Agustín, stirring a pot of water over a hot stove: Why won't this gosh darn water boil already??
Julieta, who's been slipping in ice cubes in every few minutes because she doesn't want Agustín near boiling water: Gosh, I have no idea.
So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.
The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class. I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.
I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.
Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.
10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.
From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.
Or while it was still bleeding.
If she was into that.
Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.
Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.
And he always gets his due.
He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.
Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~
Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.
Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.
This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.
Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?
Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.
Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.
What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.
Mortesha would know.
The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.
Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.
Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.
Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!
Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.
Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.
I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace. I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.
Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.
She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.
Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.
Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.
That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.
Annnnyway. This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.
Crystalline Heart. Yan Scaramouche x F Reader [SMUT]
Warnings: Scaramouche, verbal humiliation, hatefucking, dubcon, abuse of power, some breeding mentions, slutshaming, unhealthy relationships and yandere themes.
Word count: 6k.
[Sequel. Crystalline Mind]
A target stands proud two hundred feet in front of you.
You readjust your position, aligning your body in the target’s direction, and take a deep breath. The movements necessary are like the rhythm to a waltz you’ve danced your entire life. Nock the arrow, draw the bow, then anchor it. The bulls-eye has been abused and littered with too many of your arrows to count, deeply embedded in the splayed wood that was never meant to withstand such an onslaught.
The string is released. Your arrow whirrs through the air at a breakneck speed and pierces the center again. It’s not enough. Slumbering in the depths of your soul is an unquenchable wrath that, once unleashed, will consume everything in an icy abyss. Perhaps the Fatui agent behind you could sense this and left an appropriate distance between you for that very reason. Whatever the case, you paid him no mind, and reset your stance to fire again.
“[First], I implore you,” he finds his voice after an extended silence. “You’re only making more trouble for yourself.”
More like I’m making more trouble for you, you think. There’s no purpose in humoring him with another response. The one you gave was short, sweet, and to the point. A single word that burnt on the tip of your tongue yet rolled off with ease all the same. No. How invigorating it felt, adrenaline pumping through your system at the admittedly small defiance. The agent guffawed at your audacity. Not that you could blame him — he’s next on the chopping block if he can’t carry out his task. Which appears to be the most likely scenario.
The agent tries to take a step toward you but quickly changes his mind when an arrow lands an inch away from his foot.
He dismisses any pretense of propriety and lashes out, “Just come with me already—”
“Next time, I won’t choose to miss.”
Your voice is quiet and resolute. It’s not like you require his reminders, you’re more than aware of the grave you’re digging for yourself. Maybe you’ll come to regret it later. Or maybe you won’t, vindication has been the driving force behind your being for a day now. Vindication and bitterness. The Dawn Winery something or another business from Mondstadt should give you a call, that sounds like a solid name for a drink.
“Lord Scaramouche is going to kill you for this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your shoulder to soothe your aching muscles. You’ve been out at the shooting range for hours, if your empty stomach is to be believed, and you intend to stay here until your body collapses. “I’m sure your spot in the queue is ahead of mine, so worry about that first.”
“You’re unbelievable,” is the last thing the agent grumbles before making himself scarce.
More time passes in strained silence after that.
Nock the arrow, draw the bow, anchor it, then release. Again and again, you repeat these steps, almost as if you were in a trance. Your muscles anguish and your lungs constrict, the frigid Snezhnayan air somehow burning your nose with each labored breath. It’s only going to get worse as the sun continues to fall in the sky, the moon is far less forgiving, offering no warmth to your skin.
Crackling energy consumes the air and spreads like an infection. You pay it no mind, or at least, you pretend not to.
Nock the arrow, draw the bow, anchor it, then—
“You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
You misfire, the trajectory of your shot askew enough for your arrow to miss the target entirely. Irritation seeps in at the grating interjection. Unlike with the agents sent to fetch you, you turn around to greet the new voice, well aware of the consequences that await if you don’t. You’re already in enough trouble as is. The bow that was once in your hands fades into nothing and you bow your head.
Scaramouche scoffs, eyeing you with a disdain that would strike mortal fear into the heart of anyone else. “You disobey my orders, yet still see fit to address me as a superior? Explain the logic behind that.”
He’s beyond livid. You observe with great caution the thinness of his smile, how his voice’s pitch has raised a step higher than usual, the way he stands in front of the exit like he’s challenging you to try and run away. That possibility was closed off to you ages ago. Ever since you aligned yourself with the Fatui, you knew there’d be no escape, so long as air filled your lungs and blood your body. You were at peace with the fact. The purpose for your being here pushed you on where others stumbled, and just when you were beginning to see the fruits of your labors, he took matters into his own hands.
You part your lips to respond but he interrupts you with a raised hand.
“Actually, I don’t want to hear it. If there’s any remaining function in your brain, follow me, or risk trying my patience again,” he beckons you with a finger and grins. “Or next time, I won’t choose to miss.”
So he’s been keeping tabs on you regardless. It doesn’t surprise you, yet revulsion churns in your stomach at the thought. There are millions of questions pounding away that demand to be answered. You’d love nothing more than to scream out each one, demanding a thorough explanation, yelling until your throat is raw and sore. Self-preservation comes first. You knew he’d be coming to retrieve you sooner or later, that it was a matter of time until you were hauled off to be punished for your transgressions. However, there’s no denying the immense satisfaction that comes with denying him, even if it is temporary.
The two of you walk in silence. You lag behind him, grateful for the reprieve from his leering eyes. It’s a familiar trek — you’ve walked this path enough times for it to be ingrained in your memory. This is the direction of his office. Aside from jobs, you spent a majority of your time stuck within the confines of the Fatui headquarters. It was as drab as one would expect. Muted colors of grey and blue, uninspired architecture meant to prioritize defense over aesthetics, and towering stone walls that seemed to loom over you everywhere you went.
Ascending a set of stairs to the second floor, your keen ears pick up on the jingling of the ornamental hat Scaramouche was so fond of wearing. You sometimes wondered how he still managed to sneak up on you when wearing the garment. That’s a privilege not reserved for many, even the Fatui agents who could render themselves invisible had footsteps you could pick up on from years of experience. Yet another testament to his strength that, unfortunately, transcends yours.
During the day, various Fatui workers occupy the long halls and winding corridors to fulfill their various tasks. It’s past curfew now, a detail you infer to be intentional on Scaramouche’s part, another method meant to inspire terror in your heart for daring to disobey him. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working. Sweat trickles down the back of your neck and your hands have begun to shake. Whether it’s from the cold or the anxiety, you can’t say for certain.
The doors to purgatory stand tall and proud at the end of this particular hallway.
Out of instinct, you pause, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by your companion.
“What?” He mocks, craning his head to look at you. “Need me to carry you the rest of the way?”
Unable to find your voice, you shake your head, hurrying yourself to catch up with him. There’s a reason why you were firing away at the target with such fervor. You were imagining it to be his head rather than poorly painted wood, a fantasy that was too short-lived.
He holds the door open and motions for you to come in, that deceptive smile still plastered on his face. You knew he was feeding off the dread emanating from you in waves like it was a sweet nectar. That’s why you keep your countenance as neutral as you can manage, even biting the inside of your cheek to remain grounded. Anything less than that, and he’d devour you whole, a fate that you wished to prolong.
The sound of the doors grinding shut makes you grimace.
You stand facing his desk, the chairs in front and behind it serving as little temptations. Your body is heavy with exhaustion. While the rest of the rank and file slept in dormitories, as did you for a time, your sleeping arrangements made a recent shift for the worst. Scaramouche asked — more like demanded, actually — you to share his bed. This is why you’ve spent the better half of the evening at the shooting range rather than getting much-needed rest. The thought of seeing his infuriating face again was a strong enough deterrent to keep you away.
Scaramouche makes a point of taking his time with the locks on his door. You count three clicks, two more than there were yesterday. He must’ve decided to bolster his security after everything went down. It’s not like you could do much anyway, he’s at the clear advantage when it comes to close combat. The only sliver of hope you’d ever have in beating him is if you were far away, someplace undetectable. Harbinger isn’t a title to be scoffed at. You may be capable, but you’re not that capable.
He removes his hat then sits it to the side, a sign that he intends to get up close and personal with you.
“I was gracious enough to grant you space, and how do you repay me, hm?” He circles in front of you, moving at his leisure. Then, he stops, his face just a few inches shy of yours. “By acting like a good for nothing brat. If you were hoping to change my mind, I can’t say this was the best way to get about it.”
Your Vision glows against your skin and he narrows his eyes.
He reaches his hand out, wrapping it right around your neck, just above the light blue of your Cryo Vision. The act fills you with both awe and apprehension. For anyone else, it’d be painful beyond words to touch the arctic orb, covering their skin in frostbite and making them recoil. You’d seen it happen with playful acquaintances in the past. For Scaramouche, he doesn’t so much as flinch, instead appearing more annoyed than pained.
“A collar would be more suitable around your neck than this,” he presses his fingernails into your skin and you wince.
You weren’t sure what to anticipate when you went against his wishes. It’s new, uncharted territory, and for good reason; anyone with their wits about them wouldn’t risk upsetting the Balladeer. Which leads to your problem. Your wits have been smothered and disposed of by the man in front of you, who’s taken to great pleasure in doing so. How he expected you to manage to maintain his expectations and your duties is a mystery. Or, realistically, he wanted you to fail, so his mercy would be the only option you’d have.
“What you said earlier… does that mean you might change your mind?” You don’t know why you’re bothering to ask. It’s a hope far too fleeting, far too naïve to be real, no matter how passionately you pine for it. There’s nothing left for you to do but try. What’s left for you otherwise?
“I’m doubtful,” he shrugs. Then, the skin beneath his eyes tightens, his grin widening into something wicked. “But you’re more than welcome to try and convince me.”
Your breath catches in the back of your throat.
This is exactly why you wanted to avoid him, at the cost of insubordination. Delaying the inevitable — that’s what your strategy the past few months has been — and you tried. You did everything you could to prove your worth and solidify your standing in the upper echelons of the Fatui. No, you were not a Harbinger, though with enough time and experience you could’ve been. Your expertise in battle strategy and marksmanship were promising. The Tsaritsa herself had seen fit to give you a Vision, a silent acknowledgment you’ve kept close to your heart as you trained. You were on track to become someone greater than yourself.
And then he showed up.
“How would you suppose I do that, my lord?”
You don’t want to know. You don’t want him to say it, to think it, to consider it. That would make the nightmare real. The sole reason you hadn’t collapsed like a deck of cards is because you pretended it wasn’t real — the idea was absurd enough to aid in that. Scaramouche, the 6th Fatui Harbinger, feared in both name and person, wanted something from you. He wanted everything that you weren’t willing to give. Your attention, your adoration, your future. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve been fine. They’d be nothing more than a forgettable blip for you to laugh about while recounting stories with friends over drinks.
His fingers travel from your Vision downward. In between the valley of your chest, over your navel, stopping just above the edges of your skirt. He plays with the fabric, lifting it just enough to get a tense reaction from you, but not going further than that. No, that’d be too forgiving from him. You know how the bastard thinks after having the misfortune of being around him these past few months. Scaramouche would make you work for his forgiveness, if he was capable of such a thing.
“You wear an outfit like this, and have the audacity to ask?” He sneers, to which your face burns with indignation. “There’s no way you’re that stupid. Why do you think you’ve gotten so many opportunities to showcase your abilities, hm? Jobs that would’ve been reserved for more experienced members? Do tell.”
You mumble something beneath your breath and his eye twitches.
“Hah? Come again?”
“Because of you,” you spit out with irreverence that’s been simmering for months on end. Then, you quiet your voice and turn your gaze to the floor. “I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t want your help. You just— took advantage of me, and—”
“Look at me.”
His voice cuts through your incoherent rambling like a well-seasoned blade. You hesitate at first, but find yourself complying, unable to mask your hostility any longer. He’s seen past that weak veneer for a while now. The two of you were similar in that regard. Scaramouche acted condescendingly kind and innocent when it served him best, much like how you’ve had to in order to keep him appeased. You knew it wouldn’t be an easy assignment to serve beneath the Balladeer. It was a challenge you were willing to meet head-on, no matter the pitiful glances that were thrown your way from fellow Fatui members. Even La Signora, a Harbinger you aided in the past, offered her condolences of questionable sincerity.
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll manage to set him straight,” she told you upon receiving word of your transfer from her management to his.
Your lady’s foresight is rarely so erroneous.
“I took advantage of you?” He laughs, the sound forceful and artificial. “That’s too cute. You enjoyed the privileges my favor granted — you’re a liar if you say otherwise. So don’t look at me like that. Or, if you do, at least do it while pleasing me for my troubles.”
Ice materializes at your fingertips. He must not have anticipated this — his reaction time isn’t as fast as it would be any other time — allowing you to graze the hand still toying with your skirt. You stare at the consequence of your action unblinking, in a similar state of disbelief as he is. What you just did is akin to treason. There’s no world where your word would be given more importance than a Harbinger’s, much less the one you’re living in right now; if you’re going to live much longer.
He brings his hand up to his face and scrutinizes it. Crimson droplets form and drip from his pointer finger, the sight making you visibly cringe, for what comes after will not be pleasant. There’s no discernable facial expression on his visage. None of the attributes you were expecting take root and bloom. Rage, bloodlust, abhorrence; nothing like that is present. He’s blank. Completely blank, devoid of humanity, or the closest thing he had to it.
Scaramouche raises his bleeding finger to your mouth and utters a single command.
You weigh your options on a scale. On one side, there’s the tempting yet illogical concept of telling him to go fuck himself and possibly biting his finger off. Sounds wonderful if not guaranteed certain death. Then on the other, there’s the degrading notion of following through with his sick, perverted fantasies that landed you in this predicament to begin with.
Bile claws up your throat as you lean forward, your tongue hesitantly peaking out, just barely enough to fulfill his humiliating request. This isn’t what you joined the Fatui for. You wanted to make a name for yourself, earn respect from your fellow countrymen, climb the ranks until you could look down upon everyone else. To suffer through this is more than a blow to your pride, it takes away every meaningful aspect of who you are. He knows that too. Your ambition, your drive, he’s privy to it all. He asked you point-blank about your hopes for the future.
Was he planning to destroy it even then?
“My previous assessment was truer than I hoped,” he almost sounds bored, dryness seeping into his tone. “I was far more gracious with you than I should’ve been. Consider it a mistake I won’t make twice. What you need now is a lesson, a well-deserved one at that.”
He retrieves his finger and smiles, the sight sending waves of anguish through your person. Nothing good ever comes from that expression.
“Strip. And be quick about it too.”
Your eyes widen. “But—”
“Do you know what the punishment for attacking a superior officer is, foolish girl? Getting court-martialed would be the lightest sentence. What you should expect is execution. We can’t have such bold insubordination in our ranks, now can we?” He speaks slowly and draws his words out to belittle you further.
You choose not to test your luck any further. He hums with satisfaction as you get to work, shedding your overcoat, unbuttoning your blouse, then pulling it over your head. You swear his pupils dilate at the sight of your cleavage. Just as you reach back to undo the clasp of your bra, hands press against your bare shoulders and push. Your back hits the wall, the air all but forced from your lungs from the impact. He keeps himself propped up from his arms on either side of you. You notice his breathing, which has picked up in ardor, his warm breath at the crook of your neck.
He lifts his knee to part your legs and rubs it against your clothed core.
“I’m going to make you regret over disobeying me,” he whispers. “You don’t mind, right? If I have my way with you, over and over again.”
You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s smothering your neck in open-mouthed kisses. Closing your eyes to shut him out is all you can think to do. His lips are hungry and wet, inching up from your clavicle to your jaw in a desperate assault. The control he so values holding over himself threatens to slip now that there’s nowhere left for you to run. As a fighter, you’re familiar with the concept; stalking your prey is just a build-up.
“Like I have a choice,” is the response you settle on. He hums, tearing your bra by the strap to leave your chest exposed, to which you try and cover up out of instinct. His hands work faster and snatch you by the wrist.
Holding you in place, he laughs, “If you want to beg, by all means, feel free to do so. I’ve wanted to hear it for a long time now.”
“I would never—”
Scaramouche pinches your nipple, twisting it just short of causing pain. The unexpected sensation has you bucking your chest, whether to push him away or for more, you don’t know.
“Ah ah ah,” he chides, rubbing his thumb over your hardening nipple. “I won’t be having that any longer.”
“You accepted my benevolence…”
He takes the top of your skirt and starts to pull it down.
“Pushed me away and acted like you were better than me…”
The fabric slides down your trembling legs then hits the floor.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, hm?”
He grabs at the softness of your thighs, massaging the flesh and digging his nails deep into your skin. There’s an underlying threat, a premonition of what could come should you choose not to give in. Electro pulsates on his fingertips, controlled, for the time being, a little jolt that has the hairs on your body standing. The sickeningly sweet way he’s talking down to you is a poor mask to cover his true, despicable nature. It’s almost like he wants to drown you in words made of honey, the saccharine quality to them without substance.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” you grit out.
“Sorry for what?”
His fingers ghost over your clothed pussy, applying the slightest bit of pressure to gauge your reaction. You can feel how his eyes bore through you. He sees everything, from your poorly acted submission to the hatred festering in your soul. He sees it and he loves it. Ever the glutton, he intends to help himself, feasting upon every noise and reaction you have to offer.
“For not following your orders… and being ungrateful.”
Each word is a hit to your wounded pride.
“See? That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” He snickers and slips his fingers past the now dampened fabric, gaining full access to your folds. Gathering the slick up, he moves back and forth, observing how you keen for him with heightened interest. “Doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you just yet. You’ve got plenty to make up for.”
His thumb finds your clit and you gasp. There’s no gentleness in his touch, he wants to see you squirm, that much is evident from his rough movements and goading words. Every inch of your body feels like it’s been set aflame. It wouldn’t be so bad if you knew there was an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel. Scaramouche never offered a silver lining. Salvation is a farfetched concept meant to keep you placated. Survival is a more realistic goal.
He pushes his fingers inside without warning, cooing in delight at the embarrassing noise you let out.
“Did you really think,” he scissors his fingers apart and you lull your head back, “That I wouldn’t find out about your little request?”
His fingers push in and out of you with ease, the wet sound filling the room alongside your panting. Throughout the onslaught of sensations, you manage to pick up on his hardened length, which strains against his trousers. It twitches at every pathetic noise you make, further evidence of his smothering sadism. He’s driven by frustration, yes, but also a need to dominate you body and soul. To play mind games so you can’t close your eyes and lock him out, waiting for him to be finished. In his view, that’d be too kind. He’ll keep you coherent and scrambling to accommodate his shifting needs until he sees fit.
Electro thrums at a low current to stir you to action.
“I— hah, just wanted to serve the Fatui best.”
He clicks his tongue. “Liar.”
“Trying to cozy up to Tartaglia, is that it? Did you think you could get rid of me once I outlived my usefulness?” Scaramouche no longer bothers with his syrupy, singsong voice, instead opting to sound as cold as the blade you sliced him with earlier. “Don’t act innocent. I see the repulsive way you act around him, acting no better than a common whore. Is such behavior not below you?”
The reason you tried to make your transfer to Liyue quiet had nothing to do with Childe. It didn’t matter to you what Harbinger was there, so long as it wasn’t Scaramouche, who had been growing more and more domineering as the days passed. You listened to your gut, which cried he’d bring you nothing but calamity. Mondstadt was an option as well, and in retrospect, maybe this could’ve partially been avoided if you chose that. It’s too late to bemoan your decision. The past is concrete and your future fluid, there’s no saying what form it’ll take when Scaramouche is the one calling the shots.
He pulls his fingers out of you, then brings them up to your face for you to examine. The way they glisten taunts you. Another example to the long growing list of what Scaramouche controls over you, as if your life wasn’t enough.
“Open your mouth.”
Your eyelids flutter shut as you acquiesce to his demand. He shoves his fingers against your tongue while using his other hand to undo the buckles of his shorts. You regret opening your eyes almost immediately. Scaramouche is staring up at you through his eyelashes, his cheeks rosy, the red in stark contrast to the dark hair brushing against his face. Lust, deprivation, hunger — such vile cravings circle and coalescence in his indigo hues, with you as the source. While using your mouth to clean his fingers off, he wraps his hand around his flushed length, beginning to pleasure himself at the sight before him.
“I hope you know,” he hisses out, his hand working up and down his cock fast, “That you won’t be going any further in this organization. Your place, hn, is going to always be below me. You’re not going anywhere…!”
Scaramouche pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you bite down on your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Don’t say anything, don’t react, don’t give him what he wants. The mantra in your mind repeats like an otherworldly chorus. Your sole anchor in the tendrils of madness that poke and prod at you, threatening to drag you down to the depths. You barely register how he tears your soaked panties away, relishing at the sight of your uncovered pussy. He brings his fingers to your thigh and lifts your left leg. Left in an awkward, unbalanced position, you wrap it around his hips to steady yourself. The noise he lets out will haunt you for days. It’s low, guttural, coming straight from his chest and reverberating throughout the room.
You grimace at how his cock, now pressed right up against your entrance, twitches from the unwitting contact.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he tells you, his voice airy and his chest heaving.
It’s an order you weren’t looking forward to. To prevent yourself from falling you’re forced to wrap your arms around his neck, a degrading action that earns a laugh from him. Next, you raise your other leg to secure it around his waist. A part of you wonders if he’ll allow you to follow just for further humiliation, though from the greedy away his arms go to support you, that’s a damnation you’ve managed to avoid. His pent-up carnality for you must currently outweigh further sadism.
Or so you thought.
“Looking away, are we?” Scaramouche must be referring to how you’ve craned your neck to the side. Keeping you propped up with one arm, he uses his free hand to grab you by the jaw, recentering your face. His lips hover but a few inches from your own. “Don’t you dare. I want you to see every second of this.”
Sufficiently pleased with your obedience, he retracts his hand, dropping it down to position the tip of his dick against your entrance. You wait for him to enter you, your breath bated and heart racing. Glee dances in his eyes as he rubs the head against you, drinking in the way your body tenses and flinches. Then he starts to push himself inside you. His face relaxes as he does so, the months of waiting finally coming to an end. The way he eases himself into you, letting you feel his dick dragging against your walls, is not what you were expecting. You thought he’d be relentless in using you to his heart’s content. Then it’d be over soon.
Scaramouche is drawing it out on purpose. Filling you inch by inch, slowly, forcing you to wait in suspense for what he may or may not do next. This isn’t so you can accommodate to his sizable length — it’s another display of power meant to mortify you. And it’s working. Keeping up with his demand to look at him grows more and more difficult. How his jaw slackens, his breathing goes erratic, everything that shows how good you’re making him feel. The pleasure that he’s deriving from you.
Finally, he stills, having fully sheathed himself inside you. The both of you take a deep breath in unison.
“I’ll stay just like this all night,” he promises. “Until you beg for me to fuck you.”
Scaramouche always finds a way to make himself more awful. It shouldn’t come as a surprise at this point — you don’t know why your heart bothers plummeting to your stomach anymore — but you swallow thickly regardless.
“Please… please fuck me,” you murmur.
“Please fuck me!”
He pulls out and snaps his hips back in. Your back hits the wall, the force from his actions momentarily taking your breath away. Any time you had to adjust is long over. The best you can think to do is hold onto him, your chest bouncing as his skin meets yours over and over again. He holds nothing back, embedding his nails into your skin, hard enough where you’re certain it’ll leave a mark later. The single reprieve you have is that he’s stopped talking. His grunts and occasional low curses fill the air, joined by the noises you’re trying to hold back.
The pace he sets is relentless. You weren’t given enough preparation, a few minutes of fingering wasn’t enough to stretch you out well; though you suppose it could’ve been worse.
“At least you’re good for this much,” he hisses. Then, he lowers one of your legs that he was holding in place back onto the ground, using his free hand to rub circles into your clit. The additional stimulation is unexpected and sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “Hah— you just got even tighter around me. Did you like that, you little whore? Hm?”
He hits a spot deep inside you that takes your breath away. You almost preferred when he wasn’t actively touching you like that, penetration alone wouldn’t be enough to make you feel this good. Now that he’s figured that out, there’s an infuriating smirk on his lips, his fingers rubbing against you without ceasing. It’s too much. Your ears are ringing, your lungs crying out for air, your body warm enough that not even the Vision around your neck could begin to cool you. He’s finally having his way with you, after every precaution you could think to take.
You feel how your walls contract against him, building up more and more to a high you didn’t want him to see.
“To think you were glaring at me earlier, looking at me like you wanted me dead,” Scaramouche laughs, delighting himself in the irony. “And now you’re humping against me for release. Have you no shame, [First]?”
Your name rolls off his tongue like a rich purr.
You didn’t notice it until he pointed it out, but it’s true; you’ve begun to move your hips in rhythm with his. Of course he wouldn’t miss out on such an obscene detail to humiliate you with. There’s an impulse to respond, to deny his accusations, to defend what remains of your honor. Whatever words your scrambled brain wants to form die out as you reach your peak, throwing your head back and almost whining.
Your walls convulse around his length, earning a hearty moan from him.
“Hah, you must want me so hn— bad,” he licks and nips at your collarbone then shivers. “So take my seed. You don’t mind, do you? You should, ah— be grateful for the chance to carry my children.”
Then, he pulls you flush against his pelvis, letting out a groan. His warm release floods within you, stuffed further and further back as he bucks his hips to ride out his high to the fullest. The squelching sound accompanied by his unabashed noises makes you want to disappear into the wall. It’s a shame that an ability like this isn’t in your arsenal, or you would’ve made good use of it ages ago. Your prized Vision has felt like a useless lump for the first time in your life.
Faced against a Harbinger like Scaramouche, it might as well be.
He slumps his body against yours, his still-clothed chest heaving. His face finds refuge in the crook of your neck, relishing in kissing your pulse, now in a chaste motion as opposed to the ravenous way he did earlier. He kisses up your neck, peppering his lips softly against your perspiring skin, stopping at the conjunction between your ear and your jawline. His warm breath fans against you as he nibbles on your earlobe.
“—Say that you love me,” he murmurs, his fingers that are still touching your skin twitching. The way he’s speaking is less demanding than before. It’s almost like he’s unsure of himself, the words coming out against his better judgment. He’d never take back anything he’s said, his pride is too swollen and grotesque for that. This is a sentiment you hope smothers out. It’s one thing to let your body be sacrificed to his whims, but if he’s expecting you to convincingly act like you love him, you might as well give up now. Does his ego know no bounds?
Your silence speaks for you.
“Just say it, [First].”
You’d sigh if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. “I love you.”
The delivery is uninspired and monotonous, something you don’t doubt he notices, but he must be too exhausted to chastise you more than he already has.
He pulls his now soft dick out of you, his cum dripping out onto your shaky thighs not long after. You stare at the thick, white release with disdain. The implications of what he’s done are too grave for you to process now. It’s a miracle that your legs haven’t caved out from beneath you, that’d be the nail in the coffin of your embarrassment. Knowing him, he’d probably make you crawl around for his entertainment should you do that. So you refocus your efforts on staying standing.
“I can’t say I’ll ever change my mind,” Scaramouche gets to redressing himself. “My decision from yesterday still stands — you’ll be answering to me and nobody else. Try something like that again and I’ll turn you into my personal fucktoy of a secretary. Be grateful I’m even allowing you on the field again after that stunt.”
Scaramouche tilts his head up impatiently, arms crossed and fingers drumming against his skin. He’s waiting for gratitude that you would never have in a thousand years. Self-preservation spurs you to action, your reply just as enthusiastic as the one from before.
“Thank you for your graciousness, my lord.”
He pats you on the head and snickers.
“Mm. I have such a good girl.”
You make a promise to yourself, that one day, you’ll find a way to kill the man who stands so arrogantly before you.
I’ve been wanting to write a post about this year’s big project, The Building of The Fence, but I worked on it sporadically over such a long span of time (since Pampe was 3 months-old, in fact) I didn’t know where to begin... So instead, here are six fence-related snippets from my journal :)
Fence news: Pandolf doesn’t understand that if he isn’t standing next to me as I install a roll of wire netting, we will fatefully end up separated. It happens again and again and each time he is startled & upset. He is also convinced that I am the one who has been unjustly imprisoned and is in need of help; he ends up running around and whining loudly to raise awareness.
Had to stop because of the snow (yay). This morning the top rails look like giant toothbrushes covered in toothpaste.
The snow melted and the ground is finally getting softer and E. and I spent all day yesterday + this morning trying to install new fence posts—they’re taller than us and we need to climb on a wobbly stepladder to drive them in with a sledgehammer that’s probably heavier than us, so it was really tough, but we managed to do 3 posts in 1 and a half day and felt proud.
Then the landscaper I had contacted showed up to help (with his brother) in the afternoon, and in 3 hours they installed 24 posts. When we said piteously that we’d done our best but had only managed 3, he inspected them and said very kindly “Ah, but they’re very neatly done!” and called his brother to come admire our neat posts.
LATE SPRING: a friend came over to help with the fence and ended up breaking her wrist on the first day :( She stumbled over a big root in the woods and fell badly on her hand...
I felt awful so I made her a mini-blackberry pie when we returned from the hospital, using the last handful of frozen blackberries from last summer. Nobody suspected I still had blackberries in my freezer, those were my secret blackberries, I’d been saving them to make a tiny pie on Pirlouit’s birthday and eat it all by myself in the pasture (Pirou would have been given a none pie with a slightly burnt crust as he likes crunchy things).
D. loved her unexpected pie! she thought she wouldn’t get one of those until September, and commented that it felt like a video game bonus, you stumble on a specific root, you unlock hidden berries.
Screwing in the rails: first you cut the threaded rods to size with a hacksaw, then file them at both ends, then drill holes into the posts and hammer the rods into each before finally drilling & installing the rails. Repeat 200 times.
I managed to finish cutting & filing all the rods while Mum was here, and then she decided to surprise me and woke up early on the day she left, and snuck out of the house with the bucket full of threaded rods to hammer them into the fence posts, so all I would have left to do was finish installing the rails. She prepared an entire side of the fence, about 55 posts!
It was really adorable of her, but then it rained every day after she left so I didn’t do any fence work since, and when I finally discovered her surprise, the rods had become so rusty the screws wouldn’t fit, so I had to take them out with WD-40 and now I’ll need to file them again one by one… It’s going to take so long. I will of course never tell Mum. When she texted me to ask if her surprise was a good one, I said yes thank you so much it was very appreciated! but I thought she meant the box of books she left in the barn!
I cut another dozen rails for the fence in the other pasture, which really needs to be cleared of hazel trees, then I dragged them across the road all the way to the llamas’ pasture, and left them on the ground for now. Later today from the window I saw Pampe stepping over the rails for fun, several times over, it felt like the founding of Rome. With Remus jumping over Romulus’s half-built wall just to be a jerk. The exact same thing.
L. was here this weekend and we spent two days doing nothing but strolling in the woods looking for tree limbs that were just the right size & curvature for the ‘problematic’ rails (e.g. the one that needs to be a slight S-shape to fit around a large rock between two posts). It was fun, we drew all the shapes & measurements we needed on a piece of paper and it felt like a treasure hunt.
But then I had a dream in which I invited friends & relatives every weekend, and appraised them discreetly when they weren’t looking to see if their bones might be the right size & curvature to use as fence rails. In my dream I was a very creepy person driving my guests from the train station to my isolated farm in the woods and, if they suited my purposes, asking them whether they would like to “take part” in my fence and laughing at my own joke as really I would be the one taking ‘parts’.
Sometimes you need to take a little break from building a fence.
One area remains unfenced: where I would like to build a greenhouse in the spring (I’ll fence around it afterwards). So Pampe can still go on illegal walks for a few more months...
Her face says, Ha. “A few more months.” We’ll see.
Eggshells and Dynamite
shigaraki tomura x reader
beta’d by the indomitable: katsupeen @katsukeen
[soulmate AU, soft yandere, but like....very soft, gentle yan yknow?, shigaraki-centric, protective shigaraki, hand thirst, panty theft, slight stalking, kinda sorta kidnapping its complicated, allusion to panic attacks, explicit content, mentions of food, canon typical violence]
Your soulmate is a world class villain. That figures...
The man at your register looks about two seconds from keeling over. They don’t really school you on customer rescue during training at the SpeedTrip Convenience Store. Usually your MO is to ignore whatever’s in front of you and just run through your script, but you’re genuinely worried this guy is going to pass out on your counter.
So you ask, “You okay there, champ?”
The answer: Not really. He hasn’t slept in two days. He hasn’t eaten in sixteen hours. All of his focus has been dedicated to planning the LOVs next move. He hadn’t wanted to leave the hideout at all, but he needs caffeine, and despite his censure of the constant complaints about the place, the mustiness was beginning to get to him as well. Regardless, he didn’t intend to even look you in the eyes while he went about his business, but now his stare is hard and sharp on your face.
It’s an innocuous question, but it makes him seethe. A boiling low in his gut like the anticipation before a fight, like the rancid suspense before his quirk makes contact.
You’re holding out his change (250yen), and the little plastic bag with his purchase in it (three bottles of an energy drink the color of live uranium), and the smile on your face is so vacant and vapid he wants to slap everything out of your hands, he wants to bite you like a wild dog.
You have no idea what you’ve done.
He snatches the bag too quickly, all five fingers make contact. He feels his quirk activating, the dry wool brush of it all up his arm. He manages to make it outside before the whole thing falls apart, a mess of dust and neon liquid at his feet, the smell of burnt plastic in the air. So much for that. Waste of a trip. Waste of time.
Waste, waste, waste.
He doesn’t look back, at the place where you’re shoving the extra 250yen in your apron pocket. He doesn’t make note of the name of the store, the time of day. The utilitarian tilt of your smile. Not happy, not anything.
And your voice, ringing in his ears like the death knell.
His plan is executed. It fails. He sits at the bar and imagines pressing his palms flat against the surface of the counter, letting his quirk chew through the hideout, the city, all of Japan. Ashes falling through his fingers.
He goes to sleep, finally, after seventy four hours. Kurogiri is nagging him about something or other. Or maybe offering some encouragement. He doesn’t hear. The rage and exhaustion have propelled him into some kind of fugue state, only half-here.
He dreams about dogs. With mouths full of razors.
When he wakes he finishes the dregs of the instant coffee on his desk. It does nothing for him. He goes back to sleep. He dreams of you.
His soulmark has always been easy enough to ignore. It’s on a patch of skin that doesn’t see much light, running up his inner bicep in curling scrawl. Your curling scrawl.
He hates that he has a face to go with the words now. He only looked at you for a second—less, maybe—but the color of your eyes, the slant of your nose, is burned into his memory forever now.
All For One had let him watch TV, when Shigaraki was first taken off the streets. Never anything in Japanese. Old western bootlegs scrounged up off the internet. They didn’t even have subtitles, most of the time. But he could infer things from their expressions, their body language. He learned about soulmates from those shows, too. He’d learn that there are some people who make others crazy, make them desperate, maybe even make them murderers. He wouldn’t learn what they were called until years later, though, when All For One stared at the words curled around his arm, contemplating.
“Should we get rid of them?” he wondered aloud.
Shigaraki cocked his head, thinking, somehow, he meant get rid of the person behind the words. Get rid of you. Maybe that would be easier. Rational.
He couldn’t imagine feeling anything so hard, so powerfully. Anything but rage, which seemed to fill him like a tide, coming and going in pendulous swings. How could he ever have room for anything else?
He didn’t answer. It wasn’t expected of him. It was good to have a soulmate, strategically speaking. There’s a lot someone can do with that. Something to bolster or bargain with.
Something to make a person crazy.
His master often referred to it as a reward. “Just for you,” he’d tell Shigaraki. “Your prize.”
Shigaraki is not so sure of that.
Your schedule is perfectly predictable. It makes him grind his teeth.
You man the counter at the same time every day, and work into the late dark. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that change in routine is the key to safety? Anyone could figure out a way to hurt you, abduct you, kill you.
Shigaraki can think of twelve ways off the top of his head. And it’s not even noon yet.
He can’t tell if you recognize him or not. He’s stopped by three times in the past two weeks, to get food and assorted essentials for the other LOV members. That’s not enough in itself to be suspicious, but he’s also taken to walking past the store front everyday (or sometimes two or three times, if he’s feeling antsy). Just to make sure that your stupid, fleshy, vulnerable body is still in one piece. That you haven’t been destroyed, somehow. Like you might offer that strange, empty smile to the wrong person and the floor will just give out from under you or something.
Not that it matters.
He knows he’s being sloppy, absurd. You don’t even know each other. He hasn’t said a single word to you, so far.
You go through your little speech, each time you see him. You don’t even seem to care that he appears to be ignoring you, just peer at him with that strange, unhappy smile.
He keeps running through possible scenarios for if he did speak. How you would react. You clearly don’t recognize him as a wanted villain, but maybe you would look at him, really look, and hate what you see.
He could, of course, say something inane and inconsequential. “Thank you,” or “Good afternoon.” Something you’ve heard a thousand times, no way to tell if they’re your words. And then he could disappear, leave you to obscurity, continue with his meticulous plans that never involved another, powerless person.
But he doesn’t. He visits your shop and he buys chips and bar soap, little granola bars shaped like cats for Toga. He doesn’t say a word as you stare through him like a ghost.
You don’t notice him.
This routine, your hours and his visiting, is so infallible that the one day you’re gone he feels a bizarre sort of hostility. You’re supposed to be here—-how is he supposed to do this if you’re not here?
He stands in the doorway, staring at the place you should be. The electronic bell chimes continuously when he doesn’t move.
There’s another person at the register, a man, and without thinking Shigaraki demands, “Where is she?”
The cashier splutters, confused, and Shigaraki clarifies. “The girl who works here.”
“She’s in back,” is the hesitant reply. “You want me to go get her?”
Shigaraki follows his gaze, to the little door at the opposite end of the shop. “Why isn’t she up here?”
“She’s having a thing.”
“You don’t know? Aren’t you friends?”
Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He turns on his heel and walks out the door, thoughts gone cavernous with whatever trouble you’re in. He’s disgusted with himself for it.
Waste, waste, waste.
He tells himself he won’t go back. It’s his mantra as he rolls out of bed, as he sips cold coffee and works on his plans. As he wanders out the door, not in any direction.
He always ends up in front of your store.
It’s been a month and two days since he found you—-that’s how he thinks of it now. Found, like he’s an active participant in this farce. Like he was searching for you to begin with.
He doesn’t stop, even though he knows he should. There must be some sort of medical reason for it, some soulmate affliction, a biological urge driving him closer, closer.
He’s been reading about it. There’s a lot of information on the internet, medical journals and first hand accounts. The brunt of it amounts to: it depends. On the people, the timing, the circumstances.
And what are your circumstances? Hardly soulmates at all. Just people orbiting each other like twin stars, on the collision course.
But he doesn’t stop.
He learns your favorite color from the clothing you wear. Your taste in music from what you play on the store radio when no one else is working. Sometimes if he’s quiet, he can catch you doodling on old receipts when you don’t notice you have a customer. He almost asks you if he can have it, but it’s nothing, just garbage, and that would require speaking, anyway.
He learns other things, too. Things he absolutely shouldn’t know, but that scratches some secret itch in him. Something that’s come to crave the sight of you like the sun, that almost makes him dig through the trash searching for that little drawing you did.
He knows where you live, and that you live alone. You buy books and then forget to read them. Some nights you sleep with the lights on.
You’re quirkless. He finds that out from city records, browsing through your life like an old newspaper. Quirkless. How rare and tragic—- and of course you would be. Even more vulnerable to everything he is.
The rest of the LOV knows something is wrong, but they are (rightfully) too afraid to ask. Some of them simply don’t care. The good thing about collecting outcasts and unwanteds is that everyone has some sort of issue. A predilection for stalking cashiers is at the bottom of the list.
And he has it under control, mostly. The part of him that wants to be near you claws at him constantly, but he’s gotten good at ignoring it, these past few weeks. He’d swiped a picture of you, a while ago. Your profile turned ghostly by those fluorescents. It’s not pretty—-he’s not sure he would call you that even in better lighting. But it obsesses him, the shape of you, inside and out. Everything about you hanging over him like a sword about to drop.
You start to chatter at him. Pure nonsense. You talk about the weather and the construction down the road. The new bakery that's opened up. A dog you saw on the street.
He refuses to meet your eyes as you talk. He soaks it all in, starved for your voice.
He hates himself. A little.
But he hates the life you lead more, the way it seems to suck you dry. You could be happy, he thinks. In another life.
But this one—-
Your manager yells at you. He’s big, and he uses that cruelly. Looms over you as he berates you for—-something. Episodes he calls them. That thing that happened the day you were missing from the front. Shigaraki doesn’t fully understand. All he knows is that sometimes you just need to be gone, and sometimes you get in trouble for it.
He watches from outside as you get yelled at in the bold light of day. Your manager does it in front of customers, another employee. You take it stone faced, but Shigaraki knows you’re scared. He sees it in the tense line of your shoulders, your hands clasped against your belly. All you can do is nod and agree with the accusations.
Two hours later he stalks around to the back of the building, where your manager is having a smoke.
In another life, you’re happy. In this one, you at least won’t be bullied anymore.
Someone else takes over the store. The owner's sister or something.
She knows already that you’ve got issues; the other cashiers gossip terribly. No one asks and you don’t explain it, just silently take your leave when the world goes hot and bright, everything caving in on you like a supernova. You sit in the store room on an old Morinaga box and count your breaths like you’d learned from a video online. You tell yourself everything comes one day at a time. You imagine them trickling down like sand in an hourglass, the tick tick ticking of your life going by.
Then you get back to work.
The LOV’s plans are moving forward.
They’re on schedule, but it feels like everything is going so quickly, like he barely has time to blink before the next piece is set in motion.
He doesn’t have time to visit you. They need his firepower too much, his negotiation skills. His intimidation. He works all night, sleeps during the day. Someone else buys supplies, and they do it at one of the bigger chain stores downtown.
They’re transferring to a new hideout soon. No longer down the road from your place of work. The thought makes him jittery as he discusses the move with Kurogiri, his whole body throbbing like a heart attack.
This is for the best.
He knew the old adage, that a soulmates true purpose is to teach you something. This is your lesson—-there is nothing in this world more important than his work. Not even you.
And you’ll be fine. You’ve been fine, slipping along the outskirts of life, a drifter. You’ll land somewhere, eventually. Hopefully in a better world, one he’s brought to fruition.
Still, nostalgia draws him to you, on the day before the move. He doesn’t know why. Just to assure himself that you’re still here? That you haven’t simply vanished from his life like he’s about to from yours?
He enters the store and you greet him vacantly. He browses the shelves with no real intent. All of his focus is on you, stealing glances of you leaning on the counter, listening to the soft rustling of your movements.
You’re quirkless. He doesn’t know why, but the notion suddenly fills him with irritation.
Alone. Surrounded by miracles you’re unable to touch.
Then he’s full on staring at you, everything drawn to a fine point. And you’re staring back.
What, he wants to demand. Wants to ask if you feel it too. The mindless need. The futile desperation.
It’s all over now. He’ll walk away today and never look back. Never think about your face or your hands or your voice. Never think about all the ways you could be hurt, all the tragedies that could befall you.
He’s staring at you, mind made up.
Then he’s jumping the counter, covering you with his own body, arms folded above your head.
Then the glass front of the store is shattering, exploding inward. Shards rain down, glinting like diamonds.
You’d been about to say something stupid. Diverging from your natural script. You’d been about to ask him a question.
Do you hate me that much?
He must. He’s always glaring at you, ignoring your attempts at conversation.
There’s something almost comforting about it, the consistency of his animosity. You don’t know what you did to cause it—-just existing, maybe—-but it’s kind of nice, knowing that no matter what, everything will be the same with him.
If only you didn’t want him to like you so, so desperately.
You don’t understand it. It’s strange and ugly. Like you’re always clawing for his attention, grasping for any kernel of —- hope? Acknowledgment? And when you get it, when he meets your eyes for once, it feels like you can breathe for the first time.
You make yourself cringe with how much you want him to like you. With how silly and pointless it all is.
“Get down,” he’s saying, not quite a yell. A gasp. A hiss.
He doesn’t give you the chance to follow his order. Suddenly he’s on top of you, his weight pressing all the air out of your lungs. You’d hit your head on something. You can’t exactly tell up from down, but you see a huge, lopsided scorch mark on the wall, and that must have been where you were standing. That was almost you.
The man peels himself away, rolling into a crouch. Just his eyes peek over the register.
“Is there a back door?”
It takes you a second to register that he’s talking to you. Your eyes are still glued to the burned wall. “Are we gonna die?”
He clicks his tongue. Useless, his sneer says. He reaches out, grabbing your collar with three fingers, hoisting you up. His other hand slams against the counter. Then the whole thing is gone.
A cloud of dust fills the store, sends you into a coughing fit. You’re half blind as the man drags you along, to the break room in the back. What he sees when he bustles through the door makes him curse.
“There’s no exit,” he snaps, rounding on you like it’s your fault.
You’re still choking, almost keeled over. And something else starts to kick at you from the inside. Your heart is beating too fast. Your chest won’t expand to take in enough air.
“Fuck,” the man says. “Fuck.”
He pulls you to him again, and down into a crouch. You’re covered by something soft and warm, and you feel the entire building tremor as you’re bundled up.
You can feel the wind, hear the sounds of the city unmuffled. The store is—-gone? Disappeared just like the counter.
The man had pulled you against his side, under his oversized hoodie. He pushes you away just as quick, grabbing you by the apron this time as he steers you through the rubble and into the alley behind the shop.
Fear is still lancing through you, though. You can barely walk. Your vision is starting to burst with darkness.
“I’m going to throw up,” you whisper.
You don’t know how he catches it, your voice is barely there. But he throws a questioning glare over his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”
He’s still got you in an indomitable grip. Still pulling you forward. In the back of your mind, you’re aware you should fight, try to get away. Whoever this man is, he’s not your friend. But your vision is swimming and your throat feels like it’s closed up.
“I’m not gonna throw up,” you say.
“Good,” he returns, going even faster now.
“I’m gonna pass out,” you amend.
You don’t get to see the expression he makes when you collapse, but you’re sure it would have lended a bit of levity to the whole situation.
You wake to a pressure on your gut.
He’s carrying you—-it takes a few seconds to understand that. All you see is the filthy sidewalk and the back of his dusty hoodie. You’ve been thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
You wouldn’t have expected him to be able to lift you, but he has a surprisingly sturdy grip on you, one arm lashed around your waist, the other holding your legs down, keeping you from kicking him. He’s moving quite fast, too.
You tap on his lower back. And again, harder, when he doesn’t acknowledge you.
“Put me down,” you say.
His grip tightens, his shoulder digging into your abdomen again. “Not yet.”
You squirm. He squeezes, threateningly. You close your eyes and let him do what he wants.
You don’t know how long he carries you for. It feels like days, being swayed along with him as he hurries. Leagues of asphalt and concrete passes under foot as you let yourself be taken, images of burnt wall and dust flashing through your mind. Keeping you docile. Whoever he is, whatever he is, you doubt his quirk only applies to checkout counters.
You’re barely cognizant of entering a building. You glance up, see dark corners, unfinished floors. A warehouse of some kind, with long halls leading in several directions. Another man stands by the far wall, if you can call him that. He hardly seems human, just darkness, staring back at you.
The man holding you grunts in acknowledgment.
“Shigaraki Tomura,” says the shadow. “You’ve brought a guest.”
Guest or prisoner you want to ask.
You let him haul you through the lower floor, up the stairs, barely taking in anything other than the noxious scent of smoke and mold, the darkness that permeates everything like spilled ink. Bad place, it tells you. Unfortunate place.
You’re brought through a door, then another. You scramble away as soon as he sets you down.
You take in your surroundings negligibly. This space looks more liveable. Bedroom-like, with a cot in the far corner, a desk pressed up against the wall. Not much else.
Mostly you’re staring at the man who brought you here. He looms in the doorway, taller than you remembered him being. Stronger, too, now that you know he can not only lift you, but carry you for blocks and blocks.
His face in the dim light seems to hold some sort of promise. He doesn’t come any closer, though. Just stares at you, chin tucked against his throat, eyes dragging up and down your form.
“What’s happening?” you ask. Your voice hardly sounds like your own. Too soft, shaky. Unmoored. You feel two heartbeats away from simply drifting off into the nebulous dark.
He seems to have to pull the answer out of himself. His expression is nearly a scowl. “We were attacked.”
“You’re a villain,” you say, a realization that was slow to dawn on you.
He doesn’t respond.
You try to side step him. “I’m leaving.”
He catches you before you can even put your foot back down, curling one finger around your apron strap and halting you with a firm weight. You’re unbalanced as you meet his gaze again, standing just a breath too close.
You can see more of him now. The hard lines of his face. The irregular scars. There are deep grooves beneath his eyes, the animal markings of pure exhaustion. How does he even hold himself up? How does the weight of his own body not just drag him to the floor?
“No,” he says.
You rear back, but he has you now-- even his fingers strong enough to support your weight. “Excuse me?” you snap. “Get out of my way.”
He sighs, but it sounds more like a hiss. He shakes his head, as if to levy his jumbled thoughts. “I mean -- you can’t.”
“I’m not a villain.” You try to grab his wrist, wrench him away. For one split second, his face goes steely and bug eyed, pure terror. He releases you the next, and you fall, thudding painfully against the hardwood.
“They’ll be looking for you too,” he says, rising to his full height. As if he hadn’t reacted to your touch like you’re radioactive. As if you’re not puddled at his feet. His mouth hardly moves, almost like he’s just holding back from gritting his teeth. “Like it or not, you’re involved in this as well.”
You haul yourself to standing. Your legs feel like they might give out again at any second, and you retreat from him, shuffling to the other end of the room.
Shouldn’t someone be coming for you? A hero? The police? They must know by now that you’ve been taken hostage -- that you’re scared and alone, facing down a beast of a man.
“I’m not,” you say. “This isn’t my fault.”
He pulls out his phone. He opens the police scanner app, modified to pick out keywords, anything related to the Leagues activity. He looks you in the eye. He presses play.
Static and muffled voices fill the room, the audio jolting between sources like whiplash. But there’s clear information coming through, too.
They’re describing the store, now just ash and the skeletal remains of the wire shelves. And Shigaraki, the man before you. His clothes, the direction he fled in, the apocalyptic effect of his quirk.
And they’re describing you.
Your hair, your height. What you were wearing and assumptions they’ve made based on your gait. Still at large, they’re saying of you. Affiliation unknown.
“I’m not a villain,” you say again. A choked whisper. You’re not even sure it’s audible over the noise, but his frown grows ever so slightly deeper. “They know that, right? They know I didn’t go with you by choice.”
He shuts down the app, pockets his phone. He’s not looking at you anymore when he says, “Do they?”
And you’re reminded of the way the whole building shook as that hero fired off at it, at you. The scorch marks where you had been standing just a heartbeat earlier.
You sink onto the cot. It creaks under your weight. You think it might give out at any moment .
You feel another attack coming on, the tightness in your throat, your vision seemingly unable to catch anything, make sense of anything.
It would disgust him, probably. To see you like this, weak and frightened.
But he’s gone before anything really sets in, locking the door behind him.
Dabi is watching from the doorway, gaze following his boss lazily.
Shigaraki has to pass by him to get out.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Dabi asks. About this whole situation. About you.
It’s not accusatory in the least. Dry curiosity. Like a house cat batting around a mouse.
Shigaraki doesn’t have an answer. He just scoffs and turns the corner, out the door and into the daylight to hunt down a hero in need of a very firm lesson.
All he can think as he starts toward the rubble of the convenience store is that he almost failed, almost lost you.
He won’t make that mistake again.
You flit around the room, investigating, searching. There’s not much to it, all of its secrets already out in the open. There’s one window, overlooking a three story drop. It’s unlocked. You think about it for hours, staring down at the vacant streets below. No one passes by in that time. You don’t think you’re strong enough to crawl to safety with a broken leg, or worse.
So you sit, and you pace, and you stare down at the street. Waiting. You guess for Shigaraki (is that really his name?) to decide what to do with you. You expect him to be an unforgiving warden. The derelict state of this place doesn’t exactly suggest luxury, and you doubt he’d have any sympathy for someone who’d insulted him. Or any qualms about hurting you, in revenge.
Maybe he’ll just kill you, you think.
But he doesn’t.
He unlocks the door and shoulders it open, finds you sitting on the floor, hands in your lap. You look like a child waiting for punishment, and he wants to tell you that things can be more okay. You don’t have to look so frightened, so aggrieved. You can sit on the bed, if you want.
He can see the question in your eyes, the distrust. Like a little cornered animal—-he can almost hear your heart racing from across the room. And why shouldn’t you be afraid? He’s a villain. That comes with context, history. Innate fear.
He’s brought you omurice.
He’s not exceptional at cooking, but he can make something as simple as this without much trouble. Kurogiri offered to do it for him, but the thought of someone else feeding you made Shigaraki’s skin crawl. That’s his job, now.
He crouches before you, a fair distance away. Neither of you could touch the other, even if you reached out. The omurice is on a chipped plate, which he places on the ground and then slides toward you, as if this is a bank robbery.
You finger the chip, pressing so the blunt ceramic edge presses into your skin, threatening to cut. He makes a strange sound at that. A gurgle of distaste, almost a squawk.
You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to pick up the plate, turning it this way and that, peering at the omurice like you’ve never encountered it before. It’s warm, not hot, in your hands. The perfect temperature.
This is one of the meals you make yourself, when you’re too tired to cook anything elaborate. It’s comforting, and familiar. A meal that’s seen you at your worst. And he knows that. He’s taken notes on that, though he’d never admit it, least of all to you.
For a split second, he imagines grief crosses your face, pain like a knife’s blade. But then the moment passes and rage replaces it.
You throw the plate at his feet. Neither of you flinch when it shatters.
And what can he do but rise and turn on his heel, slam the door behind him. A thousand words claw at his throat, desperate and pointless. He feels wild with them, like they might slip out without his consent, reveal too much. Make you even angrier.
Watch your feet, he doesn’t say. Don’t get cut.
Let me know if you get hungry.
Let me help you.
Let me have you.
You meet Dabi. More accurately, he enters your room, unprompted and without knocking, and sits himself down on the cot beside you.
He introduces himself, and part of you is sneering internally -- what a dick. The other half is quivering in fear. This face you recognize. He’s the cremation user. The one who burns people.
He leans back on his hands, peering down at you over the bridge of his nose. “They’ll kill you, if you run,” he says. “Are you gonna?”
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Is Shigaraki gonna kill me, first?”
He mulls that over for a minute, gaze lingering on your face. Finally, he drops a hand on your shoulder. A friendly pat. However friendly a man like him can be. “Don’t know,” he says. “Never do, with him.”
You clench your fists in your lap, trying not to look at him, and yet so curious. About everything. “He could have let me die,” you murmur. “Earlier. He didn’t.”
“That’s a first.” Dabi laughs. “You got him pussy whipped?”
You cringe at that. No. There hadn’t even been any touching. Hardly any interaction at all, at least on his part. You can’t imagine that he doesn’t hate you. You don’t know what to make of him. Never do, with him. That’s for sure.
Dabi has been with you less than five minutes when Shigaraki comes in, drawn by his internal sense of you, his anxiousness at leaving you alone in the hideout.
He enters the room face down turned, ready for your wrath, your tears, but seeing Dabi sitting beside you, seeing his hand on you -- he snaps. That’s the only way you can think to describe it. No questions, no accusations. He grabs the other man and tosses him to the floor. He’s on top of him quicker than you can blink, hand around his throat, minus one pinky.
You think he’s going to do it, turn him to dust.
You think you’re going to have to watch him kill someone.
It’s not even that you’re not particularly fond of Dabi. You don’t know anything about him, save for the fact that he makes you intensely afraid. You don’t want anything to do with him. But you don’t want him dead.
Shigaraki meets your gaze. His nostrils are flaring, eyes wide. His hand is trembling where it wraps around Dabi’s neck.
You shake your head. So minutely, you’re not even sure you were able to work up the nerve, get past the fear holding you rigid. But, like you’d cut the strings himself, the tension eases from his body. He draws away from Dabi with a click of his tongue.
“No touching,” he says. Then he’s gone, out the door like a wraith.
“Well,” Dabi says, sitting up. Seemingly unphased. “This’ll be fun.”
He brings you a salad the next day, with chicken and dressing on the side. He does the same song and dance, placing the food on the floor and sliding it to you. You eye it warily. You’re sure, somehow, that he hasn’t laced it with anything. It must be some soulmate sense, but you know he doesn’t mean you any harm. Still you can’t help but get a little bit squeamish every time he enters the room -- which is frequently, given that he’s taken to checking up on you any time he has the opportunity.
You’ve started to learn his schedule based on when he slinks through the door. Before he leaves and as soon as he comes back. Before he attempts to sleep, and just after the sun rises. You know he’s visited you when you were asleep too. Somehow. You feel it in your bones.
You turn the bowl around in slow circles on the floor. You’re hungry, but you won’t eat it. That feels like surrendering, somehow. Like giving up more than you’re willing to. All of this is his fault. His presence in your life has made you a villain by proxy.
His eyes follow the motion of your hands, like he’s waiting with bated breath. Like he’s the one starving.
“Why are you being so weird?” you demand. You don’t know why you bother talking at all. It’s that gnawing instinct, just like back at the store. You want his attention, despite everything. Even if it’s bad attention.
The glance at your face is quick, like he can’t look at you for too long or he’ll go blind. He says, “You’re afraid of me.”
“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re afraid of me too.”
You look at his hands, where they dangle impotently between his knees as he crouches before you. They don’t look like the hands of a killer. They’re big, with prominent veins. Thick fingers. You think of reaching out, grabbing two to hold onto like a child. You wonder if he’s as cold as he looks, if you could warm him with your own body heat.
His hands twitch, like he can feel your gaze on him, a physical thing.
“You don’t want to go back,” he says, unprompted. “You hated your life.”
You don’t even have the strength to be offended. “My life,” you say, exhausted. “Mine.”
You push the salad hard, away from you. It sends leaves shuddering to the floor, the bowl tipping precariously. He reaches out and takes it, slowly. A prey animal afraid of your bite-- isn’t that ridiculous?
“And you know what?” You almost laugh when he looks up at you through his bangs, like he’s a little kid about to be scolded. Your next words are no less heavy for how soft they’re spoken. “I hate you more.”
Seared fish and veggies, today.
You almost expected him to let you starve to death after yesterday, but he still checks on you. He hasn’t been coming all the way into the room, just cracking the door and peeking in. One red eye finding you in the shadow like a cheesy monster-of-the-week villain.
He’s extra careful as he slides the plate toward over. Not looking at it, or you. You poke at the cut, no fat, no seasoning from the looks of it. Disgustingly healthy.
“Do you even know my name?” you ask.
His face tightens. He’s clenching his jaw. “It was on your apron. Your nametag.”
You shift, coming closer. He leans back in turn, looking unsteady as he balances on the balls of his feet. That space between his thighs looks so welcoming, now. You want to crawl there, lean your whole body weight against him so he falls.
You ask, “What else do you know about me?”
“A lot,” he says.
You chew on that for a minute, watching as his eyes trail the room, running from corner to corner, avoiding you. So he was interested in you, too. From the start.
“You’re my soulmate, you know,” you say. You can’t remember your first words to him. Your little customer service speech, most likely. Something boring and inane. Safe.
But yours, the words you’ve been stuck with for your entire life— Get down. Curled under your clavicle like a brand, like a warning.
You’d known it wouldn’t be pretty, no matter what it was. You’d humored the idea of your soulmate being a hero, for the first few years of your life. Some savior, rescuing you. An adventure rather than a horror scene. As you grew up you knew that the more likely scenario was something less savory. A robbery, you’d settled on. You were destined for a petty thief.
Never once had you considered something like this.
“I always wondered why I wanted your attention so bad,” you say, frowning down at your chipped nails. You’ve been picking at them again, down to the bleeding rind. “And you wouldn’t even look at me, most of the time.”
He’s frowning. “I thought it would be better to leave you alone.”
You give him a pointed look. See how that turned out?
You draw up, onto your knees. Closer to him. You can smell his soap, acrid and sharp. He always bought the anti-bacterial kind at your shop, and it makes him smell like a doctor’s office. “Show it to me.”
His breath catches. “What?”
“The words,” you say. “Mine. On you.”
He peers at you for a moment. Searching for a trick or something. But you’re genuinely curious to see where they are and what they look like. You can’t even remember the first thing you said to him.
He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. It’s black, and it makes his skin seem to almost glow in contrast, he’s so pale. He’s more muscular than you anticipated. His clothes are always so shapeless you have trouble thinking of him as having a body at all. As the fabric crawls up his arm, you get the urge to touch, feel him, see if your hands will go through him like a ghost.
He has to fold his arm up for you to see them clearly. They stand out starkly on him, hidden yet prominent.
You wonder how it felt growing up with them, if he held onto them with an iron grip like you did. If they convinced him he’s worthy of some kind of love.
The notion opens up some tender space inside you, and you find yourself wanting to reciprocate. You tug on the collar of your shirt, until most of the soulmark is visible. It’s never been pretty. Scratchy, twitchy scrawl. The words so very ominous.
And yet this is a part of you, too. Something you’ve lived with your whole life, almost symbiotically. It had kept you sane some nights, knowing that you weren’t so unloveable, so alone. You almost laugh as you look down at the words yourself. Look where that landed you.
When you glance up, you see his face is drawn, so gaze so sharp it seems like he’s looking straight through you. As if in a daze, he reaches for the words, for you.
You reel back, throwing a hand out to block him, in turn.
“You think you’re going to touch me?” you say, incredulous, almost—disgusted.
His hand hovers in the space between you impotently. He pulls back slowly, still looking at that spot on your chest. You can almost feel his gaze, molten and heavy.
He retreats without another word. Doesn’t even slam the door.
Your fingers immediately go to the words, pressing and pressing. Wishing, horribly, masochistically, that it was him doing this.
It’s been a little over a week with the two of you living beneath the same roof. He’s about to go off the deep end.
You hadn’t fled. You knew when he stopped locking the door to your room, that first night. You also knew that the threat of heroes hunting you down should be enough to keep you put, where he can protect you. Because, despite everything, you’re smart. Despite everything you’re still soulmates, and you’ll still seek out his safety like a burrowing animal.
The result is something he’d never thought he’d have to contend with. Wanting but being unable to take. Observing from afar. He sees you talking to the other members, every once in a while.
They’re gentle with you. Don’t talk about the grittier aspects of their lives. You’re still nervous around them, but you’re also aware that belonging to Shigaraki gives you immunity to their deadlier caveats. They’d never lay a hand on you. They’d never even mention blood in your presence. Or else.
Mostly they ask you questions, prodding for information about your life. They tell you about him, too. His likes and dislikes, his strange habits. He’s almost surprised they’ve learned so much about him (a little peeved, too), but you listen raptly to all of it, taking in the information with a little frown.
So he lets it continue. He lets you wander around the hideout, investigating, keeping yourself occupied. You like Kurogiri, his stability and level headedness. His manners. Shigaraki catches you often, leaned against the bar counter, listening to him talk.
He’s swamped with urges, flashbulb images of him coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, burying his face against your throat. Or dragging you off to some dark corner, testing out the theories he’s read about bodily compatibility.
He’s never been so hard for so long in his life. Even as a teenager, so closely monitored at all times that he had no hope of jerking off, at least he could 100% Zelda or go for a run to take his mind off it.
There’s no running from you.
You’re everywhere, around every corner, behind every door. You haunt him. His logical mind knows that’s not a fair accusation—you live here. But so does he.
And seeing you exit the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wearing nothing but a long tshirt -- one of his own that he’d surreptitiously added to your closet-- it takes all of his will power to not simply grab the hem and lift it up, collapse on you like a torrent of rain.
Instead he turns tail and runs, closing the door to his room with a click of finality.
He’d taken the one next to yours. For ease of access, and because he likes hearing you. Likes knowing you still exist, alive and padding around, so close to him.
He sets himself on his bed, a mirror of the cot you sleep on. He thumps his head against the wall, right where he knows you’re laying, on the other side.
It’s making him almost feral, being so close to you. Making him behave in ways that are probably unbefitting of someone in his position. But you’re his soulmate, and he can’t have you, and what difference does it make that he swapped out your shampoo with his so you smell like him? That sometimes when you’re gonna he slips into your room and shoves his face into your pillow? That he’s swiped a pair of your panties?
He’s been carrying them in his pocket around since he took them, afraid that somehow someone would find them and wouldn’t that be humiliating. Would they tell everyone he’s being blue-balled by his own soulmate? Would they tell you?
He tugs them out, just so he can look at them. It’s not something he imagines you would have picked out for yourself, but Toga appointed herself as your personal shopper, and she liked things silky and pastel. They’re — cute. Pink with a little bow on the front.
They make him want to punch something.
Knowing that you’re wearing a pair just like this—it makes his jaw clench so hard it hurts.
The material is soft between his fingers. Smooth. He rubs it against his cheek, just to feel it. Against his lips.
The scent of you has faded, but it’s still potent enough to make him groan, to make him leak in his pants. He takes a long, deep breath, imagining his face between your thighs, nuzzling at your core.
His other hand snakes down, under the band of his sweatpants, where he’s already painfully hard. He was never this sex crazed before. Never so hungry for it. He was driven, focused. But now just the sight of you is enough to stop his higher brain function altogether, and the scent of you—
He’s fucking his fist and thinking about you watching him, face curled in disgust—is it possible for you to hate him anymore than you already do? This would be the catalyst. Him mooning over you, so obsessed with you he loses all self control like some kind of bitch in heat. He’s thinking about how much you would hate it if you knew this was happening, how you would despise it.
Then he’s just thinking about you.
Your hair and the way your thighs squish when you’re sitting down. How badly he wants to touch that spot where your ear curves into your jaw. How he wants to bite the fat of your cheeks.
Everything coalesces into a flashpoint of want, until he’s not thinking of anything at all, just you. You and you and you. Until he’s panting open mouthed, drooling onto your underwear, almost shoving his whole fist in his mouth as he tries to drown himself in your scent. He’s choking back moans, knowing you’re still awake just on the side of this wall, so close, so fucking close, and for some reason that is what sends him over, spilling into his palm with a half formed groan.
He fucking hates himself sometimes.
# how they comfort you after a bad day !
✫ ft. sakusa , iwaizumi x gn!reader
✫ a/n: since sar @luvrinnie was having a rough week a while ago, i decided to write this for my bby <3 part 2 (ft. suga n tsumu) coming soon !!
the last few days have been painful. with everything piling up, you've been having a hard time keeping up. kiyoomi notices the bags under your eyes, how you're sluggish, barely indulging him in the affection he loves so much. and he's so understanding, knowing what it's like to feel burnt out and utterly exhausted.
the sound of your bag hitting the floor grabs his attention away from his phone. it's gotten worse, hasn't it? he thinks to himself. you can barely make it to the living room without tears spilling from your eyes. pulling you into him, kiyoomi smoothes his hand over your head, rocking you side to side. "just let it out," he whispers into your hair, "you're with me, don't worry." and you can finally feel your shoulders relax. he's warm and inviting — the embodiment of safety.
kiyoomi takes you to the couch and wraps you in a blanket, wiping away any tears that slip down your cheeks. "here, have some water," he hands you a cup and let's out a shaky breath. he's been worried about you, but knowing that you're here with him makes him feel better. he knows that he'll do anything to make you feel like yourself again.
hours later, after you've fallen alseep on the couch with omi's arm wrapped around your waist, you feel him pepper kisses all over your face. and as laughter spills from your mouth, omi mumbles "don't like seeing you sad, angel" into your lips.
iwaizumi can tell when you're having an off-day. when nothing seems to be going right. when your normally joyful eyes are distant and cloudy. your boss has been on your back all week, nagging about every little action. and the pressure was starting to build up. it's almost the end of the week, though, and you hope you can make it til the end without falling victim to exhaustion and defeat.
and when you fall beside him onto the couch without a word, his hand comes up to your cheek, smoothing over the skin in the most comforting way. "do you wanna talk about it?" he whispers, afraid that speaking any louder would make your never-ending headache worse. you nod, holding onto his wrist so the warmth of his hand doesn't leave your face. you tell him everything, from the huge pile of work building up, to your annoying co-worker who won't leave you alone, to how you feel like you aren't improving in any way. and all hajime does is listen. he doesn't intervene, telling you to get ahold of yourself. he doesn't tell you that it will all get better. he simply listens, allowing you to spill everything on your mind and let the thoughts dissipate into the air.
one, two, three seconds pass when you're done speaking, and you hope you didn't bore him to sleep, but there he is with wide eyes, holding onto your hand to keep you grounded. "what? was that too much?" you laugh lightly.
"no, not at all. want me to beat that co-worker up?"
and as you two laugh about hajime's enthusiasm and determination, he soaks in the sound of your laughter, hoping that your heart is feeling a bit lighter now.
pairings: xu shangqi x reader
warnings: bruises, physical assault, asshole boss
about: requested! (DA32) “are those bruises?” + (DA19) “touch her, and i’ll murder you.”
a/n: my darling requester i am SO sorry. it doesn’t usually take me this long to finish a request, but i have been exhausted this week fro some reason, and i couldn’t figure out how to end this. i hope you enjoy anyway!
you can barely gather enough strength to push the door of your shared apartment open, weighed down by the bags under your eyes and the fact that you were supposed to leave work over two hours ago. your forehead knocks against the cool entrance of your home, eyes shut in emotional exhaustion as the key in your hand blindly tries to find the lock. you groan softly when you continuously miss it, hitting your head a few times in frustration. you’re barely lifting yourself off of the door, eyeing the lock, and aiming the key when the door swings open, your boyfriend standing in the frame with furrowed brows. “y/n?”
at the sight of him, you step into your apartment and press your face against his chest, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist as he returns the favor with a tighter grip, still a little confused as he shuts the door behind you. “shangqi,” you mumble out, words muffled by his chest, “i missed you,” you continue, nuzzling your nose against the soft material of his shirt.
he’d been gone the past few days for a mission, and while you would usually make a bigger deal out of his return--meaning balloons and some poorly made dessert that he’ll eat anyways and definitely not you, exhausted, and on the verge of frustrated tears--you had been so tired lately, and you were back home too late for anything, anyways.
“i missed you too,” shangqi trails off, pressing his lips to your head as a comfort that works. “are you okay?” he asks.
“i’m better now,” you shrug, completely honest considering the way you can feel the energy you’d lost at your job rushing back into you with the smell of shangqi. “‘don’t even think i need the nap i was gonna take when i came home.”
“are you sure? i don’t think it’ll hurt,” shangqi debates, his worries utterly clear in his tone.
you force a breathy laugh from your throat, nodding, “you trying to get rid of me?”
“never,” shangqi replies immediately. “but, i am trying to get you to maybe watch a movie with me?” he baits, knowing full well that there’s no point in arguing with you when you’re so stubborn, instead planning to put on one of the movies that never fails to make you fall asleep, if not only for you to rest a little.
“that,” you begin, lifting your head from his chest but not moving from your place in his arms. “sounds like a great idea,” you smile, pecking his lips before letting him pull you to the couch, where you sink into him again.
shangqi puts on the movie he remembers katie raving about, dramatically groaning at you each time you fell asleep. none of you had any idea what it was about it, but you were always knocked out cold by the first twenty minutes, less if you were as tired as you seemed to be.
you glance at him when you notice the movie he’s choosing, poking him, “shangqi…” you warn, catching onto his plan.
“what?” he feigns innocence, throwing his arm around you to pull you even closer, “‘felt like watching it. you know how great the ending is.”
you don’t. which is why the lie is so damning.
you only grumble and settle in beside him, basking in his warmth and pressing stray kisses to whichever place you can reach, happy to have him back. you’re asleep seven minutes in.
an hour later, you’re shimmying your shoulders in the kitchen, moving your hips to a song you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for a while before shangqi left. you’re making something for both you and him to eat--nothing too hard, of course; shangqi has made sure to assign you something you can’t burn, something you appreciate after the last time you’d almost burnt down the apartment.
shangqi is eyeing you from the hallway where he’d just come out of the bathroom, a small smile crinkling his eyes as he enjoys seeing you in your element, a welcomed difference to who you had been when you walked through the door. he walks up behind you, placing a gentle hand on your hip and another one on your stomach to turn you around, meeting the brightness of your smile once you meet his eye. you continue dancing distractedly, a wider grin taking up your face when he begins to dance, too.
you turn a little too fast and bump into a counter, wincing when your hip comes in contact with the marble and letting a small sound of pain slip out. shangqi frowns, watching your hand as it rubs at the covered wound. “what’s wrong?”
you lift up your shirt, scrunching your nose when you catch the colored skin underneath. rolling your eyes, you wave him off as you drop your shirt, “it’s nothing. accident at work, my boss accidentally pushed me when we were in the kitchen.”
the frown never completely leaves shangqi’s face, eyes drifting to the place where your bruise was throughout the rest of the night.
the next morning, you’re out of the bed and nearly at the door before shangqi is even waking up, the brunt of the mission hitting like a train by the time he’d let his head hit the pillow. you’re rushing inside the bedroom, scurrying around to look for something and say goodbye to your boyfriend when he wakes up. he’s barely awake, the world blurry around him when he catches handprint-shaped darkened skin around your wrist as you reach for something. you don’t note his distress as he sits up, examining the skin that had been fine before he’d left as you mumble an aha, getting ready to leave your boyfriend.
“okay, found it. i love you and i will see yo--”
“is that a bruise?” shangqi interrupts, voice serious and completely awake as he moves towards you, gently grabbing your arm to examine the injury closer.
you look down at your wrist, laughing dismissively way as you try to take your wrist back. “it’s nothing--”
“that’s not nothing, y/n. who did that to you?” shangqi demands, tone still kind but pleading.
you swallow, scoffing lightly with a playful smile, “it’s just an accident at work yesterday,” you begin, the excuse something he’d heard before, “he just grabbed me a little too hard--”
“who?” shangqi insists.
finally giving in, you sigh, “my boss. he was just in a bad mood, i’m honestly fine.”
“was he the same one who pushed you and gave you that?” shangqi asks, pointing at the place on your hip where another bruise resided.
“yes,” you admit after a second of stubborn silence, crossing your arms protectively over your chest.
“did you tell someone--”
“i’m fine.” you cut him off, “it was just a one-time thing, he was in a bad mood and he apologized right after.”
“y/n,” shangqi starts, grabbing the hand belonging to the unscathed arm, “please tell me if it happens again. i think you should go to someone higher-up than him with this anyways--” at the look on your face, he stops himself, “but, i know that you love your job and you're not going to do that, so i’m not going to force you to, but if this happens again--”
“i will.” you promise, “i’ll tell you or i’ll tell his boss. she’s really good about that kind of thing. but i need to go now.”
“okay,” shangqi sighs, not happy with the way you were going about it, but not wanting to force you into something you didn’t want. “i love you, have a good day.”
“i love you, too,” you say, kissing his forehead, “i’ll be back soon.” you wave at him before you leave, giving him a view of the bruise outlining your wrist.
it leaves him with an ugly taste in his mouth that he can’t seem to shake.
it’s almost your lunchtime when he notices you’d forgotten your wallet at the kitchen island, the memory of you bustling about in the morning as you looked for what he assumed was this. poking his tongue against his cheek, he decides to visit you at work to bring it to you, knowing you’ll probably need it to buy food, and if your asshole boss happens to be there… then why not take advantage of the opportunity to introduce himself?
he’s at your workplace in ten minutes, swinging around your sugar mommy wallet as he walks inside the building. he greets hans, the receptionist that already knows him by how many times he’s come in to eat with you, and makes small talk while he signs in before he’s able to go see you, face already brightening when he sees you in your element, practically glowing.
the smile that’s beginning to grow on his face disappears completely once your boss comes into the picture, harsh words he’s probably spewing at you making your face drop. shangqi speeds up, trying to listen to what your boss is saying when he suddenly grabs your injured wrist with an angry hand, pulling you closer and spitting words in your face.
shangqi isn’t sure how he got in the middle of both of you so quickly, hands already extended to shove him away from you and standing in front of you as a protective barrier, features contorted into a dangerous snarl.
“who are you? what the fuck are you doing in my building?” he barks, coming closer to the both of you. shangqi can feel your fingers tangling themselves in his shirt, but you don’t move away from him.
“no, what are you doing putting your hands on her?”
“i don’t think any of this concerns you--”
“i can assure you it does when you’re leaving bruises on my girlfriend.”
your boss’ eyes flit to you, settling on your still figure, “you went and complained? you pathetic---” he begins to lunge at you, an arm outstretched when shangqi suddenly pushes him against a wall before he can even touch you.
“touch her, and i’ll murder you.” shangqi growls, a promise laced in the cold tone you’d never even thought he had. his grip is tight around your boss’ neck, ironed shirt wrinkling with each passing second of shangqi’s tightening grip. you stand behind your boyfriend in shock, only used to the sweet man who would prefer trapping spiders to take them outside. you pull at his shirt, softly saying his name as a way of asking him to calm down.
with a final jostle, shangqi complies, putting your boss down and only glaring at him as he slinks away, proclaiming he’ll sue. he turns to you once your boss is gone, gentle hands reaching for the wrist that had just been in your boss’ grip. his fingers trace gently over the bruise, worried eyes replacing the angry ones he’d had just before. “are you okay?” shangqi asks, scanning your face and pulling you into his embrace. you nod, tightening your arms around him. “i swear, i’ll kill him. who does he think he is? if they don’t fire him, i swear i’ll bring it up to wong or banner or i’ll take care of it myself--”
“i’ve never seen you that mad,” you interrupt in a daze, slowly pulling away and searching the eyes that had been so furious seconds before, now soft and comforting as they observed you.
“i’ve never needed to be,” shangqi tells you, the hands that had been wrapped around your boss’ neck now curling around your waist to pull you closer again, “but when i saw him hurting you--”
“i’m okay,” you assure weakly. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you about it,” you murmur into his chest, “i just didn’t want you to worry. i was trying to avoid all this.”
“worrying about you is my job, i’m supposed to make sure you’re okay, y/n.”
“okay,” you give in. “i’m sorry. i promise i’ll tell you if anything happens again--”
“oh, no, this isn’t going to happen again.” shangqi promises, pulling back to meet your eyes, “i’ll make sure of it. i’ll stay with you every day if i need to.”
“you won’t need to, i promise,” you vow, “but thank you for protecting me.”
shangqi swears it’s his honor.
summary: how our boys would treat their s/o in one her most tough moments of the month.
characters: Ken Ryuguji (Draken), Manjiro Sano (Mikey), Shinchiro Sano and Rindou Haitani.
warnings: period, so, lot of blood mentions 🥴😂
note: a hdc that I'm totally needing right now 🥴 to all the girls who's been going through the worst time of month, sending you strength darlin! @ara-mitsue @beautifulblhell @rintah0e tagging my darlings to see if they like 💕
Ken Ryuguji, Draken.
He woke up a little earlier than usual, anxious to finish fixing the green Shadow Phantom on his workshop downstairs. He spends almost an hour there, hands full of oil and grease, but finally he finishes the job, smiling at the beauty in front of him.
Going up the stairs again into the house, he decides to make you a proper breakfast, missing those days where you both can just relax all day in each other's arms, not worrying about works to deliver or bills to pay.
"Sweetheart?" He goes to the bedroom first, wanting to give you a good morning kiss before getting stuck on the kitchen. A playful smile grows on his face as he spots you curled up on your side of the bed, wrapped like a sushi inside the cushy blue blanket.
"C'mon sleepyhead, time to wake up." He walks towards you, making himself comfortable by sitting close to your body.
Your eyes don't meet him, staring straight to your bedside lamp.
"I..... I don't want to get up."
Something is wrong. He can notice in your voice, wavering like you're apprehensive of something.
As he moves to get closer and try asking what's happening, his hand goes to the back of your thighs hidden under the covers, a usual gesture when he wants to soothe you.
He frowns hard as feels a damp spot right there, making his hand stain in....
"______ what.... What is happening?" He doesn't know what to think, desperate trying to understand why you're bleeding there, a bunch of bad scenarios running through his mind.
You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes aren't afraid nor losing light.
And realization hits on him.
He sends you a comfort look, trying to tell you that he's there for you, that you don't have to be ashamed. It's a natural thing, unfortunately, and he won't be mad or disgusted because of it.
"Ken...." You whisper, so frustrated and angry with your body for making you go through this.
"How about you take a nice bath? It will help you feel better, right?" He places his clean hand in your face, moving a bit of some fallen locks to have more access to caress your cheek.
"But I stained everything, Ken! Even the mattress is dirt in blood."
"You don't have to worry about that." he continues with his soothing tone, now moving his forehead until it touches yours. "All you have to do is take a bath, and lay on the couch after, okay? I'll take care of the rest."
Your eyes fills with water. "Thank you so much, baby. I don't deserve you."
"Yes you do. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you."
Draken really takes care of everything. He puts all the dirty bedclothes to wash, rubbing them one by one until the fabric returns to its original color. And when you go out of the bathroom into the living room, you find a very well made sofa, with cushions and blankets enough to make you feel cozy for your next nap.
Manjiro Sano, Mikey.
An omelet with cheese and burnt edges sits on the tray in front of him, waiting to be taken away while its steam rises through the air. It was his fifth attempt, and still, he couldn't make you a measly decent omelet. Maybe the orange juice will help cover it up, the only thing he did well — let's not comment on the orange peels and dirty dishes thrown in the sink though, he'll clean up later.
At least he didn't forget to buy you chocolate dorayakis , knowing that chocolate makes you feel better during periods.
He takes the entire tray of food to the bedroom, opening the door with his foot since his hands are full. His heart softens when he sees you, lying in bed with a better expression on face, a small smile growing as you notice him.
He gives you one, walking towards your bed and placing the tray on your bedside table, before turning to you. "How's my princess feeling?" He climbs and lays by your side, placing his hand on your face while gazing at you with so much care that makes you want to cry.
"My cramps are lighter. This cloth was really a lifesaver." You mention the warm towel that is currently on your belly, relieving the sharp pain with sucess.
"Good, but I think my threats did the job, actually,"
"Mikey, how threading my cramps with 'slow death' helped?" You chuckle, giving up from understanding your boyfriend.
"They don't call me Invincible Mikey over nothing." He affirms with a convinced smile, sounding so silly that you can't help but giggle. "Hey, I'm serious though!"
"Uh-huh," You send him a disbelief look, tracing his black locks in your hand while he pouts at you. You gaze behind him. "Is that my breakfast?"
He raises quick to gather, carefully placing the tray between you on bed while you adjust your posture to sit. The smell of melted cheese makes your stomach turn into a brat, demanding the food to your mouth. Mikey looks at you with apprehensive eyes, not quite looking ahead as he fidgets with the hem of your sweater.
"Sorry princess, I burnt all the others as well." You didn't even mind the burn edges, the main dish looks so delicious. You only gaze ath him gently, trying to stop him from worrying to much while cutting the omelet with knife and fork. You don't waste time in taking the first bite, loving the bittersweet feeling the burnts gave to it.
Mikey feels relived with your pleased expression, maybe he still has a small hope for cooking.
But nothing could compare to your happiness as you get ready to the delicious and sweet dorayaki close to you.
"Mmmm, this is soo good!" You express, moaning audibly as you savor the chocolate cream on your lips. He can only smile, giggling a bit as you get more and more dessert smeared. "Thank you so much, Mikey."
He gives your forehead a soft peck, staring at your eyes with care. "It's my pleasure."
The TV is on, a car race playing on it as their motors roar on the speedway. Shinchiro has his head in the cabinet under the sink, finishing trimming the clogged pipe. The apartment's plumbing is almost precarious, like a poor job done by an angry mechanic. And now every week the pipe decides to clog and makes your life a madness.
He'll give you a proper home in the future, he just needs some time to sell more bikes.
He hears the front door open, knowing it's you from the clatter of your sandals on the floor. He moves to got out in such a hurry that he ends hitting his head on the wood above by accident.
"Ouch." He rubs his redden forehead, letting go of his tools to meet you in the living room.
He frowns when he sees you walking in the room with a troubled face, your hands pressing against your belly as you clusmy walks, like there's an egg between your legs and you can't let it drop.
He was going to ask why you're like this, but something else answers for him.
The circular blood stain on your skirt.
He winces, feeling bad for your situation. You must feel so uncomfortable, going home through subway with a stain like that showing in public. He wished he could simply extinguish periods for women life, it's too much painful to endure this every month, for not even know how many years!
He'd probably cry inside his bedroom all day if he was in your shoes.
He waits for you to come back to the living room, moving fast to clean the kitchen as much as possible so you don't find all the mess when you arrive.
You come dressed in your robe, walking better but still moving uncomfortably as he can notice, probably because of the sticky pad.
And even with the pain you're suffering, you still throw him a gentle smile, having missed his face all day.
"Hey baby." You step closer to him, resting your hands on his shoulders to give him a kiss, one that he happily retributes. "It's good to see you."
"How about some lunch?" You move away, trying to discreetly clutch your belly as you feel another cramp coming. Shin notice that.
"I can make you yakisoba, or a fried meat with-"
Suddenly, you're being carried by Shinichiro's arms, his feet leading you to your bedroom directions.
"You don't need to pretend." He answers before you have the chance to ask.
He enters the room and gently lays you in your bed, replacing the cushions so you can be more comfortable there.
"Are you okay? Do you need something?" You can see how worried he is for your well being, glancing at your body to look for any trace of discomfort or pain.
"I-I'm only with a few cramps baby, I-"
"Then you should rest." He cuts your probably excuse to not put yourself in first place, taking your hands in his warm ones. "You know how much I love you, right? How much I admire you for being strong, stronger than I could ever be."
"But you don't need to always be the strong one, love. Please let me take care of you, I..... I can't take it seeing you in pain." He caress your skin with his thumb. "Please, let treat you properly, the way you deserve."
You never imagined having to go through such a embarrassing moment at a Rindou's big business dinner with some partners, but here you are, completely mortified.
The night was going well, chats here, laughter there, food on your plate without you even having to raise your hand to ask. A new alliance between Bonten and a promising organization was about to be formed, so there was nothing but reason to smile.
Until one of the female guests asked you to go to the bathroom. And halfway through, you felt the wetness on your dress skirt. You had thought it might be some spilled liquid, but when you reached over to see, a red liquid stains your hand.
How did you not notice it was leaking before? Maybe the drinks and nervousness inhibited your senses, you don't know, but what you certainly know is that now a lot of people must have noticed as well.
You look behind, seeing some person's with worried and disgusted faces, and you just want to vanish.
Rindou rises quickly from his seat, going in your direction as he notice your eyes filling with water.
"It's okay, I got you." He tries to comfort you, guiding your body to the ladies restroom. He doesn't give a care if he isn't somewhere he was supposed too, he did that all his life, and now that his girl needs him, he wouldn't left you alone.
"No...." The way you sound so saddened and desperate breaks his heart in two. "Why did this happen it? Crap..... What am I going to do?" You look at him sorrowful. "I'm sorry, I messed up everything-"
"Stop saying this senseless things." Rindou takes off his grey suit coat, wrapping around your waist so it can cover everything behind. "You didn't mess it up, okay? Stop crying, baby." He dries the tears falling in your face, the frustration too much to handle, in addition to the bad feeling of dirtiness.
Rindou won't ever comprehend that pain. But he'll try to lessen it.
"C'mon, I'll take you home."
You know that trying to reason with Rindou doesn't do much in the end, so you only accept, grateful that you guys came with his car instead of bike.
On the way though, as Rindou was saying goodbye to his partners , one of the minor mobsters mouthed something not so pretty about his girl:
Rindou moves closer to him, squeezing his shoulder tightly as he pretends to give him a goodbye pat.
"Disgusting, huh? Do you know what's even disgusting?" Rindou stares at him as he whispers, ,"When I come back, I'll make you bleed in such a worse spot that you'll be begging for pads yourself. "
Reblogs and comment are deeply appreciated! ❤️✨
❝he embarrasses himself in front of you…❞
note: f!reader. modern!au. do not copy. reblogs are appreciated.
a/n: venti & childe ver.
his voice cracked out of nowhere
god, save this poor young man from the sheer amount of mortification he felt. he was just so excited to tell you about his latest discovery that his voice failed him mid-way. it sucked, though, because it wasn't often you got to see this side of chongyun
“y/n, y/n!” chongyun called, as he waved his hand and walked towards you with a boyish grin decorating his face, “you won’t believe what happened.”
you replied, “what, what?” playfully mocking him. “wow, this is the most excited i’ve ever seen you throughout the years we’ve known each other.”
“don’t be a tease. that isn’t true, and you very well know that.” he rubbed the nape of his neck then held up the video camera he used to film his videos. “anyway, look at what xingqiu and i caught on camera during our last investigation.”
ah, yes. how could you forget? your crush was a part-time paranormal investigator online. over the course of running his channel, it became a running joke for his viewers that he can never seem to catch anything supernatural on film. and even if he did, whatever ‘evidence’ he gathered was simply dismissed by his bestfriend for a more grounded reasoning. so, this was momentous
chongyun pointed at the corner of the screen then glanced at you to see your reaction. “does this not look like an apparition?”
“i guess?” you hummed aloud, “there’s certainly a humanoid shape to it?”
for some reason, your short reply was enough to spark joy in the young man. the boyish grin he sported earlier disappeared, it was replaced with an actual genuine smile exuding excitement. “my sentiments exactly! i said the same thing to xingqiu but he said, nO, iT’s jUst tHe liGhT—”
he likes you. god, did he like you. if you don’t believe him, you can even ask his friends for confirmation and they’ll agree. hence, when his voice suddenly decided to crack, all the color drained from his face. the one time he managed to get up close and personal without burning up and looking like a tomato, and it was still ruined by something he couldn't control
you probably won’t see him or hear from him until a week later when you and xiangling visit xingqiu to ask about his sudden disappearance. more horrifyingly on chongyun’s end, you two managed to walk in on him mid-vent about the stupid incident as well
he accidentally bonked your head when he tried to kiss you
it wasn’t fair. no. not one bit. all he wanted was one romantic evening with you and life still couldn’t give him that. throughout the week, thoma barely got to speak to you or even see you because of his position at the kamisato corporation. hence, he was over the moon when the leave he filed two days earlier had been finally approved by his boss
to his dismay, though, the day didn’t turn out in his favor. in the morning, the breakfast he prepared for you was slightly burnt. meanwhile, during lunch, the bakery he wanted to visit with you ran out of your favorite pastries. dinner was the only hour of the day saved from impending disaster. everything appeared to be good so far…
he shouldn’t have spoken so soon. he jinxed it. when the evening finally laid to rest and you two were nearing the state of intimate comfort, he miscalculated his move and accidentally bonked u on the forehead as he leaned in to kiss you
“ow!” you yelped, leaning back and rubbing the center of your forehead to ease the slight pain
thoma stared at you, wide-eyed. he never meant for this to happen. his mind ran a mile a minute, as he tried to control the urge to just cry from how horrible the day went. “i’m sorry! …are you okay, baby? did i hurt you? wait here, i’ll fetch you some ice—“
“thoma, baby, it’s okay. i’m fine. we’re fine. it’s not a big deal.” you sensed his distress and quickly reassured him before water lined his eyes
“are you sure?” he reached for your hand and held it in his, as he whispered, “because i promise it’ll be quick! i’ll be back before you know it!”
you giggled, then used your other hand to cup his cheek, “i’m sure. there’s no need to be such a worry-wart, thoma. it’s just a little bump.”
it took a while for him to believe you, but he relented in the end. with a sigh, he closed his eyes then rested his forehead against yours. “alright, if you say so,” he said, “then you don’t mind if i?” inching forward to further close the gap between your lips
When He Raises His Hand to You
Request: Hi, um this is my first time requesting, I would like for U if you could, do Sebastian, Claude, undertaker, and maybe Ciel, how they got into an argument, and the guy ends up raising their hand and might look like they might slap them because they were mad, their beloved is feared of them for a while or in that moment? uh, the them I suppose is angst with some comfort at the end, I've had a rough day, so I need depression with comfort, If U don't want to do this, I totally respect your wishes.
Title: When He Raises His Hand to You
Genre: mostly angst, little sliver of comfort at the end of each character portion
Pairing: Sebastian Michealis/Ciel Phantomhive/Undertaker X GN!Reader (separate)
Notes: Hey! I'm so sorry about this, but I don't write for Claude, so I stuck to the other three that were requested. Otherwise, I also decided to roll with headcanons for the format - the short descriptions would help the reader interpret the written in a way more similar to their situation, I think.
That said, I will warn any reader now: this does deal with traumatic events such as previous abuse and intense anxiety. If either of those makes you uncomfortable or is a trigger for you, I recommend reading something else. If you decided to read, please do so with caution.
Either way, I hope all readers enjoy it - and that it can possibly make your days better.
Below the cut!
on a normal day, he’s gonna be cool as a cucumber
it would have to be an absolutely A W F U L day for him to even raise his voice at you, much less his hand
but today was one of the aforementioned days about ten times over
you had dropped by the Phantomhive manor to aid your family
your initial time spent with him was limited
you had to crack down and get to business with ciel
seriously, the two of you were notorious for being thrown together to solve cases
but that wasn’t what bothered sebastian
he was normally able to handle you working
but it just seemed like everyone was trying to get on his nerves today
mey-rin broke a good portion of the manor china, managed to flood the laundering area, and was seemingly even more inept at cleaning
finnian poisoned a large portion of the garden and seasonal flowers with one go, proceeded to call for sebastian to fix it, and then destroyed not only another portion of the garden but also the shed in which they kept all of the required tools needed
and bardroy burnt the kitchen. again. for the fifth time today.
this isn’t even accounting for the multitude of times in which grell came by to crash the manor and their endeavors to uncover any evidence
bringing along the other reapers
and the times that day in which they had completed work to present to you with the undertaker in which sebastian needed to attempt multiple times to get him to laugh
it was, overall, a stressful day
and he really wanted to relax with you
given ciel’s discretion, of course, but he knew you were a reasonable person and patience was something that you had in spades when it came to sebastian and his work
he would be able to do that later that night, though
you specifically requested have sebastian stay with you once the busyness at the manor slowed
and, after a few hours that felt like a good few weeks to sebastian passed, you were able to
you were trying to relax by candlelight and admire the images that were present on the walls surrounding you
sebastian was trying to put ciel to bed and make sure that the rest of the servants were asleep
“young master, is there anything else you require of me before you rest for the night?”
“i think that will be all, sebastian. possibly if you could review any documents that may need reviewing with y/n, though. that would be great.”
“or course, young master. rest well.”
he met up with you not long after putting ciel to bed, and as you were roaming, he was trying to remain calm.
this never usually happened.
he usually had everything under control.
he usually had his head upright and logic straight.
but tonight, for once, he wanted to - needed to - relax
sadly, while he couldn’t really relax, he at least was with you
well, he thought he was
until you caught wind of an event occurring in your own manor
and you were reccommended to leave within the coming few hours
that was the last straw for sebastian.
“darling, i normally attempt to allow you to attend to your own events and needs, but i only wish to request that you stay here for the moment.”
“sebastian, i’m quite sorry, but this is important. i must attend to it quickly. i promise you that it won’t take long, not in the slightest.”
“darling, if i may-”
“sebastian, i’m so, terribly, sorry-”
“i must be on my way-”
“no. it was said that you could leave come the morning.”
“i’m quite worried, though-”
“darling, i must ask you to stay calm and relax here for the night.”
“but business calls-”
“ignore it. i’ve had quite the stressful day, and all i request is that i do not be denied time spent alone with the one human i can tolerate.”
he only slightly raised his voice then, yet you were still chilled.
not enough to back down, though
“y/n, dear. you are staying here for the night.”
“no, i must go-”
you stood up, rushing to reach your room for the night
sebastian regarded your leave, grabbing your arm
“i quite clearly said. NO.”
his fists were clenching, something you failed to see, but nonetheless
“i must leave-”
he pulled you by your arm and quickly, oh so quickly
he raised his other hand
it wasn’t by much, not by much at all
but it was so sudden, so shocking, and so uncharacteristic of him
it left you shaken
you stared at his gloved hand, mouth agape
memories came back to you, almost tenfold
some of your past with your adoptive parents
some of your past with your biological and deceased parents
some of the orphanage owners that you lived with
a gloved hand, to you, was something that often terrified you
and, in that moment, sebastian was no longer sebastian
he was your father, your adoptive mother, and your previous caretaker all at once
hand raised, brow furrowed, and eyes wide
the sight was bloodcurdling to you
tears clouded your vision and you backed away, resorting to running from the current room you were in and locking the door
sebastian had lowered his hand upon seeing your facial expression
but, despite him trying to process what had just occurred and the emotion that came with it, he was only trying to configure the aftermath
he knew you had locked the door, really
and though he had the key to enter if need be, he left you alone.
he wouldn’t want you to be so awfully scared that you would fear for your wellbeing after this point
he would approach you after you have settled what you need
you would be returning to the manor after everything has been worked out, and he’d ask tanaka to lead you to your carriage
of course, while advising ciel of his actions and your dilemma
so, in that time, he would have to process the regret
the true, honest regret
and come to terms with what had happened as well as what he is to say and do to fix the situation as best as he could
and so, come the next day, he was alreayd prepared
ciel had been the one to greet you, and tanaka was the one who led you into the manor at you next visit
and while you saw sebastian, you were still hesitant to talk to him
you knew that he meant no real harm towards you, that it simply was a spurred reaction
but that didn’t make it much better at all.
ciel had been the one to chew out the servants for screwing things up so awfully that day, so they really straightened out and quick
so they had been on their best behavior for the time that you were away, and still had been
sebastian had been given a break, and tanaka had been temporarily appointed the caretaker for the phantomhive child
ciel really, truly saw you as someone to respect, so he made sure that you would be fine and that sebastian felt guilt for it
it wasn’t until nightfall came that you talked to sebastian
it took some time to muster the energy to do it, but it was done nonetheless
he had approached you and held out a hand, which you obliged
he gave it a light kiss, meant to signify a simple apology
you knew how formal he could be, and he never really did this after an event such as the one that recently occurred unless he was instructed to find information
so this was slightly shocking, but it calmed you down.
“darling, i do apologize for my atrocious behavior during the last time we were alone.”
“no, no - you did it as an impulse reaction, nothing more. you wouldn’t hurt me.”
he chuckled just the slightest at that statement, but guided you to a nearby seat.
a candle was lit on a shelf not far away from said seat, and it smelled faintly of (favorite/scent).
it was an apology silently accepted as you sat beside the tall man and shared a conversation.
the following times that he was bothered, he made sure to avoid letting any anger reach him as best as he could
(that, or he took it out on grelle if she just so happened to be in the vicinity of wherever he happened to be)
(sometimes, he even ended up beating the red-headed reaper in front of you)
(ciel would always scowl, you’d always giggle a little. it was funny, so-)
with undertaker, i don’t think he would raise his hand unless something positively huge was compromised.
he can get serious, yes.
it can get intimidating, yes.
but the thing is...he isn’t particularly violent unless pushed so far that that’s the only course of action.
(dude’s an xntp of some kind, logic and ideas are way higher than kicking and fighting when things go wrong)
that said, i think this would have to do with him planning his resurrection idea
that, and/or putting it into action.
specifically during book of atlantic, or right before.
it would probably be during the planning stage, and i have a feeling that work would manage to get to him
he is a reaper, and he does have emotions, so it isn’t like he wouldn’t be even a little stressed about this.
that, and he needs someone to help put that plan into action.
he didn’t manage to reach his partner, and you?
yeah, you were completely and totally unaware of his plan, much less aware of his whole idea.
you only knew that he was doing something, and you assumed it to be his normal work.
he was busy, as always.
but, you knew that he also needed a break from time to time.
again, he’s a reaper - he needs to function like a normal human to do acts that a human is almost completely unable to do.
so, using what was available, you made him a snack.
it wasn’t much, no. not much at all, but it was something.
you had a plate in hand, taking it to a door to the undertaker’s office
knocking gently, you heard his voice ring.
“who could possibly be knocking on my study door?”
you laughed, shaking your head and setting the plate you held on the ground.
“tis merely a burglar, darling. they happened to drop a snack by for you, as well.”
“ha ha! well, i appreciate the burglar’s efforts!”
and this followed as habit for days
which then turned to weeks
which then turned to months
which caused you to get a little pissed.
your partner wasn’t responding to your efforts, he wasn’t even opening the door in front of you.
if this was just a portion of his normal job, then why is he being so secretive?
so, tired and annoyed, you did what you would normally do.
bring him food
(again, still a reaper.)
and instead of just dropping it by the door like usual, you knocked and stood there
“whoever may be here at this hour?”
“yet again, a burglar, darling. i do think we need to focus more on our security.”
“ah, and may they perchance have food readied?”
“why, yes they do. they do wish that their target would meet them to flaunt their loot.”
you knew it would happen.
he doesn’t respond to this well, but you usually calm him down.
this? totally different story.
“well, my apologies dear burglar, but i’m unable to do so. would you please leave the plate beside my door and i’ll provide a gift of thanks tomorrow?”
you breathed in deep, knocking again.
you heard the old wooden chair that he kept in his study move when you didn’t reply.
some footsteps echoed as best as they could, but that was it.
until the lock became undone.
the door didn’t open, no, but the lock became undone
so, angry and worried, you stormed inside
“undertaker, darling, take a break.”
he cleared his throat and sat still enough
still enough to warrant some fear
“please, you need to rest and i’m sure that this endeavor of yours can wait.”
slowly, slowly, oh so slowly he stood
and finally looked at you
you remembered seeing his eyes before, but now?
there was a fire in them that scared you senseless
“darling, if i may, i’m quite busy-”
“and you’re failing to care for your health. you never seem to listen when i have to remind you-”
“-that you can’t thrive off of what is essentially spite and drive-”
“(y/n), my dear-”
two steps closer.
“-simply because you wish to. may i remind you-”
“darling, i might advise you to calm down-”
“-you are not a demon nor one of those damned creatures referred to as angels, you are simply a-”
another two steps
“-reaper. you are a reaper, and you need rest just as much as the rest of us humans do, so-”
“(y/n), there is a fine line here...”
“-not just for my sake, but for yours, take. a break.”
for the first time in a long time, he raised his voice to you.
“this is business that you are not to be associated with, and it requires my utmost attention.”
his voice boomed through the walls
“with your ‘care’, i seem to be getting less work done by the second.”
he stepped closer with every word he uttered
“so, if i may say, you are being quite obnoxious-”
“i’m only trying to assure your health, reaper or not-”
his hand came up quickly
you flinched back just as he did so, terror overtaking you
you gulped as you stepped back, setting the food on a table nearby the exit of the study
silence rang louder than he ever did in that moment
tension rose, very obviously so
“alright then. i’ll be out of your way if that’s what you think.”
you pushed your chest up, raised your head, and proceeded to turn your back to him
“i’ll be leaving then.”
and you left
he sighed, sulking hsi way back to his seat
he was staring through his fingers at the copious amounts of work present on his desk
shame was everything he could comprehend.
you, on the other hand, took to roaming the town.
waving to the townsfolk that you knew and vice versa, sharing slight conversation with those that you could say you were friendly with
you even ran into grell when walking past the nearby church
“ah, hello, (y/n) my dear!”
she noticed your attitude as soon as you spoke.
nothing could slip past her
“what happened, dear? do you wish to talk about it?”
you shook your head
“i’d prefer if we just took a stroll around. i need to clear my mind.”
so you did.
small talk was exchanged, and she told you of her issues in the workplace
stories about how overtime was exhausting, complaining about being ridiculed for the event with madam red by will, even about how people in the office were outright insufferable
it got a slight laugh out of you
even when she would bring up her advances towards the phantomhive butler, you listened and let her talk
it was relaxing, but you couldn’t help but feel a little dejected still
your partner just raised his hand to you even though you were trying to make sure that his health wasn’t suffering
yes, you were being a tad bit obnoxious, but it wasn’t out of malice
it was merely worry for him
the night fell not long after, and being courteous, grell walked you home
“rest well, darling! i shall see you again soon!”
you smiled slightly, “of course, grell. i wish the same to you. good night.”
and you slowly walked into the undertaker’s shop, trudging to the small flat that you both lived in hesitantly
when you entered, undertaker was located in the kitchen area staring at a cup of tea in his hand
creaking was heard upon your entry, and his head darted up to face you
you sniffed, turned away, and went to hang your coat
“may i inquire what it is you need, undertaker?”
he cleared his throat, and though you couldn’t see it, directed his gaze to the warm liquid in front of him
“i apologize for my actions earlier.”
you sighed, turning back to him and waiting patiently.
“it was impulse, particularly one that i’m not fond of. you were simply making sure that i was well taken care of, and i took it for granted.”
“mmm. alright then.”
approaching him, you brushed a stray hair from his shoulder
“i accept your apology, though i will say that i do not apologize for my intent. i apologize for my persistence, though - it was quite rude for me to barge in on your work.”
a simple little moment was shared in silence in that moment
he sipped his tea, you stood by and made dinner for the both of you
“do you wish to work again tonight, my dear?”
“not quite. rather, i’d wish to relax with a good book.”
you gently smiled, nodding and reaching for silverware and napkins to prepare the table with him
ciel here is a bit of an enigma
we know he is usually calm and collected, b u t
he’s still a child.
his emotions are going to be all over the place, and him raising his hand to someone was depicted
(in regards to lizzy breaking his ring)
so this wouldn’t necessarily be normal, but it also wouldn’t be something that isn’t a plausible reaction (sadly)
but, for the sake of this, let’s say that ciel is almost 18.
business for funtom was getting tiring, and it seemed that every case he was being thrown was harder than the last
his lessons were getting more plentiful, the servants were wreaking havoc around the manor - more so than usual
a guest was to join you and him at the manor tonight
and, finally, daily annoyances were starting to get to him
he couldn’t even sit through a game of chess.
you had been staying at the manor for the summer months, as your family knew his quite well since you were children
(you two were close, so your staff was caring for your manor while you were away)
(you still had your personal servant with you, though)
you had been trying to play against him, but as much as he tried, the most energy he could muster was used to complain and sigh in dejection
it left you feeling a little off, but you knew how he could get.
“do you need some time alone, ciel?”
“hmm? oh, uh...if you wouldn’t mind...though i do apologize in advance.”
you smiled and shook your head
“no problem! whenever you need me, i’ll be in the manor. somewhere.”
so, you left.
and with that, chaos seemed to hit him harder.
the servants were getting more lax, driving him (and sebastian, but more so him) up a wall
and grell decided it would be a good idea to infiltrate the manor and ‘relax’
translation: annoy the living hell of out sebastian and himself
case after case was being sifted through, and despite his intelligence, ciel could swear he could feel his brain losing its functionality
add that onto the extra work that sebastian provided for the day (seeing as it was one that was much less busy than others) and...
you’ve got a pissed off phantomhive.
night rolled around, and with that, so did the arrival of the guests.
it also meant that there was going to be some intermingling
and chaos, as always.
dinner was stressful.
mey-rin had been instructed to only set the table - 1. by. 1., as per sebastian - and pour the wine
but she had slipped.
ciel sighed, but sent a look towards sebastian.
finny didn’t do anything outright outrageous, but upon the reminder that the dinner event was tonight, he tried to fix up a portion of the garden.
it didn’t work.
the portion was completely black. no clue how, it happened though.
and sebastian had warned ciel, so it was supposed to be blocked off.
sadly, though, once the dinner itself had ended and the intermingling began, people were adamant
‘i’ve heard wonderful things about your gardens, mr phantomhive!’
‘the flowers here supposedly bloom much more beautifully than elsewhere.’
that wasn’t uncommon.
so they of course had to see the garden.
it was a game of cat and mouse, keeping the guests from the destroyed area.
you, ciel, and sebastian were acting as mice in that scenario
and by the end of the night, as desserts were being left
bardroy had burned the kitchen down.
a g a i n.
ciel had about had it.
sebastian was able to keep a more level head, thankfully, and got him to calm down just the slightest.
though he was just as pissed.
that said, though, things did get worked out
and the cleaning process was almost insufferable
again, after being knocked to the side, grell decided to try again.
ciel had it at that point.
he had stormed to his office, almost looking like a child throwing a hissy fit.
you noticed this and immediately trailed him
“ciel, is everything alright?”
“you’re mad, you’re not exactly fine.”
“you heard me the first time, y/n.”
“yes, i did. and i don’t believe you.”
by this point, you two had made it to his office and were getting heated
“well, darling, might be good for you to believe me.”
“no, i don’t think so. you’re mad, i can tell, the guests could tell - everyone here knows.”
“no, not a single occupant knows.”
you sighed, shook your head and took a deep breath before speaking.
“ciel, you’re mad. livid, even. that’s fine. but you need to discuss it.”
“no, i don’t. i’m not mad.”
you step closer to him.
“yes, you are and you need to talk. things are different now, ciel. you don’t have to hide anything from me.”
another step closer.
“y/n, this is fine. it’s fine. it is merely a normal occurrence.”
“normal occurrence, maybe - but no matter, you are mad. and stressed. that’s easy to see.”
“you’ve gotten tense, you haven’t even been able to sit through a game of chess.”
“you were constantly glaring, and couldn’t even fake small talk with the guests tonight.”
“just sit down for a second...”
“take a deep breath or two...”
you were in front of him now, reaching for his hair to brush it away from his eyes.
“and then we can ta-”
his arm seemed to raise instantaneously.
had ot not been for sebastian getting there in time, who knows what would have happened.
either way, you were shaken.
no tears, you knew he could get worked up and resort to moronic actions
but this was only slightly unexpected.
you nodded, backing away and taking a deep breath
“fair enough. i’ll wait until you’ve leveled out, ciel.”
giving your awareness to the tall butler, you retreated to your personal room for the summer and called for your servant to help you get into your night clothes
you went to sleep that night with a head full of thoughts.
he had never gotten violent with you, until tonight, that is
and he had always been upfront.
was it stress?
was it simply anger?
or was this a sensitive time for him in general?
these questions plagued you
as they plagued ciel, as well
it had been a pretty intense day, mostly due to the copious amounts of events and documentation that needed to be done
but that doesn’t excuse his actions.
he knew that you would listen, you’ve done it before.
multiple times, you would sit and listen and provide input whenever - and it always seemed to be at the right time.
he truly messed up, and he knew it.
he just didn’t quite know how to verbalize it
“young lord, if i may suggest something, it would be best to get to the point.”
sebastian was helping ciel to bed at this point, and even he was about tired of tonight.
“and how would you suggest that i do that?”
ciel waited as sebastian hummed
“they’re reasonable. waht you have to say, they’ll listen. just be honest with them, young lord.”
humming himself, ciel sent sebastian off once situated in bed for the night and stewed over what to say.
the next morning, you and ciel were seated at different ends of the dining area table
the aura was tense - enough to know something was wrong, but not enough to know exactly what it was.
ciel cleared his throat after sipping his tea, brushing his pants before looking at you
“y/n, i owe you an apology.”
you raised a brow, but straightened yourself in your seat and gestured for him to proceed.
“it was wrong of me to raise my hand. i was livid, i was also stressed, but that is no excuse,.”
your gaze softened just the slightest.
he was tense, again, and almsot fumbling to put together a sentence.
likely about why his reaction occurred.
“we can get into the details later, ciel. i appreciate the apology. you don’t have to tell me why if you don’t wish to.”
and from then on, the day slowly got better.
sebastian even gave ciel a break, keeping papers from him and cutting his classes for the day.
you two had finally managed to reconcile, going on multiple little adventures in the manor itself.
looking through all of the books in the library at the manor, going through the garden, even venturing through the woods beside the manor (being trailed by your servants, of course.)
essentially, everything came to a better end than beginning (considering the ‘beginning’ was the previous night)
he also managed to keep himself in check following the event.
(it shocked you, how well he adjusted)
(ciel managed to keep everything together, even when the day was worse than the event that caused it).
(it also shocked sebastian, to be frank.)
(but you weren’t complaining - you were connecting with him better!)
coming back from an overnight mission
characters — itadori yuuji ; fushiguro megumi ; kugisaki nobara
premise — what they do after you come back from a long, overnight mission away from tokyo. (in a relationship)
genre — fluff
warnings — maybe a swear word or two
a/n — aaaaa my heart
i. itadori yuuji
you had just walked through the entrance to the school, when someone comes barreling into you, wrapping their rather muscular arms around your waist. familiar, recognizable arms belonging to your boyfriend. his arms tightened around you and with his chin pressed to your stomach, on his knees, he looked up at your gaunt face, warmth in his chocolate brown eyes. despite your exhaustion, you smiled, ruffling his bright hair.
“hey there.” you grinned, gesturing at yuuji to stand up. he did so, hand moving around your shoulders and slowly guiding you to your dorm room, placed right beside his.
“how was your mission?” he asked gently, sitting you down on the edge of your bed and heading towards your closet, pulling it open.
you answered, albeit shortly. “fine. took a while to locate the curse, but i managed.”
yuuji shut the closet doors, carrying a pair of sweatpants and a shirt in his arms. “that’s good! do you want to shower first?”
you nod, standing up and stretching. “i think i will.”
“okay,” yuuji made for a run to your bathroom, running the bath. “i’m going to ask fushiguro to cook something.”
he left your room, not before pressing a few cheeky kisses to your cheeks. five minutes later, you were just about to enter the bathroom, when you heard your boyfriend’s voice through the wooden door. “um, sweetie?”
you called out, “yeah?”
“fushiguro was out and i may have asked gojo-sensei to cook…. he burnt the miso soup.” his tone was laced with guilt.
you laughed, waving it off. “that man should not be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.”
“sorry…. do you want anything i can order?” yuuji asked.
you contemplated your answer for a while before replying, “you can pick, yuu.”
ii. fushiguro megumi
he didn’t greet you when you came back, but as soon as you entered your dorm room, you smelt lavender and warm lights, with the sound of water running from your bathroom. a yellow sticky note was pressed on top of your bed, and scrawled on it was megumi’s familiar handwriting, and it read,
‘welcome back, love. i hope you don’t mind my absence when you come back, i’ll be back soon with food. i ran your bath already, by the way. see you soon <3 - megumi’
you grinned, smelling in the relaxing scent of lavender. soon after, you were settled in the bath, bubbles all around your figure. you heard a knock from outside of your bathroom door, and then a voice. “love? are you in there?”
“yeah, i am. thank you for the bath, prince charming.” you answered, smiling widely.
you heard a thud, assuming that your boyfriend has stubbed his toe. you could practically see the red spreading on his face.
“you’re welcome. i brought ramen, by the way. do you want to eat with me?” he softly asked.
you got out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around your frame. “yeah, i’d like that.”
you spent the afternoon with him, eating and watching shows, before falling asleep right beside him, nestled in his arms.
that lasted for a few hours before noises interrupted you, waking you and megumi up. gojo, itadori, and nobara were stacked on the floor, seemingly had just fallen. gojo’s phone was out, his flash turned on.
megumi sighed, gruffly pointing towards the hallway. “out.”
iii. kugisaki nobara
“hey babe!” as soon as you stepped foot onto the grounds of the school, you felt an arm swinging around you, and you got pulled into an embrace, namely by your girlfriend, nobara. she peppered kisses on your face, staying in the hug for a while longer
“did you kick ass?” she questioned, walking slowly with you towards the dorms. you nodded, your right hand in her left, following her lead.
this would be a routine, you returning from a long mission and she’d talk about her time when she was away from you, talking and talking until you’d finish showering and slipping into comfortable clothes. meanwhile, nobara would make a bowl of popcorn and drinks, then setting up a pillow fort in your room, ‘borrowing’ itadori and fushiguro’s pillows while she’s at it.
both of them knocking at her s/o’s door at 1 am wanting their pillows back? no they’re sleeping without them /j
before you come back, she’d go on a shopping spree, courtesy of gojo’s credit card, of course. suddenly having three extra sets of work out clothes? nobara bought them for you. new bedding? she did that too.
nobara would do anything you’d ask her to do, whether it’s getting you a refill of your cup or cuddling with you. point is, she adores you, and she’d want nothing but the best, for both of you.
Something like your little son seeing his mother's neck with hickey marks the next morning :)
You walk into the dining, seeing your husband cutting up some fruit in the kitchen for your son. “Good morning, mummy.” Your son said as you took a seat. “Good morning, baby. How’d you sleep last night?” He shrugs. “I sleep.. good.” He holds up a thumbs up. “You slept good?” He nods.
“Here you go, buddy.” Mark puts the blow of mixed fruits in front of his son. “Eat so you can grow big and strong like daddy.” He sits next to you and kisses your cheek.
“Morning, baby.” He takes your hand and holds it. “Mommy,” your son starts but then chews on his fruit. “Yeah, baby?” He swallows and looks you dead in the eye. “Why is your neck purple?” Your face goes pale and so does Marks.
“Um, well.” You look at Mark. “Daddy was doing mommy’s hair and he burnt me.” Mark nods agreeing to your lie. “Daddy, be careful to mommy. You hurt her, a lot. See, one, two, three, and f—four.” He holds five fingers up. “I know, I’m sorry mommy.” He kisses your temple and leans his cheek against your shoulder.
A few hours later, they went to the dorms and haechan ratted the married couple out.
“No, those are hickeys. Your mom and dad are liars.” He tells the little kid.
“You and Me” – Tommy Shelby x Reader
[ MASTERLIST ]
[ HUBBY!TOMMY MASTERLIST ]
SUMMARY: Grace is back in town and wants Tommy to be her lover again. She doesn’t know that he’s already engaged.
REQUEST: “I was wondering if you could write a Tommy Shelby imagine set when Grace try’s to come back to Tommy but he’s already fallen in love with the reader but she still approaches him but he tells her that him and the reader are getting married and he loves her etc” – @thatonegirlthatlikesthings
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I loved this request and the story may not be super long, but I hope it’s fluffy and lovely enough 😌 I didn’t go easy on Grace in this one because I find her behaviour from Season 2 outrageous. SORRY FOR THE GIF, BUT THAT’S HOW I IMAGINE HER IN THIS STORY 🤣 🤬
WARNING: English is my second language.
WORD COUNT: 1,550
YOU AND ME
You took a sip of your morning coffee and sat by your desk to take care of the papers lying in front of you.
“I’m still not sure about the golden chairs”, you muttered to Tommy who was still in the kitchen, “It’s a little bit tacky, don’t you think?”
“Tacky?”, he asked and entered the betting shop with a cup of tea in his hand.
“You know, cheap”, you smiled.
“You know that I trust you with these. Pick whatever chairs you want, but I liked them golden ones”, he shrugged his arms.
“It’s frustrating, Tommy. How am I supposed to help you with The Garrison’s renovation when you’re constantly like this? You tell me it’s my job and then tell me what you would personally like”, you chuckled.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, he sighed and approached you, “And what did Arthur say?”
“Do you think he cares about the fucking chairs?”, you snorted and so did Tommy.
“Listen, love, whatever you want. Don’t mind me personal opinions because I have a terrible taste”
“Not in everything”, you winked at him, “You have a good taste in women”
“Sometimes”, he mumbled before pecking your lips, “I’ll be in me office. Don’t let anyone bother me, alright? It’s going to be a busy day”
“Sure, Mr. Shelby”, you nodded your head playfully and he disappeared behind the door to his office.
You sighed and took another sip of your coffee. You decided that those golden chairs were supposed to stay. They were tacky indeed, but Tommy wanted them. And you wanted him to be happy.
“But...”, you thought to yourself, “...there won’t be any golden chairs on our wedding party”
You smiled to yourself and started filling some boring papers in front of you. It was the most boring part of your job as Tommy’s secretary, but it would end soon anyway.
Two hours later Tommy was still in his office and you were busy with the papers, but the betting shop was already full of other people – chatting with each other, laughing and interrupting you constantly.
“How’s the dress hunting?”, Polly smiled at you.
“I don’t have time for that”, you rolled your eyes, “It’s stressing me out”
“You should visit a tailor and they’d make a perfect dress for you. Just the way you want”, Esme joined the conversation.
“That costs a fortune!”, you exclaimed.
“Oh come on, Tommy can afford it”, she rolled her eyes.
“I’d feel stupid asking him for so much money for my dress. He’s already paying for everything else”
“Yeah, because he’s fucking rich”, Esme widened her eyes like it was obvious and Polly chuckled at that.
“I’ll tell him to take you to the tailor”, Polly pointed her finger at you and winked.
“No, no… He can’t see my dress before the wedding!”, you gasped.
“Then I’ll take you, but I’ll make him pay. Don’t worry, love. We will take care of you in our family”, Polly assured you with a smirk.
You smiled to yourself. It felt very nice to have everyone in Tommy’s family on your side. They all considered you to be the best thing that could ever happen to him and despite being quite insecure about your relationship at first – now you felt like a Shelby already.
“Alright, I’m going home. Kids must be fed”, Esme laughed and waved at you.
“See you later!”, you nodded your head.
“I’m going, too. To the bank”, Polly squeezed your arm, “Do you want something from the city?”
“I don’t know… I’m a bit hungry”, you confessed.
“Yeah, me too. I’ll buy us something. Should I get something for Tommy?”
“Alright, love”, Polly caressed your cheek and left the betting shop.
You loved them with all your heart, but you sighed with relief because you finally could finish the paperwork in silence. At least that’s what you thought.
Fifteen minutes later some blonde woman entered the shop. She looked very elegant and refined as she was looking around with widened eyes.
“Excuse me!”, you shouted at her and rolled your eyes, “Are you lost, ma’am?”
“Oh! You’re a secretary, right?”, she approached you with a cold smile and stood in front of your desk.
You froze a bit as you recognized her immediately. Grace Burgess.
She didn’t know you, but you knew her. Everybody in Small Heath knew about the barmaid who turned out to be a rat working with the coppers. And everybody in Small Heath knew that she had a very close relationship with Tommy. But it all had happened before you started working for him.
“Yes, I am”, you nodded your head sternly although your hands started to shake a bit.
“I’m here to see Tommy”, she looked deep into your eyes.
“Is your appointment scheduled, ma’am?”, you opened one of the notebooks in front of you and found the page with today’s date, “It is not, I’m sorry. Mr. Shelby is busy”, you closed it loudly and smirked.
“I’m his friend. I don’t need to schedule my appointments”, she stated with clenched jaw.
“And you should. Because Mr. Shelby is very busy today”, you repeated.
“Just tell him it’s Grace”
“Excuse me?”, you pretended you didn’t understand.
“Tell him it’s Grace and he won’t be busy”
“Tell him it’s what?”
“GRACE. That’s my name”, she drawled out and her cheeks flushed out of anger, “You better tell him that right away or you’ll regret it. He won’t be pleased to find out that you let me wait for so long”
Oh, she was so sure of herself. You almost laughed out loud, but you only nodded your head calmly instead and pursed your lips before standing up and approaching the door to Tommy’s office.
“Tommy!”, you called him and looked at Grace’s face.
She furrowed her brows a bit as she probably didn’t expect you to call him by his name.
“Tommy!”, you knocked upon the door.
“What’s going on, love? I’ve told you not to interrupt me today”, he finally left the office with a smile, but it disappeared the moment he saw his former lover.
“This lady insists on seeing you”, you informed him.
“What are you doing here?”, he asked her in a stern voice and took a step ahead.
“I’ve sent you a letter, Tommy”, Grace smiled faintly and you looked at him surprised.
He hadn’t told you about any letter.
“Yeah. And I’ve fucking burnt it”, he answered and put his arm around your waist when he saw how worried your face looked like.
Grace widened her eyes a bit at that sight.
“I want to talk, Tommy”, she started once again.
“There’s nothing to talk about”, his voice was calm, but it was filled with anger and contempt, “What are you even doing here? You shouldn’t ever come back”
“Can we talk face to face, please?”, she bit her lip.
“I don’t keep any secrets from me fiancée”, he stated.
“I… I didn’t know that...”, her jaw dropped a bit as she laid her eyes at you, “I’m sorry”
“Aren’t you married?”, Tommy asked her, “I think you should be with your husband”, he raised an eyebrow.
She lowered her head and turned around to leave. Tommy clenched his jaw and looked at you.
“It’s fine”, you whispered to him and caressed his chest.
“Tommy, I love you. It’s always been you”, Grace turned around once again. Her face was red out of embarrassment, but she had to really mean that if she risked so much to say it out loud.
Your heart stopped beating for a moment. What if he loved her, too?
“Don’t be ridiculous”, Tommy snorted at that and you noticed how his muscles stiffened, “You’re the least trustworthy woman I know”, he pointed his finger at her, “Snitched on me, snitched on me friends, shot her employer and married the guy she didn’t love. What’s your game, Grace? You think you can do whatever you want with whoever you want without consequences? Who the fuck do you think you are? Catherine the Great?”
Long silence occurred between all of you.
“Go back to your husband”, you said softly, “Just have some decency and leave us alone”
She took a deep breath in and left without a word. You sighed with relief before bursting into tears and hiding your face in your hands.
“Oi, love, what’s wrong? (Y/N)?”, Tommy embraced you, “Hey, hey, shh”
“I was scared for a moment that… That...”, you tried to find the right words between the sobs.
“Hey, I would never, okay?”, Tommy caressed your arms and pressed you even tighter to his chest, “Why would I leave a good woman like you for a brat like her, huh? Love, come on...”, he tried to calm you down and caressed your head.
“I don’t know… Men are stupid”, you sniffed and looked into his eyes.
“I may be an idiot sometimes, but I won’t lose the only good thing in me life, okay?”, he bopped your nose and you smiled finally.
“I pity her husband”, you rubbed your eyes, “Perhaps we should tell him”
“Nah, fuck them”, Tommy chuckled and hugged you once again before placing a kiss on your forehead, “Just you and me, (Y/N). All that matters. You and me”
fire and gasoline | part I
pairing: andrew!peter parker x fem!reader
summary: you and peter have both lost people and have both intense emotional baggage. you fall into each other’s arms as a temporary fix, but maybe you’re just not meant to be. relationships don’t work out all the time. you and peter are no different.
warnings: mentions of loss, mentions of smut but nothing graphic, bitches are so bad for each other but cant stay away from one another. foul language, mentions of alcohol. might evolve into a toxic-ish relationship.
a/n: so this will be a series.. idk how many parts. also it might not have a happy ending. basically reader and peter are fucking each other to ignore their trauma… toxic ish relationship. they keep self sabotaging because they are afraid to be in love again..
word count: 2.1k
“we only bring each other tears and sorrow”
Peter Parker was no stranger to loss. Death seemed to follow him everywhere. It seemed as though everyone he cared about fell victim it’s cold grip.
His Uncle Ben.
The woman he had planned to spend his entire life with. Gone. Slipped right out of his hand. Literally.
He put on a face for his Aunt May. He didn’t want her to worry about him. He was so scared she was going to get hurt because of him.
Because of his identity.
Or maybe because the universe just seemed to hate Peter Parker.
He moved out of her house as soon as he graduated, despite her pleading for him to stay. It broke him.
But he couldn’t afford for her to get hurt. She was all he had left.
That was.. until he met you, four years later.
He met you at the darkest point in his life.
He had tossed his red and blue suit into the furthest corner of his closet.
His fridge consisted of freezer burnt, microwave dinners and beer.
His cabinets stayed bare, except for the occasional box of crackers and chips.
His sink stayed full of dirty silverware. His clothes littered the apartment, everywhere.
No one ever visited so what was the point?
But you.. just seeing you in the lobby of his apartment building had him picking up some of his clothes and washing them. He actually hung up his nice shirts and folded the rest, instead of living out of his dryer. He didn’t know why.
He started putting more hours in at the Daily Bugle, but not because he wanted to work. He was still so deeply buried in a hole of grief and self loathing.
But because you got home from the diner down the street at eleven pm every night, and he liked to be around at that time.
He started by just watching you from the roof of the building across the street. He’d watch as your heels clicked the concrete and your skirt would flow in the wind.
Sometimes you would pull your hair tie out and rub your scalp as you walked. He loved it when you did that. Your coat that you usually kept wrapped tightly around you would open, allowing his eyes to roll down the front of your body. Even from all the way up there, his enhanced vision allowed him to appreciate every curve of your -
Damnit Peter what is wrong with you? Stalking her from up here?
Before, your body would have been the furthest thing from his mind. Instead he would focus on the way your laugh managed to fill every room. The way your smile was contagious.
Except none of those things were true. He’d never heard you laugh, or even speak. He’d only caught glimpses of the weak smile you offered to the doorman of the apartment complex.
Your smile never even reached your eyes.
He’d hated the person he became, but what was the point in changing now. He might as well have a little fun while waiting for something that was probably never coming.
Soon, he started to walk in around the same time you would. Sometimes right before you, so maybe you’d notice him.
Sometimes right after you so he could watch you as you walked and interacted with the people around you.
He’d then decided he would go to the diner one night.
He entered, the smell of liquor hitting him- hard.
How could he not have realized this was a bar. Not a diner. You worked at a bar.
His eyes scanned the place. Women in short skirts and black blouses weaved around people, waiting on tables and delivering food and drinks.
Then he spotted you, behind the bar. You were the bartender. Your lower half was obscured by the bar itself, but your top didn’t match the others.
You had on a white blouse and black tie. He watched as you slid a glass of whiskey to a man a few seats down from where you were standing.
You smiled one of your coworkers, but from the front door, Peter could tell there was no energy behind it.
“Can I help you?” A woman stopped in front of him, holding a plate with two burgers.
“I uh- would like a seat at the bar.”
She gestured towards a sign.
“Welcome! Please Seat Yourself.”
“Ahh..” He breathed out, slightly embarrassed.
“Good luck with the bar though. It’s usually packed full on nights y/n works it.” The girl shrugged, walking away.
Peter spotted a seat in the corner of the bar. There was some space around it, so he wouldn’t be up against anyone.
He sat down, watching as you rung up someone’s tab for the night.
“Thanks darlin’” The man had smiled at you.
“Go on, get out of here Jeff, Ive got people waiting for your seat.”
“I’ll be right with you.” You stated when you noticed another bar spot had been filled. When you got Jeff all straightened out, you moved towards him.
He was handsome, in a dark, rugged sort of way. Upon closer inspection you realized he had dark circles under his eyes and an untamed stubble across his face.
“How may I help you?” You asked him.
“I’m uh- Peter.” He said. Your voice was smooth, and he felt like it cascaded down his body, causing him to shiver.
“Nice to meet you Peter. I’m y/n. Can I get you anything?”
“How about a beer?” He asked.
“Draft or bottle?”
He watched as you reached down for a glass and grabbed the nozzle. You filled the glass and placed it in front of him. Before allowing him to take a sip you spoke again.
“ID?” You asked. He handed it to you and he watched as you studied it.
“Well Peter Parker, That’s 4.50. First refill is free. Then after that, every third refill is free.”
“Thank you.” He stated.
“Should I start you a tab?”
“Uh yeah, that would be great.” He said, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. You took his card and placed it in the book.
He watched as you poured shots, mixed drinks, and peeled random peoples hands off of you. He was in awe at how swiftly you were able to work in such a demanding environment.
“Refill?” You asked him for the fourth time that night.
“Please.” He smiled. He glanced at the time. It was nearing 10:30. He assumed you got off within the next twenty minutes because you always walked home, and managed to make it by 11.
“Alright. I’m just letting you know the bar closes in fifteen minutes, but the rest of the restaurant stays open if you’d like to sit in a booth.”
“Oh thanks.” He said. He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t know how you would react.
“You uh, you’re pretty good at this.” His futile attempt a complement left a blush creeping up your neck.
“And you’re pretty bad at hitting on bartenders.” You laughed.
“Oh god. I’m sorry- I just.. I live in the same apartment complex and I just wanted to maybe-.”
“It’s okay Peter. You’re cute. Maybe we could hang out sometime, but hanging around the bar I work at isn’t gonna get you anywhere.” Heat rose to his face as you continued.
“H-How about I walk you home?”
“I’d like that.”
That’s how last night had begun.
It ended with you, naked in Peter’s bed, his arm slung lazily across your waist.
Peter woke up before you, his arm still wrapped around you. He looked at you, each of your features intrigued him. The bridge of your nose, your cheeks, your jawline, your lips.
Oh god your lips.
He remembered the way they had first felt, standing on the hallway of his apartment, which coincidentally was the same hallway yours was on.
They were so soft under his. He remembered the way your lips had trailed down his neck as he ripped your clothes off in the doorway.
The way your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to his bed.
God you were beautiful. And even more beautiful with his marks up and down your body.
Then reality hit him like a bus.
He hadn’t even thought about merely kissing someone since Gwen, and now he had just woken up in bed, naked with you.
As if on cue, you began to stir. You woke up, your blurry vision working to adjust to the light coming from Peter’s window.
Oh shit. You’d fallen asleep and slept over.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to stay. You were supposed to leave as soon as he was asleep and avoid him for the rest of the month.
Your eyes met his as you slowly sat up.
“H-hey..” He stuttered.
“I uh- I should get going.” You sat on the edge of bed, searching for your clothes, only to remember that they were on the floor at Peter’s door.
“Oh I’ll uh- go get your stuff.” Peter said, slipping on some boxers.
You sighed as you pulled the sheet up to cover your breasts.
He returned a moment later, your clothes in hand.
“That was uh-.”
“…yeah” You finished.
It was a mistake.
“I’m gonna shower.” Peter said, walking into his bathroom.
As soon as the door shut you were making a beeline for the the front door. You headed to your apartment, three doors down.
When the latch clicked you were on the floor in tears.
You felt guilty. So guilty. It felt so wrong, sleeping with someone after your boyfriend had died.
But it was four years ago, and you couldn’t hold onto that forever.
Sex with Peter was good. It was so good. You felt a connection with him that you hadn’t felt before, and it only made you feel more guilty.
You decided you couldn’t repeat what had happened. You couldn’t see Peter again.
The next week was spent peeking out your door before you left for work, and staying at the bar an extra twenty minutes. You were changing your schedule to avoid Peter at all costs.
The week was also filled with built up sexual tension.
When you haven’t had any action for four years and then sleep with someone who made you feel as good as Peter did, all you were left with was the feeling of wanting more.
Little did you know, Peter felt the same way. He wanted to see you so bad, but felt guilty for moving on without Gwen. So no matter how much he wished he had you in bed beside him, he avoided you at all costs. He was never outside his apartment near 11. He never went back to the bar.
It was seven pm on a Thursday. You’d managed to get today off. You were craving something you couldn’t have so you decided to drown it with a cheap bottle of wine. You threw on your coat and headed to the elevator. When you got to the bottom floor, the doors opened.
And to your fucking luck, Peter Parker stood in-front of you. You’d been taken so off guard your forgot to get off the elevator.
At first you stood in awkward silence.
“You left.” He startled you.
“Yeah I didn’t think you’d want your one night stand hanging around..” You chuckled.
“Who said I wanted you to be a one night stand?”
Heat flooded to your stomach. You didn’t say anything else as the elevator opened to your hallway. You walked down the hallway together, but when it came time for you to part ways.. you didn’t.
You stared at the ground for a moment before Peter’s fingers lifted your chin up to face him.
“What happened?” He asked.
“I’m not someone you want to get involved with okay? I’ve got way too much baggage.” You huffed.
“I’ve got plenty of my own baggage, y/n. And let me decide who I get involved with okay?”
He stepped closer, and your breath hitched.
“I’m no good for you..” You breathed out.
“And Im no good for you…” His lips grazed your jawline. “How about we..” he kissed your neck “be no good for each other?”
“Be a temporary fix?” You shuddered, your hands going up to grip his biceps.
“A temporary fix…” He said, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you to his apartment door.
“On one condition.” He said as you twisted the door knob behind him. “Don’t fall in love with me..”
“As long as you don’t fall in love with me Parker..”
And with that, he was ripping the clothes off your body in his doorway for the second time.
Adventure: The Ol’ Blackstack Smithy
Best to keep busy, You know what they say about idle hands
Setup: While most adventurers only see them as convenient places to pick up arms and armor early in their adventuring, most smithies are the beating heart of any small to mid sized settlement, cranking out a steady tide of nails, horseshoes and mended tools that are the necessities of village life. Such was the case for the Ol’ Blackstack, at least until a generation ago when its drunken owner tried to rush a job through and ended up reducing his establishment to little more than a burnt out husk.
The lot laid abandoned for years until a few months ago the now grown son of that first smith, Barris Barton, returned to set things to right. Barton has rebuilt the old smithy and seems to be trying to make up for lost time, keeping forges lit late into the night and sending out great plumes of smoke pouring from its chimney all hours of the day.
This inhuman productivity is thanks to Barton’s very inhuman assistance, a pair of demons he met while out being a journeyman, looking to escape the blunders and abuse of his alcoholic father. These fiends, Buckle and Spelter seem almost malicious in their desire to help Barton reclaim his legacy, spurring him to greater and greater acts of artistry, completing tasks for him while he sleeps, and even going so far as to sabotage the competition to drive more business his way.
Among his many other projects, Barton has begun producing items specifically for adventurers, stocking his backroom not only with sturdy armor and weapons, but with such useful accessories as grappling hooks, hunting traps, even a rough and tumble frying pan. Should someone wish, he can also upgrade the party’s gear after being provided the right materials. While these items have made him popular among those who walk the sellsword’s circuit through the outer villages, just about all of them possesses a nascent curse, waiting for the right time to blossom. Most will simply fail at their intended task at a key moment, while some others will deliberately run away or sabotage the party given the chance.
While the devils don’t curse EVERY item that comes through the smithy, they do find innumerable excuses to sow mischief in the more day to day of the Blackstack’s faire. An angler may discover her traditional haunt overwhelmed with fish monsters after a bedeviled hook ensures that every catch she threw back was possessed by a malign spirit. A tailor may be blamed for murder after his newly mended sheers wander out one night to murder his belligerent neighbor before returning to his shop dripping with gore. These occurrences are likely to draw adventurers to the village, giving Buckle and Spelter yet more opportunities for wickedness.
While the demons are having a grand old time sowing chaos, their true aim is to bolster Barton’s skill in the forgemaster’s art until he is ready to create an implement of true evil. Already the designs for this weapon coalesce in the exhausted smith’s mind, steeped in his desperate desire to reclaim his pride and the lingering resentment towards his father. If the demons’ mischief goes undiscovered, the party may later hear about the Blackstack burning down once again, the fire spreading out to other homes in the village. Investigating, they’ll find Barton mourning among the ashes, reduced to a skeletal wight after literally working himself to the bone. His fiends have deserted him, making off with this magnum opus to present to some greater evil as tribute. If the party will spare him, Barton thinks he might be able to lead them to where the weapon now rests.... he put his heart and soul (literally for the latter) into that great work, and he won’t be able to reach the afterlife without it returned.
Tokyo Revengers at the beach
characters: ken ryuguji + manjiro sano + mitsuya takashi + baji keisuke + chifuyu matsuno + nahoya & souya kawata + hakkai shiba + ryohei hayashi + haruki hayashida + takemichi hanagaki + izana kurokawa + kakucho hitto + kokonoi hajime + inui seishu + ran & rindou haitani + shion madarame + sanzu haruchiyo + yasuhiro muto
warnings: minor swearing
small note: yesterday I was at the beach and I just..had the best ideas come to me when I got home abt how this lot would spend time at the beach fr
A simple, regular outing to the beach during the hot months of summer would turn into an absolute chaos with these guys, no questions asked. From the moment you'd all step on the sand until the parasols are folded back away, there won't be a single second of calmness when with them.
Draken would be the one in charge of carrying the sunshade until you reach the beach. He doesn't mind, but he often swings around too quickly when called by someone, bonking another around the head accidentally. He'd laugh it off, followed by a sincere apology, though he'd probably do it again just a few minutes later.
Excited upon arriving at the beach, Mikey would be the type of person to not actually help out in the slightest when setting up the space where you'd spend the day.
Dropping his own bags, his t-shirt would fly through the air and, before you knew it, he'd be speed running towards the blue waves. Like a child, he'd be the one to spend the most time in the water, and would end up with wrinkly fingers because of it.
Mitsuya is the lord of the sunscreen. Haven't put any on before arriving? You better be sitting down and letting him cream up your back before even thinking of going into the water.
Every hour, he asks around to see if everyone's put some more on, and if he ever receives a 'no' as an answer, he'll sigh to himself before squeezing a considerable amount of cream on his hand, mumbling to himself over the importance of staying safe out in the sun.
The parasols would be driven into the soft sand by Baji, who was more than confident in his skills of setting them up. He'd constantly be looking up at them whilst he sits beneath them, proud of his work of providing shade for the group. However, after about half an hour, a light gust of wind would send one of them flying up the beach, causing him to shout after it whilst struggling to pick up speed on the sandy surface.
Chifuyu would watch his best friend run after the parasol whilst setting out the food Nahoya and Souya had brought along with them. He was sure they weren't sure how much food was usually brought to the beach, because the twins had pretty much brought along their whole fridge and cupboard. Cakes, sandwiches, fizzy drinks, crisps...hell, they even brought ice creams which were sure to melt before anybody ate them.
Hakkai will be the one to spend way too long in the sun. He purposely sets himself in the blazing rays, only applying suncream when Mitsuya would put it on him. He's determined to get the perfect tan for the summer, and nobody's going to stop him...unless Peh Yan stands right in front of the sun, blocking out the rays completely because he 'needs help in digging out a hole to bury Pah Chin in'.
Despite these interruptions, the youngest Shiba sibling would come back home with a shade of red on his nose because he forgot that his face is also part of his body and that it can, indeed, get burnt.
Takemichi would probably be the most sensible one, in the sense that he'd be the one to sit down and chat with you whilst waiting for the cream to soak into his skin before joining his friends in the sun.
This is only because the year before he got burnt badly because he didn't think to wait before jumping in the water right after rubbing in the cream - which he didn't even do properly. He ended up spending a week without being able to lay on his back because of the sheer pain.
Now, if you were to go on a trip to the beach with the Tenjiku/Bonten members, things may go a little differently.
Izana would be constantly moving his towel around in search for the sun. He's convinced that, although his skin is a shade darker than the others', he needs a better tan for the season, and so he'd spend maximum 20 minutes in the shade during the whole day there.
However, he's not entirely stupid, and would wear sunscreen, a hat and keep hydrated throughout his tanning session.
The one shouting over making sure everyone's things aren't left unsupervised is Kakucho. Although Izana won't move from the sand during your stay, he doesn't trust his friend in the slightest to be aware if someone comes by and naps a phone or two; as a result, he'd be the token mother of the bunch, sticking by everyone's bags.
Koko would, somehow, lose his swimming shorts in the sea whilst playing volleyball with Inui, having been jumping around all the time to try and catch the soft ball. This would result in a rather angry guy searching around the water for his clothing, shouting at heaven only knew who at the fact that he's never coming back in the water again.
Inui, with his yellow bucket hat that was protecting him from the sun, would help his friend out, mildly amused at the fact that these kind of things only seemed to happen to him.
From the comfort of the shade, Ran and Rindou would watch the scene play out. They would be the ones to spend most of the time on the sand; Ran would offer to cream up your back every now and then, and Rindou would fall asleep under the parasol, absolutely dead to the world.
The older sibling enjoyed the beach, his hair tied up in a bun as he'd lay beside you on your towel, whilst the younger hated the fact that sand would get literally everywhere, and decided he wouldn't be moving from his towel because of it.
Shion would be the guy to go and take a walk around the beach following the coast line, get lost, and take an hour to get back to where you would all be sat. He'd lose track of just how far he'd walk and, when he'd go to turn around, he'd realise just how far he managed to get.
You all wondered if the guy decided to just walk back home before he showed up again, dehydrated and looking awfully tired. It goes without saying that he'd end up knocked out like Rindou on his towel after his little adventure
The token, hyper one of the group would be Sanzu. He would be the one to bring the music and would try to drag everyone into the water because 'what's the point in coming to the beach if you don't even get into the sea?'.
He'd usually end up getting a flip flop thrown at his head because of this, but his smile would never falter whilst there. He's an avid lover of the beach, and although he may get burnt easily, he enjoyed every second of the trip.
Mucho would be the quietest out of everyone. Not that he dislikes the beach, like Rindou, but rather he preferred to people watch in silence, enjoying the sea breeze as he did.
You and Ran would always tell him to stop checking out all the girls, to which he'd huff out a 'I'm not fucking doing that' before resuming his almost life guard-like watch over everyone around you.
Needless to say, a day at the beach with any of these goofballs would be something to remember. The ride back would be silent, exhausted from the hours in the sun and sand, but the time there will be a great memory of the summer !
Honey and Pancakes
cw: sub!kazutora, dom!reader, kazu in an apron, foodplay, use of the word cock but can be seen as a strap!, deepthroating, crying
a/n: week two of my christmas event! please do not use honey as lube. it may sound hot but please don’t. i accidentally made reader a bit of a hard dom, sorry.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Your bed was comfortable, along with the cold air, you had no reason to get out of the bed or wake up to do anything early. After all, you just finished a bunch of work that needed to be done yesterday. This rest was a must for you.
That was before the smell of something burning caught your nose.
Immediately, you panic. Were you dreaming? Is Kazutora alright? Why is he not sleeping next to you?!
You run out of breath as you see your partner in a lovely apron with his hair tied up.
“Cute…” You muttered before realizing the mess that’s going on behind him.
Why was the pan burning?
You pushed him out of the way, surprising him and eventually putting out the fire with a fire extinguisher.
“God, Kazu. You scared the shit out of me–” Kazutora wrapped around your body as he muttered continuous apologies.
“I'm sorry… You’re not mad, are you? I was just trying to make breakfast.”
You gasped. No way would you get mad.
“Give me the burnt pancakes. I’m eating them.”
He watched as you grab yourself a fork. Kazutora had to physically pry it out of your hands and throw away the food in the trash before you could put it in your mouth.
“Why’d you do that?! You worked so hard for it! Let me eat it, baby.”
He blushed. He couldn’t believe you were calling him pet names just so you’d eat his charred cooking.
What’s worse was that his stomach started rumbling. He’s been in this kitchen for hours. He even woke up earlier than he was supposed to.
“I’m fine! What if you eat it then get sick? Then-” Kazutora stopped talking which made you wonder what he was about to say.
He turned away from you, not wanting to answer.
“Honey? Sugar? Babe?” He ignored your advances, as if they were just mere words to him.
“You’ll answer Mommy, won’t you?”
“Well, Of course, but…”
You pinned Kazutora’s arms on the wall, giving him a long kiss as your tongues eventually met, having you taste every part of him.
“I-I can’t say it—Mm!” He moaned out as he felt you biting his neck and leaving bruises all over his chest.
“Well then, I suppose you’ll be my breakfast.”
His legs grew weaker as you just continued attacking his upper body, barely paying any attention to his lower half. “S-Stop…Ngh! We have to go to Chifuyu’s later—Ah!”
“Nothing a turtleneck won’t fix, baby.”
That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. If you keep him on edge like this, he wouldn’t be able to think straight later. You were devouring him as if he was your last meal, not leaving a single spot without your kisses. His nipples were so sensitive, feeling wet and hard as you continued to suck on it. “Your chest is so cute, Are you sure you don’t produce any milk?”
His feet were shaking as they tried their hardest to keep him in place. However, he didn’t need to worry since each time he was about to fall, you make sure to hold his arms tightly to make sure he wouldn’t. He’s so tired, he wants to cum already and all this foreplay is just torturing him. How long must you keep playing with him?
“What’s wrong?” You lift his chin up with your other hand, seeing the red tint on Kazutora’s face.
He murmured, he was so quiet to the point that you weren’t able to hear what he was saying. “Words.”
“N-Need to cum.”
“And? Where are your manners-”
“Please. I can’t take it a-anymore.” He cut you off, not even letting you finish his sentences. How rude.
“On your knees, ‘Tora.”
He eagerly kneed on the floor, waiting patiently like a dog.
“Clean me up.” You ordered him, leaving him confused until you turned around. Your cock was decorated with Honey, dripping onto Kazutora’s lap.
Kazutora is one obedient boy, without hesitation, his tongue tasted full of sugar as he continued to clean you up.
It was too sweet, yet he swallowed the thick liquid despite him not eating any breakfast yet. The problem was that Kazutora is too slow, you want him to pick up the pace. “Hurry up. Wouldn’t want to miss going to Chifuyu’s later,right ?”
His tongue is getting tired, and the ick of the sweetness is getting to him.
Guess you have to help him out.
Kazutora wept when you forced his head down on your cock. His throat was filled to the brim with honey and he felt like suffocating. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason. He came in his pants when you continued using his mouth as if it was just another hole.
His noises were all either whining or moaning. His throat hurt too much for him to actually form coherent words.
When you finally let him go, you took notice of the dampness of his crotch. “Want one more, darling?”
He nodded, feeling the embarrassment and shame put upon him as you stared at his soaked dick. Kazutora lifted up his apron when you asked him if you could see it. He should’ve just been more honest with you earlier.
“Sorry for being mean earlier. I’ll make up for it, okay?”
It was fifty-fifty with you, either you would spoil him like a baby or treat him like a whore. He was used to you being like this and he was a liar if to say he wouldn’t enjoy it when you did the latter.
You positioned yourself before slowly entering Kazutora. You made sure to be gentle even if the mixed saliva and honey already provided much needed lubrication. Kazutora oozed out precum, whining at your tiny movements.
“Mm! Ah–Ah–Ah!” He moaned out unintentionally, making his throat hurt much worse.
He kept his mouth closed with his hands, feeling you pound against his prostate and carving his walls to your shape. The stickiness of the honey was recognizable, its traces hurt but he supposed that was his fault for not cleaning you up much better.
Chifuyu opened his door to the two of you, seeing Kazutora dress in a turtleneck, holding your arm. He lets the two of you in, seeing his friend move weirdly. “Is everything alright?”
He could only cough, having to let you do all the talking. “Yes! He’s just not feeling very well. Although, he still said he wanted to go. So, here we are.”
“Take care of yourself more, Kazutora. It’s hard being sick alone, you know. Be glad (Name) is there to help you out.”
He could only smile in return as Chifuyu basked in oblivion that it was you who messed your partner up to this point.
Put it all on me ft. Mick Schumacher
Requested by @peachystels. thanks so much for the patience ☺️ . It’s a one shot inspired by the song “put it all on me” by the one and only Ed Sheeran. the sentences written in Italics are basically some of the lyrics form the song. Hope you like it!!!
In which the reader comforts Mick after a bad race.
-Can’t wait to go home honestly- Mick said throwing himself on the plane seat next to Seb. It happened again, another shitty race for him, he couldn’t bare with it anymore.
-I’m sure having your woman there might help, child- Seb laughed. -Well, not so child anymore, now you’re married-.
-I am- he said smiling playing with the ring on his finger.
-I feel so old- Seb talked.
-You are Seb, you are- Mick laughed.
-Hey!!- he said annoyed, but kinda grateful he got what he wanted, that was simply to watch Mick’s smile.
The plane ride was long and tiring. Both of them were silent, there really wasn’t much to say, apart form some comments on the pictures of the race.
YN was at home, wrapped in a soft blanket as she watched some random film when her phone lit up, it was Seb: ‘He just got in the car. I’m just going to tell you: good luck’ ‘He’s mad?!?’ She texted back, not believing he could be feeling like that after doing what he loved the most. ‘Just sad’ Seb texted. That made a lot more sense to her. Sadly, it had been almost a constant feeling after each race since he got into F1, but at least you now knew how to deal with it.
He’ll be home in less than an hour so first thing was first: food. YN made some lasagna with extra cheese and took out of the fridge a bottle of red wine so it wouldn’t be so cold.
Next, it was the living room. It was already dark outside, so she just turned the big lights off and let only a couple table lights, the place seemed cozier just by doing that simple act. Of course she couldn't miss the candles, anything was a good reason to light them and let the room fill with any kind of smell.
YN was about to take lasagna out of the oven, but she were so hungry and the cheese looked so good that she forgot to put the gloves on. It burnt her finger so bad she literally screamed before heading to the bathroom to wash it and apply something on it. Too bad when she came down, Mick was already standing in the living room, with tired eyes but a smile on his face.
-Hey there- he said leaving his bags on the floor and walking towards her, still a smile showing in his face.
-Hi- she simply said in the crock of his neck. Luckily he had time to shower before boarding the plane.
-What’s this?- he asked looking around at the candles and wine.
-You know what it is. Come on, change your clothes and come back faster than you did in your race or food will get cold-
-Hey!!- he said hitting her arm annoyed.
-Sorry babe. We have no choice but to laugh at it know, right?-
-I guess so- he shrugged his shoulders before pecking her lips and go upstairs.
-I want a real one later!- YN shouted watching him go up the stairs two by two.
-If you behave yourself and don’t make any more jokes!- he said back making her laugh.
As she was setting the table, he came back downstairs and helped her finish with the task. He soon realized the bandaid around her fingertip and started making a lot of questions letting her know he was worried about a simple burnt. After she convinced her she was fine and she didn’t need anything for it, he made her sit on the table as he served the food on the plates, not taking much time until he was back placing the plate in front of her. Without a warning, he placed his hands on her cheeks to move her head and kiss her softly, a kiss that she happily returned smiling into his lips.
-And that was for…?- YN asked him as he took his seat in front of her.
-Well, you said you wanted a real kiss- he said smiling at how you weren’t even paying attention to him anymore, but to the lasagna. I mean, it had extra cheese -Careful with that, I don’t want you to get your tongue burn too, schatzi- he laughed watching her taking her fork already.
-You’re so funny, Schumacher- she said not minding his words and eating it already under his staring look, waiting for her reaction to taste his. -Not hot, you can eat it-.
-I’m going to trust you in this one- he said taking his fork and eating too. It wasn’t the first time she said some food wasn’t hot when it really was, just to make a joke.
-Of course you need to trust me. I’m your wife now- she said showing off her left ring finger, where her proposal and wedding ring were shown.
-I’ve got mine too- he said placing his hand over the table as she smiled watching it. -I still haven’t get used to it-
-To me being your wife or to the ring?- she seriously asked making him laugh again.
-Both honestly- he said as she giggled -we’ve been together for so long, I feel like I’ve been married to you my whole life now-.
-I know. I kinda feel the same. Maybe we need to spice things up a little bit- she said making him blush as he stared at her, who were laughing at his reaction already knowing what he was thinking. -A dog Mick, I mean a dog- YN said almost crying with laughter.
-Okay- he said still blushed -You know I want children with you, of course I do, you’re my wife. But now I just want to enjoy our marriage before bringing a child into this word-
-I know- she said nodding. -You know I feel the same, I was just joking-
-Yeah you always are- he smiled at her before focusing of his food again and eating in silence, sharing some comments here and there, but not mentioning the race until she asked him, thought he rapidly changed the topic, clearly not enjoying it.
-And what did you do?- he asked.
-I stayed at home the whole weekend- she said stretching her arms and looking at the already empty plates and glasses as Mick got up to collect them and load the dishwasher. -I just read, enjoyed the good weather, I painted. I painted a lot actually-
-Show me!!- he impatiently shouted form the kitchen.
-Not yet, I haven’t finished-
-I don’t care!- he shouted again.
-Well, I do- she laughed. -what are you doing?!?- she said between laughs when he got closer and lifted her up from the chair to place her back on the couch, placing the soft blanket over her body. He came back soon with another two glasses of wine.
-Can I lean on you?- he asked, his voice much more softer than before, as if it had decided to go the sleep before than the rest of his body.
-Sure you can- she smiled lifting the blanket so he could get closer, leaning his head on her chest. As soon as he leaned, her hands moved to his hair. It was already an internalized move she didn’t even know she did, as natural as breathing.
-I watched the race too- YN said knowing it was time to finally talk about it. He just hummed, closing his eyes and wrapping her waist with his strong arm as she continued talking. -I Facetimed my family while watching it, Amelia and Lucas watched too- she said looking down at him, knowing that he loved her little nephew and niece as much as she did. Indeed, a smile showed on his lips when she pronounced their names -they were cheering as crazy, I really regret using headphones- she continued talking as he laughed, getting up from her chest and sitting on the couch properly.
-Thank you for moving here with me, away from your family- he softly said looking at her eyes, a sign that, even after all these years, could still make her faint.
-Well it turned out well didn’t it?- she laughed showing him her ring finger again.
-You just like to show off the ring, don’t you?- he laughed while placing his head on her chest again.
-Anyways, Mick, you’re my family too, you know?- she whispered caressing his hair again, although not for a long time, because he got up again to kiss her lips in the most lovingly way, just as he always did when both of them shared intimate moments. -Wanna watch a film?- she asked still smiling watching how he snuggled into the blanket trying to get closer to her. -No no- she said getting away form him -you need to get up to get the remote, Mick- she laughed as he rolled his eyes back, but still getting up to go get it.
-What are you doing??- she asked watching him stand in front of the tv changing channels -there are no good films in those- she said looking at the tv until he reached the radio channels. No images, just music.
-Come here- he said placing the remote on the table and opening his arms, waiting for her. -Let’s dance. Slow- he said with a soft smile. It didn’t take her more than a second to stand up and walk towards him, making him laugh when she moved to the side the coffee table so they could have more space. His arms hugged her waist and she placed hers around his neck as she hummed to the slow song sounding on the speakers of the room. She could even feel he was tense, still thinking about the weekend.
-You can lay on me, baby- YN softly said making him lift up his head from her shoulder.
-I am lean on you- he laughed.
-That’s not why I mean- she smiled at his tired laugh -I mean you can talk to me. I'll be all your need. It hasn’t been your day, so lay on me. Put your worries on me, I’m here whenever you need-. She said, already watching his blue eyes shining more than they normally did, filled with angry tears from the frustration of the race.
-I’m just trying to be strong-.
-You don’t have to with me- she said already wiping his tears away, finding it hard to see them because she was starting to cry too. -Can’t judge me, because I feel the same way- she said watching him laugh at her tears before pulling her to his body, both of them sobbing, but finding comfort in each others arms. -It’s okay, it hasn’t been your day- she said trying to calm his sobs.
-I tried to be strong, but I got demons- he said almost laughing between tears, with his face on the crock of her neck. She just listened, caressing the back of his head as their bodies swung to the music.
-It’s okay, Mick- she whispered trying to calm him down but also knowing he needed to let it all out. -I’m here for you, just lay on me, put your worries on me- she said again while he finally stopped crying, pulling away from her to look her in the eyes cupping her cheeks gently and squeezing them later, making both of them laugh.
-I love you so much- he finally said.
-I know- she shamelessly said making him laugh as he leaned closer to kiss you without stopping smiling.
-Sorry for that- he pointed at her t shirt, soaked because of his tears.
-It’s okay, it’s yours anyways- she laughed getting one of his warm smiles. -Shall we go to bed now?-
-Yep- he said not before lifting her off the ground to take her to bed, laughing on their way there.
YN was the last one to go to bed and she didn’t doubt a second on laying on top of him. Mick just placed his arms around her waist, drawing random patterns on her back as they started to drift off.
-You know what?- YN talked before falling asleep, raising her head in an attempt to see Mick’s gaze, although it was already dark. His hum made her continued - Lucas was so happy when he saw you crossing the line after Lewis and Max. He thought you were third, but in reality you were what?? Three laps behind???- she laughed. Mick pushed her to the side, although she could swear he heard his giggle.
-That’s mean, YN. That’s really mean- he said, although she didn’t miss the tone on his voice, clearly trying to hide his laugh.
-Hey, tell Lucas, not me!!- she responded laughing while Mick pulled her closer again, closing the gap between the two bodies as YN placed her hand on his cheek before talking softly again -I just want you to go to bed with a smile-.
-You achieved it, schatzi. You always do-
Outlander’s Memoir | Prologue |
Pairing: Yandere Fantasy!Bakugou x Reader
Summary: You're captured by Bakugou's tribe and forced to become his bride. It's strange here. To be torn from your home and brought down to your knees in a foreign clan where women only serve is meant to be humbling, not harrowing. But welcome, anyway, echme.
WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, DEATH
Barren burnt land surrounded (Y/n). The cries of children and their mothers went silent minutes ago, and smoke filled the air in their place. A few survivors remained, and (Y/n) saw clearly the anguish in their faces, pleading for mercy from the raiders right before the blade of swords swung down on their necks. The men didn't even give a second thought, almost as if they enjoyed it. (Y/n) could've sworn she heard a few laugh. She wasn't close enough for the heads of the victims to roll to her, but she felt the weight of each of them hit the ground from where she stood. They had been the last ones alive until just now.
They were also (Y/n)'s neighbors.
She went down to the market just this morning with youngest boy of that family; he was telling (Y/n) how to pick seeds out of watermelons, and even though it wasn't new knowledge to her, she chimed along anyway, both so unaware of the terror that would reign upon them only a few hours later.
Now that boy's body lay sprawled out on the dirt road, and the murderers pranced around his corpse on their groomed horses, thrusting their swords and axes in the air in celebration. They were chanting something, but (Y/n) couldn't understand. Her fury preoccupied her, and she felt her molars grind as she dug her boots in the ground.
(Y/n)'s hands were bound by a thick rope, being led by a man on a tall horse, a Kiger mustang. It was probably the most beautiful stallion amongst the raiders. The man was blonde and not saying much to her, but that might have been because of the language barrier. She didn't know their tongue. (Y/n) yanked the rope, hard, but it did little. The man was holding onto the other end, and he tugged her back before spitting something at her in another language.
"Fuck you!" (Y/n) barked, still yanking the rope with as much strength as she could muster under the shock, trying her best to pull herself to the boy's body as it now lay alone in the middle of the dirt road. Not even his family's corpses surrounded his.
(Y/n) didn't get far at all, she didn't even budge an inch. Her boots slipped on the mud, and she fell hard on her side, dirtying her dress even more. She never relented her desperate pull on the rope, though, no matter how much her wrists ached.
"Fuck you and your fucking barbarian tribe!" (Y/n) shouted at the top of her lungs, making sure the rest of the men heard her over top of the flames that burned her village. Some of them paused their property destruction to turn to look at her on their horses. They saw a pitifully small girl pulling against her bindings, being held by their king as he sat nonchalantly on his horse.
(Y/n) suddenly dropped to the ground once more, realizing that endlessly pulling was going to get her nowhere. An abandoned sword sat a few yards from her; dull and worn, but still a sword. It must have belonged to one of the villagers who carried enough guts to fight back against the raiders. It didn't get them too far, apparently. (Y/n) couldn't use her hands, so she stuck her foot out, inching as close as she could and hoping the tip of her boot could just... reach... the handle...
The man on the Kiger was observing the scene, and he suddenly dismounted, sighing. (Y/n) wasn't looking at him, and she felt the pull on the rope lessen. She took advantage of the opportunity and shifted closer to the sword, kicking it closer to her. Before she could move to grab it, the man jerked the rope back with such a force that it sent her flying forward a few feet. She landed face first in the mud, and she felt the rope being reeled closer. He was pulling her in and hitching the end of the rope to the horse's saddle. The man mumbled something before speaking to her for the first time in the common tongue.
"Gonna have to keep you on a shorter fuckin' leash."
Other men rode up to the pair, observing the scene. The blonde man exchanged a few words in a foreign language with them before mounting his horse once more. (Y/n) remained seated on the ground, refusing to stand as she watched. Blonde man clicked his tongue twice, and his horse began to move. (Y/n) was abruptly pulled forward, dragging against the ground on her stomach, and the men who were staring at her laughed at the scene. Blonde glanced back and laughed along with them.
(Y/n) twisted against the ground, trying to find her footing. She couldn't, not with the horse trotting like this. It was a few more feet until she was finally able to come to an awkward crouch and forcibly stand, a pathetic stumble of an adjustment. However, while she staggered behind the horse, her fingers attempted to undo her bindings.
A large blade was suddenly placed under her neck.
She glanced to the side, holding in her shock and looking up at the larger man on his horse. His teeth were sharp, and his smile did not look kind. He said something to her, but she didn't know what it was. Blonde's head suddenly jerked around.
"Oi!" He shouted, followed by a slew of foreign words, and none of them nice. Sharp Teeth lowered his blade begrudgingly with a roll of his eyes. He looked back down at (Y/n) and spit on the ground as he continued to ride beside her.
Crime & Punishment (Steve Rogers x Reader)
Summary: Your CEO catches you in the office late at night watching naughty videos and decides to show you just how naughty girls are punished.
Warnings: Dub con, spanking, masturbation
Word count: 3k
You sat at your desk and watched the sun start to set on another dreary New York Friday. The rest of the staff on your level had left almost over an hour ago but you had agreed to be the one to stay behind to assist the West Coast should any problems arise. The pro was getting to start work later but the obvious con was sitting alone in an office building late at night whilst the rest of your co-workers started their weekend.
It didn't bother you so much. You lived alone - you worked alone. You were used to being alone. The night shift in the office was quiet. California very rarely ever called you with problems at this time of night. It was peaceful. You’d do what you always do when you had quiet time. You pulled out your phone and escaped into your fantasy world that would always stay just that - a fantasy.
You read your dirty stories, your smut. You looked around to make sure you really were alone. Nobody wandered down to your level at this time of night. You hadn’t seen your boss in weeks - he only showed up when something was wrong so the less you saw of him the better. Although - he wasn’t so hard on the eyes. Steve Rogers - CEO. Young for a CEO but such a babe. Strong muscular build with a beard that just screams daddy. It was no wonder when you read your stories, the dark mysterious man always morphed into a familiar face in your mind. The things you would love that man to do to you.
Lost in your daydream you kept scrolling, not paying attention to the world around you. Lost in your own fantasies. You failed to notice footsteps approaching your desk. Failed to notice the figure looming behind you. Watching as you scrolled through videos of naughty schoolgirls having their bottoms turned a nice shade of pink.
“You know - watching porn on work time is punishable by immediate termination”
The boding voice made you jump out of your seat, your phone falling out of your hands and straight to Mr Rogers’ feet.
“I didnt..I wasn’t...i’m sorry” You stuttered...desperately trying to grab the phone from the ground and stop the video that was playing. It was too late. Your boss had the phone in his hands and could see all too well what you had been doing.
“Are you going to try to tell me this was an accident? You just stumbled across this website and accidentally watched this video?” He spoke so smoothly with a smirk adorning his face.
You were silent. What could you say? You had just been caught red handed by the very person you had been fantasizing about.
He turned your phone off and placed it on the desk next to you. You kept your eyes down and twisted your fingers in your hands. You stared at the ground and prayed that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. This was the most humiliating moment of your life. It couldn't get any worse.
“I could fire you…” He paused. Another smirk lining his face. “Or we could come up with another punishment to fit the crime”
“Anything...please. I need this job” Your voice was shaky. But you were confident. If he was willing to give you another chance you would take it.
“Oh sweetheart, you shouldn't go making deals with the devil. You are bound to get burnt”
He closed the gap between you and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.
“Bend over the desk”
You hesitated. Had you heard him correctly? He couldn't be serious. You searched his eyes to see if he was joking.
“Or you can pack your things and leave and never return. Which will it be?”
He crossed his arms. His face was hard to read. This man was strong and intimidating but this was coercion. Was he really capable of this?
The fear was evident in your body language but deep down there was a part of you that was secretly excited by the prospect of what was to come.
You moved slowly but efficiently. You laid your body over the desk and stretched your arms out in front of you. You could no longer see Steve but you could feel him. He ran his fingers down your spine. Your body was scared - the hairs on your arms standing up. But your mind - your mind was racing with all the possibilities of what was about to happen.
Steve placed his hands at the base of your skirt and lifted it slowly to reveal your white cotton panties. Your cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Of course you hadn't thought to put on sexy lacy underwear. Nobody would see them. He rolled the skirt all the way up to your waist and left it there with your ass on display.
“Hmmmm - what to do with you?” He questioned. You’d never heard him so satisfied. You only ever heard him barking orders or demanding answers. This was a completely different voice. A voice which quite literally sent shivers down your spine.
“Have you ever been spanked before?” You could hear him rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt. Running his fingers over your underwear.
“No” You shook your head. You had imagined it in your head over and over again but you could never voice your fantasies out loud.
He quickly pulled your ponytail sharply - snapping your head up off the desk.
“No - what?” He spoke forcibly. Now your body was terrified. Your legs shaking and sweat started forming on your forehead.
“No...sir?” You phrased it as more of a question than a statement. Not sure exactly what he was looking for but desperate to please him.
He released your hair and gently pushed your face back down onto the desk. Apparently that was the right answer.
“I think ten smacks with my hand will be a good start. You don’t need to count”
He walked around to the side to give himself the room that he needed. Your heart was beating so fast and so loud you were almost certain he could hear it.
The first smack took you by surprise. A lard thud on your right butt cheek. The surprise of the hit shocked you more than the pain did. It wasn't so bad. You could take 10 of these. Especially with your underwear on to protect you. You were at least grateful for that small mercy.
He didn't wait very long for the next smack. This one hurt a little more. You let out the breath you had been holding but still didn't speak a word. You tried hard to keep your mouth closed throughout the next few hits but the pain was increasing. His delicate hands crashing down on your ass in quick succession alternating from left to right. You could feel tears filling in your eyes. From pain or humiliation you weren't sure.
At about smack number 5 you let out your first yelp. What you thought would come out as a cry of pain sounded more like a moan of pleasure. The spanking hurt and Steve was not holding back. He barely waited between each hit and showed no sign of slowing down. You were not enjoying this. You couldn't. This was supposed to hurt but you felt your body betraying you. Or was your mind betraying your body?
At smack number 10 you finally let the tears spill over from your eyes but still keeping your mouth closed. It quivered but you wouldn't dare speak or let him hear you. You could feel him rub his hand over your bottom in a surprising show of kindness. He gently ran his hand up your back and flicked the hair out of your face and to one side.
“That's a good girl. Take a deep breath for me now” His words were like music to your ears. You had no idea how much you wanted to please him. How much you wanted him to be happy with you. You followed his instructions and took a big gulp of air. You kept your body laying over the desk - too scared to move or do anything that could upset him.
“You did so well for your first time. Lets see if you liked what I did to you”
Your tears were almost gone now. Your shock and fear were replaced by a whole new range of emotions. Excitement...lust.
He dipped his fingers into your panties and dragged them down to your feet. He helped you lift up to your feet one by one and placed the panties in his pocket. He kicked your feet apart and forced your body to spread itself on display.
“Oh my - you certainly did enjoy your spanking”
You buried your face into the desk and curled your fingers in embarrassment. You wanted to tell yourself you didn't enjoy what he was doing to you. The pain was intense but you couldn't hide the juices leaking out of your pussy and graciously down your thighs. You were beyond wet. You were dripping.
Steve ran a finger through your slit and the moan that escaped your lips could not be controlled. He held his glistening fingers up to the light and inspected your arousal.
Your body was on fire. The spanking had left your behind burning but your pussy was throbbing. Your clit felt electric and you tried desperately to get the much needed friction on it to give you a spark.
Steve could see you rubbing your cunt against the desk desperately like a dog on heat. You were past the point of caring now. Humiliation had taken a back seat now and the driver was your absolute need to orgasm. There was no other thought - you had never needed to get off more than at this very moment.
Steve dipped his fingers back to your slit and ran them up towards your clit eliciting yet another guttural moan from your lips. His touch felt like a live wire had just been connected to your pussy and you were being electrocuted.
He removed his finger after just a brush against your clit and watched you try desperately for more. More friction...more anything. You needed more.
“Get up on the desk. On your hands and knees” He ordered. That was the voice you were used to. The one that always got what he wanted. Nobody questioned him when he demanded something and this wasn’t a question. It was an order. Who were you to disobey?
You complied instantaneously. Keeping your head forward and lifting your body up onto the table on full display for Steve to see. He pushed your shoulders down so that you were on your elbows but still keeping your ass in the air. Your body shivered in anticipation.
You could still feel the heat on your ass from your spanking. It felt as though welts might appear in the shape of his hand prints. That thought got you even more excited. A temporary reminder of what had happened tonight. That this was real.
Steve placed an object in your hand. It was small - cylindrical shaped. Almost like a tube of lipstick. Except - he flicked a switch on the object and you instantly knew what this was. The vibrations ran all down your arm. It was tiny but powerful. A bullet vibrator. He had this in his pocket? You’d have to come back to that thought later. Right now all you knew is that you were naked from the waist down, horny as fuck and you had a vibrator in your hands.
“I want to see you cum” He stated matter of factly. How you wished you could see his face right now. But then again, your boss is looking at your ass and pussy on full display right now. Maybe not being able to look him in the eyes is a good thing.
You took the bullet in your hand and slipped it straight down to your clit. The sensation made you jolt immediately and almost threw you off balance. Steve was still there, his hands on your hips instantaneously to steady you. You got back to work and placed the vibrator back on that sensitive bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t take long for you to get off like this. It would be embarrassingly quick.
SMACK. You heard the smack before you felt the familiar burn of the hit on your ass.
“Ow...fuck” You were not prepared for that. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy for you. Your hand holding the vibrator had slipped back onto the desk to steady yourself from the new onslaught.
“Put that back on your clit now” His voice was low but menacing. Your need to please him...to obey him was back. Your body quickly following his command before your brain could even comprehend what you were doing.
The sting from his hit had faded slightly but the burn remained. The fire was spreading to your cunt and whilst the spanking had put a small delay in your orgasm, it still wouldn't take long. The fight between pain and pleasure in your mind was confusing but pleasure was winning. It always would.
“9 more smacks and then you can cum. Don’t you dare cum before i’ve hit you 10 times” That made things a little more complicated. His voice was threatening. You couldn’t let him down. Not now.
You placed the bullet back on your clit and your body shook with excitement. You were more prepared for the next hit but you were not prepared for the reaction your body would have to the pain. As if on cue, you could feel that familiar sensation in your body. Your orgasm was quickly building. The next two hits came in quick succession. Your legs started to quiver. Your head started to shake back and forth. No no no no. It was happening too fast.
He kept spanking, switching between each butt cheek and alternating where he hit. You barely noticed the pain - instead focusing on how many slaps were landing on your sore behind.
“Please...PLEASE…” You were begging. Desperately. That was the only word you could say right now. Unable to form sentences. Your brain was unable to function right now as your pussy was in charge and nothing else in the world mattered. The sensation had moved from your belly down to your clit and was going to explode any second now. You counted. Nine...Ten...and then - nothing. You were floating...as if there was nothing around you. No desk...no office...just darkness. And then as if you had fallen straight back to earth - your orgasm ripped into you. The feeling took over you as if you had been hit by a freight train. Your body shook with the intensity of your orgasm and your pussy clenched in on itself as it rode out the shockwaves with the rest of your body.
You dropped the bullet onto the desk and curled yourself into a ball. Your body still shaking from the aftershock of the most intense orgasm you had ever had in your life. Your breathing was staggered...almost to the point of hyperventilating. ‘As your senses slowly started coming back to you, you could feel Steve’s hands rubbing your ass. Smoothing away the pain.
The reality of what you had just done was starting to sink in. An overwhelming sense of dread taking over your body. Your body was now choosing between fight and flight and running away seemed like the best option right now. You snapped your head up to look at the culprit behind these feelings and your body followed quickly after. You stood up off the desk and peeled your skirt back down to give yourself a tiny bit of dignity back.
You slammed your laptop shut and slid it straight into your bag. You grabbed your phone and handbag and swung around to get out of here as quickly as possible.
“Hey hey hey...wait…” His voice was calm, soothing almost. His arms out as they tried to stop you from your escape. Trying to placate you and reason with you. You were beyond reasoning right now.
The tears were back and you could feel a sob building in the back of your throat.
“I can’t….I have to go” You managed to squeak out without sobbing. You started to head for the elevator before his hands were on you again.
“Please...just stop. Let’s talk about this” He was always the voice of reason. A smart business man like him...he knew how to get his way.
“No...i just...I have to go” Your quivering lip giving away your emotion that you were trying to keep bubbled inside of you. You swerved from his grasp and pressed the button on the elevator. He kept his distance from you sensing your fear. You got in and pressed the button for the lobby and kept your head down. Not able to look at him. You didn't want to see his face. His pity. You just needed to get out.
Your trip home was a blur. Somehow you put one foot in front of the other and found yourself in your apartment. Alone. Confused. Angry. A shower would wash away the shame that was enveloping your body. You stripped away your clothes only vaguely registering the fact that you were still missing your underwear.
Once the steam had started to rise from the shower indicating that the water was indeed scolding hot - you slowly placed your head under the spray and let the cascade wash away your tears. You ran your hands through your hair and ran it down your body until they landed on your butt. There was that reminder. That physical painful reminder of the shameful slutty act you had done. The guilt washed over you like a slap in the face.
You allowed yourself to be spanked...by your boss and you masturbated yourself to a mind blowing orgasm...in front of your boss. You consented to this. When you allowed yourself time to think about the severity of what you had done you realized with absolute certainty that you had enjoyed it. You loved it. You craved it. It was everything you had ever wanted and more.
After an eternity, you left the sanctum of your shower and dressed in your pajamas. You grabbed your phone and switched it back on. Nobody would be looking for you. There would be no messages. Except there was. A few missed calls and a text. From an unknown number.
Please let me know that you got home ok.
Your fingers hovered over the phone. Before you could reply a calendar invite popped up.
Meeting. 8pm. Monday night. Steve Rogers office.
Accept or Decline?