#for a second or two and i wish i could lean on his bony shoulders for this except his lungs have filled with water

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Making a Move

Summary: Spencer's been seeing someone new, and the last thing he wants is to mess this up

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Hotch called a meeting over the phone, and the team is waiting for him and Rossi at the Roundtable. In the meantime, everyone else has made their stops at the coffee machine, Spencer included. He was having his second cup (the first one was from his apartment), but he didn’t need the team to know that. Although not as romantic as expected, his late night was worth the extra yawns and blurred vision. He’d rather the team not know about that too.

“What’s got you so tired, kid?”

Too late.

Morgan fiddles with a pen between his fingers. As he asks, his eyebrow arches; he’s ready for an answer. His question brings everyone’s eyes to him.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

“Nothing?” He knows that’s not it. The pact to not profile each other basically ended before it started. “Cause this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve come in here yawning like every ten seconds.”

“It’s nothing. Maybe I need more coffee.”

Garcia pokes her head up from behind her laptop. “You never have more than one cup of coffee at the office unless you really need it.” She’s still typing while looking at him. “You don’t even suggest it. Until now.” Typing halts, and Spencer sees the realization in her eyes. He knows he can’t stop the tide from coming. “Ooo, what’s his name?”

“It’s not a guy.” Spencer sips his coffee, sugar granules sliding over his tongue as he swallows.

“So it’s a girl.” Prentiss butts in with a smirk.

Spencer rubs his hand on his forehead.

“It is!” Garcia unleashes a squeal. “Okay, what’s her name?” Her magenta nails are out like a cat exposing its claws, and Spencer knows she’s prepared to start a free background check.

“He’s not going to tell us,” Prentiss says.

“What about her job? What does she do?”

A kindergarten teacher. “Not saying that either,” Spencer replies.

“Well, has anything happened between you two?” Morgan joins back in.

Just hello and goodbye hugs.

“Guys,” J.J. calls. She’s standing by the projector, remote in hand. “It’s Spence’s business. He’ll tell us when he wants to. Okay?” She uses her mom voice, and Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if the following words out of her mouth were, “If I hear another word about this, you’re all grounded.” It’s comforting, even though he knew she’d have his back.

Sighs of disappointment and protest around the table were not subtle, but they were as close to a verbal “okay” as she was getting. J.J. accepts it anyway and eventually takes a seat. Garcia leans over and asks about Hotch and Rossi, likely regarding where they could be. Spencer wonders the same thing; so they can get started.

And because Morgan keeps staring at him. He’s eager for Spencer to spill. He even leans over. “Seriously, kid, nothing?”

“I’m not afraid to tattle,” Spencer whispers back. He finds his book, The Life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read it a couple days ago, yet opened a page and busied himself with the paperback. Morgan’s eyes are still staring. He’s not letting this go, even if this briefing led to the jet. Spencer makes the mistake of looking back at him for a moment, and he has no choice. He turned the page of his book and mumbled, “I want something to happen, though.” He bites his lips closed when the words finally leave them.

Spencer’s opened the door, welcoming Morgan and his sleazy smile. Something he — hell — that they’ve all seen and grown too familiar with at bars and clubs. “Alright, that’s what I like to hear.” He shakes Spencer’s bony shoulder. “My man.”

Spencer can’t help but grin, not in response, but because of last night. He was worried you’d consider him cheap or creepy for choosing to watch a movie at his apartment instead of the theater. He was hoping to make a move. Spencer thought you looked so cozy in your polka-dot sweater; he wished he could reach out and touch the material. It looked so soft. But all the mistakes he made might’ve ruined the chance for that.

“What’d you do?” Morgan whispers.

“I sat too far away at first. I tried moving closer but… I didn’t want to come off as weird. Then I excused myself to get some water, but then it still didn’t feel right and —”

“So you chickened out?”

“I didn’t chicken out.”

He chickened out.

“Okay, well, it’s good you’re not all over her. You’re giving her space and showing her respect. But Reid,” He ruffles his hair. Spencer smiles, and it’s the only thing that keeps J.J. from giving a lecture. “You’ve been on three dates. She likes you, man. She’s probably waiting.”

“But what if she —”

“She does. And you need to go in knowing that and display some confidence. When are you seeing her again?”

“Tonight. We’re getting ice cream.” Spencer tries to suppress his lips curling. It doesn’t work.

“See. Now let me give you some pointers.”

It’s been a while since Spencer’s built such a natural rapport with someone, especially someone in a field furthest away from the grim glimpses of humanity he sees.

He surprised you with a visit during your lunch last week. The vibrant colors in your wardrobe match your classroom. The walls covered in handmade decorations and class-made crafts are a refreshing difference from the dark basements and fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms. The light in your eyes when discussing your students is something Spencer doesn’t get to see often, and he didn’t want to lose it by moving too fast.

Displaying confidence was something that came naturally to Morgan. “Displaying” didn’t feel honest, Spencer thought,  more like a front. Then again, that’s what all displays really were. Spencer’s only known how to be himself. Morgan does have a point, though. He’s already been on three dates. So being himself has worked so far. But he’s sure he needs a little more.

On the walk to the agreed-upon spot, Spencer grips the strap of his satchel as he trudges uphill. It helps him burn off the nervous energy as he gets closer. But when he sees you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, he’s reminded again why he should be. You’re wearing a flowy yellow dress and white tennis shoes. The one difference from last night is the ends of your hair, brunette roots leading to dark pink ends.

You stand up and start walking toward him, beaming already. “Hey!” Your arms are already out, and you hug. Spencer notes you smell like coconut.

“Hey, you,” He tries to make it sound natural. His hand lingers at your waist for a second. “Your hair,” That same hand touches the ends. “It’s pretty.” He smiles, taking in your individuality. He thinks about how much you and Garcia would get along.

“Thank you,” your brightness radiates as you giggle. “It’s the most I can get away with at school, so I figured I might as well push the limits while I can. Plus, the kids love it.”

Spencer’s brain immediately goes to statistics about school dress codes and how they likely change the following year. He holds back. Morgan’s taught him that sharing statistics can apparently kill the mood. He even reminded him before Spencer left (early). “I’m sure they do.”

Your eyebrows quirk. “You okay?”

“Yeah, doll, I’m fine.” He tries again, but it’s taking everything for him not to cringe in front of you.

“No, you’re acting weird.” You cross your arms.

“Am I?” Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Oh yeah.” You snicker. “What’s up? Tell me about it.”

Spencer doesn’t exactly know how to say, “I really like you but I’m terrified of messing this up so I’m attempting to put on a terrible impression of a macho man because I want to kiss you and I feel like being myself isn’t going to get me anywhere” in a form that’s going to sound coherent and not like a crazy ramble that ends in you running away. So he doesn’t say it at all.

“Spencer,” You reach out to hold his hand. “You can tell me.”

“I…” He feels like he’ll stumble over his words before he gets a sentence out. He looks at you, and your grip tightens a little. He returns the gesture. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up exactly?”

“Well, this.” He moves his hand where his thumb is on top. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh, well, I like you too!” You say. “We’re on the same page there. So how could you mess this up?”

“Because I don’t know how to make the first move. I don’t want to push you.” The wind blows, and both of you push hair out of your faces, and Spencer tries not to lose his thoughts. “I even let one of my coworkers give me pointers on how to be… smoother.”

You try hard not to laugh, but it slips out, and the insecurity on Spencer’s face spreads. “Is this the one you told me about? Dirk Morgan?”

“Derek Morgan. But, yeah, him.”

“Okay, Doctor,” You step closer, and now both your hands lead up to his biceps. Spencer cautiously moves his hands to your waist. He’s hesitant about public displays of affection, but you started it, and he won’t be the one to end it so soon.  “I’m going to bring you into my field for a minute. I’m assigning you a pop quiz.”

Spencer’s mouth quirks a little, wondering where this is going.

“I have no doubt you’ll ace it.”

“I’m usually good at acing things. Exams, tests, quizzes.”

“Good. It’s one question: am I dating Derek Morgan?” Your thumbs glided back and forth against his cardigan.

“Are we dating?”

“We’ve been on dates. Therefore: dating.”

“Then, no, you are not dating Derek Morgan.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Reid, you got a 100.” You push yourself up on your toes to kiss him gently. You both pause for a moment. His hands trail to your back as yours glide to hang on his neck. His breath is extra minty for six in the evening, and it made you realize that was the move he wanted to make. “Feel better? Now that that’s out of the way?”

Spencer leans in to kiss you again. His response is clear when he pulls you in to make it deeper, but still innocent. When you open your eyes, you can see the weight that’s been lifted, a weight you lifted.

“Next time you feel like making a move, you’re more than welcome to go for it. Okay? You have my permission to go for it.”

“What if I don’t know your boundaries?”

“Just ask.” You put your feet flat on the ground, but other than that, neither of you moves or shifts eye contact. “Spencer, I like you the way you are. You don’t need some sort of smooth rhetoric to make me fall further for you.”

Spencer, once again, fails to hide the smirk as it grows. “You’ve… fallen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” He says quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

Thank you for all the love from the last fic. I'm glad so many of you liked it 🥹 For anyone curious, I don't have a schedule. I just write and upload when I have something. I'm focusing on getting back into writing so feel free to send oneshot ideas if you have any. Thanks again 🩵

“Good. Now let’s get ice cream.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds blurb #spencer reid blurb

[leighsartworks216]

And Agony

"Prequel" to I Come With Knives

This is a side series (that follows no story arc) that takes a closer look at what happened to Tav before the events of I Come With Knives. None of this has to be read to understand what is happening in I Come With Knives, but it may provide more context for vague mentions of past abuse. This series will also be a bit more graphic than the main story, as it focuses on torture, slavery, and abuse

Warnings: blood, torture, muzzling, vomiting, physical and verbal abuse, heavy angst

Word Count: 1,325

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (I will be tagging anybody I currently tag in I Come With Knives, but if you wish to not be tagged in this, lemme know)

The Persecutor grinned, wide and unnatural in the ever-dim light. His bony hand proffered the cat o’ nine tails to you. With each flicker of candle-light, the dark blood staining the leather glistened. You could feel bile rising up your throat.

“Go on, pet. Take it,” Kir Parthene cooed next to your ear. A claw traced your cheek, trailing down it in a way that, if the circumstances were completely changed, could be perceived as romantic. You knew better to believe it actually was; she owned you, and she loved nothing more than making sure you knew this.

She shoved you forward. You stumbled across the uneven cobble of the dungeon, landing hard on your knees and hands. A few scrapes - that was all the damage you were ever permitted to take. The flail was dropped before you. It rolled enough to brush your finger, and you immediately jerked away. Even looking at it made you feel this thick, dark sludge fill your body, consuming you until all you knew was dread and the taste of vomit at the back of your tongue.

“Pick it up.”

It was a demand. You were taking too long. She was getting impatient. You feared what she would do if you continued to take your time.

You leaned back onto your knees. You could feel dirt getting into your minor injuries, but you knew not to wince. Hands trembling, you reached out and wrapped your hand around the flail’s handle. It was still warm from the Persecutor’s grasp.

Humming with approval, she nudged your ass with her foot. You were standing in an instant. You avoided looking at her - you didn’t want to see the sick, satisfied grin she got when you were so obedient.

The Persecutor disappeared into the shadows of one of the cages. You could hear the panicked pleas and frightened whimpers that left the spawn. How many times had you witnessed their abuse? And now you would be causing it…

He comes out with a young woman in tow. She must be a new addition. She looks too well-fed to be otherwise.

She stares at you with wide, dark eyes. The moment she saw what you held, she struggled and fought to get away. All the while screaming. Desperate, ragged cries. “Let me go! Please! Please, I’ll behave! Let me go, I beg of you!”

Kir Parthene scoffed. “Chain it up if it’s so determined to fight. Muzzle it, too, if you’d like.”

The Persecutor chuckled. It was a wet, horrid sound. “My pleasure.”

The spawn was held down by two loyal servants as the Persecutor shackled her wrists to the wall, chest to the cold stone and the unmarred span of her back facing you. Her hair flew around her face. Blood at her feet splashed and stained her skin. Once she was restrained, all three servants manipulated her head into a metal framework. Her screams became muffled as the mouthpiece was shoved between her lips - metal spikes causing every minute movement of her jaw and mouth to be agonizing. And still she screamed and pleaded.

“Go on, pet,” she encouraged. “You know what to do. You’ve witnessed it a thousand times before.”

The spawn struggled to look over her shoulders or turn around in her manacles. You wondered what her name was. What she did before she was kidnapped. If anybody out there was looking for her, praying to the Gods for her to come home.

And you were being asked to torture her.

You shook your head. Your heart raced so fast and hard in your chest your ribs began to ache. Your lungs felt so constrained.

Your mistress stepped behind you, grabbing your wrist that held the whip. “You will do as you’re told,” she growled.

Tears flooded down your cheeks. “Please, no. I- I’ll flail myself, I will, just please.” A sob tore through your throat with a strangled cry. “Please don’t make me do this.”

She laughed, sharp and cruel into your ear. “And now you plea like it does? Shall I put a muzzle on you, too?” Her hands grab your jaw, lifting and turning your head as she considers the option. “A muzzle for my little pet?”

You whimpered. Your eyes were so full of tears you couldn’t even make out her face. You opened your mouth to beg again, for as long as you could until she changed her mind. Hell, you’d give away any last shreds of autonomy you had. Give your entire body and mind away. Anything, so long as you could put the cat o’ nine tails down and never have to pick it up again. But before you could do so, she turned your face to the spawn and raised your wrist.

“Intimidated by a blank canvas, my dear? Let me get you started.”

She brings your arm down fast. The braided leather scratches down the spawn’s back. She screams so loud. She struggled again to look over her shoulder, to look at you. You catch a glimpse of her face. Blood pours down her chin.

Kir Parthene drops your wrist and grabs you by the back of your neck. She shoves you forward, holding you in place. “Now do it again.”

It feels so heavy in your hand. The fresh blood coating it and dripping down the poor girl’s back are burned into your mind.

“NOW, PET!”

You flinch, and your arm is raised before you can even process it. You have to hold tighter to the handle as you shake so violently. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this!

But you have no other choice.

You sob as you bring your arm down. The hand at the back of your neck drops.

“Again. Harder.”

You try to lift your arm again, but you can’t. You can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

You fall to your knees, hand clasped over your mouth as the contents of your stomach force up your throat. It burns. It rushes past your futile attempt to stop it, coating your hand and dripping between your fingers to the blood-soaked floor. You cough and sputter, heaving for air.

Kir Parthene grabs your hair, pulling your head back so you can see the girl you hurt. She was shaking, too. “Finish this up, would you?”

The Persecutor swoops down and grabs his trusty tool of torment. He doesn’t flinch as he lashes it across her back. He doesn’t hesitate between swings. He smiles.

Your mistress drags you by the hair across the floor. You scream and whimper and grab at her hand as she rips the hair from your scalp, as the rough cobble tugs and tears at your skin. She only scoffs at you, scowling as she pulls you to the back of the dungeons - the darkest corner, never lit by even the smallest sliver of light.

“You’re pathetic. A disgrace. A fucking weakling piece of shit.”

She throws you inside a cell. It’s much, much smaller than the rest. The others are built to house as many unfortunate souls as possible. This was designed to house only one. Your back crashes against the wall, stealing your breath. You think you might die. But you know you’re not so fortunate. All you can see through your tears is the blurred form of her silhouette in the doorway.

“Three days and three nights. If you don’t learn to obey by then, I will drain you so dry they’ll be sweeping your dust off the floor.”

With a grunt of aggravation and effort, a thick stone wall is pulled over the entrance. It is pitch black. Even the sound of the woman’s screams do not reach you here. All you are aware of is the walls pressing in on you, and your heartbeat racing frantically in your ears.

You pull your knees to your chest, bury your face between them, and cry.

---

Tag List:

@beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueencosplay @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @the-lake-is-calling @nyxmainex @squid-killer @godoffuckedupcats

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #i come with knives #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #heavy angst #angst

[iambabygorl]

The Nanny [pt.15]

Aizawa x Reader

Masterlist

Warning: 18+ish?

Tag list: @coliflowerplants @mirayasimpinghard @wh0reforlevi @eleventhdoctorsangel @galactict3a @bakugousshittywoman @mechmoucha @collide-with-the-music @americanimrodd @tojidilfs

“You jealous?” 

Your eyes rolled as you rubbed the spot on your arm that Hizashi nudged with his bony elbow. Your eyes followed his gaze to where Recovery Girl stood, placing wet, long kisses to your fiancé.

You subconsciously rubbed the ring on your finger, giggling at Hizashi’s eyebrow wiggles as he teased you.

“Very jealous. You think I should be worried?”

“Totally. You better marry him before she can steal him away.”

The smile on your face grew soft as your cheeks became warm with a blush.

Was this all happening fast?

Yes.

Did you care?

Not at all.

“Honey, he’s asking for you,” Recovery Girl said just above a whisper as the hero’s and medical staff began to file out of the house. “You should go to him. He’s been talking about you ever since we got here.”

With a pat to your hand and an encouraging smile, you slips from her kind gaze and walked over to the now clean chair where Shouta sat. His eyes were hooded in exhaustion, small bandaids littering his beaten face.

You kneeled down at his side again, pushing strands of dark hair out of his face. That same hand cradled his face, allowing him to relax into your touch, lifting his own hand to bring your fingers to his lips as he kissed your palm. Turning your hand over again, he placed a kiss to the ring that now claimed your finger.

“Mmm this looks good on you.”

You smiled, scooting closer to his side as you leaned into his lap.

“Oh yeah? I gotta say, I think you look good as well.” You took in his handsome appearance. Even with the bandages and scars, his long, messy hair and shirtless chest made your cheeks burn. His breath had steadied and the slight rise and fall of his chest made your smile tug at the left corner of your mouth. His tired eyes where heavy and the golden light of the setting sun flickered in them.

“I thought the worst…you know? I thought you could have been dead out there somewhere.”

“I didn’t die though. I made it here. I made it here to see you.”

“But you could have bled out! I could have lost you. You almost didn’t make it home!”

He silenced your cries with a sigh. Both his hands cradled your face now, making your teary eyes meet his as he looked down at you.

“I’ll always come back home to you.”

His thumbs wiped away your tears as he pulled you closer, lifting your face a bit more to capture your lips in his own. A slight salty taste from the tears danced across your tongues. His strong arms pulled you up, bringing you to gently sit on his lap in the chair. Once seated, you broke the kiss to lay your head on his shoulder as his soothing fingers lazy drug across your back.

The moment was sweet. It felt like home in his arms. And in that moment, you knew that the Aizawa house was exactly where you needed to be.

*******************************************************

“…..what?”

Hitoshi stood before the two of you, backpack dropped to the ground at his feet as Eri jumped up in down in glee around her brother.

“I was stabbed.”

“Yeah, yeah I got that. What was that second thing??”

“Daddy and Y/N are getting married!!”

Eri’s excitement got the best of her as she threw herself into yours and Shouta’s arms. You welcomed the girls embrace as you snuggled into her.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“You’re going to be my mommy, Y/N! We get to do mommy daughter things!” Eri exclaimed, pulling back to give you her winning smile.

“Well, we had picked out a ring together. I thought you knew this was coming.”

“Not so soon?!”

“Well, it’s soon. And I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Shinsou brought a hand to his headed in lock agony, sighing in distraught at the news.

“Congratulations. Truly. I’m so happy for you both. I wish you the best. Just please keep the S-E-X on the down-low for as long as superhumanly possible. Which should be forever. Please.”

“What’s sex?”

The room went silent as all eyes turned to Eri in shock.

“W-what?” You asked the little girl who was still perched in your lap.

“S-E-X. That spells sex. What’s that?”

Shouta chuckled as he reached over to ruffle the girls hair. “Nothing you need to worry about for a very very long time. Like ever.”

“Okay. But, does you marrying Y/N mean she gets to be our nanny forever?”

You smiled, reaching forward to smooth the girls hair back in place.

“You can definitely say that! I wouldn’t want to do anything else anyway.”

Bedtime came quickly, and you now sat beside Eri tucking her in.

“Okay missy, what will it be? Story time or lullabies?” You asked as you wiggles The Rainbow Fish and a CD in your hands.

“Can we just talk tonight instead?”

You placed the items down with a nod, scooting your chair over so you could prop you arms on the bed beside her.

“Sure thing! What do you want to talk about, love?”

The little girl pondered a moment before cupping a hand around her mouth to whisper to you.

“Do you and Daddy kiss?”

Your eyes widened slightly as you pulled back to look at her.

“Now why in the world do you ask that?”

She sucked her lips between her teeth, eyes growing wide as she looked to the side. Her fingers fiddled with the bed sheets as she paused.

“You are getting married, so you love each other, right?”

“Yes. We do.”

“People who love each other, kiss each other.”

You threw your hands up in dramatics.

“You’ve caught me! Yes, I do kiss him sometimes. When he’s not yucky that is. I don’t want cooties.”

Eri laughed as she rolled on her side, propping her head up to look at you.

“Daddy doesn’t have cooties!” She said between giggles. “He said only boys my age have them.”

“Hm, he may be right about that.”

The room went silent for a moment as Eri thought up her next question.

“Are you and Daddy going to have a baby?”

You nearly chocked on your own tongue as you sputtered out nonsense syllables as you failed to form a sentence.

“Not right now! We haven’t really talked about it.”

Kids say the craziest things…

“When you do, can I have a baby sister? A baby brother would be nice too, though.”

You giggled as you pulled the covers up, urging the little girl to lay down as she yawned into the palm of her hand.

“When we are ready for a baby, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know then. You would make an amazing big sister.”

“I know.” She said softly as her eyes fluttered shut.

You stood once you were sure she was asleep and quietly backed out of the room, closing the door behind you.

As you turned, you jumped slightly when you saw the figure standing behind you.

“Toshi! You scared me to death, dude. You’re good at sneaking.”

He smiled softly as he reached a hand up to scratch at his purple mess of hair.

“Sorry, mommy dearest. Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Already calling me mommy, hm?”

“I-it’s supposed to be funny.”

“Oh it’s hilarious, son.”

He shuttered as he walked up to you, bopping you on the top of the head with his fist gently.

“Gross. No more role play for us. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, you turd.”

Shinsou disappeared behind his door, leaving you to return to the living room, only yo find Shouta sitting at the kitchen bar seats with two glasses of wine.

“Was your day so bad that you need two glasses of wine? You’d think you had been stabbed or something.”

The look he gave you was one of amused annoyance. His eyes cut at you, but the jerk of his head called you over to sit beside him.

As you turned in your stool to face him, you raised the glass up.

“To what are we drinking to then?”

He raised his as well, reaching a hand out to rest in your knee.

“We are drinking to our engagement, of course, because I am engaged to the most kind, caring, intelligent, badass, beautiful woman I have ever met in my life.”

Your cheeks hurt from both the burning blush and ever growing smile that over took your face at his sweet toast. You clinked your class to his, bringing it to your lips.

“I’ll drink to that.”

You both swallowed the wine, emptying your glasses in one go as Shouta refilled your glasses again.

“So, did Eri go down okay?”

You took a sip, nodding over the rim of your glass.

“She did. She told she just wanted to talk instead of read a story this time.”

“Oh? And what was on her very interesting mind tonight?”

You smirked as you recalled the moment before.

“Well, she was asking about you and me. She was curious about our relationship.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm. She asked if we kissed and if we loved each other….and she asked when we were going to give her a little sister or brother.” You mumbled out, the slight buzz of the wine making your body tingle.

Shouta lifted an eyebrow, side eyeing you as he took another sip. He swirled his drink before placing it down, squeezing your knee gently in his hand.

“Is that so? And what did you tell her?”

“Oh, you know. Just that I’d tell her when we are ready to do that.”

Shouta nodded, a soft smile lifting his lips as he leaned forward, face nearing yours.

“Maybe we should get started on that then.”

Both hands now rested on your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his fingers.

You leaned forward, grazing his lips with yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck to toy with the hair at the nape.

“Your room or mine?”

“Does it matter?”

His lips crashed onto yours as he lifted you up, fingers leaving bruised indentions on your skin as he carried you down the hall, quietly shutting the door to his room behind you both.

*******************************************************

Ahhhhhh yes part 15 is here!! Sorry it took so long! I also believe I’m going to end this serious here because it is a good stopping point (unless y’all want the sexy time bc maybe I’ll do that for one last hoorah to the series). But thank you all for reading! I appreciate it so much.

Also if I decide to do little spin-off story shorts (like deleted scenes of a movie?) would you like to read that? They’d just be short little stories from this series but idk seems fun.

Also Ily all. I send everyone hugs and a big ol fat kiss bc y’all are great. Mwah.

#bnha x reader #mha fluff #mha x reader #mha smut #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #shota aizawa smut #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x y/n #shouta aizawa imagine #shouta aizawa smut #shouta x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa smut #the nanny #mha series #bnha imagines

[ratcatcher0325]

Nobody’s Fool (Chapter #31)

Here’s Chapter #31. The gang discovers something unexpected about where they’re dining. Penn endures more humiliation. 

Previous: Chapter #30

Next: Chapter #32

CW: Adult language, dehumanization, abuse, extreme angst,

Reblogs > Likes. Thank you! ________________________________________

NOBODY’S FOOL

Chapter #31: Table Manners

Word Count: 2288 Read Time: Approx. 18 mins

[Penn’s POV]

Beyond the three imposing figures taking up the majority of my point of view, Travis sat next to the larger of the two wealthy men, Riley next to him, Dani at the opposing head of the table and Eveline perched between her and Sam, seemingly miles away from where I stood. If any of the three men nearest me reached out to crush my skull between their fingers, I doubted any of my friends would be able to intervene in time. I felt very little and very vulnerable all of a sudden.

No sooner did this thought pass through my mind, when a spectral and crooked old finger of the tall man seated at the head of the table appeared before me, I assumed as an offer to shake. I swallowed hard. I had to do my absolute best to impress these two men. I forced a smile, doffing my hat and placing it over my heart as I reached out my palm. Instead of responding in kind, the finger suddenly hooked itself around my back, shoving me forwards. Before I could collapse to my hands and knees, a thumb, bony and unfeeling, collided into the hard surface of my sternum. Within the breadth of a heartbeat, I found myself suspended in the air.

I had to resist every fear filled instinct not to squirm inside his cold and steely grip. As he raised me into the air, he nonchalantly retrieved glasses from inside his suit jacket and perched them on his long, thin nose. His icy blue, watery eyes now magnified like some ugly alien creature through the lenses as he pulled me close to his face. He regarded me like some prize antique, examining my details, feeling my weight in his hand.

He forcefully grabbed my face between two fingers, rotating my head back and forth, as if to check for a full range of motion. I shuddered. His hands felt so bloodless and cold! I wished desperately that one of the humans around me would say something, anything to make this stop. He leaned in to his partner’s side, sharing his view of me with him. The round man leaned in, a sparkle in his eyes, glasses newly perched on the bridge of his wide nose too. “Handsome little creature…” the voice was crackling and dry. My heart pounded in my chest.

Suddenly, I was lowered down, still dangling in the air, as the tall man turned his attention to Travis, addressing him, “So this pet of yours really can perform? It’s not some sleight of hand?” I tried my absolute best to turn over my shoulder enough to see Travis’ reaction, but could barely move at all. I just hung there limply, trapped, silent, scared. There was a pause as Travis seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

“Uh… Um, yes! Yes absolutely! To-to be honest, sir, he’s the most naturally talented musician I’ve ever met, human or otherwise. If… if you want I’m sure he’d be happy to show you, wouldn’t you Penn?” Travis was trying his best to help me out of this icy grip. Thank you, my friend.

“Fascinating… and no that won’t be necessary….” He held me up again, as Sam’s voice filtered in over my right shoulder. I stiffened the moment I heard him speak.

“You see, gentlemen, this pet is a one of a kind goldmine! Just think about the brand new market you’re unlocking here. Something truly original… sensationalism is the new capital nowadays, is it not?” The two old men chuckled gleefully, agreeing. Before Sam could continue, we were interrupted by the arrival of the waitstaff.

I was haphazardly placed back on the table, barely able to keep my footing as I struggled to regain my balance. The dry, papery voice above me addressed the other humans, without giving me a second look. “Ah, yes! You ladies present will have to forgive Jon and I, this is one of our favorite haunts whenever we are in the city… but I promise, the food is still of excellent quality, I highly recommend the lobster myself…” I furrowed my brow, utterly confused as to what he was talking about. Until I saw the waitstaff.

Instead of  the expected men and women in white shirts and ties, the humans serving us were…. Well, to put it politely, very scantily clad. All of the servers were women. Hair and makeup excellently done, even for this afternoon crowd. Their bodies were prominently on display, their dresses skin tight and revealing. I swallowed hard, averting my eyes. My low angle point of view did very little to leave things to the imagination. My face flushed.

Oh. We were at a gentleman’s club.

I watched as my friends also shifted uncomfortably. The interior of this place had read more as a restaurant and lounge… not what it evidentially was. One woman, holding a thin wooden case, stepped between the two suits and offered them their choice of premium cigars, while another laid out ashtrays before them. Others still passed menus to the rest of the party. I tried my best to keep my gaze fixed and low.

I heard a gasp over my right shoulder that made me stiffen with fear. Before I could turn and see the source of it, I felt pressure between my shoulder blades and around my neck as I was lifted, past Sam’s right shoulder into the air by one of the, uh, waitresses, hanging by the collar of my shirt. “Oh my god!! Look at you!!! Aren’t you just precious?!?” She squealed, a gleaming white smile radiating down at me. A few of the other women surrounded her, eyes sparkling as they fawned over me.

“Awwww, look at him! Look at how red his widdle face is getting! Are you embarrassed widdle man??” Fingers pinched my cheek. I could hardly breathe. It took all my effort to keep from trembling.

Sam’s voice re-entered the conversation, “Watch out Castro, our charming little ladies man here might just steal your favorite girl!” The men laughed heartily together. After all the thought was adorably preposterous. I felt heat rising in me, anger shaking me to my core. I hated this so fucking much. I hated him.

“Oh, never! Violet loves me, don’t you my darling?” Castro leaned his bony cheek towards the woman who held me, and she leaned in for a kiss. The age difference was appalling. I felt my stomach twist with disgust. This had all been a horrible mistake. “Now, my dears, give us a moment to look over the menu, yes? We’ll call for you when we’re ready…” obediently they put me down and left the room. I rubbed my aching throat and coughed as I struggled to breathe again. When she had lowered me down, she placed me in the undignified position of all fours. I had to awkwardly shuffle back to my feet.

I looked about and found Travis’ eyes. I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. We should try to see this through, strange and uncomfortable as it was. “You like being loved on by the ladies, little man?” I clenched my jaw. Fuck you, Sam. I wanted so badly to be able to deck him in the face.

Eveline, who had yet to say a single thing, squeezed his arm, “Sam…”

“What, babe? I’m just talking with him, man to man… right, buddy?” He tousled my hair, roughly, smacking me on the side of the head as he did so. Was that on purpose? I was boiling. Careful, keep it together.

Everyone ordered their meal. Sam ordered for me. I grit my teeth. The two wealthy men were well into their cigars by now, the ashtray no more than a few inches from where I was seated. I tried not to show it, but the smoke was stinging my eyes and burning my lungs. I absolutely hated the smell and taste. Especially after all the times I’d been forced to breathe the foul stuff in over the years.

“So, as I was saying, I think producing a standalone album featuring this guy could be a real boon to you and your investors. Have either of you gentlemen heard of ‘The Nemo Effect’?” They exchanged glances, curious. I slumped in my chair. This felt like only a few degrees away from being bought and sold, myself. Had I come all this way to still be a commodity to humans? I clenched my fists. What was I supposed to do but sit there and take it? “Essentially it was this phenomenon where after the children’s movie Finding Nemo premiered, sales of the tropical fish featured in the film sky rocketed. I’m just saying… if you buy some stock in the pet market… the more you invest in this guy, you’ll just be expanding your customer base. Hell, you could even coordinate with breeding companies to produce litters that look just like him! The way I see it, this album blows up enough and every family will want one of these cute little guys of their own!”

I was mortified. Blood boiling. The thought of being directly responsible for more pets being purchased by human families, destined to live miserable, pathetic lives shook me to my core. I fucking hated Sam.

Mr. Finely took a huge puff of his cigar, leaning in, his glasses gleaming in the warm electric light and obscuring his eyes as he stared at me. He could practically see dollar signs as he looked me up and down. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware that the pet market has been staggering lately… what with all those fucking advocacy groups and hippie lobbyists in D.C.—“ just then a waitress handed him a fresh drink.

“Well… I don’t want to speak for Penn but I think the point of all of this… besides him just being an objectively good musician, is to bring awareness, you know? Make people think of pets as more than just toys. Penn’s no different from the rest of us, just… you know, scaled down.” I would have kissed Travis right then if I could reach him.

All three men beside me burst into laughter. “That was a joke, right? You’re joking! You must be! No, no, young man. Social justice and all that bullshit will destroy you. You understand that, yes? Listen, son. I’ve been signing record deals for nigh on forty years and I promise you, if you want to win this game you have to play by the rules. Now, you’re already breaking a few by choosing this… atypical… lead. And being a bit out of the box is fine. That generates interest. It makes people feel like they’re rebelling. You know, they used to think Elvis was possessed by Satan because of the way he moved his hips!” He chuckled, tapping his cigar and half choking me to death with its smoke.

Sam clapped a hand on Mr. Castro’s shoulder, as he laughed along with him, “You’ll have to forgive Travis. He’s a talented musician, but never really had a head for business. Artist types, you know?” Travis opened his mouth to speak, but just then our food arrived.

This was the most tension filled meal I’d ever eaten. And that was truly saying something. I was filled with rage. I kept trying to imagine all the awful violent things I would do to Sam if only our situations were reversed. I had no real desire to eat a single thing, preferring to just sort of push it around. Suddenly I felt something hard press into my spine. I whipped around. Sam, his mouth full of food, was poking me with his fork. “You’d better eat that before it gets cold… don’t want to look ungrateful now, do we?”

“Sam, please. Maybe he’s just not hungry…” Eveline again.

He flashed her a pained, condescending smile, “My love, can’t you see I’m trying to help him know how to behave? If he really wants to pursue this he needs to learn how not to offend the people around him.” I didn’t know how much more of this I could take, “If you want your deal, you’ll be a good little pet for us won’t you? Yeah, you’ll do as your told, huh?” He jabbed me again with the fork, laughing. His two friends chuckled, amused. It fucking hurt, each prong on the utensil about as big my eye, stabbing into my back and ribs as he practically knocked me out of my chair.

“S-stop! Please…” I was barely holding myself together now. Blood pounding through my head.

“Okay. Okay. I’m being an ass now, aren’t I? I’m sorry everyone! I’m sorry, Penn.” There was that same sickly sweet tactic he loved to use. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat. He stuffed another bite of food into his mouth, continuing as he chewed. “Listen, you’re a talented little fella and I think you’ve got a good thing going with Travis and the gang. I believe in you, little man. I’m sure you’ll go on to accomplish big things!” He flashed me a food filled smile. It was disgusting, “Now, as a symbol of good faith, I got you a little something. I think you’re gonna love it! Castro, can we—?” The older man nodded, beckoning to one of the women waiting on us. She leaned in close and he whispered in her ear, before pecking her on the cheek. As she turned to leave he smacked her on the ass. Only the three men at the head of the table found this funny.

After what happened last time with the present he’d given me, I could only imagine what was lying in wait.

#Stick a fork in him #See if he's done #What's the surprise? #giant/tiny #g/t related #g/t community #g/t au #g/t #g/t angst #g/t writing #size difference

[dracowars]

the right thing | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,0k

summary: where y/n does the only right thing, much to the dismay of everyone else

a/n: i had this idea in mind for so long and finally managed to bring it to life, enjoy <3

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth, torture, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

"Darling, are you listening to me?", your father's voice tears you out of your dreamy, peaceful thoughts and you silently direct your gaze from the nature outside, which is quickly passing by, to him. As an answer you nod, even though you were definitely not listening a bit.

"Very good! I am so incredibly proud of my grown up daughter", he smiles at you and takes off the glasses he used to read out what is written on the parchment in his hand to you when you were not listening.

You do not answer or show a reaction, causing your father to clear his throat nervously before looking down while you switch your own gaze back out of the moving carriage.

As much as you would like to believe what he is saying, you can't. This man has ruined your entire life and is now only trying to make up for it with his stupid niceness and courtesy. Just like he always has, knowing that you will never forgive him for what he did.

The sudden waggling of the carriage makes you assume that you have arrived and at that very moment you recognize the large creaking gate that leads into a wide avenue to a huge mansion. The Malfoy Manor.

Your pureblood family has been very influential for generations, just like the Malfoys, so it not really surprising that you and Draco immediately befriended each other in your first year at Hogwarts. A friendship that soon became more than that.

What you did not expect, however, is that you would get engaged to each other just as quickly.

Your parents wasted no time after learning about your relationship. After all, it would mean the continuation of the purity of your families as well as the union of two of the most influential families in the whole wizarding world. And it was clear for both of you that you were lucky to have met, because otherwise you would probably have married someone you would not have loved with your whole heart.

And yet, you are not happy.

The creaking of the carriage door opening by magic, makes you flinch before you follow your father out and are now standing in front of the huge building you have already visited several times. One of the house elves leads you to the large front door and another leads you through the halls of Malfoy Manor, past the numerous locked doors and through sparsely furnished corridors.

As soon as you arrive in the long, dark dining room, your breath gets stuck in your throat when you look over your father's shoulder, only to see many faces that you would not have expected to see here. Especially not the face of a specific someone since you originally assumed that you would only gather here to discuss more wedding preparations.

"Oh, how nice! The Y/L/N family has finally made it", the Dark Lord grins devilishly, locking his cold eyes with you, and your father bows respectfully before you two sit down at the wooden table, directly across from Draco and his parents. He throws you an unsettling glance and your pulse rises immediately.

"Very well. Now that we are complete, let us begin", Voldemort speaks up treacherously while strutting around the end of the table, his wand openly displayed in his pale, bony hands.

If there is one wizard in this entire universe that you can't stand, it is definitely him, even though you are a Death Eater and thus belong to his close entourage.

But you never had a choice.

Your mother died during childbirth, but your father had already foreseen it and did not want it to come true. In order to prevent this, he ran to Voldemort and his people to beg for help. He so gladly granted him his wish, but only on the condition that his only daughter and heir to the wealthy Y/L/N family will become a Death Eater at the age of sixteen. And so it happened.

Of course he was not able to rescue your mother from death, but you are not sure whether you would be sitting here at this table right now without his help or if you would not have survived the birth either. Whatever it is, you do not know what you would have preferred.

All in all, you harbor an abysmally hatred for this man as well as for your own father, who simply sold his daughter to the evil in person. For nothing but an empty promise.

In your eyes this man is not and never will be your father. To you, he is nothing more than a ridiculous, old and bitter coward.

You hear Voldemort keep talking in the background, but his words do not go inside of your head and you just emotionlessly stare at Draco on the other side, who switches his intimidated gaze between you and the other end of the table. Only when you follow his gaze do you understand why he has this kind of an expression plastered all over his face.

At the other end, across from the position where Voldemort is currently making his hate speech against Harry Potter, a terrible looking woman hangs upside down from the ceiling, softly whimpering. Floating in the air by a spell, she moves around a bit and if it were not for her making quiet noises, you would have thought she was dead.

But when her empty gaze meets yours, an ice-cold shiver runs down your spine. It is Mrs. Burbage, your Muggle Studies teacher. You almost did not recognize her because of her distorted appearance. Her pale, lifeless face, however, seems to be staring at you, almost piercing through you, making you feel like it is your fault that she is hanging there.

You quickly turn away from her and look down at the empty table, which suddenly seems much more interesting than anything else in the room while you try not to let the deep, ingrained shock show. Taking in a deep breath, you only lift your head up again when a silver snake's head is thrown on the table, frightening you for a second.

Apparently Voldemort has just damaged Lucius Malfoy's wand in order to use it himself. The look on Lucius' face makes you shudder again. You have never seen him like this before and you have had to spend a lot of time with him and the other Death Eaters already.

Just as shocked as you are, Draco is as well while looking to his father. Draco, like you, never wanted to become a Death Eater, but his father's failures eventually forced him into this position and now you are both bound to the same horrible fate, caused by your own fathers.

While Voldemort continues to drag their family name into the dirt with his words, you and Draco just look at each other intensely. As if you could understand what is going on in the others' mind.

At least until a green spark flies across the table in the middle of you two and Nagini snakes over it shortly afterwards. Unnoticed, you move your chair back a litte. Already suspecting what is going to happen, you turn your head away and try to block out the disgusting and disturbing noises that are triggered by killing one of your favorite teachers.

In the end, however, you are unable to take it any longer, getting up and running out of the room with your head and shoulders lowered, but you can still hear how the Dark Lord declares the meeting finished as you run down the stairs. Holding your hand in front of your mouth, your insides make a flip and you feel incredibly sick all of a sudden when you come to a stop in one of the hallways.

Startled you turn around when you hear your name behind you, but as soon as you recognize that it is Draco who followed you, you crash into his arms and he catches you, protectively holding you against him.

"D-Draco", you bitterly sob into his chest and he just hugs you tighter, trying to calm you down.

"Shh, love. I know, I know", he silences you softly and puts his hand on the back of your head while you remain in this position for a few minutes. Until you hear your father's annoying voice.

Moving away from Draco and straightening your posture, you look in the direction from where your father is now running towards you, Narcissa closely behind him.

"Darling, there you are! I will go back home now and you will have a nice time here", he happily announces, not even noticing how miserable you are. But what else did you expect from him?

"We will take good care of her, don't worry", Narcissa smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes and therefore stays cold. Your father seems satisfied by her answer and, together with all the other Death Eaters, leaves.

"I will make us some tea", Narcissa clears her throat and you follow her into the salon, your hands intertwined.

A few days later Draco and you comfortably lay on the couch in front of the big fireplace in the afternoon, an open book about potions in your lap, your head leaned against his broad shoulder. As you continue to rummage through your book, Draco gently takes your hand in his and smiles down at you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Your little moment of peace and contentment, however, is quickly destroyed again when Bellatrix's crazy laugh echoes through the room.

"Draco, Y/N, my darlings! I searched for you everywhere", she giggles as she strolls towards you, pressing her wand against her temple as she stops in front of the sofa. You expectantly look up at her, waiting for her to explain why she so rudely interrupted your moment.

"Bellatrix! What is going on here?", Lucius suddenly rushes in after her, Narcissa following him, so that you are all gathered now.

"Oh! I assume you have already met our lovely guests", Bellatrix laughs and, as if on cue, two more men enter the living room. Death Eaters. Deeply breathing in shock, you abruptly get onto your feet when you discover that they did not come alone.

Hermione, Ron and someone who somehow looks like Harry Potter but isn't, are pushed ahead of them until they are ungently thrown to the ground, right in front of Bellatrix's feet.

"Welcome, welcome", she licks her lips bloodthirstily, a playful laugh escaping her throat as your gaze meets Hermione's. There is nothing but disappointment in her eyes. Disappointed that you do not step in, that you just watch.

You avert your gaze and look at the other person and the longer you look at him, the more it becomes clear to you that this is Harry Potter after all. Terrible things have been done to his face that made you barely recognize him.

"Why are they here?", you choke out and Bellatrix turns to you in amusement, giggling while mockingly sulking as she presses her knife against Harry's throat.

"Why not? Well, Draco! Why don't you come over here and and take a closer look", she urges Draco and he slowly loosens his grip on your hand, not even realizing how hard you have squeezed his. He cautiously walks towards his aunt, even though you would like to stop him immediately.

"Come closer. What does he look like to you, huh?", she asks him and Draco stops right in front of them.

He hesitates.

Lucius suddenly stirs next to you and puts his hand on Draco's back, whispering something into his ear which you can't hear before he raises his voice out of nowhere when one of the Death Eaters intervenes. Narcissa manages to calm Lucius down though and pull him away from their son.

"Don't be shy, sweetie. Come over", Bellatrix persuades him and takes his hand to pull him closer to the disfigured Harry, giving him a better view. You can clearly see the fear in Harry's eye that is not swollen, and something deep inside of you keeps telling you that it would not be right to betray him. You are about to step in when Draco mutters under his breath for the first time since they entered the room, kneeling down in front of Harry.

"What is wrong with his face?"

"Yes, what is wrong with his face?", Bellatrix counters and adresses the two men, but you automatically block out their conversation, only being able to concentrate on Harry and Draco. Draco examines his face closely, but you are sure that he too immediately recognized that it is actually Harry. However, he gets up with a shake of his head and remains silent.

You just do not understand why he does not say anything.

Maybe he never wanted to become a Death Eater either, but still, you always had different views on Harry Potter and his Gryffindor friends. He loathed them since first year, and yet he does not betray him now.

The sudden screeching by Bellatrix and the following fighting noises release you from your numbness and you only see how she orders the now injured men to disappear, a silver sword in her hand that was not there before.

"Put the boys in the cell! I will have a conversation with this one", she angrily growls and pushes Harry and Ron to Narcissa and Wormtail, who take them to the basement. "Get out!"

Not being able to move from the spot, you stop and do not obey her instructions, making her give you an aggressive look until Draco quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you away from the scene, Hermione now alone with Bellatrix.

You have just left the room when you hear a terrible scream from behind you and there is no doubt that it came from Hermione.

"What is she doing to her, Draco?", you furiously ask him and pull your hand out of his strong grip, a little too strong for your liking.

"I don't know. Let us go upstairs and-"

"No!", you interrupt him angrily and his eyes widen at your sudden outburst, not expecting it.

"No?"

"I am not just going to look away when someone is tortured!", you yell at him and immediately turn around to go back, but Draco stops you.

"You can't do anything for her, Y/N! It is the best idea if we just stay quiet and let it happen. I can't risk them harming you as well", he explains and his voice softens towards the end, almost gets vulnerable, which is why the tension in your body slowly fades.

"But Draco.. This is Harry Potter and if your aunt finds out about it, he is doomed!", you sadly whisper and place your hands on his chest, fists clenched.

"Do you think I do not know? I do not want them to get him either, but we have no choice if we want to stay safe, my love", Draco sighs and lowers his head in defeat, his left hand clasping and loosening your fist, the cold rings on his finger slightly touching your skin. "Promise me that you will stay safe here with me."

"I-I.. I promise", you nod and avert your gaze, unable to look in his eyes while uttering such a lie. However, Draco has no chance to say anything about it when in the next moment a loud clink shakes the walls of the mansion.

Throwing a shocked look at each other, you quickly return to the room and abruptly stop in the middle when you see Narcissa defending attacks by Harry and Ron. Lucius growls behind you and you see him laying on the glass table that probably was destroyed by the impact of his body hitting against it. You are about to pull out your wand when Bellatrix loudly yells.

"STOP!"

Everyone's gaze falls on the knife she is holding against Hermione's throat and you discover a bleeding wound on her forearm, the word 'mudblood' cut deeply into her skin. Bellatrix's work.

"Drop your wands!", she orders and shortly afterwards they fall to the ground. "Pick them up, Draco!"

With you by the hand, Draco quickly picks up their wands and leads you back to his parents, his body blocking you protectively as he stands in front of you.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here. It's Harry Potter", Bellatrix whisper-yells into Hermione's ear, who is trying to suppress her sobs while Harry's face is suddenly turning back to normal. "Just in time for the Dark Lord.. Call him!"

The last command coming from her mouth makes you swallow hard, but the lump in your throat won't go away. Especially not when all eyes are on you and Draco alone now. Their faces soaked in expectation and disappointment, it only intensifies the conflict within you.

"Call him!"

Releasing you from your suffering, Lucius steps forward when neither Draco nor you stir a single bit, pulls up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his forearm, the same one that painfully adorns your skin as well and always reminds you of who you have to obey. You see how the snake slowly winds around the skull and you look back and forth between him and Hermione, trembling.

"I am sorry, Draco", you breathe out barely audible, closing your eyes while doing so before letting go of his hand.

In a matter of seconds, you raise your wand, aim at the magnificent chandelier on the ceiling that is directly above Bellatrix and Hermione, and the following words fall off your lips with sudden ease.

"Confringo!"

All at once everything that happens next is like in slow motion. The huge chandelier crashes down onto the parquet, freeing Hermione from Bellatrix's grip and you are thrown to the ground as well. Raising your blurry gaze again, you see feet right in front of you and are suddenly pulled up onto your legs again.

By no other than Harry.

He brings you to the others and the last thing you see is the hurt, disappointment and heartbreak on Draco's pale face as you feel a stabbing, sharp pain from both your own broken heart and the dagger piercing through your skin that was thrown by Bellatrix before you vanish into thin air.

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy os #draco os #draco one shot #draco one shots #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco imagine #draco imagines #draco angst #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco fluff #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy ff #draco ff #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #hp imagines

[pitaparka]

a steadfast heart will conquer

summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.

pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises

At midnight, you speak in fragments.

“I’m at your front door.”

He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.

“It’s raining.”

He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.

“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.

He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.

There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.

He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.

But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.

The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.

You don’t answer.

He lets you not answer.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.

He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.

“What happened?”

There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.

So he waits.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.

You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.

The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.

He notices the red mark right away.

On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.

“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.

Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.

“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.

“No.”

He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.

“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.

“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.

“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?

“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”

You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.

“Can I stay here?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.

Your hair smells like roses and rain.

You take his bed; he takes the couch.

It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.

“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?

“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.

“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.

“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”

Now he’s the one that feels bad.

He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.

He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.

He has one pillow. you have one too.

You both listen to each other breathe.

You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.

It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.

The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.

You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.

You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.

He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.

“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.

“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.

“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.

“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.

“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.

“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.

“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.

“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.

“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.

“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.

You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.

He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.

You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.

He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.

He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.

He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.

Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.

After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.

“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”

“Wow.”

“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.

“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.

“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.

“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”

He stares at you.

You ignore the messages and lock your phone.

You look up at Frankie.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.

You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.

He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.

“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.

“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”

“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.

“What do you think I should tell him?”

He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.

“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.

“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.

“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.

“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.

“Should I go see him today?” you ask.

“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.

“You’re no help.”

“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.

“Sure.”

“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.

“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.

“Okay.” you say.

He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.

He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.

As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.

He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.

But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”

The water turns off.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”

There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.

“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.

“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.

With a smile, you close the door in his face.

The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.

It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.

#frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #catfish x reader #catfish #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #soft as fuck #sweet tooth #tw domestic abuse #tw abuse #tw bruises #triple frontier x reader #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #fem!reader #afab reader

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 4

18 + Minors DNI Please Check Rules Before You Follow

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader (brief reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, allusion to nausea (once), brief sacrilegious language (dabi), mentions of alcohol (dabi), mentions of smoking (dabi), dabi is just a whole warning of his own, gender neutral pronouns for reader, fem cause they're called a woman as an insult, Shiggy is an asshole, grinding, degradation,

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which a project is completed and a new one begins

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged)

Your project was almost complete.

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was a creature of habit by nature, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.

would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—

That wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.

bitch (endearing):

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner until you texted back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and a loose tank top.

He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.

“Yeah…”

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his word, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was illuminated only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.

And just like that.

It was over.

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly, but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk. Your hands rested way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it as he took advantage of you position to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff.

In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath. He knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that this was just a thing people said when they were relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see how he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up enough scant courage to maybe close the gap. But then you started laughing?

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.

You were fucking kissing him.

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones like he thought he was supposed to.

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.

God and when you pulled back and just enough to look at him again:

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main characters look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—

Yeah.

Yeah he got it now.

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.

“Eager are we?” you had that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.

Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when you licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle.

Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you prodded the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that kinda thing.”

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?" you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, toying with the pooling saliva.

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman.

He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled back, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura imagine #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #dabi #bnha fanfiction #bee.writes

[mailboxmerchant]

PANIC

yall ever wonder it would be like to go into an idv match while dating dear ol gravekeeper? me 2, here you go!

character: andrew kreiss (grave keeper)

fandom: identity V

warnings: none? in game violence typa stuff! (and maybe some more rougher violence(?))

Tired and drowsy, you dredged your way back into the main hall of the accursed manor you had trapped yourself in. Match after match, hunter after hunter, injury after injury. You were exhausted, your only motivation to keep trying being your albino sweetheart.

"Y/N....you don't have to keep doing this to yourself, we can t-take a break if you want..." Andrew whispered as he reached down to pat your shoulder affectionately.

"I know, I know...But I can't give up yet." You sighed as you rested your hand over his, your hand shaking ever so slightly as you did. "Y/N, you-you're shaking...?" Andrew looked down at you in harsh concern, grasping your hand tighter as you leaned back to press the back of your head into his stomach.

Letting out another heavy sigh, you forced a weak smile as reassurance to Andrew. The both of you knew well that you were both reaching your limits, but neither were willing to stop until you gave in.

An expression of fear struck your face as you saw your hunter. "A-ahh....Wu Chang, huh?" You tightened your shoulder muscles, your grip on Andrew's hand growing harsh as you prepared to be downed in the first minute of the match. As your vision began to fade, indicating you'd be left in a random location somewhere in the hospital, you felt a cold pair of soft lips leave a kiss on your forehead, the chilly skin telling you it was Andrew.

Your heart was still and calm, and cautiously so, you began to sneak about rubble and rubbage to reach the nearest cipher. "Please don't let it be us first.....Please, god, please." you whispered as you began to tap away at the keys of the machine. When a more feminine voice screamed out, you guiltily let out a breath of relief, now knowing that Andrew would be okay for the time being.

About thirty seconds passed as you began to hear a quiet crumbling noise beneath the ground.

'Andrew!' you silently cheered as you prepared to help him out of the dirt. And as if on cue, a pale hand emerged from the ground. It was funny, similar to the dead raising, but you knew better than to make such jokes to Andrew.

Grasping his stiff, frigid skinned hand, you pulled your beloved out of the moist dirt. "Th-thank you.." Giving him a shy smile as a sign of "you're welcome", you both got back to decoding your half done machine. But of course, as your luck would have it, steadily your heart beat grew hard against your bony frame. "Andrew, go, dig!" At your command, Andrew gave a nod before grabbing your wrist and pulling you under his dirt tunnel with him.

As you felt your heartbeat hit harder and harder against your chest, your breaths became short and shaky. "A-Andrew..I can't..." But before you could get your words out, the two of you were yanked from the dirt and thrown to solid ground to continue by foot.

But the weak lungs that carried you weren't fully recovered yet, and eventually you got bashed on the shoulder as you were crossing a ledge, sending you reeling to the ground. "Sh-shit, I can't...stand..." Angry and wounded, you did your best to futily crawl across the ground to follow Andrew's dirt path he left in his wake.

A shining green light that emitted from Wu Chang's umbrella forced you to close your eyes for a few moments, the brightness just being too much for you after having been smacked down on a jagged concrete wall.

When you could see again though, you instantly wished you could go blind. Andrew was sprawled out on the floor, his shovel thrown far from him as he did his best to crawl to you. His face was harshly bruised, seemingly as though he had landed right on it after taking whatever injury he had sustained. "Y/N, h-help....me-" When you were readying up to heal him, he released a pained noise. As you looked up, a deep feeling of rage and panic bloomed in your core. Wu Chang stood smugly above your dear Grave Keeper, his umbrella piercing shallowly in the lower area of his back. His whimpers of pain were enough to push you to at least limp over to shock the hunter with a spare glove of Luca's you'd found in a chest. But Wu Chang sunk his pointed umbrella further into Andrew's spine as a warning.

Andrew's cries were sending you into a flurry of emotional panic now, your heartbeat now echoing painfully in your head as you cried out for him. It felt like all the colors and people you saw in front of you were melding together, your mind aching for some kind of relief as your eyes focused on the bright red that began to trickle into your vision. “y/n...y/n....”

“Y/N! Y/N!” Andrew’s voice was directly in your ear, your head now flush against the cool dirt. He was gently shaking you, just enough to snap you out of you illusive daze. “Wh-what the...A-Andrew!” You clung to him  like that breath was the last you’d ever take, squeezing the life out of him in the process. “Hmbph! y/n, i-it’s okay..” his voice brought you back down to Earth, his soft tone ringing like quiet music to your mind. His hands were placed at your shoulders as he kneeled in front of you. You were both sitting on the top floor of the run-down hospital, both exhausted, out of breath, and wounded to some varying degrees. 

Slowly, you eased your grip on the tall man’s shoulders, but as you let go, his hand met the side of your cheek, which you instinctively leaned into. Taking it as a sign that you’d be okay to go on, Andrew stood and offered a hand down to you. 

“You really scared me, y/n. You got launched off that window sill, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to get to you before you got g-grabbed...” You shushed his worried thoughts aloud with a finger to his lips. “I’m okay now. This can...be our last match for the night. I can’t handle another one of Wu Chang’s visions, and I think I’ve run you thin of energy...” You smiled sheepishly as Andrew’s cheeks grew redder as you kept your finger near his soft-skinned lips. 

You quickly pulled Andrew close, diving for underneath the creaky bed frame behind the tattered curtain. Your heartbeats thumped powerfully in sync as Wu Chang grew near again, his low chuckle indicating he was not happy you both escaped from his terror. You now held a finger to yours and Andrew’s lips, the both of you stifling your breaths to shallow, quiet ones. The noise of the gates being accessible breached the playing field, and Wu Chang quickly changed directions to go to the south bound gate entrance. 

Once you could no longer hear the thump of your heartbeat, you  made a quick audible note to yourself and Andrew.

“Detention.” You spoke in sync.  

While gaining an extra boost of stamina was rewarding, the stakes were now much higher with an even more dangerous hunter. 

Taking slow, even steps, you and Andrew made it down to the first floor of the dirtied hospital. 

“It’ll be okay, we just have to-” Cut off by a loud clattering, Andrew silenced himself and dove with you into a barely lit room, a hand over each of your mouths. 

“y/n? Andrew? It’s just me, guys.” Luca’s voice rang out from the hallway, his silhouette signaling that it was safe to come out. “The gates open, lovebirds, let’s go before he comes back.” 

Andrew led both you and Luca, taking role as the leader (pretty surprising to see!). Luca paid no mind to the fact you were holding hands, only giving you a smug look as per usual. When you finally reached the gate, you were all surprised to see Wu Chang was no where to be found. Either he was planning something, or he really though you’d all appear at the south bound gate. Regardless, now was the perfect time to make a break for it. 

“What are you waiting for, let’s go!” Luca called as he booked it for the exit. You turned to Andrew, giving him a confirming nod before pulling the both of you from your hiding spot and dashing for the gate. And just as you tumbled through, Wu Chang’s umbrella appeared directly above you both. Luckily enough, you both made it in time, Andrew taking the chance to tunnel underground with you to ensure a safe escape. 

word count:1440

#identity v grave keeper #idv grave keeper #luca balsa #gravekeeper #emma woods #idv violinist #identity v fanart #mike morton #idv #idv fictive #idv embalmer #idv headcanons #idv kin #identity v #identity v x reader #wu chang #wu change hunter #hunter idv #andrew kreiss x reader #andrew kreiss

[bangtanbetchfics]

friction | knj (m)

genre: office au, romance, smut rating: explicit // 18+ pairing: kim namjoon x reader word count: 7.0k suggested listening: 1 billion views - exo-sc | creme brulee - gfriend | underwater - baekhyun | playlist warnings: m/f, m/m, explicit language, explicit/casual sex, masturbation, enemies to lovers, light bondage, light dom/sub, sex toys summary: your pesky and overworked assistants meddle in your relationship with your sexy rival -- kim namjoon -- and find themselves caught in the crosshairs of love and all-out war. notes: enjoy enjoy enjoy! a true labor of love. navigation: ch. i | ch. ii | ch. iii | masterlist | ao3

FRIC·TION | conflict or animosity caused by a clash of wills, temperaments, or opinions.

Taehyung yawns, interlacing his fingers and pulling his arms above his head in a stretch. He moves his neck side-to-side until he hears a satisfying crack, indicating the adequate stretch of the muscle. He waits for his computer to finish powering down before clicking the lamp on his desk off.

Taehyung’s hand reaches for his coat, but he hesitates as he looks over at your office.

The blue glare seems to amplify your stressed expression and the mildly dark crescents under your eyes.

“Ma’am?”

Taehyung quietly raps at the glass door to your office and it startles you from your concentration.

“Hmm...yes, Tae?”

You respond, mildly annoyed, as you pull a neon post-it note from its pad to stick to the desk.

Taehyung looks at you, his eyes forming wide circles as if he's ready to convince you of something. You can immediately sense his question before you exhale through your nose.

“It’s just that it’s getting late and I-” Taehyung starts, wrapping a hand around the glass doorframe.

You shake yourself out of your funk and look at him fondly, your brows coming together in compassion.

Before your mouth can form a response, the phone at Taehyung’s desk rings. 

He gives you a small bow to pardon him before he jogs to his desk to pick up the phone.

“Yes, Sir. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Min,” Taehyung looks at you a few times, pointing at the phone. “I’ll send her right up.”

Taehyung's eyes widen at you before hanging up the phone.

You come to the threshold of your office, leaning your head on the frame.

“Was it Min?” You ask, and Taehyung nods in response. 

“He wants to see you immediately. Didn’t specify what it was for.” 

You chew at your lip and then dig in your pocket, tossing him your corporate card.

“I’m so sorry, Tae. Do you mind staying until I come back? There’s just a lot going on this week with the product launch, and I’m sure he’ll add more to my plate,” Taehyung puts his hand up and shakes it.

“Of course. Anything you need.” He responds, slipping the plastic card in his pocket.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your hands in a prayer. He bows as his eyes watch you walk off.

Taehyung rolls his chair up to his desk, and he hits a few digits on the dialpad.

“Gonna be another long one,” Taehyung sighs out into the receiver.

“Same here Tete,” The singsong voice responds, equally as disappointed.

“I should have your cock in my mouth right now, but I’m here ordering takeout for the third time this week,” The voice whines.

“Jimin!” Taehyung growls into the phone, but the sound quickly dissolves into a laugh.

“What’s so funny? It’s not good for my figure,” Taehyung can tell there’s a pout in Jimin’s voice.

“Especially my ass.” Jimin continues, the pout growing deeper.

“I love your ass. Shutup.” Taehyung chuckles. “You said you’re stuck here late too?”

“Yeah. I know the product launch is coming, but Joon never stops working.” Jimin whines. “He got called upstairs by Min a few seconds ago.” Taehyung gasps and sits up in his chair, rolling it closer to his desk.

“Hmm…” Taehyung hums. He places his elbows on the surface, using his free hand to ruffle his silver locks.

“What? You sound interested.” Jimin inquires, and Taehyung drums the desk with his fingers.

“My boss did too.”

✹✹✹

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The slow ticking of the clock snips through your veins. You press the nail of your index finger into the flesh of your thumb, creating a small crescent-shaped indent in your skin. 

You feel your heart picking up pace in your chest; steady thumps beating at your ribcage. You turn your hand around to stare at the indentation on your skin, waiting for it to vanish. It does, slowly.

You look at your boss through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his office, his mouth busy moving in response to someone on the other end of the phone’s receiver. His hair is a textured bowl of platinum blonde, and his long, bony fingers move through a mass of papers on his desk.

You’re unsure of why you’ve been summoned; Yoongi never summoned anyone to his office unless it was serious. Being two days out from a product launch with you at the marketing helm...well, that was never a good sign.

After a moment, heavy, confident footsteps echo through the hall.

You see a man -- all legs in his dark, smartly tailored pants -- and he immediately diverts attention from your buzzing thoughts. His aura fills the entire space, and you sit up straight in your chair.

The man’s long wool trench coat brushes at his ankles, the black fabric stiff at the tips of his shoulders. He shrugs the coat off and carefully folds it in half, placing it on the chair behind him.

He suddenly feels your eyes on him from across the room, and his sharp gaze snaps over to meet yours. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he extends his hand across the coffee table between the two of you.

“Kim Namjoon. I’m guessing you don’t know why you’re here either?” His voice comes out in a dark, velvety tone, catching you off guard. Your eyes can't help but fix on his as you shake his hand.

“Not a clue,” You respond coolly, and the dimples in his cheeks make themselves known.

You clear your throat as his eyes hang onto yours in return, and you feel your lips subtly part. Snapping yourself from his aura, you quickly release his hand and look around the room to find something else to concentrate on.

“Guess we’ll find out...” Namjoon shrugs, sliding back in his seat. You offer him a nod in response, nervously swallowing the exchange down your throat.

You then cross your legs, pretending to be busy on your phone. 

After processing the interaction, Namjoon licks the inside of his cheek -- his head hanging down in a mild defeat for a second. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a tattered copy of The Art of Loving.

As he reads, your eyes peel from your phone and notice the way his turtleneck hugs his form, the dark fabric dipping in at the valley between his firm chest. A few lavender-tinted hairs slide from Namjoon’s slicked back style into his dark brown eyes, and his smokey gaze suddenly rises up to meet yours.

Fuck. He’s caught you.

Your eyes widen in a few seconds of brief panic and dart back down to your phone. You move your thumb around through the pages of apps; it’s all you can manage so suddenly.

Namjoon smiles to himself as he looks back down, quietly dipping a finger to his tongue to stick to a page of his book. 

Before he’s able to turn the page, Yoongi pops his head from the office.

“You ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head in your direction.

You nod and watch Yoongi shuffle back to his desk.

You inhale and smooth your skirt as you stand, noticing Namjoon’s eyes following your fingers as they glide over the red fabric adorning your curves. He calmly looks back down and blushes as you catch him; his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he pretends to continue on with his book.

“Wish me luck,” You notice the way his gaze lit something sexual afire in you, but you couldn’t pay any attention to that right now. “Nice meeting you.” 

Namjoon looks up at you again, his fingers tense on the pages of the book.

“Likewise.” Namjoon’s smouldering eyes are fixed on you as he responds, and his gaze continues to follow you into Yoongi’s office.

You reach a chair across from Yoongi’s desk, sneaking a glance at Namjoon one last time over your shoulder.

Namjoon exhales the tension from his body as he watches you take a seat.

✹✹✹

You sit in the chair across from Yoongi’s desk, admiring the glittering cityscape behind him.

“I love being in here. It’s so refreshing.” You sigh, your eyes floating back to Yoongi.

“Yeah, kid? Well, it could be yours soon,” He chuckles. “I’m actually sick of looking at it. I’m ready to move onto my next venture.” Yoongi says this as if he’s in his forties, but he’s the youngest CEO in the vicinity. It's indicated by a giant, framed magazine cover of himself on a wall in his office: Top 30 Under 30 in Technology.

“C-Come again?” You murmur as you’re taken by surprise, and you sit up in your seat.

“You heard me. I want either you -- the CMO -- or Kim, the CTO running things," Yoongi says, standing up. He calls you over with his finger, motioning for you to sit in his chair. "Either of you are my best shot.”

You plop down in the cushy leather fabric, and your eyes meet Namjoon’s again. You purse your lips together and swirl the chair around to face the cityscape.

“How’s that feel?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts his cream turtleneck.

“Damn good.” You growl, your nails digging into the armrests.

“Well, there’s no reward without risk,” He says, and you raise your head in interest. 

“Try me, Min.” You demand as you cross your legs, leaning back in the chair.

“I want you to launch the product in my place at TechX this week.” He mentions casually, and you shriek in response as you shoot up from your seat.

“You can’t be serious, Min!” You throw your hands on your hips. “Isn’t that in two days? In Vegas? And like, the largest product launch ever for this company? ” You inquire, looking over at Yoongi.

“See! You understand the gravity of this launch. And yeah, and I haven’t even finished the keynote yet,” Yoongi cackles, slapping his thigh. “Partner with Kim on the presentation. It’s in front of twenty-thousand too, so make it good.” He sits down, racking away at the keys on his laptop. 

“You and Kim are both equally matched in terms of qualifications, so whoever can secure the biggest investors to ensure the longevity of the company will get a leg up in interviewing for the position.” Yoongi continues nonchalantly.

“Got it?” He taps one last key, stopping only to look up at you.

“Yes, Sir.” You nod, feeling a tightness creep into your chest.

✹✹✹

“Jimin, can you book my accommodations, please?” 

Jimin hands Namjoon a bag of takeout before he rolls his chair up to his desk. 

“Vegas, leaving tomorrow. Business class. King bed. That hotel that’s hosting the conference. You know the deal.” He rattles out, taking the bag of food. 

“Of course, Sir.” Jimin nods, watching Namjoon walk into his office.

Jimin navigates through a few windows on his screen before settling on a corporate travel portal. He’s able to book the flight without a problem, but the hotel is where he’s running into issues. He quickly dials up Taehyung, waiting for the other side of the call to pick up.

“Are you seeing the same thing?” Jimin asks, and Taehyung clicks his tongue.

“No rooms, right-” Jimin starts. “Just one left…” Taehyung cuts in to finish his sentence.

“But shit, there’s your boss and my boss.” Jimin twirls his finger around the coiled cord, pondering what to do next.

Jimin hears a eureka snap on the other end of the line.

“Crazy ass idea here, Jiminie,” Taehyung chuckles. 

"What is it Taehyungie?" Jimin purrs out, the curiosity rising in his voice at the end of the question.

“What if...they just stayed in the same room together? There’s only one King room available, and it’s the last room in the hotel. They’re both so...particular.” Taehyung continues, pressing his mouth into the receiver to keep his voice low.

Jimin throws his head back so far in laughter that his chair tips over. Taehyung hears a crash on the other end of the line, and hears shuffling noises as Jimin gets back up.

“Fell off your chair again?”

“Y-Yeah. God you're a genius! An evil one,” Jimin gathers his breaths. 

“I mean...she’s fucking hot. And she’s single as fuck because she’s holed up here every night.” Taehyung whispers into the receiver, making sure to glance over to check that you’re immersed in work.

“And Joon’s smoking hot, too. He’d melt her icy panties right off,” Jimin clicks his tongue before he slaps his desk.

“Dammit, we’re doing it. Think about it. Off work by five? What a world.” Jimin chirps, clicking away at his screen. “To add an extra layer of fun, I’m checking the romance option.”

“Jimin! Jimin. They’re gonna kill each other.” Taehyung giggles, gasping to catch his breath.

“Either they share a room and let romance bloom, or its whack-a-roach at the Motel 6.” Jimin’s tone is confident, but it makes Taehyung erupt into another fit of laughter.

“What? What’s the worst that could happen?” Jimin commands a response, but Taehyung continues to laugh.

“Mmm...we lose our fucking jobs?” Taehyung responds darkly.

The two pause for a second, but continue laughing into their phones.

✹✹✹

“What’re the topline details for the trip, Tae?” You ask, sliding on your sunglasses and pulling a handle up on your hardside luggage.

“Your flight...as you know is in three hours, and your car’s outside right now.” Taehyung walks up to you, handing you an iPad with a copy of your itinerary. “You’ll be staying at the Palazzo where the conference is held, and check-in should be getting started as soon as you arrive.”

“Mwah. You’re the fucking best,” You chef’s kiss your fingers. “This is exactly why I hired you.”

You pull your luggage behind you, but Taehyung puts his hand up. 

“Try not to get too excited. Please note that the room I was able to secure for you was the last room at the hotel two days before a conference of this size,” Taehyung says, pulling his hands behind his back.

“Okay...your point being?” You ask, pulling your sunglasses down to look into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Uhm, so, how do I put this?” Taehyung asks himself rhetorically, drawing his foot across the floor nervously.

“Tae...” You growl, your gaze slowly turning into a glare.

“Erm, you’ll have to share the room,” He starts. 

“With Kim Namjoon.” He winces as he gets the words out.

Your mouth drops open in shock, and your iPad crashes to the floor.

✹✹✹

You peruse through a luxurious spread of food in the airport lounge: crabsticks with melted butter drizzling from them, exotic finger sandwiches, spreads and dips and the like. You grab tongs, dropping a few items onto a small plate. You quickly look through the drinks on display and decide on sparkling water. 

Suddenly, you spot Namjoon arriving in the lounge and you quickly tuck the bottle of sparkling water into your armpit. You grab your plates, quickly followed by your luggage and make a mad dash for a secluded cubby in the back area.

You quickly throw on your headphones and prop up your iPad as you swipe through a few documents. 

Just as you stuff a crabstick in your mouth, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look at the fingers, then up the veined arm wrapped with white cotton fabric, and you see Namjoon.

He licks his lips, letting out a shy chuckle just before he speaks.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?”

“Mm-maybh, ‘nd wh-r about it?” You blink at him, your words unintelligible as you slowly chew a mouthful of seafood. You furrow your brows, slightly irked by Namjoon seeing you in this state.

“I’m sure those two jokesters told you,” He continues, and you shrug as you delicately bite a small cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. “That you’ll be my roommate for the next two days.”

“I didn’t hear it, and I won’t acknowledge it,” You retort, dropping the last bite of the sandwich in your mouth. “I’m going to find another room if it’s the last thing I do.” You dust crumbs from your hands but stop as Namjoon lets out another light chuckle.

“There aren’t anymore in the whole of Vegas. I checked myself. The only other hotel left in town is the Trump Tower,” He crosses his arms and then shakes his head. “And no one wants to be caught dead there.”

“Fuck!” You can’t help but scream out, and a few people turn to look in your direction. You bury your head in your hands, and comb your hands through your hair in frustration.

Namjoon taps your shoulder again and you look up.

“Finger sandwich?” He asks, licking a finger as you glare up at him.

✹✹✹

A flight attendant walks by the two of you to do a visual safety check, and you’re in the middle seat -- Namjoon in the aisle. 

“Champagne? Champagne? Water?” Another attendant walks by with a tray full of alcoholic beverages. You spot her, reaching over Namjoon to grab a drink off the tray. She lets out a gasp, shock entangling her features. 

The beverage quickly makes its way down your throat, and you slam the plastic cup back on the tray. 

“Sorry. She’s not having the best of days,” Namjoon whispers to her and finishes his off as well, handing it to the attendant. She scoffs, continuing on down the aisle.

You shuffle your hand in your bag to locate your iPad, slipping it from its sleeve. As you look at the screen you sigh, your eyes roving over the deep cracks.

“Please turn all devices to airplane mode as we prepare for departure…”

The plane starts to rattle over the tarmac, turning to face a new direction every so often.

“What the heck happened to that thing?” Namjoon asks, leaning over to look at the fractured device.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You respond without looking at him. You swipe through a screen of apps before clicking into Keynote. “I scanned through the presentation, and Yoongi was nowhere near done. We’ll need to wrap up by tomorrow evening.”

“We’ll also need to submit some requests to the photographer and Design team so that the remaining graphics and specs will be ready by the time we land in six hours…”

Namjoon nods, watching as you swipe through the slides, breezing through improvements for each. Your words seem to fade out, and he finds himself enamored by your gung-ho nature as he watches you speak.

“Got it?” You ask and notice Namjoon is silent, causing you to turn your head in his direction.

You search his eyes for a response, noticing his pupils are blown as he looks at you. He covers his throat so as to not give away the unexpected heat rising up his skin.

“Sure thing. I’ll have the Product team get right on all of that,” Namjoon responds before he looks down to type an email into his phone.

You look back down at your iPad, nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

You take a second to press your head back to the seat as the plane takes off.

Namjoon reaches below the seat in front of him and pulls out his iPad to begin typing information into the slides. He glances over at you furiously typing and swiping before you grimace.

“Ow, fff-” You growl, looking at your index finger. 

Blood starts to pool in a small cut, and Namjoon takes notice. You look over at him and watch him reach into his bag to pull out a travel-sized first aid kit. He takes out a small alcohol wipe and grabs your finger, pinching the towelette to it. You wince, sucking air in through your teeth.

“You should really get that fixed.” He says as he takes a small bandaid and covers the cut.

“Uhm, I will. Thank you.” You say quietly as you search his eyes, and then tuck your hair behind your ear again. 

You break eye contact with him as your heart starts to patter in your chest...and fuck. You know you're in trouble from here on out.

Namjoon chuckles to himself through his nose as he takes a world newspaper from an attendant.

The newspaper covers his face and you sneak to observe your finger -- trying to not let a smile curl up on the edges of your lips.

✹✹✹

“Checking in?”

A woman asks you in a singsong voice and you nod, motioning for Namjoon to give you his identification card. 

You're tired, hungry and irritable from the flight and certainly not willing to engage with this ultra-chipper woman right now.

“Ugh, beautiful! How long have you two been together?” She asks, smiling as she looks at the two of you.

“We’re not a couple and we’ve only just met, why do you ask?” You inquire, swiping through a few things on a digital screen anchored to the desk in front of you.

“Oh...you’re not?” You stop what you’re doing and look up at her. “No. We’re here for the TechX conference.”

The woman releases a nervous breath from her throat and readjusts her blouse.

“Well...oh my, the room I have booked for the two of you is one of our most romantic rooms.” She giggles out nervously, not sure what to do as she hands you a sleeve of keycards.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Taehyung when I get back,” You grumble, taking your credit card and the sleeve before you march off toward the elevator.

The elevator lobby is packed, and both you and Namjoon slip into a crowded elevator.

You find yourself suddenly sandwiched between the back of a woman and the front of Namjoon, and you tighten your muscles so you don’t make bodily contact with either of them.

The elevator jerks as it reaches the floor before yours, and Namjoon collapses over you. He looks down at you as his hands land to press on the wall on either side of your head as he holds himself up.

“God, sorry,” He groans as he waits for other people to exit before he can steadily stand on his own two feet. Your eyes grow wide as you look up at him, a prickly heat creeping up your throat. His face is so close to yours from the fall that you can feel his breaths on your skin. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking over at you as he’s able to stand up straight.

Namjoon thinks nothing of the brief moment, but you gulp and give him a silent nod.

“This is us.” He says before he clears the way, watching you walk out in front of him.

✹✹✹

As you enter the room, you hear smooth jazz floating from a digital radio.

You drop to your knees: you see rose petals on the bed, a bucket with ice and champagne, a towel swan and a bouquet of additional roses wrapped with packages of chocolate. You drop your head into your hands and laugh out loud, and Namjoon looks down at you. His eyes quickly scan the room and he lets out a screech before he covers his stomach to laugh.

“I-I s-swear we were set up,” You gasp for air through your laughs. “God.”

“The wall between the shower and our room is frosted. Frosted!” Namjoon yells as he waves his hand through it to show you as you approach. 

You both can’t help but giggle.

“God. I haven’t laughed that hard in so long,” You mention, swiping a tear hanging on at the edge of your eye. Namjoon smiles, his dimples lighting up his face.

There’s a sudden silence as your eyes meet, and you try to find something to busy yourself with -- deciding on unraveling the towel swan.

“Anyway, I’m gonna shower. We can just relax for now as we wait for everything to come in.” You quickly open your luggage and pull out a swimsuit and a cover up before heading into the bathroom.

“And oh. Please be an adult...no peeking?” You raise your brows as you pop your head from the bathroom. 

Namjoon nods in agreement, beginning to unpack his luggage. He grabs his clothes nonchalantly to head to a nearby drawer, but he unintentionally catches your silhouette in the shower.

Namjoon gulps as he feels a tightness growing in his jeans. He clears his throat, continuing on with placing his clothes into the drawer.

✹✹✹

“Okay, okay, yes. I’m so sorry. It was the best we could do under the circumstances, and yes-” Taehyung nods his head as Jimin takes another bite of a sushi roll.

“Oof, was that her?” Jimin asks, swiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“God, yeah. She’s pissed. And she yelled. She never yells at me, Jiminie.” Taehyung pouts.

Jimin laughs as he throws his head back, rubbing Taehyung’s back.

“Don’t worry Taehyungie,” He giggles. “I’m sure they’ll thank us soon enough.”

Taheyung smiles at him and opens his mouth to receive one of the rolls on his tongue.

The two giggle as they look at each other, mouths full.

✹✹✹

You swim in the Olympic-sized pool at the hotel before you pop up from underneath. 

A hand runs through your hair to smooth it on your head before you start to float on your back. The intense rays of the sun start to heat up your skin, but you nearly moan at how good it feels.

Namjoon settles down in a lounge chair before he sees you with your eyes closed on the water. 

You only have on a swimsuit, but in a man’s mind it was the near-equivalent of seeing you in your underwear. 

Namjoon attempts to sneak away before you can spot him, but your eyes open just as he does.

“Hey! Kim Namjoon! Is that you?” You shout, paddling up to the edge of the pool. He grimaces and meets you at the edge, looking down at you.

“Did you really just try to avoid me?” You throw his question from earlier back at him, smirking.

“What? No.” Namjoon scoffs and clenches his jaw -- a bit delighted, a bit turned on.

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows, still awaiting a real answer. His thoughts are still racing for a clever response and you can tell he’s caught off-guard.

You emerge from the water, toweling your hair and body. His eyes widen as he tries to keep them focused on your face, and you smirk at him again. 

"Cat got your tongue?" You tease, wringing out your hair.

The devilish look in your eyes shoots straight to his water trunks and he presses his legs together. He quickly wraps the towel in his hand around his waist to cover himself before you detect anything, and your eyes follow his movements.

“Uhm, you know what...I don’t feel too well,” His voice trembles. “I’m gonna go back to the room.”

Namjoon takes off in a hurry, and you scoff as your brows come together in confusion.

✹✹✹

Namjoon lets out a few strained moans as he tugs at cock -- now rock hard and bulging with thick veins. His eyes squeeze shut as you come into memory, and he attempts to regulate his arousal through deep, frantic exhales. 

The way the sun was kissing your body, the movement of the water as it drizzled down into the valley between your breasts, the smirk and banter that lit his desire alight. He gasps as he strokes his cock faster, his grip growing firmer by the second. He feels his balls tighten, his cock growing stiffer with lust. 

He growls as he nears cumming, taking a moment to spit on in his hand and spread it generously over his shaft. He jerks his cock as fast as he can, his wrist snapping in different directions to switch up the sensation of his movements. He bucks into his hand at the last few moments, wondering what it’d be like to have you atop his cock instead. 

Namjoon cries out before his cock hardens, his thick load pulsing in random patterns across his chest. 

"Fuck," He suddenly hears footsteps floating down the hall and he swiftly pulls his trunks up.

He grabs a few tissues from the night table to quickly wipe himself off.

“Namjoon? I’m back,” You announce as you open the door. “The pool’s great, you can’t miss it.”

You enter and he tosses the tissues to the ground.

You observe that Namjoon’s form is rigid and that he’s sitting up on the bed as he scrolls through his phone. Something’s weird and quiet about the energy in the room, but you just shrug it off.

“Hey.” His tone is stoic, but you can sense his voice is caught in his throat before he clears it.

“Should we close out the final pieces of the presentation tonight?” Namjoon continues, his eyes now following you as you walk around the room.

“Sure thing, eight sound good?” You ask, smiling in his direction.

All he can do is look at you with his eyes wide and nod.

✹✹✹

“How’d you find this place?” You ask, picking up one of the books stacked on the table for display.

The rest of the bar is almost like a library -- straight from Beauty and the Beast. You look up and around as bookshelves from every angle are filled with books.

"Your drinks." A waiter arrives, carefully placing each drink on the table.

"I like to wander and I stumbled upon it. I frequent here when I come to Vegas," Namjoon smiles at you, satisfied with himself. "It's a nice place to unwind and get work done outside of the hotel." You nod, impressed with his response.

"I love all of the giant KAWS figurines here, too," You mention, and he turns his head to look at you. "The valuation on those in a few years is gonna be insane."

"Oh, you like art, too?" He tries to hide the gush in his voice, but you chuckle to yourself.

"Sure do." You reply, taking a few small sips from your cup as you look at him.

As Namjoon sips at his Jameson whiskey on the rocks, you can't help but absorb his carefully slicked back hair and the leather jacket on his frame.

Namjoon notices from his peripheral and bites his lip as subtly as he can, drawing his iPad from his briefcase.

After a few minutes, he looks up from what he's typing to see you've already downed half of your drink. You drop the cup from your lips and your eyes grow wide with embarrassment.

"God, sorry, please don't judge me," You chuckle as you peel the drink from your mouth and lick your lips. "They only have good French Martinis in two places in the world. Vegas, and Europe."

Namjoon chuckles back at you, and you notice his eyes float down to your lips. 

Your breath quickens for a second, but he breaks eye contact by looking down. He purses his lips and his dimples pop out before he looks at you through his lashes.

"You've got a little something..." He motions at the foam on your upper lip, and you attempt to swipe it with your tongue. He shakes his head a few times as you continue licking your lips to no avail.

"May I?" He asks warmly. With a nod from you, he takes a miniature napkin to wipe your top lip. He's so close that you can smell the spice of his cologne, and you look into his eyes. 

A slight panic forms in his gaze before he pulls back.

“There.” He says without looking at you, placing the napkin on the table.

Both of you shake the interaction off, and you reach into your bag to pull out your iPad.

"I had Taehyung drop in the graphics. All we have to do is finish up the text," You say as you start to type, and Namjoon brings his focus back to his slides.

"Got it. I had Jimin drop in the brief outline he retrieved from the Product Lead, so we can just work from that as we go along." Namjoon chimes in, and you nod.

"I'll activate the full social strategy and content team back at the office," You continue as you type. "I'll let them know that we're almost locked so they can get ready to fire up the site and social promotions."

Namjoon smiles to himself again, absorbing the incredible synergy between the two of you. It only pushes him harder...and makes him harder. He clenches his jaw as he feels the sensation filling his lower half, but he shakes his leg to stay focused.

"Is there something wrong?" You ask, looking down at his leg.

"Hmm?" He asks, not even noticing his leg still moving. 

"Oh!" He says looking down and stretching his foot out, but it bumps yours instead.

"Fuck. Sorry!" He yelps. You chortle, continuing on with writing. 

You look at him for a bit through your peripheral, admiring his absolute focus on the task at hand. He picks up a pen to draw it around his plump lips, and you can't help but feel a twinge between your thighs. You inhale and let out a breath to take your focus off the sensation.

Just as you do, a crackle of thunder rips through the air and a few customers gasp and break into a din. 

You and Namjoon look at each other, and a few flashes of lightning light up each of your features in the dim bar.

"We should get going before it rains," Namjoon says as he starts to pack his bag. "We can finish this up at the hotel." 

You follow suit.

✹✹✹

As the two of you walk outside, the rain begins to trickle. Despite the warm Vegas air from earlier, the temperature significantly dropped in the evening and it made you shiver.

Namjoon notices, and despite him being cold -- he drops his coat on your shoulders.

"Oh. Please don't do that on my behalf." You say as you look up at him, but he keeps walking.

You couldn't worry long, noticing as raindrops begin to soak Namjoon's white tee.

"Just up here," He looks down at you and points at the hotel, but it suddenly starts to pour. He grabs your hand to quickly pull you across the street before the light changes, and you pull his jacket over your head.

Namjoon doesn't stop running until the two of you land in an empty elevator. He sighs, slicking his wet hair back with a hand. You notice that his shirt is soaked, seeping into the grooves of his firm chest and abdomen.

You arrive at the door to your room, nervously shuffling in your bag for your keycard. You can feel Namjoon's warm breath at the back of your neck, and you feel goosebumps form on your skin.

"Here." He says, reaching around you to insert his key. You feel as his body heat radiates around you as you walk through the door.

As you enter the room you shiver at the blast of air conditioning -- pulling Namjoon's coat further over your shoulders.

Namjoon returns from the bathroom with a towel, and removes his jacket from your frame. 

“Sorry, it’s totally my fault for suggesting a place so far away,” He wraps the warm fluffy towel over your shoulders, and you close your eyes in comfort.

"No, it was really fun," You open your eyes after a few seconds, shaking your head as you look up at him.

Namjoon almost looks away as you open your eyes, but his gaze fixates on yours -- causing you to lose the breath in your throat as you quickly look down.

"Thank you." Your voice only manages to come out in a whisper. You somehow get the courage to let your eyes scan his body, and then look back up to meet him still looking down at you.

Namjoon’s chest lightly rises and falls as neither of you break eye contact -- his eyes floating to your lips. He tucks your hair behind your ear, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb moves to trace over your jawline and your bottom lip as he moves in to hover his lips over yours.

The air buzzes with a sparkling heat as your lips brush together -- neither of you wanting to be the first to make a move.

“We shouldn’t do this, right?” He whispers, the tip of his nose grazing over yours.

"No..." You whisper back, a bated desire in your voice. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You give him a slow nod, drawing your bottom lip in-between your teeth.

You lick your lips and he tilts your head to the side, his own lips inside the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“That red dress...from yesterday? It was all I could think about for the rest of the night.” The deep vibrations from his voice causes you to let out a satisfied moan as you tilt your head back.

“Does that turn you on?” He asks, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips.

A heated lust overcomes you, and you let your lips feverishly embrace his. Your hands roam up his wet body and land over his shoulders before you pull him closer to you by the back of his neck. The momentum dizzies you both and your back slams into the wall.

His hands move to your waist as he covers you, pulling you flush against his hard, wet body. It causes your lips to part, and he slips his searing tongue into your mouth. You easily lose the upper hand as he grips your ass, causing you to let out a whine into his mouth. His plush lips kiss at your neck, and you run your hands through his damp hair as his kisses reach your collarbones.

Namjoon moves to wipe all of the items off a cabinet near you, and the chocolate and roses crash to the floor. He throws you on top of the surface, his lips eagerly gliding over yours.

Namjoon's hands roam up your dress and on the outside of your thighs as his fingers tuck under the top of the fabric of your underwear. He tugs at the fabric as if he's going to remove it, but he jerks it up hard instead -- soothing the growing ache between your thighs. He twists the fabric in a bunch so he can keep pulling at it in intervals to soothe your clit.

Your head falls back in desperation and he takes the opportunity to suck a hickey into the exposed skin. He nibbles at the skin harder and you gasp, gripping the back of his mullet.

Namjoon growls into your ear as you pull his hair, and yanks your underwear down each of your thighs.

Just as he does, he feels his wrist buzz. He pulls from your lips to look at his watch.

[Assistant: Park Jimin.]

Namjoon lets out a long exhale through his nose. He rests his forehead on yours, both of your lips still swollen and vibrating from the session.

"I have to take this," He lets out in a deep exhale before touching a green icon on his watch to receive the call.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Jimin asks, hearing Namjoon’s intense breaths cooling on his end.

"Just came from the gym, don't worry about me. What’s on fire?" He breathes out, and the edges of your lips curl upward at the lie.

"Nothing at all, Sir. I've just called to give your daily rundown as requested." Namjoon sighs, forgetting it’s something he did in fact ask for.

“Can I call you back in five?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head.

After Jimin hangs up, Namjoon immediately dives back into your lips. You savor it for a few seconds, but you tease him a few times as you pull away.

"I think we should finish up in the morning and get to bed," You whisper, your hand floating down his cheek. "Long day tomorrow." You bite your lip as you look into his eyes.

Namjoon lightly growls in disappointment as he pulls you down from the top of the cabinet.

You lift your hair up into a ponytail, and you turn around and look over your shoulder.

“Mind helping me with the zip?” You ask, and you feel the heat from his breath at the back of your neck drawing goosebumps from your skin. His breaths shallow out with every inch of the zip, and he lets out a light groan as it ends at the curve of your back -- just before your ass.

“Thanks.” You whisper as you head toward the bathroom, looking over your shoulder once more with a grin before you disappear around the corner.

Namjoon waits to make sure you’re gone before he screams into his fist out of frustration.

✹✹✹

“Seeya, I’m gonna head over to the conference hall to start getting prepped,” Namjoon mentions, stuffing a croissant in his mouth as he picks up his briefcase. “You said you’ll be a few minutes behind me, right?” He asks, using his free hand to push his glasses up his nose.

“Uhm, sure! Yes! Yesyesyesyes. Have a nice day!” You nod eagerly, your eyes wide as you watch him head toward the door. He furrows his brows, finding you a bit too enthusiastic.

As the door shuts, you hear his footfalls disappear down the hall and you toss your robe to the ground.

You take in a deep inhale. You knew you needed to be focused for this presentation, and you definitely couldn't have what happened last night top of mind.

Where to start? Him eyeing you in the office? The wet t-shirt? Oh, yes. There.

You sink down in the bed and slowly spread your legs, your fingers gliding over your already wet lips. You gasp in pleasure as you recall his plump lips dragging on your neck -- his teeth embedded in the sensitive flesh. It’s enough for you to dip a finger inside of yourself -- make it two -- before you let out a moan.

The thing that really made you wet, though, was his mind. The fucking book bar? Kudos. His knowledge of the product? Points. A tattered copy of a book about love? You were practically dripping down your thighs at the thought. Those nerdy glasses he wore before he left this morning? Fuck me.

It’s all enough to make you cum until-

Bzz. Beep.

You quickly draw the covers up on your frame and you can feel your cheeks burning as Namjoon enters the room.

“I...left my coffee...” He says cautiously, seeing your robe on the floor before his eyes meet yours. “Uhm, sorry?” His voice comes out in a high, questioning pitch -- and he grabs his coffee before he hurries himself out the door.

As the door shuts, you kick your feet around in the bed and then slap your forehead.

Fuck. He caught you.

#bts imagine #btssmutclub #btsbookclub #bangtanidx #bts smut #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts fanfiction

[littlerockerao3]

Ooh 73 for the drabble thing if you want :)

Of course! Here it is!

73. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Trigger warning: nudity, but I guess that was obvious.

~~~~

Robb hates Summer. He hates that he constantly has to take a shower only to still be sweating three seconds later. He hates how ice cream melts in a heartbeat and it all drips along the cone and straight in his hand. He hates how he has to sleep with the window open just to let some breeze in the room but then, in the morning, the sunshine so bright and hot either wakes him up too early or ends up burning some part of his body: it happened once that he fell asleep and this ray of sunshine burnt half of his arm.

Now, as if all of this wasn’t enough, it’s fucking July and no month is hotter than July. If it was up to Robb, he’d stay home with his face in front of the fan for hours and hours. But it just so happens that he has a boyfriend who claims to see him every once in a while, but since his boyfriend is a total dickhead who loves Summer more than anything else in the world (Robb is one hundred per cent sure that is solely because he can show off his biceps) and there’s no fucking fan at his place.

That had led Robb to the only solution to survive such hot weather: lowering the blinds, undressing and lying on the bed. It does work, for a little: the pillow is cool, but he’ll have to turn it on the other side in a few, cause he feels his hair is sweating so hard it’s basically wet. But for now, it’s a nice feeling: Theon’s place is comfortable in the first place. More quiet. Cooler, cause Theon’s the only one living in here, Robb’s home is so full of people stuck with each other he’s sure that’s the reason why it’s so warm. He wishes he could live at Theon’s place forever, which is something that could actually happen at some point, cause Theon is trying to send him signals about it for days. Robb’s not even sure if Theon himself is sure of it, he just wishes he could say it as it is: “move in with me”. It’s not like Robb would refuse.

“Babe, you in there?” He hears Theon’s voice coming from the other side of the door. He’s early, he said he had to go to the store and grab a few things and that it would have taken him only five minutes, which equals two twenty-five minutes when it’s about Theon.

The door opens, “Ro-is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Robb rolls his eyes, as he turns lightly to stare at his boyfriend’s amused face, “Now don’t act like you don’t like it”.

A smirk appears on Theon’s face, thick dark eyebrows raising. He makes his way to the bed, flip flops swatting against the floor, and lays down next to Robb, “Oh I do like it indeed”.

He swats a hand down on Robb’s ass, much like he was expecting, which is the only reason Robb doesn’t wince.

“Ouch” he still says, out of instinct. In response, Theon pats his bum one more time, gentler, then rests his hand on Robb’s lower back. “Oh we both now you can handle much more than that”.

It’s true, Robb can’t deny that, but he’s too tired to replay: warm weather makes his head hurt and Theon’s hand is so warm it makes him sweat even more. He realises he’d been keeping his eyes closed only when he opens them up the moment he feels Theon’s lips pressing a kiss to his neck.

“What is wrong, sexy?”

Robb sighs in return, “My brain, my whole body is boiling. It’s too hot” he whines.

“N’aaaw, my poor little abominable snowman doesn’t like Summer, does he?” Theon brushes his nose against Robb’s cheek, then proceeds to kiss his jaw.

“I freaking ha-what did you just call me?” Robb would like to ask Theon where he got the idea for that nickname, but it’s in that moment that Theon climbs on top of him, his skin touching Robb’s. Which translates into: more sweating.

“No don’t do that, it’s too hot for you to touch me” he cries, pushing Theon away. Though Theon is only wearing shorts and a white t-shirt Robb wonders how he doesn’t need to take a shower cause, for fuck’s sake, Robb just took a shower, he’s completely naked yet he does need another shower.

“Seriously, and then you make fun of me when it’s winter and I’m too cold” Theon huffs, feigning annoyance.

Robb bends his head a little to press a small weak kiss to his shoulder, “How do you handle summer without melting or frying?” He asks it as if he’s looking for the elixir of life.

Theon twists his finger along one of Robb’s auburn curls, “I swim a lot”, he says, “In fact, we should go swim, right now and cool off”.

“In your pool?” Robb doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course he meant his pool: that was like, number one reason why Theon bought this house in the first place, cause it had enough space for a pool.

“Yep” Theon says.

“But I’ll get sunburned” Robb whines, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and caressing his long fingers with his own.

“Not if you put on sunscreen”.

“But I don’t have it here with me, and you’re a dickhead who doesn’t get sunburned because your skin tone is fucking amazing and you actually can sunbathe” Robb’s aware he sounds like a kid, but he doesn’t mind: he’s allowed to, sometimes. And it’s true, Theon does have an amazing skin tone and he’s a dickhead for that.

“I actually do have some sunscreen here” that statement causes Robb to frown in both confusion and surprise: Theon despises sunscreen, and he’s gonna regret that in a few years, but every time they go to the beach (not many times but still) and Robb tells him to put on some at least on his face, the answer he usually gets is a simple “fuck off”. That is why it’s so weird for Robb to know Theon has let some sunscreen in his home.

“You do?” he asks.

Theon rolls his eyes, a small blush making its way through his bony cheeks, “Yeah, just for you babe”.

The smile grows on Robb’s face without him trying to control it, “How thoughtful of you”.

Theon takes that as the opportunity to hide his blush behind a charming smirk, “I know right? I think I deserve a kiss”.

“More than one” Robb leans over so that his lips can touch Theon’s. He feels hands caressing his hips and lower back, til they make their way down to his ass. This time, when Theon pinches it, Robb does wince. “Ow! Stop it!” He exclaims, swatting Theon’s hands away.

Theon’s smile is just a few inches away from Robb’s mouth.

“Never” he says, then pulls him in for another kiss.

It’s Theon who pulls away first, this time: he gets up from the bed and slips inside his flip flops to grab the bottle of sunscreen from his drawer. It’s still wrapped in plastic.

“You know, I think you should stay naked” he says to Robb.

“Don’t you start” the redhead says in return: he knows that will only lead to Theon’s grabby hands not trying at all to control themselves.

“It’s not like anyone is going to see us anyway” Theons says, as he gets undressed too, only to slip inside a pair of red swim trunks, “Come on.”

Robb doesn’t know why he agrees on swimming naked while Theon is not going to be naked. Probably because he already knows those red trunks aren’t going to stay on for too long anyway. Oh well. He’s lucky enough the bush all around the house is high and no one is going to see his naked body, unless they’ll look out the top floors’ windows.

Theon’s grabby hand don’t waste time and show Robb how grabby they are right away, by applying much more sunscreen than necessary on his glutes and lower belly. Robb actually has to ask Theon to focus a little more on his shoulders and back, cause he’s been outside under the sun for five minutes and they’re burning already.

“There you go, now there’s no way you’re going to get sunburned, this is the sunscreen that’s usually used on little kids” Theon rubs the sunscreen over Robb’s cheeks and nose at last.

Robb eyes him up and down: his golden anklet is basically shining thanks to the contrast with his bronze skin, his brown eyes looks so warm. He’s just too gorgeous.

“I hate you, you have such a beautiful skin tone” he huffs.

Theon extends a hands to gently stroke Robb’s collarbone, “Mhm-hmm, I don’t have these lovely freckles though. Come on, let’s go”.

He jumps in the pool with a loud splash, drops of water lading all over Robb’s naked body. He better get going as well.

“Oh god this feels good” he almost moans, as he gets into the cold water of the pool.

“Told ya” Theon’s all over him in a second, hands on his waist, pressing him against the edge.

“Shut up”

“Make me”

Robb gladly starts that little make out session that ends with him pushing Theon away before it can turn into more than just a make out session. And that’s how Robb keeps swimming around while Theon sits on the pink flamingo float, saying that he should probably go inside and make them some drinks to drink by the pool, but still refusing to make a move.

“God, I wish I had a pool at my place, I’d swim in there every day” Robb says at some point, cause man Theon was right, swimming really does help you when it’s too hot.

Theon shrugs in response, “It wouldn’t be as relaxing, with all your siblings playing around” he claims, as a matter of fact. As he should, since he’s right.

“Goddamn you’re right” Robb runs a hand through his face: he loves his little siblings, but he’s getting older and he needs his own privacy, right now more than ever. He needs his own place.

It takes Theon a few bites of the inside of his cheek before he manages to talk again, “You can come here anytime you want, you know. Even every day is fine.”

There, these are the kinds of “signals” Robb was talking about: Theon telling him he can come over everyday, Theon telling him he knows were to go if he doesn’t feel like staying at home with all that chaos for one night. He never says it explicitly though.

Today might be the day. If Robb pushes him enough.

“Oh yeah?” he says, feigning curiosity, “What about when you’re at work?”

Theon shrugs, “You do have a spare key”.

“That’s supposed to be for emergency only”.

Theon huffs, “You were literally lying half dead, ass in the air, in my bed because of the weather, that does look like an emergency”.

He’s not looking at him in the eyes, which always happens when he’s the one about to make an important decision or, in this case, offer, that involves both of them as a couple.

“And then... you know, it was good to come back home and find you there.” He’s blushing, “Even if I left for just five minutes, it’s... I like the thought of coming home and find you here. So, you can come here whenever you want”.

Robb finds himself smiling, as he approaches the big flamingo floats and crosses his arms on it.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Theon’s blush deepens, and he tries to hide it by rolling his eyes, “Well, yes there is something but...”

He doesn’t go on. Robb taps his knee, comfortingly.

“I’m listening”

Theon takes a deep, long huff. Runs both his hand through his hair and face. “God, I can’t believe I’m about to do this”.

He’s chuckling nervously, that’s another thing he does when he’s about to take a huge step in his, or their, life.

“Take your time”, Robb squeezes his knee.

“If you already figured that out then you could just give me an answer already”, that makes him laugh, but Robb definitely does not give in so easily.

“I want to hear you say it”, he claims, smiling at him as he’s taking the umpteenth deep breath.

“Okay, damn.” Theon finally looks at him in the eye. And then he says it, “Robb, do you want to move in with me?”

“Yes!”

Robb practically jumps on him as he’s screaming his answer, the pink flamingo flips upside down and their both underwater, Robb’s arms and legs wrapped around Theon. They’re both laughing when they make their way to the surface, Theon actually looks so happy he could cry.

They stop laughing only cause they both decide they should use their mouths to do something else, cause their previous make out session was probably a little too short.

And suddenly, even the pool it’s too hot for Robb, and for Theon too, most likely. But Robb doesn’t care, soon the sun will go down and the air will be a little cooler. And no one’s going to see them as they get it on in the soon-to-be-theirs-and-not-only-just-Theon’s pool.

Maybe Summer is not so bad. 

#throbb #theon x robb #throbb fic #throbb one shot #I don’t remember how I tagged the previous one oh well #anon #hope you like it and thanks for the prompt!😘

[too-kinky-to-live]

taste

happy vo.re day everyone!!! here’s my cringe fic to commemorate :-) 

(no ao3 link this time im too self conscious) 

this idea came about while talking to the lovely @chili-kinks and they made this in conjunction with my fic so please check them out!!

anyway this fic features pre.game oum.asai and soft, same size vo.re, you have been warned. also bad words

“IIIIT’S PUNISHMENT TIME!!!”

The screen cut to a large Monokuma towering over the latest blackened, a small blonde girl with a long pigtail. The demonic bear picked up the girl and began to lick all over as she struggled in his grasp. Slowly lifting her above his head, Monokuma bent his head back and opened the gates of hell: his half-fanged mouth, with drool beginning to form around it. The girl was screaming and flailing about as she was lowered further down to her demise. Monokuma’s fist released her without effort, the blackened dropping right into his gaping maw. It slammed shut with a metal clang, and the bear gave a loud, deafening gulp. 

Saihara’s eyes were glued to the T.V., in a more intense manner than usual. What a cruel way to go, even for Danganronpa standards. He had many ideas about his own execution someday, but this… this was definitely one to consider. He could only imagine how she felt wriggling around in his large belly, put to an eternal sleep with a comforting blanket of warmth. His shaky hands moved to text his boyfriend Ouma, who sadly couldn’t make it to their weekly Danganronpa viewing because of heaps of school projects. He knew Ouma was more into the mystery aspect of the show than the gruesome killings, but he simply couldn’t resist. 

Saihara: omgomgomg did you see the latest episode???

Ouma: I did. I had it on in the background so I could work. 

Saihara: what did you think of the execution? :D

Ouma: It was… something. Unexpected, definitely. 

It was difficult for the taller boy to contain his fantasizing, to say the least. 

Saihara: i love the way she was screaming for dear life,,, it was soooo satisfying in the end! god i wish i were monokuma… tasting a victim would be so worth ittt

Ouma: Uh, Saihara?

Saihara: yea?

Ouma: I think you should go to bed. You have school tomorrow. And… you’re scaring me a little. 

Saihara: sorry kichi… but fiiiine ill see you tomorrow.

The last thing he wanted was to make Ouma uncomfortable. And he was a man of his word, he’d take his advice and get to bed. However, there was one thing he wanted to try first. Rummaging around in his snack drawer, he found a small bag of Monokuma-themed gummy bears. He couldn’t stop thinking about having something whole run down his throat… and what better way to do it than try on a small candy? He frantically opened the bag and plucked out a red gummy. Dangling it above his drooling maw, he licked his lips. 

“My first victim… down the hatch!” 

He shoved the gummy in his mouth and had to stop himself from chewing. Positioning it for swallowing, he let it slide down his throat with a hard gulp. Saihara traced a hand over his chest to feel it going down to his stomach, shivering slightly. What an amazing feeling… he couldn’t chew these ever again! He happily shoved more in his mouth and gulped them down, pretending they were meek little prey against his predatory might. 

Saihara tossed the bag aside and rubbed his belly blissfully. One day, maybe he could have a person inside him. Despite his affinity for Danganronpa, he could never bring himself to kill someone. He was going to rely on Team Danganronpa’s directors to change that for him. No, he merely wanted someone in his belly for a while, just to feel what it’s like. 

Surely a normal human like him couldn’t achieve that, right? 

Only one way to find out. 

Ouma looked on nervously as Saihara effortlessly swallowed half a sandwich whole. His previous victims included sushi, apple slices, candy, cookies, and brownies. It was almost inhuman how the taller boy could open his mouth to fit a seemingly endless array of food. 

"Saihara, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Saihara simply chuckled. "I'll be fine, 'Kichi." 

The smaller boy knew Saihara had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Danganronpa, but he never would have imagined it would affect him this much. Despite how unnatural it was, Ouma couldn't help his morbid curiosity. He couldn't deny how interesting the latest execution was (no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise), and a small part of him absolutely loved watching Saihara scarf down food and seeing it travel down his throat. 

Nope, he definitely didn't enjoy this. 

Every so often, the taller boy would lift his food above him and slowly ease it into his mouth, as if to simulate eating a person. Ouma was immensely thankful the other patrons of the cafe were ignoring them. Maybe this sudden fascination would fade once the next Danganronpa episode came out; but with Saihara, anything was possible. 

Saihara: hey could you come over today? i wanna try something. 

Two weeks later, Ouma received a rather unceremonious text from Saihara one night. 

Ouma: Sure. What is it you want to try? 

Saihara: i don't think i can say over text

Ouma furrowed his brow, his mind racing to the absolute worst possible scenarios. Did something happen between him and his uncle again? 

Ouma: ...why not? 

Saihara: i just can't i'm sorry 

Saihara: pls come over asap 

Ouma: Alright.

It was unsettling how vague his friend was being, and that made him all the more worried. He hurriedly packed his things and ran to Saihara's house. 

The two sat across from each other on the floor in Saihara’s room, neither saying a word. The taller boy had his eyes cast down, deep in thought with Ouma left to wonder just what the hell happened to him. The air was unnerving, and Ouma couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you okay, Saihara?”

The boy in question took a second to look up at him, meeting his eyes with an emotionless face Ouma had not seen in him before. 

“Do you remember the episode where the girl got eaten alive?”

Oh.

“I… I want to try it out. I’ve been practicing so I could make it happen.”

Oh.

Saihara couldn’t possibly think this would work, right? Humans aren’t capable of eating each other without… killing the other. Ouma shuddered. 

“Saihara,” he spoke slowly. “Do you really think you can do this? I mean, Danganronpa is just fiction after all… and one of us wouldn’t s-survive,” his voice began to quiver. 

The taller boy sat up slightly and looked at Ouma with soft eyes. “I won’t let that happen. I’ve been looking stuff up. I’ve been training myself. And… you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

Part of Ouma didn’t want to. That part was constantly pushing the fact that this could end up very bad. However, another part slowly began to rise up - the feeling of being the closest he can to the one he has a crush on. And of course, there was that naughty side of him thrilled at the idea. 

“...I’ll do it.”

Saihara’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“I trust you. And, well, I’m kinda curious too.” 

Hearing Ouma have mutual feelings to this weird activity made Saihara’s heart race. The smaller boy began to remove his clothing, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his crush. Saihara finally noticed how bony Ouma was. He’d make sure to get him a proper meal later. Ouma removed everything but his boxers, feeling somewhat self-conscious and looking away with a blush. 

“Could you uh, close your eyes while I do this? I don’t think I could make eye contact with you.”

“S-Sure.”

Ouma complied and Saihara inched his way towards him, shaking slightly. Ouma trusted him. He wasn’t about to let that be for nothing. Raising himself above Ouma’s head, Saihara opened his maw until it became unhinged. He gently bit down on the smaller boy’s head of hair. The flavor was a sweet grape with a bit of lavender, which made Saihara drool slightly. He couldn’t help but smile in bliss as he took more of the boy in. He felt Ouma flinch a bit, so he brought his hands to Ouma’s arms and rubbed for reassurance. The smaller boy calmed down and Saihara reached his shoulders. 

Perhaps it was Ouma’s smaller stature, but this was going a lot easier than Saihara had anticipated. He wanted to lick at him to get more of his sweet flavor, but he didn’t want to gross him out. He also wished he could ask how Ouma was holding up, but, well… he was a bit preoccupied. As Saihara reached the smaller boy’s torso, he realized the boy had entered his stomach. He was already feeling full, but there was no going back now. He took a hand off of Ouma to rub his belly, his hand gliding over the dent created in it. Reaching Ouma’s boxers wasn’t nearly as thrilling of a milestone, since his taste was interrupted by bland fabric. 

He picked up the pace and shoved the covered part of Ouma’s body down his gullet. He mentally apologized for being so rough. Resuming the wonderful taste of Ouma, he slid down his spindly legs. All that remained was below the knees, and those were consumed just as quickly. Saihara could feel Ouma squirming a bit to get comfortable, and that’s when the true euphoria started. 

It felt fucking amazing. 

It was everything he hoped it would be. He leaned back and let an arm support him from behind, using the other to support the massive weight added to him. His stomach stretched past his knees with many bumps protruding from it. Red-faced, Saihara panted heavily with his tongue lavishly hanging out. God, this was so worth it. He rubbed around to feel for Ouma, who was surprisingly calm during the whole ordeal. 

He opened his mouth to ask Ouma how he was doing, but a massive belch burst from his lips instead. The smaller boy, meanwhile, was fumbling around trying to make out his surroundings in the dark. His body was drenched in saliva; but strangely, no stomach acid was present. The world quaked around him as Saihara let out a loud burp, and Ouma found it hard to be grossed out given his current circumstances. 

“Are you *urp* okay, ‘Kichi?” 

Saihara’s hand found Ouma’s head between the fleshy wall separating them, and Ouma couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He never saw himself in the stomach of his crush, yet here he was. 

“I’m okay. It feels… really nice,” he blushed, accentuated with a small rub to the stomach walls. He was amazed at how elastic Saihara’s stomach was, he hoped he wasn’t putting too much strain on it. 

“Haah… I’m great, ‘Kichi! The best I’ve ever felt, actually! You tasted incredible,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

Suddenly, the buttons on his dress shirt holding on for dear life relented and popped right off, exposing his large belly. That was… pretty hot, Saihara realized. Ouma started to rub more of the walls surrounding him, causing Saihara to moan rather loudly. He was a complete mess around his crush, but it was just too difficult to contain his bliss. 

“Saihara, why aren’t there any stomach acids yet?” 

The taller boy gave his belly a gentle pat. “I found recipes online for drinks that *hic* could subdue stomach acids for a bit. It looks *hic* like they worked pretty *hic* well, huh?” 

Ouma smiled and let himself lean back into the warm stomach walls. 

“You’ll let me out when I’m ready, right?” he asked tiredly. 

“Of course,” Saihara whispered, rubbing Ouma’s head.

“Thank you, Saihara.”

#hope yall enjoy #pora's fix

[onyoomi]

hooked. bokuto koutarou x reader

1.2k words of smut w our favourite owl, below the cut

you could blame it on the alcohol afterwards, you thought to yourself.

he cupped your face in his hands, admiring your features as he giggled to himself. you couldn’t help but stare into those golden yellow eyes of his- they looked as captivating as ever under this dim lighting.

the second you broke off eye contact to reposition yourself, he slammed you against the wall, prodding his tongue at the entrance of your plump lips. you considered resisting it just a bit, just to see him beg for it, but the way he pulled at your hair let your passion take over your mind. with your lips slightly parted, he eagerly slid his tongue into yours, pushing you harder against the wall as he closed off the gap between your chests. with his right hand on the wall, supporting his weight, his other hand twiddled with the hem of your shirt as it sneakily travelled up to your stomach.

after tracing his fingers on your skin for a bit, you could feel his hesitant hands fumbling with the hem of your bikini top. without breaking contact, you pushed his hand in, signalling him to go for it. the kiss between the two of you deepened as he leaned in closer, as his left hand began to caress your breasts.

“is this okay?”

you nodded eagerly in response, your fingers lightly tapping on his bare chest. he skillfully fondled them around, teasing and pinching your buds in a manner that hit all the right spots in you. his warm hand felt comforting on you, almost- but it felt more pleasurable than all the times you’ve done it yourself, sending jolts of pleasure down to your crotch as you involuntarily jerked due to the pleasure.

he brought his hand down to your stomach, before playing with the band of your panties sneakily. he stretched them wide enough to let some of the air in, but it wasn’t big enough for him to slide his fingers in. as you revelled in the feeling, he suddenly brought his hand out, before rubbing his knuckles on your clothed slit. you ground your slit on his bony hand, craving for every bit of pleasurable friction that came with it.

“so wet for me already, princess? your panties are wet,” he teased, while grinding his hand harder against your clothed wetness.

bringing his gaze to meet yours, he made eye contact with you as he pushed the cloth aside, before slowly but surely sliding a finger into you as your gummy walls started to twitch around his finger. you bit your lip in efforts of suppressing your moans of pleasure, but he put a finger to your lips and pulled them down.

“you don’t have to be quiet, baby. make noises for me.”

losing your restraint, you let out a few lewd noises, only for him to perk up and smile at you.

“you sound so good like this, babygirl- so desperate for me. just wait until i fill you up so much that you’ll be on crutches tomorrow,” he panted, simultaneously curling his fingers within your walls to hit that sweet spot of yours.”

he hastily pulled his finger out, then slid it in again and did that motion repeatedly, until you could feel your walls pulsing and tightening around his thick digits. smirking with confidence, he put another finger in your wetness as you could feel the start of your euphoria pulsing down there, filling the storage closet with the echoing boom of his deep moans and your heavy breathing.

gently, he rested his palm on your cheek, as opposed to how rough he was doing you down there- but you didn’t mind one bit. it felt good, to be frank- something you totally did not expect from him. even though you've repeated this motion with yourself countless times, it hit differently when someone else was doing all the work- the sparks of pleasure sent shivers up your spine, causing you to tilt your head back, leaving the skin of your neck exposed to the cooler air outside.

“m-mmph,” you moaned, as you felt the start of your pleasure tingling your nerves. “keep your fingers there for a bit?”

his fingers suddenly stopped from the rough and sloppy motions as he straightened them out for you to ride out your high. you clawed down on his shoulders, scrunching your face at the pleasure as you felt the delightful friction burning up your insides.

“ah frick- babe, your walls pulsing on my fingers feels so good. i wish my length was in there-” he panted, “can’t wait to fill you up so good.”

you continued grinding on him as he felt his blood rush to his crotch, slowly hardening up his member, you prodded at the tent in his pants, your mouth dripping with saliva as he moved his fingers around inside you for a bit.

“so wet for me already, baby girl? are you sure you can take m-”

out of the blue, there were a few knocks on the door, followed by a giggly voice and loud footsteps.

“alright, seven minutes is up, you guys can come out now.”

the sexual tension broke off between the two of you- how dare they ruin the moment? you suddenly became aware of your surroundings- your body was half naked, with all the important parts exposed. his toned chest was bare, glistening with drops of sweat. his usual gelled hair looked unkempt, with a few stray strands sticking out here and there. you let out an awkward chuckle, before he pulled your chin towards his and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“we should p-probably head back now,” you stammered, “and make sure to wear your clothes properly.”

“do you mind?” he asked, while pulling at your clothes to fix them.

as you shook your head, he let out a soft laugh. “thank you for just now,” you said, “oh, and good luck dealing with that,” you laughed, pointing to the bulge in his shorts.

the moment your friends caught sight of the two of you- with his shirt sloppily pulled on, leaving his exposed shoulders stained with your lipstick and your disheveled hair, they exchanged suggestive smirks and glances as they reached for the bottle to spin it once more.

“should have left you guys in there for longer, huh?”

-

part of the seven minutes in heaven collab by @ardorwrites-hq-mha !! you can find the masterlist here !!

thank youu @hakueishirei my goddess for beta-ing this!!

#seven minutes in heaven #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #original writing #haikyuu!! #hq!! #hq #bokuto kotarou #oh my god did I seriously write this #why are there notes on this #this is literally the only fic on this blog please hkfhdjhd

[certifiedskywalker]

Love to Last - Ben Hargreeves

AN: Yes, I know the title is cheesy! Just go with it! This is based off of a request from maddiepratt and the idea stuck!

You had been close with the Hargreeves siblings for years; despite the wishes and will of Reginald. Without care, you would sneak them out of their training routines for donuts and intertwine the thread of your life with theirs. Though, it was Ben was the one that permanently tied your fate to the Hargreeves. He fell in love with you and you with him. So when he died, you mourned with his siblings, Klaus especially. You followed him, them, as they were your last connection with Ben. Or so you thought.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

“Did it?”

“We’re alive aren’t we?”

“Is that better?”

“Y/N,” Klaus turned and you felt his hand grip yours. “Hey, it will be-”

“He’s still….he’s really gone?” Klaus squeezed his hand and you found the courage to meet his sad eyes. His green eyes studied you with worry and you felt your gut twist with guilt. “Sorry, I just...was hoping for a different answer.” 

Klaus frowned and nudged your shoulder with his. “What song said that if you do things over and expect a different outcome you’re insane? There’s some wisdom in that.”

“I think that was Albert Einstein and that’s not exactly what he said.” Klaus shrugged and gave your hand another tight squeeze.

“Potato, potato! You’ll drive yourself crazy if you keep asking and, Ben, he wouldn’t want that for you. That a selfless bastard.”

“Y-Yeah,” you whispered as you turned your eyes back out to the snow-laden field. You tried to remember the last time you enjoyed the snow. It had to be years back, when you were young and still helping the more rebellious Numbers of the Umbrella Academy sneak out of their prison-like rooms. Distant, hazy memories of snow ball fights and hot chocolate and Ben.

If you closed his eyes you could still see his smile. You could feel his gloved hands clasping yours with warmth and care. Ben was always careful with you. It was almost as if he were scared of breaking or scaring you. He told you once that he would live up to his moniker ‘The Horror’ in the worst ways. Perhaps that was why he was so kind or maybe it was simply the way he was, goodness etched into his bones. 

Whatever the case, you fell for him. There were times that you felt as if the drop would never end. Until, one day, Ben caught you and kissed you like nobody was watching. How sweet it all had been, untainted even by Reginald’s cruelty. Ben made sure his father’s vileness never once chilled the warmth of your shared love. Together, you built and lived in a perfect little world full of hopeful kisses. 

Then Ben died. The Umbrella Academy crumbled, the numbers splitting apart and into their own lives. You stuck with Klaus for selfish and unselfish reasons. Like Ben, you worried about Klaus and his less-than-savory habits. At points after Ben’s death, you even lived with the strange man. You were there for him and he was there for you.

There was the added bonus of Klaus’ power. When he was sober enough, he could act as a sort of middle man for you and Ben. It wasn’t the same as before, but it comforted you in knowing that Ben was still around. At your loneliest, you imagined that you could feel the bed dip as Ben laid by your side, unseen by you but there nonetheless. 

But now that comfort was gone. Ben had saved you and his siblings, the world, but he was gone. He was truly, really gone.

“You did it though,” Klaus’ voice cut through your thoughts and memories. You turned your gaze away from the snow to look at him. His green eyes were pensive, distant as he looked out at the horizon.

“Did what?”

“You and Ben were the exception to the Hargreeves love rule. You guys, you were strong and if it wasn’t for…you would’ve lasted....”

Klaus trailed off and shook his head. Tears welled up in your eyes when you noticed the frown on his face. You leaned your heavy head on his shoulder and took a shaking breath. When you closed your eyes, you could feel the wet tears fall and run down your cheeks.

“I miss him,” you whimpered. “I don’t know how to do this without him.”

“I know, I know.” Klaus’ voice trembled as he spoke. “We can do it together. We’ve made it this far, the time-traveling, the conspiracy hunting, the…”

You opened your eyes as he struggled to find the words. In the hopes of feeling better you added, “the cult creating?”

Klaus let out a small, breathy laugh, “yes. And the cult creating. He did help with that though. To give him credit.”

“I don’t think he would want credit for that.”

“You’re right, but he helped anyway,” Klaus leaned away from you to look into your eyes. Like yours, his were rimmed red with tears but there was a smile on his face. “You did too, Y/N. I can never thank you enough for being there with me.”

You felt another tear slip down your cheek before throwing your arms over Klaus’ shoulders. “You don’t need to thank me. When I gave Ben my heart, he gave me a family.”

As the sentiment fell from your lips, any tension Klaus was holding fall away. His arms tightened around you, holding you impossibly close. Klaus’ hugs were lingering, almost desperate, but in them there was the same softness Ben held for you. When you pulled away, wiping at your eyes, you heard someone shout in the distance.

You and Klaus looked over to see Five, briefcase in hand, waving the two of you over. With a sigh, Klaus got to his feet and stretched. You spared one last lingering glance at the already melting snow and stood as well. Before you could speak up, Klaus extended a hand to you with a gentle smile.

“You ready to go home?”

You thought of Ben, his old room at the Umbrella Academy. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Oh sweet precious, twenty-nineteen! I will not take you for granted,” Klaus announced, arms stretched up the foyer ceiling in relief. You and the Hargreeves siblings were back, finally, in your time. It had been so long yet the Academy looked as if no time had passed. Any evidence of the first apocalypse that drew you into the mess was gone.

“Careful,” Five warned, “we don’t know if the world is exactly the same as we left it. I landed us hours before Vanya blew up the moon.”

“Either way, we deserve a drink,” Diego quipped, following Klaus into the living quarters. The thought of the bar was appealing and so was the idea of lying down on the couch. Eager to rest, you followed the siblings further inside. 

The scents of old books and flame reached your nose, thrusting you back into sweeter memories. Nights, evenings that felt so long ago now, spent wrapped up with Ben while he read to you. Longing overwhelmed you as you stepped past the shelves of tomes. For a moment, you were so awash in fondness that you nearly ran into Diego’s sturdy frame. 

“Hey,” you said, nudging his shoulder. When he didn’t budge, you looked up to his face. His attention was turned towards the fireplace, mouth open as he took in the scene. As you turned to look as well, you felt Klaus grab your hand.

“Ben?” Your eyes studied the painting hanging against the wall. The man in the portrait looked different, with longer hair and colder eyes; but there was no mistaking it. Captured on canvas and in oil paint was Ben. 

“Five, what hap-”

“And who are you?”

Laced with a cruel chill, the voice was immediately recognizable. You and the Hargreeves siblings turned your eyes to the bar to find Reginald looking at you all, wide eyed. 

“Dad?” As Allison asked, you felt Klaus’ grip on your hand tighten.

“Dad? No. Who are you?” Reginald leaned towards you all and, under his frigid gaze, you felt your chest tighten. Even in this seemingly parallel world, Reginald Hargreeves was still the sort of man that Ben would protect you from.

“Your kids,” Luther chimed in, “and Y/N. We’re the Umbrella Academy. We’re home.”

“No, you’re at the Sparrow Academy.” With a flourish, Reginald lifted a bony hand up to the second level of the living quarters. You followed the movement and found a group of shadowy figures looming like ghosts shrouded in the darkness. One stepped forward with a confidence you once saw in Luther; Reginald had a new Number One. 

However, when the figure’s face was hit with light coming in from a window, you lost all sense of coherent thought. Those features, those eyes once kind. 

“Ben?”

You heart ached at the sight of him. His hair was daringly close to covering his dark eyes but it wasn’t enough to obscure him. That was Ben, just not your Ben. Klaus gripped your hand a bit tighter and you met his wild gaze. This wasn’t what Klaus meant when he said that you and Ben would last. 

But what if it was a second chance?

#this is my first time writing for Ben #I hope this is alright #ben hargreeves #tua spoilers #tua imagine #tua imagines #tua fanfic #tua fanfiction #ben hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves imagines #ben hargreeves fanfiction #ben hargreeves fanfic #tua season 2 #tua s2 #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy fanfic #ben hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves

[bloodpenned]

Kylar fic anon here.

Decided to write a little prequel to the Kylar fic since it seemed in demand.

--------------------------------------------------

You wish you had believed Bailey when they said your kindness would kill you one day. Maybe then you wouldn't have ended up in some psychopath's basement, in a room barely big enough to keep you from suffocating.

You were just trying to be nice, when you helped Kylar gather his things after that fight, and when you seeked him out even after that. He looked so small and lonely, as he sat on that park bench alone. He kind of reminded you before you met Robin. And just like Robin had helped you out of your misery, you wanted to help him too.

And look where that had gotten you.

Your eyes were heavy with unshed tears and your throat felt like sandpaper from all the screaming you had been doing when you still had hope that someone would hear you.

Why did God let this happen to you? Was this punishment for something you had done? Was this some sort of necessarry sacrifice? But instead of being nailed to a cross you were tied to a chair, the ropes eating at your skin, slowly burning into your flesh with each passing day.

You didn't know if it was a good thing that they didn't hurt anymore. In fact you could barely feel them, much like your own body.

He told you he would only sedate you, but you knew in your soul you wouldn't get up from here on your own accord again. The sounds of the television felt too faint, your own limbs too foreign, keeping your eyes open too much of a chore to even entertain the idea that you were doing anything but dying.

You were thinking about Robin as the warm embrace of death enveloped you. You wished you could've seen them once more. Heard the melody of their voice or even allowed yourself to hold their hands in yours.

How cruel that what everyday was once felt like a daydream now. You at least hoped you could carry their memory with you to the other side.

But before eternal sleep had finally taken you, you saw something from the corner of your eye. The turning of your head felt like an eternity, and through the mist of death you met the gaze of a shapeless figure tucked in human's clothes. You didn't know where to look for their eyes, but you felt them burning into your skin.

For a moment you wondered if it was death themselves when it approached. It's hands felt like water splashing on your skin as they undid the binds of your wrists and legs.

'I'm ready.' you said.

'I'm not here to take you.' they responded in a voice that sounded like everything you've ever heard and nothing at all.

'Who are you then? Are you a ghost?'

'I'm here to offer you a deal, child.'

'Are you the Devil then? I heard they do this sort of thing.' your voice cracked from the sudden pressure of speaking so much again 'And what kinda deal you offering me?'

'Like the sort your so-called Devil makes. You get something, anything your heart desires, really, and I receive something in return.'

'Can you make it that this whole ordeal doesn't happen? Me getting kidnapped, I mean. Can you do that?'

'Of course I can. I' m not a charlatan, when I say I can give you anything, I can actually deliver upon my word.'

'Alright. You can work out the details, just do it fast. I don't want to be here anymore.'

'What exactly do you want me to do?'

'I already told you!' you felt like crying. Whether this thing in front of you was just a death-induced dream, or actual reality, you wanted to see the end of this, and fast.

'I need details.'

'I don't know, turn back time or something. Just get me out of here already.'

'Here is what I tell you.' it said as it leaned onto the chair you still didn't have the chance to stand up from 'It takes the human soul about two weeks in your time to leave the body. When your soul leaves, I will turn back the clock.'

'How much?'

'Two weeks before this should do fine for you, right? November 3rd.'

November 3rd. You didn't remember what you did on that day, you don't even know what day of the week it was. It was just an ordinary day for you, one like any other before all this.

It was perfect.

'And what do you want in return?'

'I would ask for your soul, but you have something else you could give me. Something you don't even realize you have.'

'What?'

'His soul.'

'Whose soul?'

'The one who got you down here. That shabby kid, whatever their name was.'

'How could I give you his soul?'

'Well, he gave it to you. Don't you remember how many times he gave you ownership over himself? His heart, his body, his money. And not to leave out, his soul.'

'It doesn't work like that.'

'Words hold power. It does work like that.'

It extended its hand towards you.

'So, what do you say?'

'Will he be aware that I did this, if I give you his soul?'

'No, but if you choose to give his over yours, I can't erase his memories of what happened here.'

'What will happen to him, if I-'

'Choose now, I don't have all day.'

A long moment passed as you eyed its hand, and then looked down at your own. Ropeburns bloodied your wrists, the red liquid and little pieces of wood stuck under your nails from struggling.

You stared into the shapelessness of its face as you next spoke.

'His soul.'

'His soul.' it repeated as you shook its hand.

It all faded to black within a second. Warmth surrounded you.

For a moment you suspected you died and the mysterious entity was a just a desperate fragment of your imagination. Wouldn't have been the first time life gave you useless hope.

But then the warmth shifted. You could feel it snuggling into your side, it's long, bony hands wrapping around your abdomen.

Then it felt as though every joint and cell in your body had burst open at the same time, a painful firework of emotions flooding into you as you sat up, heaving like an animal, grabbing onto anything to was around you like a madman.

Something fell to the floor, and light blinded you.

'Did you have a nightmare?' the person asked as they stood up from the floor, hands leaving the burron of your nightlight.

'Robin?' you asked, not daring to look at them 'Is that you?

'Yeah, sorry I startled you. Should've came in when you were still awake.'

You were speechless for a second, when you finally dared to look at them. You had never seen someone so beutiful in your life before.

'It's fine. Everything' s fine.' you said as your gaze fell to your lap, tears slowly beginning to gather in the corner of your eyes.

The bed shifted as they climbed bad onto it, their arms embracing you, hands pulling your head to their chest.

'Did you have a nightmare?'

'No, nothing like that.' you smiled up at them 'Or maybe yes, I don't know anymore.'

'Alright. But if anything is wrong you should talk to me. Always.'

You pulled away only when your sobbing subsided and your heart calmed down enough that its hammering stopped hurting your ribs.

'We' re barely past midnight. Let's get some sleep.'

And the two of you settled bad onto your bed, with their arm over you and your head buried in the curve of their shoulder.

'Robin?'

'Hmm?'

'What day is it?'

'Wednesday.'

'No, the date.'

'November 2nd, I think. No, that was yesterday. It's the third now.' they said 'Why, was there an assigment due nowadays that I forgot about?'

'No, you're fine. Everything' s fine.'

A smile was plastered onto your face as you drifted off to sleep.

well, here's your answer, anon!

#EYE EMOJI THO............... #pc gets a happy ending for once in their goddamn lives LMAO #thank you for sending in sm writing!!!! take breaks tho!!! #long post #submission

[seijohsfairy]

𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙳

rhi, this is for you ♡ remember when you said mafia seijoh and i said i’d write it?? but then i got super distracted with other fics and never did the thing? weLL I FINALLY FINISHED IT. she’s cut up into two parts bc i didn’t want to make it too long but part 2 should be up soon for @/seijorhi​ & massive, big fat ty to @/xplosiveboy​

.wordc. 3k+ tw mafia!big 4, noncon, sexual harassment, yandere, coercion

horrid pt 2

It was written somewhere in your favorite library, on a vacant page of the grimy literature textbook stuffed between two shelves maybe, you read it just once. Back then you didn’t care much for the radical, unwilling to trust the faith of someone destroying what wasn’t theirs to begin with. Long, curved words littering the white; claiming full of hate that the poison our mind makes is the most powerful decay, that humans are the most horrid of creatures.

Back then you’d closed the book, sliding it back into place and tucking the knowledge far back into your mind, unwilling to use such a straight-set line of thinking on a world which had given you life, gifted you virtue and loudness. So terrifying; but splendid. You had swallowed, light and unwavering in the knowledge that you were still capable of processing, and giving kindness. You had settled above the cold of those words, thinking them sickly and rotten.

But you didn’t forget, the fire of them on the curve of the page. Or rather, you couldn’t.

It isn’t unlike you to falter in your step, feet rushing ahead faster than your mind can catch up and taking those half-hearted fumbles as just what it needs, before granting you another dash of mindless cadance. Not lost but wanting to reach home a bit faster, slicing off the unnecessary travel so you’d be able to cuddle up in a blanket a second sooner. Even without anything waiting for you on the other end. So you correct your balance for long enough to notice the long straight between brick walls, the direction of it catching your eye more than anything of value. The buildings here are taller, stubbier in their set size and darker, like the grime of the city has never been washed off them.

You’re small in between, but that has never stopped you before. You wonder if you could take that road, rush it. An alternative for the boring path you’re supposed to take. The monotony aches. You’re young, invincible, not having existed nearly long enough for something truly horrible to happen. Unbalanced, in a way.

But you’re not foolish either, and wasting precious time is the exact opposite of what you want. You bite your lip, carefully crossing the street to peek into the alley. Littered, wet, vacant. Until the breeze picks up and ruffles your hair, calling out for disaster. Unwilted flowers and those dusted grey to the core aching to meet, to make the balance even.

A show of red, white and black in the form of a man, and one that has your chest craving to be leveled with his. It isn’t that you haven’t been blown away by beauty before, but equality is something else entirely. Those things are weighty in their presence, heavy enough to break your reasoning and to have you rolling forward without will of your own. The heavy-set darkness of his eyes, his hair, his dress shirt. As if he wants to melt into the background, yet everything about him seems to demand attention. The bony points of his hands and fingers are bloodied, chafed and red shows through the split skin where his nose is lowest. But he fuels your wonder with a dignity, leaning against the metal door just as practiced as the cigarette held between his lips.

Never would you be more aware of your foolishness than looking back on that instant. But sadly you only figure that out long after you allow your body to drift towards him. Your kindness hasn’t failed you yet. It does crumble slightly when the weight of his gaze falls on you, staring your way like you’re a broken record disturbing his peace. But even in your clumsy approach you are obviously good and innocent, dragging closer. The pitter-patter of your feet against the wet concrete is shy, it drips from your lips. And beasts hidden in the cracks of society always sniff out that kind of virtue. “Excuse me,” you say. “Do you know where this alley leads?”

It’s a silly thing, more close to an excuse to speak than true curiosity but it has his mind churning. He blows out a white cloud beside your face, picking the destructive thing from between his lips with a tick of his brow. The tilt of his head in the way you had motioned leaves you tense, used breath building in your lungs, your tongue rubbing on the roof of your mouth like it has something to scrub away. “Don’t think you wanna go that way,” he simply says, eyeing you up and down with the languid movements of a lioness not yet bothering to stretch her muscles, “it’s dark and scary down there.” The glint in his hazel-greens should remind you of water pulling far back from the beach. It does remind you of it, but for reasons beyond you it doesn’t quite click.

So you puff out your chest, basking in the tiny bit of confidence you house to nod. “I think I can handle it,” you smile. As you consider your chances of making it to the other end, a feeling of irony comes to press on your shoulder. Sucking at the brave front until you’re all but left a shivering deer on two dainty legs. It feels colder here than it did on the main street.

So you look back only once at the handsome stranger, bowing in gratitude. “T-thank you, I— I’ll be going now.” Polite despite the tremble you feel, you were raised to be good. He only tilts his head in response, choosing silence the moment you wish for anything else, but you too are at a sudden loss. You turn on your heel and start tiptoeing away from the vast security of the street to drown yourself in sudden doubt in your ability. Most times you experience the opposite. You know the feeling of living, breathing with no worry, well and polishing your renewed understanding only later.

But the path his eyes take in chase of your body has a stickiness, and you can’t help but imagine he has already eaten you up in his mind, walking away with sweat on your palms. Two bangs sound against the metal, leaving you skittishly darting forward with your nails pulled into your palms. It’d be easier to pretend to be strong if you had a bit more faith in your own destructive power. Should you be a monster of preposterous size in the body of a cowering young woman, it’d be easy to push away the need to check, to make sure that you are not under threat. But you’re painfully human, so you glance over your shoulder anyway.

The handsome man has already slipped back into the building, but the memory of his expression gives you goosebumps. A reminder that humans are greedy in nature even when you don’t want them to be. You let the tense air out between parted lips, continuing down the wet curve of the buildings until a creak up ahead calls your attention. Against the darkness where another door swings open, two figures come out into the chill of the falling evening. You envy them for a moment, as they are not alone and you are, but then your feet halt to let your thoughts churn. The men, one with pretty, brown hair and the other a strawberry blond color, don’t need to search to find what they are looking for. The sharp eyes are turned your way the moment they exit the bruised building.

And you blink a few times, before taking a step back in the narrow space. They stand at the door with a stony confidence. Running now is definitely proof that you are not as brave as you pretended, but you can’t help it. With a deep breath you turn back, suddenly feeling hurried. No one reason could be good enough to put yourself into the jaw of an animal willingly, definitely not one as feeble as yours. You scurry back around the corner with a speed that would go unnoticed by most, but still you have to stable yourself again when you connect with another body. It catches you, wraps a large hand around your arm and you look up to express your gratitude by habit.

It’s another tall person, dark curly hair and a surprised expression. Something about his touch is debasing, seeming to latch onto every single one of your fibers. If it had only been this, it would leave you starving, your greedy heart categorizing everything under love at first sight— though you are barely old enough to have liked properly. But the contact is too long to sit well, your body straightening from him as best you can. “S-sorry,” you begin, silencing yourself with a gasp. The brunet of earlier, as well as the other two are upon you already, the presence of four men surrounding you so suddenly a frightening thing. “I- I’m sorry,” you mumble again, though it is lost in the intrigued gazes. They crowd around you before you can think of what you should do.

One of them shoots you a grin bright as the sun, leaning over your shoulder to come into view. “Look at you being the gentleman, Mattsun. You saved the cute girl from falling down!” You are still held onto by the curly haired man, who shrugs off the compliment with an indifferent expression. The cheerful one clicks his tongue, before rounding back on you with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. The weightlessness he carries reminds you of something out of a fairy tale. Bright, obnoxiously cheerful. “What are you doing here, gorgeous? How old are you, you in college?” Voice lithe, sweet on your tongue like honey.

So you try to straighten up, dropping your lip from between your teeth. “Y-yes,” you say, to be interrupted by another voice. This one is more familiar, the first of the few. Tanned skin, handsome at every angle.

“All alone like this?” he breathes, “you must be pretty brave.” With an endless intrigue laced in his eyes, you’re pulled closer to the man with dark, spiky hair by your free hand. You stumble forward with the sudden shift. If you were ever an angel, your wings are useless now. And something tells you these men will make sure that soon they’ll be no more. He only smiles when you have to steady yourself on his chest with gentle fingertips, keeping you close to his warm body. But eager, it plays on his lips like you’re the thing he’s been looking to find for hours, maybe days. He lets out a chuckle at your dumbfounded expression. “I’m Iwaizumi, that’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa.” He waits a moment, smiling wider when you don’t show any recognition at it. “What’s your name?”

You’re so overwhelmed that it’s hard to even sound out the syllables. Your name doesn’t matter, you don’t disillusion yourself to think any of it matters, truly. But the looks remain even when you hesitate, and you find yourself speaking aloud. Though you barely get your name past your lips before you’re turned around by your shoulder, your response setting them alight. You’re left glancing up into a happy grin and pink hair. “You’re dressed up pretty. Nice skirt,” he coos, picking at the edge of it just once before leaning his face a bit closer to yours. “You’re pretty all over, you know that? Really pretty,” he draws out the sound until it sounds almost comical. “Right, Mattsun?”

You believe him when he says it, he looks at you like you’re shining, reflecting light like a diamond. The compliment, not your first but never truer, stews in your veins and boils your blood. There’s a vague hum from behind you, the man who caught you in your fall putting his big hands on your shoulders. Content to be near, if for a moment. With your constantly shifting gaze, you miss the lines on their hands and arms, the overwhelming smell of different colognes mixed with the smell of blood. “Not gonna say ‘thank you’?” He pouts.

“Tha—”

“Be nice, Makki!” The voice drowns out yours. “She’s just flustered. Right?” The unintroduced man smiles down at you again, his pretty face coming so close you can feel hit breaths tickle your cheeks. Kind or not, you jerk back instinctively. He continues, unbothered. “Sweet girls like her aren’t used to this. But we’re not so bad, I promise.” His pretty hand comes up to brush your hair back, cooing when your skin turns up the degrees more. Stupid, silly, your mind screams; it’s like your feet have been cemented to the floor. Like you’ve been here for centuries, and finally someone’s come to worship you.

Though his hand is shoved away from you rather harshly, with a frown. “Oi,” Iwaizumi growls, “let us do it ourselves, Oikawa.” He turns back to you with a certitude, closer and though you try to back away you’re only met with the hard lines of the person behind you. Mattsun still has his hands on your shoulders, rubbing comforting circles into the thin fabric of your blouse. Quiet, but not forgotten. You don’t dare look away from Iwaizumi though, his pretty eyes dark enough to make your heart jump uncomfortably against your ribcage. “He’s right though,” the noiret’s voice sinks low, “we’re not so bad. I think you’d like to see, huh?”

The words feel claustrophobic, your eyes widening. You glance at their faces in confusion, switching between each person quick enough to make you dizzy. “Uhm- I,” you stutter, but a brush up your leg has you gaping, frozen. “I don’t-” The cold fingers trail up the inside of your thigh, too high.

“Of course she does, look how nervous she looks.” Makki is so close now he’s molded to your side, the other men not far behind. “So precious,” he coos. “Here, take my hand for a second.” It is put in your field of vision like a peace offering, the breaths on your neck feeling suffocating. But with his long fingers opened invitingly, it’s almost easy to believe they have good intentions. You give in and drop your smaller hand in his, if only to get rid of the revering stare. Hiro grins wider though, and laces your fingers with his. He giggles, softly. “Like this, isn’t it so easy to just,” he drops your interlaced hands to brush up against his crotch, “put them here.” Every muscle in your body seems to quiver, but spun too tight to move. “You like it, right?” he taunts when you look down at the floor, holding your hand in place stubbornly. “Eheh, I can tell.”

“W-please stop,” you try to pull away, but the grip on your hand only tightens, thumb pressing down hard enough that you jerk back from the pain. “Aw, aw!” It’s painful, like your bone will shatter if he moves wrong, and the harder you pull back the more he clamps down. “That hurts!” you gasp, turning away in Issei’s hold.

“Such a good girl, look at you,” Iwaizumi says, his hands sliding around your waist to secure you a spot against him. You’re struggling now but there’s hands all over. More touch, more overwhelming motions to keep you near. You’re tucked into Mattsun’s chest, each swell of his chest brushing against your shoulder blades. And your cheek is pressed against a face, someone who starts pressing small kisses there. “You’re precious, I could just eat you right up.” Hajime grabs your face to turn it more towards him. On the inside you want to bare your teeth, show your claws and rip yourself out of the fragile shell, but then he presses a kiss to your forehead and all your fight sinks away. You were never the warlike type. You’re small, frightened and worst of all, cowardly. He smiles over your shoulder. “Right?”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” the tallest behind you grins, his deep voice shaking your body in his hold. “Just look at her.” One of his hands slips under the edge of your blouse, sparking like a smoldering ember. Though you start whimpering in their arms, he smiles. “Are you scared, little girl?” he chuckles, hovering his lips over your ear long enough to give you goosebumps. Your breathing is laboured, unable to stop the whimper that comes out.

“Pretty face, pretty hands, pretty legs,” Hanamaki names, his lips glued to the curve of your neck, “I bet you have a pretty tummy too.” He slips his free hand easily under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it away from your skin and you try to push him away to no avail. Though the pressure of his grip on you is anything but playful, he’s grinning like there’s no worry in his mind. “And pretty tits.”

“Guys,” Oikawa breaks the moment to motion his head towards the door then, already holding it open as the stroking continues. “If you would, please.” They’re suddenly pulling away from you, all but Mattsun who turns you in his hold and wraps your arms around his body, picking you up. His large hands under your butt, he chuckles when you gasp at the touch. Your arms are pulled over Issei’s shoulders and grabbed tight, forcing you in place.

You’d been overwhelmed, stunned and frightened, but when Iwa looks at you like you’re a new toy he can’t wait to use, to break; the building feeling shifts into something else. Terror.

“No, no, nononono,” you start pulling back against the brunet, looking around at the four men with big eyes. You try to kick your legs so that he’ll drop you, get fed up, anything. But he carries you into the building without a problem, much stronger than your pitiful attempt. “I have to get home, I can’t come with you,” you squeak, bristling when someone laughs. It’s a mean sound, cold and vicious and it makes your faltering heart drop. There’s an explosion of— some emotion or other, a stutter in your capacity to take in the world. You can only open your eyes wider, hoping that some sense comes through with it.

Excitement and fear always have a similar taste on your tongue, close enough in their thickness to mistake one for the other until it crawls out of your throat with a violent gasp for life. But this is more bitter, a feeling you recognize as panic too late.

“Let go! Let me go!! I don’t want to be here,” you rasp, the feeling slipping out in tears of stress at the corners of your eyes. The door is shut, casting you and them in darkness together.

“Yes, you do.” It’s Oikawa, though you can’t see him. The touch dragging up your back is enough to leave you with shivers. “We’re only going to take a second of your time, promise.” You’re carried deeper into this hall, the cold and draft the least of your worries. Part of you wants to scream, wants to bite and kick until you’re out of the door and as far away from them as you can. But a bigger part of you is more afraid of what they’ll do in retaliation, so you just bite your lip and try to control your tears.

“Hey, we promise,” the strawberry blond echoes, slipping around the tallest to shove his lips to yours. A deep rumble comes from his chest when you tilt your head away from him and against Mattsun’s neck instead. But he’s undeterred, instead pressing a few kisses to your wrist. “We’ll take real good care of you.” You can’t shake the feeling that their promises count for nothing. And as his long, scarred fingers tangle with yours like a mimicry of comfort, you can’t help but wonder. If those words on that page were written with so much conviction because the thing penning them down was the same as these men. Beastly, ungrateful monsters.

//

part 2 coming soon

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clan part 8! @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz

Michelangelo didn't have the slightest idea where he would find a time seamer. He wasn’t even sure he knew what a time seamer was! He assumed it was something to do with time, since it was right there in the name, but beyond that he had no idea. When he was faced with the possibility of having to do such a daunting task alone, his brothers all busy with their own missions, it only served to make his mind even more blank. He couldn’t do this alone— not something as important as this! So he decided to call the most knowledgeable yokai he knew to help.

“DRAXUM! HI!” Michelangelo ran forward, hugging Baron Draxum’s bony body and giving quick, excited chirps. almost like a kitten who wasn’t quite sure how to meow yet.

“Hello orange turtle child.” Draxum sighed and brought his hands to rest on Michelangelo’s shell, though it wasn’t quite a hug. “What’s the problem this time?”

“How do you know there’s a problem?”

Baron Draxum raised an eyebrow. He pulled away and crossed his arms, tapping his right pointer finger on his left bicep as he waited. Michelangelo, knowing he had been called out, decided to just get to the point before Draxum judged him even harder.

“Okay, sooo…” Michelangelo explained everything quickly, which seemed too fast for Draxum to keep up with. Several times he asked Michelangelo to slow down or repeat words. Both parties were relieved when Michelangelo finally reached the end of his story. “...and now I need to find a time seamer! Do you know of any yokai it might be?”

“Hm…” Draxum tapped his lip, his eyes staring off into the distance as the cogs churned in his mind. “The… name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There are so many yokai with so many variations that it would be impossible to deny such a creature’s existence. Some yokai are known to be able to manipulate time, but such creatures are the old yokai and they still live in their homelands. There are certainly none here in the city that I know of, but I doubt I know every yokai.”

By then, Baron Draxum was practically ignoring Michelangelo as he started to pace, lost in his own thoughts. If Michelangelo hadn’t moved out of the way, the faun would have trodden on him. The box turtle was used to the lost look and calculating eyes, so he just stood by and patiently waited for Draxum to get his words out.

“Hm… I am of no use to you on my own without knowledge of such creatures, but I suppose I could aid in your search by increasing your chances of accidentally running into someone who does know...” Baron Draxum’s eyes sparked to life quite suddenly and he snapped. “And I know just the place!”

***

Donatello had wanted to fly in a helicopter, but he always imagined it would be with his brothers and April and Splinter. Not alone thousands of feet in the air with a bunch of armed guards he didn't know and didn't dare try to. For all his confidence and ambition, he was just as anxious as Raphael was in new environments, except without the violent outbursts of uncontrollable aggression. Donatello had his fair share of outbursts, sure, but his were more controlled than the snapper turtle could hope to achieve, and he only ever let himself stoop so low once or twice in his life. He tried not to think of that.

They passed over an ocean, the Pacific from what Donatello could tell. After hours of waiting, ocean turned to mainland as they passed over villages and cities that shined even brighter than New York. Though Donatello had no anxiety looking down upon the cities far below, his hand still went to grip at his carapace to reassure himself he had the hover shell with him in case he did happen to fall. He leaned as far over the edge as he dared to watch the blurred, bright buildings, and he felt sad when they passed over the city and came to a forest blanketed in beautiful white snow.

Donatello leaned back inside. His hand went, of course, to grab for his bo staff before he remembered it wasn’t his. Even if it was his by ownership, the wood finish almost as smooth as his tech bo had been, he still forced the bubbling hatred of the weapon to the front of his thoughts. This was a primitive weapon from a culture lost to time! Why should he be stuck with something so old, something so simple? Something that was such a downgrade from the tech he knew!?

Donatello gave a loud, long sigh and slumped. His hand went to his neck and gripped at the necklace hanging down over his plastron. A sea-turtle shaped chamber protected the fragile and beloved memory chip within. The heart of his dear Shelldon. He could feel the gentle mystic energy pulsating from it and closed his eyes to better feel the life energy within.

“Soon…” He whispered to the necklace, bringing the chamber up to press it gently to his lips. “You’ll be back soon, Shelldon…”

The journey took another half hour before one of the armed guards stood up to address Donatello, yelling over the scream of the blades as they worked to keep the helicopter in the air.

“This is the drop point!” The voice called.

Donatello peered over the edge of the helicopter. “I don’t see any places where we could land.”

“Exactly!” The guard called.

Donatello turned to the guard just as a parachute was shoved against his chest.

“Put this on! You’ll have to jump! When you reach the drop zone, there will be a path. Follow it toward the mountain until you reach a cave.”

“What do I do when I get to the cave?” Donatello easily slipped into the parachute.

“You wait for us to come back to get you.”

“Aight, bet.” Donatello went to the edge.

“Wait— let me make sure you’re properly secured—“

“BON VOYAGE!”

Donatello fell backward out of the helicopter. The rush of air and adrenaline was always one of Donatello’s favorite sensations. He closed his eyes to enjoy the rushing chill, one hand holding Shelldon’s Heart securely while the other groped for the pully of the parachute. He pulled it after several passing moments and his body immediately jerked up as the parachute bore him into the air. Only then did he open his eyes, his free hand going to grab at the wires holding him.

Donatello looked down at the forest under his feet and up at the helicopter still hovering in place. Once he was sure the brunt of the wind was over, Donatello dare let go of his necklace to grab the wires on the other side of him to help guide his path.

By the time his feet touched down, his entire body was already numb from the weightlessness and the chill of the atmosphere. He was used to flying, sure, but not for so long without landing. He was relieved for a moment when his feet touched down, but quickly became just as uncomfortable with the cold wetness of the snow. Before heading off, he opened the supply bag that Bishop had provided him with. To his relief, tucked safely inside was a hoodie and hats and gloves made specially for his hand. He wished he had put them on before he had started to freeze, but it was better late than never. More importantly, there were shoes. He suited up and swung the supply sack over his shoulder, abandoning the parachute in favor of traveling light.

He supposed he had deviated a bit from the intended drop site, since it took a while for him to find the path that he had been told about. He did find it eventually though, and he followed the instructions to head toward the mountains. The trees reaching up to the skies blocked out most of the light around him, but the trail seemed surprisingly well-kept for something so hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t imagine anyone would spend their time coming out here to trim this one particular trail in this one terrifying forest. It was something so surreal it made Donatello get tingles up the spines of his shell and he grabbed once more for Shelldon’s Heart to comfort himself.

Donatello almost screamed when the silent forest rustled. Something jumped onto the path, and Donatello grabbed for the bo staff. No matter how rudimentary, it could still get the job done if it needed to. Then Donatello was almost glad that his brothers weren’t around to see him scream, because the creature certainly wasn’t scream-worthy.

It was a fox. A small, ginger fox with black ears and legs, it’s underside and muzzle as white as the surrounding snow. Eyes of amber stared back at Donatello, the fox hardly reacting to the shout beyond tilting its head in a question.

“Ugh.” Donatello scrunched up his nose, pulling his bo back to his body and waving his foot at the fox trying to get it to run away. “Go away. Shoo.”

The fox stood up. Donatello immediately pulled back, grabbing his staff and holding it in a ready position as the fox advanced on him. Yet, even as it continued to get closer, Donatello made no attempt to hit it. He fell against a nearby tree, still holding his staff out in front of him. His eyes squeezed shut and he pulled his head deeper into his shell as he tried to keep the fox away. He opened his eyes after several long seconds and blinked the tears away. The fox was just sitting there innocently, head still titled it stared at Donatello like he was insane.

“Oh uh… hello.”

Donatello yelped as the fox jumped to prop its legs on the bo staff, snapping at Donatello’s head. Donatello covered his head with his hands trying to protect himself, but he soon realized the fox wasn’t after mauling him. He realized it a few seconds too late, however, as the fox snatched his goggles from off his head and ran off with it.

“Hey! My tech!” Donatello jumped up to chase after the fox as it disappeared into the forest. The minute he stepped from the forest trail, two heavy weights landed on his shoulders. Donatello screamed for the third time, trying to swat whatever the animals were away. The animals gave what could have almost been a mocking giggle as they grabbed the shoulder straps of his battle shell and lifted it off of his back. “MY BATTLE SHELL!”

The tanuki gave another chuffing giggle as they disappeared deeper into the forest with the precious gear. Donatello was near tears— no, he realized, he was crying. He hugged his supply sack tightly to his chest and rubbed his thumb across the smooth chamber of Shelldon. He fell into the snow, hugging both supply and his precious drone’s heart and praying his brothers would hurry.

#more Draxum! #Bon voyage!