, Katie"
"And here you've only had one full hour to be so annoying.." Peter complains, resting his head back on the couch and closing his eyes. He had grown tired of stiles rambling on and wondered if the girl in the room would mind if he killed him-
He stops, opening his eyes abruptly and staring at the ceiling, the two teens eyes him curiously "no go-ahead finish what you were saying, I'm annoying...what were you gonna say there?"
"what are the walls made of?" He sits up, looking at stiles, who furrows his brow, looking around the room
"What? Uh... I don't know like, wood and brick or..." Peter stands from his seat moving over to the blueprints, Kaitlin glances at stiles before following
"I think he means the vault, stiles" she states, gaining his attention, he nods making his way over to the table
"Yeah, the walls what are they made out of, where would it say that?" The three gather around the blueprints, Peter flicking through the pages
He stops at one page, glancing around looking for it
"Doesn't say anything, where would it say the materials, the type of stone?" He turns to look at the two teens beside him
"Oh, hang on" stiles turns and rummages through a bag, pulling out a bunch of paper and placing it in front of peter quickly
"Here, it's gotta be in there"
Peter places down the papers and begins flicking through them, skimming through the words looking for the type of stone
Peter sighs after a few pages, growing impatient before stiles stops him from turning the page
"There, that's it" he points to the materials on the page
When Kaitlin sees the material the walls of the vault were made out of her heart stops
"Hecatolite." Peter quietly mutters
"Is that awful? It sounds awful" stiles keeps his eyes on the paper, glancing up once at peter
"Call Scott, Stiles." Kaitlin states to the boy when she doesn't see peter move
"Why?" He moves to pull out his phone
"They're gonna rip each other apart" she explains, stiles clicks on Scott's name and places the phone to his ear
"They're gonna kill Derek and Scott" peter finally says, looking up from the paper, Stiles looks at Kaitlin with worry, her mirroring his expression
****
Scott and Derek had succeeded in infiltrating the hidden bank vault, Kaitlin watched as Stiles frantically explained the problem over the phone. the brunette worried for her friends.
"look, Scott, you gotta get out of there. the walls of the vault are made of a mineral called hecatolite. it scatters the moonlight" the pale boy explained over the phone, Peter stood close to the pair of teens and the phone which was now on loudspeaker
"what does that mean?" Scott questions through the phone
"look it keeps the moonlight out, okay? they haven't felt the full moon in months." Stiles shouts down the phone
"think of it like the gladiators in the roman colosseum. they used to starve the lions for three days, making them more vicious, more out of control. Deucalion has kept them from shifting for three months, three full moons" peter added, Kaitlin's heart raced in her chest.
"Guess they were really going for the poetic theme" the ginger added, earning a slightly annoyed hiss from Stiles, she sheepishly smiles at the boy
"Scott they're gonna be stronger..." Stiles starts, before peter buts in again "more savage, more bloodthirsty. Scott, they're the lions, they're the starved lions and you and Derek just stepped into the colosseum"
Kaitlin zoned out slightly, mentally cursing herself for letting Derek convince her not to go, Scott talked to Derek, explaining the problem to him. after the line is silent for too long Stiles calls to Scott before the sound of growling is heard, Kaitlin's heart takes a jump
"Scott? scott! Are you hearing this?" the line goes dead
"Scott?!"
hello! sorry for the unexpected break. i’m gonna try get more chapters up for here but it’s hard! hope you enjoyed
tagged : @linkpk88
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ticklygiggles · 4 years
Text
And they were roomates | Haikyuu Captains
Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Kotarou, Oikawa Tooru & Ushijima Wakatoshi
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A/N: I didn’t know exactly which captains you wanted, but I did the basics because I love them *ugly crying* They're all grown ups living together, but this is probably a bit canon divergent, huhu. Thank you very much for the prompt, @cupcakedog2023​ I hope you enjoy this!
Polyrelationship if you squint, but not really. I want to thank my dear friend @ragewerthers​ because we've been talking about Daichi (and Iwa) lately so I felt very inspired to (destroy) write about him. I enjoy writing hc’s with you, my sweet friend *sobs* And I love Daichi.
Summary: Daichi has the best luck, (ahem, strategy), but it’s all gone when his roommates team up against him.
Words: 3,862 (hoho)
-----
Three loud groans and a soft displeased huff filled the entire apartment when Daichi threw his last card.
"You must be kidding me," Kuroo sighed, also throwing his (many) cards into the pile in the middle of the table and bringing his hands up to rub his face vigorously. Daichi was wearing a wide grin. "How many times already? Ten?"
"Eleven," Ushijima said and Daichi could only puff his chest proudly… it had been twelve times, but who counts? He does. "Look how proud he is."
"Are we going to have another round?" Bokuto asked, his smile bright, having way more fun than Kuroo, Oikawa and Ushijima all together.
"Hell yeah," Oikawa said, already gathering the cards in his hands and shuffling them with the experience of a croupier.  How he had that talent, no one knew, but it definitely made everyone look at his hands in awe. Even Daichi, who could only think about his twelve victories.
"I refuse to admit that Sawamura is the only one who can win this game!" He cried, throwing the cards to each one of them. "Even if Ushiwaka wins, I'll be happy." He pointed at Ushijima, who was sitting right beside him. 
Ushijima simply rolled his eyes and Daichi laughed softly as he took the new cards, spreading them between his hands. 
He didn't feel bad about winning. He had always been extremely good at board games and he was pretty sure that all of these former captains knew about it. At the end of their game nights, (usually on Fridays because they all had a day off on Saturday, thank god), Daichi would have mercilessly crushed each one off them - that's why they didn't gamble, the last time they did, Oikawa had to borrow money from all of them until his next payday. 
No one wanted to live up to that humiliation and it was the only time Daichi actually felt bad, so gambling was forbidden, but even with or without it, Daichi was invencible in every single game: Kuroo winning every now and then, Ushijima probably won one or two times before, as well as Oikawa, and Bokuto… well, Bokuto didn't care at all who won or lost, he enjoyed spending time with his roommates the most and his big smile was enough for everyone to keep playing until they gave up to beat Daichi. 
"Don't!" Oikawa yelled dramatically. It was his turn to throw a card and Daichi couldn't help but laugh. They had played for five minutes. Five minutes and Daichi had already screamed that word out, making the rest of the men cringe. "It's impossible!"
Uno! 
"Just throw it, Tooru!"
Kuroo had drawn almost all of the cards, he even had some on the table, Ushijima had three, Bokuro had around five of six and Oikawa, (Daichi really, really wanted to laugh), he only had two - Daichi didn't know what cards they were, but all of them knew he was going to win regardless, after all, he only had one card between his fingers. 
Oikawa sighed in resignation, throwing his card: a yellow two.
Daichi threw his own: a Draw Four Wild. 
"Ah, I was hoping for someone else to win," Kuroo sighed, almost pouting and crossing his arms above his chest. 
Daichi only smirked, seeing how Oikawa dramatically fell against Ushijima, a hand resting against his forehead as he faked fainting. "I am a disgrace," Oikawa said, sobbing quietly as Ushijima patted his shoulder. 
"I'm sorry I won," Daichi mumbled, gathering the cards again. 
"Don't say you're sorry if you are not!" Kuroo said with narrowed eyes and reaching up to pinch Daichi's nose. 
Daichi squeaked. "It's all about strategy!" He claimed, rubbing at his nose. "And knowing what cards to throw at the right time!"
"Yeah, yeah," Oikawa mocked from where he was still laying against Ushijima. "Do you want to show off your strategy skills, captain? Maybe you should give us all some tutoring?"
Daichi laughed. "If that is what you want…"
Oikawa gasped and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Bokuto's gentle voice interrupted him. "Maybe we should get some tutoring," he said and this time Kuroo was the one to open his mouth to speak out against that idea, but Bokuto continued talking. "After all, Karasuno did kick all of our asses back then, didn't they?" Bokuto said quite nonchalantly, a sudden silence filled the room and Daichi felt his heart dropping a little.
That was okay, right? That happened in highschool, right? All of them were working men already so it was in the past... Right? 
"Uh...," Daichi started but was cut off by a hum coming from Oikawa. 
"Kou-chan is right," he said, a dangerous smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Daichi blushed. "Karasuno did kick our asses back then, huh?"
Bokuto, perhaps not catching on what was happening, (perhaps actually knowing what was happening), nodded enthusiastically, his arm wrapping around Kuroo's shoulders, because he always felt the need to touch someone.  
"Ho?" Daichi's eyes quickly turned to look at Kuroo, who was also smirking, his sleepy eyes a bit dark and a perfect eyebrow raised up. "So we really are living with our biggest rival, eh?" 
Daichi gulped nervously, eyeing the four men around him. "Now, now," he said, trying to sound calm. "That was in highschool, guys. It's not like we're still playing for our teams, right?"
Right?
"Listen to this captain trying to calm down the team," Oikawa said and Daichi positively blushed to the tip of his ears. "Don't think that you can just brush it off, Sawamura. We hold a grudge."
Bokuto laughed at that, but Oikawa punched him in the arm, a playful smile on his lips, nothing compared to that savage smirk he sent back to Daichi. 
Daichi sensed danger, so his eyes slowly moved to look at Ushijima, expecting him to help him out of this situation, but he flinched when he found his serious brown eyes staring back at him. 
"Since Daichi is Karasuno's former captain," Ushijima started, his voice emotionless, but his eyes piercing holes through Daichi's face. "He should take responsibility and be punished on his teammates' behalf."
Daichi widened his eyes, his mouth dropping open. "Wa-Wakatoshi..."
Kuroo, Bokuto and Oikawa laughed and, as if Ushijima's words were the only thing they needed to do something about their former enemy, Kuroo launched at Daichi, not giving him the chance to try and escape. 
"No! Wait, aah!" Daichi squeaked when he was suddenly picked up and thrown over Kuroo's shoulder as if he was not more than a sack of rice. "T-Tetsu! You guys, hold- hold on!" Daichi protested, but Kuroo ultimately ignored him as the rest of them quickly followed behind him (and Daichi), to the living room. 
"Toshi already said that you should be punished, Dai-chan," Oikawa said with that lethal smirk. "So we are not backing up now."
Daichi sent another glance to Ushijima and he could only whine softly when he saw him nodding his head solemnly, Bokuto now wrapping his arm around his shoulders. He let out another squeak when Kuroo suddenly threw him against the sofa, they hovered over him for a few seconds before Oikawa and Kuroo were both pinning his arms up above his head. 
"W-Wait... I'm- I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean... to win?" Daichi tried to explain himself, his back arching up as he pulled at his arms. 
"What should we do?" Oikawa asked, ignoring Daichi's pleas. 
"Shall we punch him?" Kuroo said and Daichi gasped, widening his eyes.
"What?! Do you guys really hate me that much?!" Oikawa and Kuroo snickered and Daichi looked over Ushijima just one more time, but he only blushed furiously when he found the man looking at him intently. 
He was screwed. 
"So not punching?" Kuroo asked playfully.
"Not punching," Bokuto suddenly popped in. "This!" He said before diving in, his hands latching onto Daichi's sides, squeezing them up and down. 
Daichi flinched when Bokuto grabbed him, his body tensing, actually fearing to be beaten up, but he was extremely surprised when, instead of pain, he felt those sparks waking up his nerve endings.
"Aaah! Wahahahait!" Daichi started to giggle right away; to be attacked by something so low as tickling, the humiliation! "Puhuhuhunch me!"
The rest laughed, even Ushijima let out soft chuckles as Daichi giggled and began to squirm, pulling at his arms. 
"What?! That's so stupid, I love it!" Oikawa chirped as he got a better hold of Daichi's wrists, making him squeak when he pushed his arm a little higher, Kuroo following suit, causing Daichi to let out nervous giggles. 
"B-Bohohoho!" Daichi squeaked out, trying to twist his hips so he could turn on his side, but to his surprise, Bokuto planted himself on top of his thighs. "N-Nohoho! I'm sorry! I'm sohohorry!" 
Daichi was usually okay with tickle fights. He had had some with these four men before, but never the four of them at once! He was not sure he'd survive this, after all, he was aware that at least one of them knew about his most ticklish spot and, knowing them, they'd make sure to weak him up before finally going straight for that spot. 
Daichi shuddered as he tried to bite his lower lip to stop those giggles bubbling out, but he squeaked when Bokuto started to squeeze his waist and the giggles that had gathered in his throat came flowing loud and clear and the blush on his face spread toward his ears.
"Ah, so I remembered correctly!" Bokuto said excitedly. "Daichi has a ticklish waist!"
Oikawa hummed. "I didn't know he was ticklish there… nice!" He said, talking as if Daichi wasn't there giggling like a schoolgirl.
He knew he was in trouble - Oikawa, Kuroo and Bokuto were already fired up, but Ushijima was still there (embarrassingly staring at him), without doing anything, so Daichi managed to put the best puppy eyes he could and looked at him.
"W-Wahahahakatoshi!" He giggled, flinching when Bokuto found the right spot on his waist. "H-Hehehehelp!" No, more specific. "H-Help m-mehehehe, please!"
He should had known better, after all, Ushijima was the one who suggested the punishment in the first place, regardless, Daichi was still surprised when Ushijima mumbled with his low, deep voice::
"Try his stomach."
Daichi widened his eyes and he immediately sucked on his belly, as if that action would help him at all - of course it didn't: he let out a whimpery plea, but Bokuto easily raised his shirt up to his ribs and his fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. 
"GAHAHaha! Wahahait! Wait!" He squeaked, the giggles morphing into loud laughs as Bokuto mercilessly vibrated his fingertips right in the center of his tummy. "Uhuhuhushihihihi!" Daichi didn't notice, but Ushijima's ears turned a little red. "Trahahahahitor!" 
"Ho?" Kuroo purred. "So Sawamura has a ticklish tummy?" 
"Try scribbling your fingers on the sides," Ushijima explained, his fingers wiggling slightly to show Bokuto how to do it. 
"Nohoho!"
"Why don't you do it, Wakatoshi?" Bokuto asked with a big smile, stopping momentarily to invite Ushijima to join, Daichi shook his head like a mad man.
"Oh! That's a splendid idea!" Oikawa beamed and Daichi fought against all instinct to look up at him, he didn't want to see Oikawa's big grin. "While Toshi wrecks Daichi's belly, Bo can move to his ribs!"
Daichi squeaked. "Pl-Plehehease! D-Don't be such s-sohohore losers!" 
It was too late when Daichi realized what he just said; Ushijima was already kneeling close to the sofa and his hands were poised against the sides of Daichi's belly, his fingers scribbling against the warm and tight skin. 
Daichi's reaction was priceless and everyone laughed about it: he arched his back and let out a slightly girly shriek before bubbly laughter bloomed out of his mouth. His heels digging into the sofa's surface.
"Ahahaha! Wakatohohoshi, wait! N-Nahahaha!" 
To Daichi's horror, little hiccups started to filter through his laughter and the cooing from above him only made him want to sink deeper into the mattress, but he arched up again when Ushijima started to vibrate his fingers against the muscles at the sides of his tummy, stealing more hiccups from Daichi. 
"Oh goodness," Oikawa whispered. "Try his ribs! His ribs!" Oikawa urged Bokuto who, thankfully, had stopped to just look over at Daichi with a bright smile of his own. "It's a very nice spot."
"Nohohoho!"
"Up here?" Bokuto teased, his fingers crawling like little spider's legs toward Daichi's ribs. 
"P-Plehehehease!" Daichi shook his head and scrunched up his nose at the little pokes, his tummy sucking in when Bokuto grazed his lower ribs, but it seemed like Bokuto didn't notice as he suddenly made two claws with his hands and started to vibrate them against his bones and in the spaces in-between.
Daichi let out a shriek before cackles poured out of his mouth, he was positively kicking his feet now, or at least trying to with Bokuto sitting on his thighs. His ribs were horribly ticklish, he only needed a poke there to feel his whole rib cage tingling.
Bokuto was now squeezing Daichi's ribs, making him jump and squeak, but he was not hitting those special spots that never failed to almost throw Daichi into hysterical laughter, but Oikawa knew and Daichi knew it was only a matter of time before he instructed Bokuto again. 
"Nice, Bo, but try right at the lower ribs." There he was.
"No! Nohohoho, Kou! Plehehehease!"
"Oh?" Kuroo and Ushijima mumbled curiously and Daichi could only beg between cackles. 
"Here?"
"Yes, those ribs are really sensitive. Just use your thumbs- yeah, like that."
"AHAHAHA!" Daichi wished that he couldn't feel the tickling against his tummy, too, but that, added to the new electrifying sensation of having his lower ribs massaged with gentle deep circles, he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. 
His squirming got wilder and Bokuto, Kuroo and Oikawa laughed as they pinned him a little harder without hurting him - Ushijima just chuckled, his fingers moving with experience, (didn't they have a tickle fight like once?!); his thumbs digging into the soft flesh under Daichi's belly button, forcing a snort out, or perhaps it was the way Bokuto was vibrating his fingers against those horribly ticklish ribs. 
He didn't know, he just knew it tickled, but it was not over yet. He felt it in his belly, his insides doing little flips just at the thought of that certain spot being tickled and Kuroo hadn't done anything yet. 
"That's not all! That's not all!" Oikawa said excitedly over Daichi's loud laughter 
"Look at this!" He quickly pinned Daichi's arm with his knees, Daichi was so overwhelmed by sensations that he didn't even put up a fight when he felt a little bit of freedom on his arm. 
"No! D-dohohon't l-lehehet hihihim- AH! Ahahahaha, Tooru! T-To-ahahaha!" 
Bokuto let out a whistle at such reaction, but Daichi couldn't care less at the moment: Tooru was rubbing deep circles into his highest ribs and Daichi just couldn't stand the maddening sensation - the skin, the muscles, even the bones felt extremely tender and weak against the ticklish attention. 
Not only that, having Tooru's hands so close to his actual most ticklish spot had him in frantic hysterical cackles; his body slowly growing weak, his hips wiggling slightly and his torso trying to turn away, but it was not possible, not with all of that laughter pouring non stop out of his mouth.
"Hehe, I told you guys it was a nice spot!" 
"Stahahahap!"
"I'm not sure," Oikawa said, looking down at Daichi's laughing face, he was red by now, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead and tears falling from the sides of his face. "Do you feel any bad?" 
"I d-d-ahahaha! I do!" He squeaked out in a hurry before another cackle could cut his words. 
"Are you learning your lesson?" Kuroo asked next, but Daichi didn't have the head to learn any lesson, he was laughing hysterically, snorts burning his nose and hiccups bubbling out of his throat. If there was a lesson to learn, he was not learning it at all, but he nodded, not wanting to cause any more havoc to himself. 
Kuroo chuckled. "Poor Daichi, too ticklish for his own good. Maybe you can have it in mind next time you decide to be a little shit, huh?" 
Daichi shook his head. "I'm sohohohaharry!"
"I think you are lying," Kuroo purred and Daichi feared for his life. "That's why I should teach the rest, where's your weakest spot, hm?"
Daichi shrieked, his tired body regaining some force. "NAHAHAHAT thahahat!"
"Heee?" Bokuto and Oikawa said, Ushijima only looked up at Kuroo with a raised eyebrow. "So Daichi is not the most ticklish on his ribs?"
"AHAGAHAHAD, plehehehease Tehehehetsu, dohohon't!" 
"Of course not," Kuroo said, pinning Daichi's arm with his legs, as well. "Daichi's weakest spot is right here," he said, suddenly digging one finger right in the middle of Daichi's clothed armpits. 
Daichi went so wild with such gentle touch, he almost threw Bokuto off, but Ushijima held him by the shoulder, stabilizing him so Bokuto could properly sit on Daichi's thighs again. Oikawa was laughing at him. 
"Uh-uh," Bokuto said, his fingers back to Daichi's lower ribs. "This is going to be good."
"Brace yourself, Dai. Here I go!"
"No! Nononono- NAHAHAHA!" Oikawa gasped when Daichi suddenly threw his head back, howling with laughter. 
Kuroo wasted no time, he sneaked his hands under Daichi's sleeves, touching the smooth skin with his fingertips before digging, wiggling and vibrating against the exposed armpits, into the hollows and right in the center where Kuroo knew Daichi was the most sensitive. 
Meanwhile, Daichi was going crazy. He was howling desperately, all of his weak spots being tickled at once was something he hadn't experience before and his mind was going blank, he could only focus in the sensations and how it tickled so fucking much. 
The vibrations against his armpits, the massages against his highest and lower ribs and he was almost sure that he felt a shy raspberry being pressed against the side of his tummy before fingertips were clawing at his muscles. Oh goodness, Ushijima was actually blowing raspberries against his stomach! 
Daichi thought he was going to die. 
"STAHAHA-" it was the only thing Daichi could manage out before his laughter turned silent, his body shaking heavily with each laugh. 
"Daichi, does it tickle too much?" Oikawa asked, not slowing down at all. Daichi nodded weakly, jumping when Kuroo found a particular sensitive spot. 
"Do you want us to stop?" Kuroo mumbled and Daichi nodded again, throwing his head back with a salient cackle when he definitely felt and heard another raspberry, this time right against his navel. 
"Poor Dai," Bokuto sang. "Too ticklish for his own good." Daichi nodded one more time, not caring anymore about saving some face to these mean boys.
"Okay, that's enough," Ushijima said, lifting his hands away from Daichi's pink stomach. The other three followed him, bright smiles on their lips as they watched Daichi still laughing until he regained his voice and was giggling tiredly, his body trembling slightly. 
"I'll bring some water," Kuroo said, lifting himself from Daichi's arm, Daichi was too weak, so he just kept his arm up above his head. 
"Are you okay, Dai?" Bokuto asked, perhaps a little worried as he placed Daichi's shirt back in place, not without making him flinch and bark out a nervous laugh when he moved his hands too quickly. 
Oikawa chuckled. "Calm down, we have finished. Do you feel okay?" Daichi took a few breaths before nodding softly, a little smile curling his lips.
"I'm g-gohohood," he said, his voice hoarse after laughing so much. "N-Nohoho more," he pleaded with bright eyes and a funny smile. 
"Yes, no more." Oikawa nodded, pulling Daichi's arm out from under his knees and gently helping him to lower both of them. Daichi let out a giggle when Ushijima grabbed both his hands and helped him sit up, Bokuto placing him against the backrest of the sofa.
He felt boneless and a bit heated up, but he didn't mind when Bokuto sat too close to him at his right, Oikawa collapsing right beside Bokuto. Ushijima sat by his left, also a bit too close and Daichi didn't notice when he had gotten that magazine, but he thanked him shyly when Ushijima started to fan him with it. 
When Kuroo came back with the glass of water, Daichi took it gratefully and drank it in one sip, Oikawa was nice enough to take the glass out of his hands and place it on the little table in front of them. 
Daichi let his head fall back. Damn, he was tired and he still felt some phantom tickles all over his torso, making him twitch softly and smile lightly. That was intense, but, even so, he couldn't really say he totally hated it.
He sent discreet glances at the men resting by his sides and his heart fluttered a little when he noticed their little pleased smiles. They seemed happy - ah, could it be because they actually got their revenge on him? 
Daichi felt his cheeks heating up. They didn't really hate him for that, right? They've been living together for a while now and everything was going perfectly fine, so it wasn't like that… was it? 
He softly cleared his throat and flushed even more when the four of them turned their head to look at him, Oikawa and Kuroo moving forward a little. 
"Are- are you guys really upset at me?" He tried to look at each of their faces as he sunk a little deeper into the backrest. 
Ushijima, Oikawa, Bokuto and Kuroo exchanged a look and Daichi let out a shriek when he felt fingers suddenly digging into his ribs, tickling him again.
"Gahahaha! N-Nohoho!" He was surprised to find out that Bokuto and Ushijima were the ones doing it. 
"Dai-chan is so silly!" Oikawa laughed softly. 
"Of course we are not upset at you, Daichi!" Bokuto chirped, going for Daichi's waist again. 
"We just wanted to tease you! We don't actually hold a grudge against you, silly Daichi!" Kuroo laughed too, reaching up to ruffle Daichi's hair. 
"Mn," Ushijima mumbled, also moving down to tickle the other side of Daichi's waist. 
"Plehehehease! S-Stahahap! You sahahahaid no mohohore!"
"You should be punished for actually thinking we were upset at you," Kuroo threatened and Daichi squeaked, shaking his head a little. 
He would never admit that he felt his heart flutter at that, his face turning bright red as he felt a wave of relief rushing through him. 
"O-Okahahay! I'm sohohorry!"
"Shall we hold him down?" Oikawa asked, already getting up. 
"No!" Daichi shrieked, wrapping his arms around his torso and trying to push those hands away. "Not nahahahaw!"
"Hoo?" Kuroo hummed. "So later?"
Daichi was stuck with four tickle maniacs and they already had found their victim. If he was happy about it, he kept it deep within his heart. 
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mmvalentine · 3 years
Text
Home is Where You Are pt 10 | Feysand
Girl next door AU. One last smut piece before we leave this fic. Also this is my 50th post and that makes me happy. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
They stayed in the city apartment for another year, then moved into the old house. They had spent so many weekends there anyway, that it seemed a natural progression. Feyre liked the big pools of light in the living room to paint, and Rhys declared there was nothing he was attached to, nothing that was home if Feyre wasn't there. He worked from home easily and only had to go to the city for big events, and that suited him just fine. Feyre left her job and was invited to another studio by someone who had been following her on social media, and messaged as soon as Feyre announced the move.
They packed up their little life into Rhys' car; there was not much since they had been gradually moving things over on their breaks. Then they drove the six hours to their house, and before Feyre could climb the first step Rhys was scooping her up into his arms so he could carry her across the threshold.
"What are you doing you dork?" Feyre giggled. "I'm giving you the official welcome to your new home," Rhys said. "We're not married, and we've been half-living here for months now," Feyre pointed out. "Yes, well, we didn't technically live here. Maybe just a welcome home, then." Feyre folded her arms around his neck and kissed him like frosting on a cupcake.
"We could, you know," Rhys said, still holding her in his arms. "Get married. If you want." Feyre tipped her head to one side. "Rhysand are you proposing to me?" she asked with a smile. Rhys shrugged. "You've always had me, Feyre. Since we were thirteen years old. I've never been one for tradition, and I didn't know if you'd want a proposal after Tamlin. But I hope you'll be mine for my whole life." "Forever," Feyre promised, and kissed him again.
Rhys walked them into the landing, then stood at the foot of the stairs.
"Ladies choice," he said. "Bedroom, or counter top?" Feyre shivered in his arms in anticipation, and licked her lips. "One, then the other." Rhys' eyes sparked. "Yes ma'am," he said, and carried her to the kitchen. "Although I might reverse the order, if it's all the same to you."
He set her down on the bench top, gently at first, rearranging her legs so she sat facing him. Then his eyes went black, and he grabbed a hold of her behind the knees and yanked her forward, a hand gliding to the back of her neck and the other coasting down the outside of her thigh. Even sitting on the tall counter, Feyre's head only came up to Rhys' nose. His sudden change of mood had sparks rolling down Feyre's spine.
"Seriously," he said, in a voice like midnight. "All I think about all day is you on kitchen table tops, and I never get any work done." He pulled off her shirt, and dropped it onto the floor. "You're a terrible influence on my work habits." The bra was dropped, too. Feyre slid her hands up in the inside of Rhys' black t-shirt. "Don't blame me for your lack of productivity," she said. "You're the one who keeps putting me up on these." "True," Rhys said against her lips. "But you look so good sitting up here."
Rhys' hands smoothed over her legs and hitched them around his waist. He kissed her mouth, and leaned into her so she was tipped backward, and holding onto his neck to keep herself upright. He gripped her hips so that they wouldn't lose contact with his.
"Now," he murmured. "This island bench top is much bigger than the one at the apartment." He put his palm flat against Feyre's chest, and pushed her gently downward so she had her back flat on the table and her feet dangling off the edge.
"I think I'll have you like this. And," he paused and smoothed her arms above her head. "Like this," he said. He leaned down and pressed a luscious kiss into Feyre's belly. Her hands came down to stroke his hair, but Rhys stood up quickly.
"Mmm naughty," he purred. "Hands up." He pushed her arms back above her head, and held her wrists down. "Keep them there. If you don't, I'll have to tie you up so you can't move them."
He kissed his way down Feyre's arm, and across her collar bone. Made eye contact as he moved his hands, making sure she didn't bring her arms down. Then, satisfied she wasn't moving, he cupped both breasts in his hands and put his teeth on her nipple.
Feyre's back arched up but she kept her arms above her head as instructed. Rhys' lips made their way across to the other breast, then over her ribcage. Feyre curled her fingers around the opposite lip of the island. Rhys squeezed her breasts in his hand as his tongue travelled further south. As he bit into the waistband of her pants and used his teeth to tug them down a little. As he licked that line of her hips, teasing high above where she really needed him.
In one smooth motion, Rhys had her pants off, but instead of going to the centre of her, his mouth moved to the inside of her thigh. Feyre moaned in protest, but Rhys took his time. Teeth and tongue on the softest part of her leg. Up higher. And higher. Finally he reached the edge of her underwear- but then he just moved across to the other side and bit into her right thigh. Feyre tried to pull him in with her feet, tried to get him closer, but he was unmoved. Ran his tongue across the leg edge of her underwear, and did would not speed up.
Rhys loved Feyre like this. Spread over the counter, needing him so badly her eyes were rolling back and her teeth were clamped down over her lower lip. Her hands stuck on the table above her, because he said so. The sight of her had him so fucking hard. He peeled her underwear off, but kept his attention at the join of her leg and her hip.
"Please," Feyre panted, starting to buck off the table. "Rhys, please."
Rhys hovered his lips over her clit, so she would feel his breath when he spoke.
"I love my name in your mouth," he said, and then sucked against her with a swirl of his tongue. The sound that tore from Feyre made his knees buckle for a second. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, and licked broadly over her until her knees were trembling next to his ears, and he knew she was close. Then just before she started to come, he stood, unzipped his jeans and pushed into her.
Feyre, whose moans became close to sobs, gripped the far edge of the bench so hard her knuckles were white. She moved her hips to meet his, as Rhys' hand ghosted down her sternum.
"Are you right on the edge, my darling?" Rhys asked. "Are you wishing you could rub your clit right now?"
Feyre's teeth clicked together, but she couldn't seem to form words.
"It's a shame you can't move your hands," Rhys mused. He picked up the pace a little. "Maybe you need someone to help you."
Feyre nodded, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes now.
"Is that what you want?" Rhys asked her. "I don't know if you don't tell me." He sped up more, fucking her hard into the counter top.
"Y...yes," Feyre stuttered. "P..p..." "What's that my love?" "Please," Feyre got out. Rhys licked his thumb, then held it over her clit as her hips rocked back and forth. Feyre's moans choked off, moved beyond sound. A beautiful flush spread out over her chest.
"Don't come yet," Rhys told her. "Wait for me. Come with me." Feyre bit down savagely on her lip, and just nodded her head. "Listen, honey," he said. "Listen to me breathing and come with me."
Rhys kept the pressure under his thumb, and put his other hand down on the table by Feyre's shoulder. His rhythm built, and his steady breathing built with it. Soon his moans matched paced with Feyre's, and he locked his eyes on hers and watched her run up to the edge with him...
And tumble right over at the same time.
Rhys came hard inside her, the feeling of Feyre's own climax around him intensifying everything a hundred times over. He kept moving inside her until her orgasm faded away, and then put his head down on her breastbone and listened to her heart beat gradually slowing down.
Feyre's hands finally came down, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. He nuzzled into her stomach and pushed into her touch.
Finally, he pulled out of her and used a tea towel to clean her up. Then he helped her up to sitting, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing softly up the side of her neck. She hugged her legs around him, and ran her nails across his shoulders.
"Welcome home, lover," he whispered. "Welcome home yourself," Feyre said back to him.
Rhys lifted her off the counter, her legs locking around him, as he kissed her mouth and licked her tongue. Then he turned, and started climbing the stairs to the bedroom, where they would start all over again.
****
*sighhhh* that's the end, lovers. I really enjoyed this little fic, my enormous thanks to everyone who came along for the ride and let me write this. I hope it made you feel as gooey as I did.
TAGLIST: Some of you are only tagged for this specific fic, so goodbye lovelies and thanks for being here! If you'd like to be tagged in any of my other feysand flick me a message.
@ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @asteria-of-mars@booksmusicandgoodvibes @burritowithfeels
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baelpenrose · 3 years
Text
Chapter VI: Crimson Storm
A big thank you to both @drbibliophile for ongoing reblogs, for @charlylimph-blog for curiosity and @feral-possums-in-the-bog for their binge-reading. And of course, to @canyouhearthelight for your beta-reading. I really, honestly, could not do this without you.
Marcus
He’d seen them running out in the woods, and now he stood to face them. It had only been an hour since he returned. His usual blades, the Adrasnian arming blade and the Asgarian riding saber were belted at his waist over the chainmail, and the new weapon, the bastard sword of fused iron and silver, was slung to his back. Marcus gulped down some water, reflecting that he hadn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his hair from where he’d had to work in close on the scouting mission. He’d given himself a few swings with it, to make sure he had a feel for the weapon, having gone through several bastard swords over his career - usually selling them once he got tired of them, as he never really cared for the feel of them and most of his opponents were too lightly armored to require one, but he’d keep this one for this kind of work. Iris had gone through a lot of her arrows as well, even if she was still carrying about four sheaves, and now carried a slender quiver of the special arrows Thomas had stolen.
Three phalanxes of pikemen stood ready at each gate, to present anything that got through with a bristling hedge of spears that the barbarians would have to push through before they could enter the city at large. On the wall, the bowmen had scrambled into position and were twitchily awaiting the first sight of the enemy. Thomas was with them, naturally - no doubt using his Khym to see into the darkness better - to try to spot anything that came. Here and there, Marcus heard Thomas’s voice followed by the thrum of Iris’s bow, and he smiled. Thomas made an excellent spotter for her in conditions like this, he knew.
A brief pause, and Marcus looked out over the merlon he’d been leaning on. “The pickets! They just went dark! They’ve got something that’ll put out lights!” One of the sentries was shouting, and Marcus rolled his eyes. Tamping down the torches of picket riders you killed was an easy way to frighten the enemy, tell them you’d found their scouts, and whether it was Imperials, Asgarians, or Faldreans, even Nistrians, every human army had idiot soldiers who started panicking at the idea of fighting in the dark.
“It’s a normal trick to frighten you. They just threw the torches down and stomped on them.” His voice was exasperated. A few of the troops heard him, and their captains were already bellowing them back into order. Horns were blaring. The Pikar were coming.
Marcus knew they’d still be well out of range of his own Khym, and tried to focus his Sense on the woods to get a feeling anyway, and was almost immediately deafened by the tramp of feet.
Thomas should have - no, even the thief had limits, and from where he was the woods would still have hidden those numbers from him. It dawned on him what had happened. The Pikar had already cut off and killed the other scouts hours ago - they’d just put the signal torches out now to make people think they were further away.
“The Pikar aren’t coming. They’re already here.” The words hadn’t left his mouth when a thorned javelin hurtled upwards and ricocheted off the merlon he was hiding behind. Other soldiers weren’t as lucky as a barrage followed. Marcus saw one archer twist halfway around, clawing at the hideous weapon that had pierced him clean through, propelled by the unnatural thews of the murderous brutes outside the walls. Iris returned a shot, and the bowmen gave the enemy a volley. The Pikar’s eager screams of “Blood on Ashes!” and “Skulls for the Maw!” wafted up, seemingly twisted by the wind into something both visceral and ethereal. The Pikar carried no siege ladders, merely rushed with massive axes at the gates, or worked in teams of two carrying scaling poles, which they leaned against the walls and began scrambling up with inhuman dexterity.
Marcus set himself between two such poles and drew his lighter blades, swinging viciously at the enemy as they crested the poles, doing his best to keep them off the archers while the bowmen kept plying their craft. Marcus’s blade descended and lopped off a large, scarred hand at the wrist, the Pikar involved losing his grip and falling from the pole, tumbling down another man while he did. He wheeled around and lunged into the throat of another one of the brutes scaling the other nearest him, and sent the man plummeting. Pain immune or no, the berserkers from the Lost Realm still died when their arteries were severed and they began drowning in their own blood.
The archers continued plying their shafts, sending wave after wave of arrows down into the screaming mass that worked below, even as the gates began bucking beneath the inhuman force of the axe blows the Pikar were raining on it. Occasionally, they got in truly vital shots, or the damage done by the broadheads was enough, with three or four striking the same target, that the warriors went down to be trampled under the purple-stained boots of their comrades, but mostly the enemy continued to charge regardless, succumbing to their wounds only after they’d torn them wide enough to slump down and bleed out.
Still, everything helped. Marcus kept slashing savagely at the men scaling the walls, blades sweeping again and again to strike the maniacs before they could parry. The face of a woman, contorted in a snarl, suddenly appeared at the merlon. Marcus lunged at her, forcing her to lean back before his saber took her hands off and sent her falling to the base of the wall. Then a grunt came from behind him and he realized another Pikar stood on the battlements and was rushing him, hooked blades upraised and ready to start slicing into flesh. Marcus parried one, the other struck chainmail and sparked, but failed to get through. He felt his blade strike bone when he struck that one’s leg, then wheeled wildly and parried an axe blow, twisting his own wrist to slash the tendons on the attacker’s then wheeled around to run the other man through. He realized he was quickly going to be overwhelmed, and moved to start working his way back towards the tower where Iris continued to fire. The man following him fell, a bodkin point emerging from his head like the horn of a unicorn. Marcus kept running, ducked and rolled beneath another man, coming up thrusting into the chest of a third, wrenching the blade out and down, spilling the entrails and wheeling around to behead the Pikar warrior. He sprinted away as he heard the gates break and a swarm of Pikar stormed through the gates.
Already he could hear the longbowmen screaming as the Pikar on the walls ripped through them. He saw men thrown from the walls, cut near in half by the horrific axes, heads torn halfway off with the bites of a Pikar’s filed teeth evident on their throats. Marcus was dealing wounds that he knew would be fatal on a normal person, knowing they’d just slow down and annoy the Pikar until the enemy bled to death - but he was going to get to the rest of his friends.
As Iris screamed from the tower, Marcus parried a downward stroke and ran past the attacker, sprinting towards her. Thomas’s voice rang out as he reached the base of the tower on the wall. “Marcus, she’s fine, just Sensed something.” A massive peal of thunder and eerie purple lightning raked the wall, slicing through merlons and flesh like hot knives through warm butter, leaving one of the longbowmen on the wall screaming as the cauterized halves of his body fell apart from one another, and Iris’s bow thrummed.
An unnatural scream came from outside the defenses, but amidst a crack of lightning and the scent of brimstone, something jumped from the glowing edge of the damaged wall - something whose silhouette Marcus had seen running through the woods. Thomas was shouting to Iris to find and snipe the sorcerers, but the thing running at Marcus wasn’t a sorcerer. Slightly taller than Baldor, as broad across,the daemon in front of him made a parody of life with its every movement. It stood on legs oddly different in length, lending a lurching sense to the way it moved, and its arms hung down to its knees, ending in sharp scythes of gore-stained bone. Horrific balefire burned from empty eye sockets set in a strange, sloping skull, and the naked flesh was the color of a bruise. A pair of tongues dangled from its mouth, which was filled with rows and rows of needle-like teeth, and the abomination roared and ran straight at Marcus, whose normal blades clattered to the ground as he drew the silver and iron that Thomas had stolen.
The daemon screamed, and Marcus felt his voice giving answer, a raw-throated yell of defiance as the talons sparked on his blade, sending shockwaves up his arm. It didn’t matter how horrifying this thing was. Iris was in the tower behind him, and she’d have no chance fighting it in close. It wasn’t getting past him.
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