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thelionbyname · 2 years

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Hermit Island (part 5)

Sweating and panting, Grian woke. He looked around, momentarily disoriented. He saw Scar lying to his left, fast asleep, cuddling his makeshift moss pillow. To his right Grian saw Mumbo, turned away from him, equally oblivious to the woken world. Grian tried his best to calm his breathing, taking big gulps of humid, tropical air. He closed his eyes and thought back to his dream. He had been flying, beautiful, parrot-like wings sprouting from his back. The wind had rushed along his face, he had flown through the clouds… All of a sudden he’d heard a loud crack, he looked back and saw that his wings had snapped. He tumbled down, down, into the depths of the ocean beneath him. He couldn’t breathe, he tried to call for help but water filled his lungs. He saw the faces of his fellow hermits, all drowning and flailing, but he couldn’t do anything to help them. With that feeling of terror and helplessness, he had awoken.

He shivered. Suddenly, the realisation that he had almost died washed over him. And even worse, that his friends had almost died. They were incredibly lucky to all have survived. He started to shake a little and realised he was crying. Tears streamed down his face and onto his sweater, leaving dark blotches on the wool. He sat curled in a ball, shivering and shaking, for a solid ten minutes. When he could weep no more, he wiped his tears and stood up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anymore that night, so he emerged from the hut he shared with his two best friends and mindlessly wandered towards the ocean. When he got there, he continued walking, not caring that the hems of his pants got wet, or that his shoes, which were still damp from the day before, from the crash, would not dry for another day. He just wandered further and further, letting the waves crash against him, until he was waist-deep. The sky was light, though the sun hadn’t risen yet.

“Can’t sleep either?” a voice from behind startled him out of his trance. He turned around to see Cleo approaching him. She waded through the water until she was level with Grian. The tips of her flaming red hair hung in the water. She didn’t look at him, but instead stared out into the distance, where the horizon was gradually getting brighter.

Grian chuckled humorlessly. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted.

“Me too. I think it’s safe to assume it was about the same thing?”

Grian nodded. “How did the crash manifest into your imagination?”

Cleo snorted. “I was driving with Joe and we hit another car. We flew off the road and into the sea below us.”

Grian nodded again, picturing it in his mind.

“What about you?” Cleo asked.

“I was flying- with wings- and my wings broke.”

Cleo hummed in acknowledgement.

The first of the sun’s rays now peeked over the horizon. They watched it rise together, feeling it warm their faces, seeing it illuminate the sky. Neither of them felt like talking much, so they stood there in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. After a while they headed back to shore and decided to do some of the things that needed to be done. They went into the forest and started scouring for the day’s breakfast.

The rising sun woke a few other people. Scar, for one. He saw the sun shine through the leaves on the roof of their makeshift hut, and it shone through his eyelids into his dreams. When his eyes flickered open, his first thoughts were, Where am I? Am I still dreaming? Then he remembered what had happened the day before. He shivered, reliving the terrifying memories that hadn’t yet dulled with age and were still fresh in his mind.

He shook himself back to the present. Glancing to the space Grian had occupied about twenty minutes before, and then to the still-sleeping Mumbo, he shivered again. Not with terror this time, but with relief. He was so incredibly grateful that everyone had made it out of the whole ordeal alive. With that positive attitude, he left the hut.

He had to shield his eyes momentarily as they adjusted to the brightness of the outside world. Once they had, he looked around to see who else was awake. He saw a sleepy-eyed Doc just emerging from the hut he shared with Etho and Beef on the other side of the beach, scratching one arm with his prosthetic one. In the hut next to his own, Scar heard rustling and a loud thump, followed by some muffled cursing. Shortly thereafter False walked out, rubbing her head. She caught sight of Scar giggling at her and gave him a pained smile.

“Good morning Scar.”

“A very good morning indeed, Falsie. The world is wonderful and we are all alive. Just think of how amazing that is!”

To give Scar credit, his words did cheer False up a bit. She smiled again, less pained this time, and said, “It really is.”

At that moment, Cleo and Grian emerged from the trees, their arms full of berries, cinnamon and mushrooms. They walked over to the least sleep-cranky looking person: Scar.

“Is Stress awake yet?” Cleo asked him.

Scar shook his head. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Could you identify these plants then?”

“Absolutely! Ooh, you’ve found lactarius indigo! One of my favourite mushrooms. Delicious.”

Grian looked down at the blueish mushrooms in his arms. “So… they’re edible?”

“Yep!”

“Huh, I expected them to be poisonous, being so colourful.”

“Nope, they’re very tasty.”

“That’s good then. What about Cleo’s berries?”

“Those look like Jamaican berries!” Scar sniffed the reddish berries carefully. The sweet, musky scent confirmed his suspicion. He happily popped one in his mouth and tasted the popular flavour of cinnamon, nutmeg and clove all at once. He hummed contentedly.

“Are you sure they’re safe to eat, Scar? Shouldn’t you… test them or something? Stress said you should press them against your arm to see if you get a rash.”

“Jeez, have some faith in me Grian, I am a good friend of mother nature myself, I think I know my berries.”

Grian sighed. In a leap of faith, he, too, ate a berry. The smooth, tender skin split between his teeth to release the sweet, juicy pulp in an explosion of flavour. “Mmm…” he closed his eyes, enjoying the tropical fruit.

“Falsie, try one!” Scar insisted.

So she did.

Cleo watched them, one eyebrow raised, and decided, ah, screw it, and had a berry too. A small smile played at the corners of her lips.

Scar’s eyes brightened as he suddenly had a thought. “I have to go show these to Bdubs!” he yelled, grabbing a handful from Cleo’s arms.

He skipped across the beach in search of Bdubs. Obviously his friend liked to sleep, so he didn’t expect him to be awake yet. But just as he thought that, Bdubs emerged from the hut he shared with Keralis and Xisuma, rubbing his eyes. Scar’s face lit up at the sight of him.

“Hey, Bdubs!”

Bdubs stopped rubbing the sleep from his eyes to look at him. “Hey Scar! ‘What are you up to?”

“Cleo found these amazing berries! I want you to try them!” Scar said, maybe somewhat overenthusiastically.

Bdubs smiled brightly, all his sleepiness forgotten with the joy of talking to Scar.

Scar ate another three berries, and with his mouth half-full, he said, “Try dem! I promise dey’re worf it.”

Bdubs, gathering all his courage, replied, “I bet they taste better in your mouth,” and kissed him.

Surprised, Scar almost choked. He gagged, pulling away and spitting out the berries. Bdubs backed away, going red in the face.

“I’m sorry Scar… I didn’t mean to- I mean, I meant to, but… I shouldn’t’ve kissed-” His words were cut off, because, though surprised, Scar had very much liked Bdubs’ act of bravery, and definitely wanted it to continue. So he kissed him back. It was Bdubs’ turn to be surprised. His dark eyes widened, but his heart beat rapidly against his chest, and he let himself succumb to Scar’s sweetness. Their lips parted to make way for their tongues, the lingering taste of the berries spreading through both their mouths. Scar shivered and all his muscles seemed to relax. The remaining berries fell out of his hand and landed with a thud in the sand. They kissed until they were both short of breath, but even then they didn’t want to stop. Neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away. Only when they started to feel light-headed did they stagger away from each other. Dizzy, they grabbed each other’s hands in support, but fell to the sand nonetheless.

Scar turned to look at Bdubs, heart thumping so loud against his chest that he was sure Bdubs must have been able to hear it. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but giggle. The happiness bubbling inside him just had to out itself.

Bdubs joined him in his fit of laughter. Soon they just lay there, laughing in the sand. They looked at each other, and then to the sky. They watched the clouds drift by as their laughter subsided, a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the tropical sun spreading through them, and they felt totally at peace, all their worries forgotten.

Their peace was disturbed when Grian, smirking, walked over to them and said, “Hey lovebirds! Would you mind helping me gather firewood, or are you too busy tasting each other?”

The two sprawled up from the ground, blushing heavily, and stood to face Grian.

Grian shared a look with Scar. He was happy for him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be teasing him about this for the rest of eternity. He set forth towards the forest.

Bdubs and Scar didn’t immediately follow him. They glanced at each other and burst into another fit of laughter.

“You have some sand in your hair,” Bdubs said, reaching up to brush it out of Scar’s ebony-brown locks.

“So do you,” and Scar did the same.

Bdubs’ hand slid down to cup Scar’s cheek, his fingers tracing the long scar that ran from eyebrow to chin. His eyes flickered to Scar’s lips, but at that moment Grian called out for them again, and the moment passed. They hurried over to where Grian stood waiting for them.

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence.

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence.

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it.

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually…

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was.

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him.

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them.

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there.

‘Hannah.’

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door.

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase.

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life.

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder.

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends.

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised…

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days.

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right.

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too.

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected.

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them.

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers.

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses.

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped.

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her.

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her.

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands.

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver.

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again.

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her.

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots.

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red.

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’

‘That’s very brave.’

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin.

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’

‘Somehow.’

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter.

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Do you?’

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside.

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…'

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly.

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over.

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor.

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?'

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat.

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him.

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing.

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils.

'OW! Son of a bludger-'

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room.

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-'

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range.

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own.

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered.

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to.

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened.

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle.

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers.

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #neville x hannah #tw: maternal death #tw: mentions of violence

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Sleepless /// Tanjiro x f!reader (18+)

Request: Hi!! I'm not entirely sure on how to request since this is my first time EVER requesting something here on tumblr 😳😳 so im not sure if im doing this right,,,but um,,,,could you do a soft dom! tanjiro kamado x reader nsfw??? (he's aged up of course)

A/N: Y’all I’ve been working on this practically since I made this gd blog…idk why it took so long since I LOVE the concept. Reader is a traumatized bby who just needs her kitty licked ✊😔 and honestly same

Tags/warnings: soft dom, daddy vibes but without the ‘daddy’ (onii-chan vibes?), brief mentions of past demon violence & PTSD, fluff?, historical inaccuracies probably, reader is implied to be inexperienced, mild overstimulation, lowkey yandere lowkey romantic who knows, all characters are adults

It starts out with little things. Harmless things. Tanjiro sees you barely ate anything at dinner, and later that night he comes to your bedroom with a plate of food for you. “You should eat,” he tells you.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, almost a little petulantly. The food looks good and you know he’s trying to be nice, but you’re not a child. You can take care of yourself, and even when you can’t it’s not his job to do it for you.

“Eat,” he says again softly. It’s not a command. It’s like he already knows you’re going to eat, and he’s just patiently waiting for you to give in.

You pick up the chopsticks and eat the food he prepared for you. All of it. Tanjiro sits there and watches and then when you’re done, he smiles at you and pats your head and takes the plate away. You think it’s weird, but the next morning you don’t question it. He’s a big brother to everyone—doesn’t it make sense that he would want to make sure you’re eating enough?

He probably can’t help it.

You decide you’re going to let it slide, until a few days later after breakfast with him and the others when Tanjiro pulls you aside and holds your face in his hands and tells you you’re looking a little tired lately—are you getting enough sleep?

The truth is that you aren’t. You want to deny it, but somehow you have a hard time lying to him. “I used to sleep with my siblings in our bed, so it’s hard to fall asleep since…” since the demon who made you an orphan murdered them. “And, you know. Nightmares.”

Tanjiro understands. Of course he understands! He used to have five younger siblings, did you know that? Now Nezuko has her own room and the rest…well, you’ve heard the story. It’s hard to fall asleep when you’re by yourself, isn’t it? He’s been there.

“How many hours are you sleeping every night? On average?”

You’re trying too hard to ignore the brush of his callused fingertips over your cheekbones, so you tell him the truth without meaning to. “Um, like four hours? On a good day?”

His eyes go wide and suddenly both of his hands are wrapped around one of yours and squeezing, maybe a little too tight. “Is that the truth, (Y/N)? Four hours is too little. Sleep deprivation isn’t good for you.”

“I know, but—”

“No. The next time you have trouble getting to sleep, I want you to come to my room.” You open your mouth to mount a denial, but he frowns and cuts you off. “Promise me. Okay? It’s really bad for your health, so promise.”

And once again, you say yes even though you don’t want to.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine, you think. You’ll just pretend you’re sleeping better. Tonight you’ll lay in bed with your eyes open and stare at the ceiling and try to listen to your own breathing, in and out and in and out, and hope it drowns out the memories that stick fast in your head whenever you’re by yourself. Then when you’ve been laying in the dark for a few hours, you’ll finally fall asleep and all your nightmares will play out in technicolor and you’ll do your best to be quiet so you don’t wake anyone else up and in the morning you’ll splash cold water on your face to make your eyes less puffy and pinch your cheeks to get some color in them and it’ll be fine.

You can take care of yourself. You have to, since everyone else is gone. So you’re not sure why, when the sun goes down and you’re looking into the face of another sleepless night, you find yourself knocking on the door of Tanjiro’s bedroom.

Maybe it’s just that he made you promise. You hate breaking your promises.

He lets you in, the half-asleep affect mixing with the same caring, serene look as always (and it’s a little insulting that he’s not surprised at all). Tanjiro sits on the bed first and you can’t help staring at him in the flickering orange lamplight. He’s more muscular than you remembered, and taller than when you first met. He can play the role of a big brother all he likes, but he’s still an adult. A man. And he’s not family.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you say, fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),” Tanjiro murmurs as he lies down, his voice still scratchy with sleep. Somehow it relaxes you. He just has that way about him—when he says it’s okay, it feels okay.

Tanjiro pats the spot on the bed next to him. It looks really warm, and there’s a winter chill in the air even though it’s only September. It’s a bed made for one person, but Tanjiro—ever considerate—has moved over to one side to make space for you.

“Come on. Come sleep,” he instructs in that soft, non-demanding way of his. So you sit down on the edge of the bed and (carefully, carefully, like you’re making your way into a hot bath) fold your legs and pull the covers over you so you’re lying next to him. The bed is even warmer than you thought it’d be. Tanjiro radiates heat—he’s so warm, you think, how fitting—and then before you know it you’re drifting into the first dreamless sleep you’ve been afforded in a very long time.

That first night, you sleep with a good six inches of space between the two of you. You don’t want to touch him, don’t want to cross that invisible boundary—at first. But it doesn’t matter, because every time you wake up next to him, you’re curled up to his side like a puppy seeking warmth. It’s not like he minds. Judging from the gentle smile on his face when he wakes you up in the morning (and tells you that you should go back to your room before anyone notices you’re not there) he likes it.

Never again, you think. No way. But you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in so long, and it’s nice to be well-rested for once, and the next evening you only lie in your bed for fifteen minutes before you’re knocking on Tanjiro’s door again, silently asking if you can take advantage of his kind nature for just one more night.

He says yes. Of course he does. So you sleep next to Tanjiro again, you keep half a foot of space between you again, and you wake up hugging him. Again. And then you do it the next night, and the next night, sleeping beside Tanjiro over and over until you no longer bother trying to leave room between your body and his.

Is this okay? you wonder sometime around the two-week mark. It’s the longest you’ve gone without having nightmares since the demon came. Sometimes you think you’re betraying your loved ones by trying not to think about their deaths; letting yourself off easy while they suffered. You tell this to Tanjiro while the two of you are lying back to back under his blanket, quietly enough that (you hope) if he’s already sleeping you won’t wake him.

He hears you, and he turns around and lays his arm around your waist. “Don’t be silly…of course they wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

“But how do you know?”

“I know.” Tanjiro’s voice is half muffled by your hair, but it’s steady. “You believe me, don’t you.”

You do.

“Don’t think about that anymore.” His hold on your waist gets a little bit tighter, arms a little bit less forgiving.

“I won’t,” you say, hoping that the promise will be enough. The two of you fall asleep like that, and when you wake up in the morning it’s the first time ever that you haven’t moved in the night.

As if it wasn’t enough to be spending every night together, at some point you start to dream about him too. Usually it’ll just be a flash or a snippet that you barely remember once you wake—the reassuring tone of his voice, a smell like a campfire, or a few notes of laughter—but tonight you’re watching him train in the courtyard. In the dream, he moves through his forms with inhuman grace, position to position to position, balanced with perfect agility like he’s a dancer and not a swordsman. With how beautiful it is, you can almost forget the raw power behind his movement, the strength that has subjugated more demons than you care to know.

He pauses to stretch, rolling his shoulders back, and you notice that he’s shirtless (which is how you know it’s a dream). Tanjiro’s arms flex as he raises the blade into position, and the sun shimmers over the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. He looks ethereal like this, and as you sit on the porch and watch him, you feel heat stir inside of you that has nothing to do with the sunlight.

Tanjiro, you call out softly. He looks around to you, deep red eyes resting on yours, and whips the blade down to replace it in its sheath.

Can I come closer? The grass is cool and wet under your bare feet as you pad lightly into the courtyard toward him. You can taste the humid summer air in your mouth. Fingers tangle themselves in your hair, tilting your head up to meet his.

Tanjiro…

“(Y/N)?”

Tanjiro’s voice cuts through the dream and you scrunch your eyes shut, reluctant to leave the dream world where he wants to touch you, not out of pity or because he thinks it’s his duty to take care of you but because he wants to. But it’s too late—his hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you out of your slumber. “(Y/N)? You said my name.”

“Sorry, I…sorry.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

He kissed you, in your dream. Now that you’re looking at the real version, your cheeks feel warm…and so does that same spot below your belly. Suddenly the room feels uncomfortably hot, and you wish you weren’t trapped under the covers with Tanjiro. You shift your legs to try and get a little more air between the two of you, but the heat persists.

“I think I should go back to my room.” You must be sweating—you feel damp for some reason. He’s too close.

Tanjiro ignores you. “Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

“I—you,” you admit. “You were training.”

“And?”

“And…I don’t know. It’s kind of warm in here, isn’t it? I think I’ll just…” You push the cover aside and sit up, but before you can get yourself off the bed, Tanjiro is tugging you back down, holding to the mattress so he can hover over you in that way he likes.

“Tell me,” he says to you, voice as firm as it is gentle. Sleep-mussed locks of red hair flop over his forehead but his face is serious, and you can’t look away.

“You kissed me,” you whisper.

That takes him by surprise. You can tell by the way his eyes widen, but his hold on you doesn’t ease up. You want to die. Why did you say that? He’ll think you’re disgusting, sleeping next to him in his bed and having perverted dreams about him. Why couldn’t you have just lied? Why can’t you ever lie to him?

“I’m going back to my bedroom.” You try to project more confidence than you actually feel, but there’s no use. Tanjiro doesn’t seem like he’s going to let you get away from him any time soon.

He’s straddling your body carefully, one elbow folded next to your head while his other hand comes up to stroke your cheek. “Your face is all red.”

“You’re…you’re too close.”

“I don’t think I’m close enough. You have goosebumps, look...” Tanjiro folds up the sleeve of your sleep shirt, exposing your arms to view. “…here…and here, too…”

His hands are wandering further down to the hem of the shirt, pushing it up so slowly and gently that you’re not even sure it’s happening until you feel him stroking over your belly. It’s true, you do have goosebumps. It feels like every hair on your body is standing on end. “Tanjiro…?”

“I guess you haven’t been able to touch yourself, since we’ve been sleeping together. That kind of repression is bad for your health. Even I’ve been a little…frustrated.”

Your mind has to work overtime to understand what he’s telling you as he strokes over your stomach and onto the sensitive skin of your sides, and then up to the flesh covering your ribs. His thumb teases over the underside of one of your breasts for a second, but the shock must have shown on your face because he retreats immediately.

“I’m not. I’m not frustrated,” you say, knowing he won’t believe you.

Tanjiro shakes his head in dismissal. “I don’t think that’s true, (Y/N).”

What are you supposed to say? Of course it’s not true. But admitting that you’ve been feeling heated around him lately would ruin everything, so refuse to say it. “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say it. Can I prove it to you?”

What does he mean? Your head jerks up and down in acquiescence. You barely have to wait a moment before Tanjiro’s hands are slipping down your sides to the waistband of your pants and tugging them down over your hips. A tap on your hipbones prompts you to lift your hips and let him remove the clothing, not that you know why you’re complying so blindly.

Just like you always do.

Is he still trying to take care of you? Putting himself in a caretaker’s role because he thinks you need him? This is going a little far, too far maybe, but you can’t deny you want this. The heat of his body is no longer stifling—instead, it feels like it’s pulling you into him.

When your pants are out of the way, Tanjiro reaches into your underwear and dabs against your slit. It’s not until you feel his finger sliding between the puffy lips of your cunt that you realize how wet you are…and of course he can feel it too. Your knees jerk together to try and push him away from you but he’s unfazed, his touch steadily becoming more intrusive as he seeks out the syrupy dampness from your pussy.

“What am I feeling right now? I want you to tell me.”

“You’re—you’re touching me?” you gasp out.

“And you’re all wet. You can’t tell me you haven’t been frustrated when you’re getting this wet with just my fingers.” At this, you feel him prodding deeper into your pussy and stretching you open.

“Nn—okay, fine! Fine!” The words come out of you in a rapid burst, and you finally muster up the resolve to push Tanjiro away from you by his shoulders. “I’ll go back to my room and deal with it, okay? You don’t have to do it for me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can trust you to take care of this problem by yourself. You’ve been lying to me about your needs.”

You wish he wasn’t able to be so calm while you feel like your entire face is on fire. He pulls his hand out of your panties and backs up on the bed so his torso is framed between your legs. “Can you let me help you, (Y/N)? Let me take care of you.”

You lick your lips without realizing you’re doing it, and Tanjiro’s eyes follow the motion. You can barely comprehend what he’s asking. You want it. You want his hands on you; you want to be taken care of in the way he’s offering. But whether or not you can actually ask for it is another story. “Tanjiro…”

“You need this. I know you do.” He skims his palm over your bare thigh in a soothing motion that, oddly enough, puts your barbed nerves a fraction at ease. “I want you to be honest with me about what you need.”

It’s too much. The warmth of his body so tantalizingly close to yours, his shadowed eyes searching yours for a response you don’t know how to give him…and the sticky mess in your panties. Tanjiro’s giving you a free pass to get something you’ve wanted for longer than you can comfortably admit to yourself, and you’re not sure you could deny him if you tried. What can you tell him except the truth? “I want you. I need you.”

“Good girl. See how good it feels to be honest?” Tanjiro bows down and mouths over your pussy through the wet spot on your panties.

It’s not the honesty that feels good, you think as his tongue pads at you through the fabric.

Too impatient to wait another second to taste you, Tanjiro nudges your rear up and slides your panties down your legs. As soon as you kick the undergarment off your feet, he’s pulling your thighs back apart and curling his thickly-muscled arms around them to hold you securely as his head dips back down to your bare pussy. He wastes no time in laving his tongue over your slit and up to the button at the top.

The sensation of this hot, wet muscle pressing up against your most private area is…weird, to say the least. You’ve never felt anything like this—to be honest, you don’t even know exactly what Tanjiro’s doing. When you think about what’s actually happening on this bed—your (friend? partner? bedmate? crush?) ally has his mouth angled between your legs and is licking your pussy—you think you might spontaneously combust. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and however strange the feeling is, you’re more than aware of your hips grinding up toward Tanjiro just so you can feel more of it.

“Here, let me help…” Tanjiro effortlessly lifts you to place a pillow under your lower back, and then moves back down to continue his relentless licking, this time at a new angle that allows him full access to every millimeter of your raw cunt. He’s eating you out like your pussy is the last meal he’ll ever have.

And how can he help it? You taste so good, so sweet on his lips and over his tongue. You must have been in so much pain lying next to him every night with your desire leaking out between your thighs. Just thinking about is making heat rise low in his groin, and his grip on you is getting tighter by the second. How awful that you tried to keep this to yourself…it was remiss of him not to realize before tonight that you needed him so badly.

But it’s going to be alright, because judging from the muffled noises you’re making, every swipe of his tongue licking up your slit is more than making it up to you.

You probably don’t realize how much your hips are wiggling under his minstrations. He barely has to exert any effort to keep you still, but the way you keep trying you push yourself closer to him is enticing, not to mention the way you’re trying (and failing) to keep your voice down through your moans.

“Tanjiro…T-Tanjiro,” you whimper. It’s like you can’t think of anything except for his name. All of your attention is focused on the pressure building up deep in your core, each stroke of his tongue over your clit taking you higher and higher. You feel tense…wound up so tightly that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from letting the shallow puffs of air turn into full-fledged cries.

Just like that, please, please… You think the words rather than saying them, even though you want to. It’s too humiliating to be begging Tanjiro for more while he’s already giving you more than you deserve, but it’s almost like he heard you anyway, because his tongue writhes down across your clit again and your back arches up off the bedspread.

Your thighs twitch around his head, trying involuntarily to hold him down. He just chuckles and keeps you firmly in place, and his voice hums out over your pussy making feel even more wild. “Please, I’m—I’m cumming…” Your voice trails off and you crush the heels of your palms into your face to cover up your expression while the wave of pleasure hits you so hard you think you might faint.

Tanjiro doesn’t stop. You’re crying out in whimpers so high-pitched he can barely hear them, but he doesn’t stop. The delicate muscles in your pussy are throbbing under his tongue, but he doesn’t stop licking until you’re almost crying, panting out “it’s too much it’s too much, please Tanjiro” and pushing his head away with your hand.

When he finally pulls away, his hair is tangled and disarrayed from where you’ve been running your hands through it, and his mouth and jaw are shining wet. Tanjiro licks his lips and if you didn’t feel shaky before…you do now.

It takes a second for the power of thought to return to you, but when it does you just sigh weakly and flop back down onto the bed. Tanjiro’s next to you before you hit the pillow, and he grips your jaw with one hand to angle your head to meet his, and—

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. His lips are surprisingly soft over yours, but as usual there’s an unnecessary degree of pressure attached to the contact that has you sinking deeper into your blankets under his force. You can detect the lush, slightly bitter taste of your arousal coating the inside of his mouth as his tongue (skillful as ever) traces over yours. Tanjiro is kissing you, and it’s a hundred times better than any dream you could come up with on your own, so you kiss back.

It takes him a long moment to break the kiss, long enough that your lungs are pleading for air by the end of it. When his lips leave yours, a thin trail of saliva connects the two of you until it breaks and drips down your chin.

“Tanjiro…” You search for the right words, but what are you supposed to say at a time like this? “I…what did we just do?”

“Shh, don’t worry.” Tanjiro leans in again, this time just to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to take good care of you, okay?”

You take a moment and then duck your head into a nod. It doesn’t make any sense—how does he do that?—but once he says it’s okay it always is.

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jortsaaaaaaart · 3 years

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Three Hearts- Tendou x Reader x Ushijima

Soulmate AU- updates will be posted to https://archiveofourown.org/works/32830702/chapters/81464533

You remembered Sendai as being cold, so, so cold. The summers were short but they were also filled with many days spent exploring. You were part of a binational family. Your mother was from the United States, your father from Japan. Most of your early childhood was spent bouncing between the two countries before, finally, it was decided that the schools in Japan were much (much) better. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock. But the freedom Sendai offered was intoxicating. In Japanese culture it was perfectly acceptable to send your child out on errands, or let them visit the local park, on their own.

It was on one of these after school excursions that you ran into your future best friend.

A humid June evening had you trailing along the bank of the local river. Cicadas and the current drowned out almost all other noise. You were debating turning back or taking a wade in the water when you saw a shock of red. There was another kid sitting by the river. One with a pretty vibrant bowl cut. However, when you got closer you realised his hair wasn't the only thing that was red.

"Uh, hey." You murmured, feeling more than a little awkward. "Are you okay?" He almost jumped out of his skin. Wide red eyes snapped towards you before hiding away.

The redhead hastily wiped at his eyes. "Y-Yeah."

"That didn't sound all that convincing." With a sigh you plopped down next to him, watching as he curled in on himself. You'd never been one to mind your own business, not even as a child. Seeing someone crying by themselves was an instant invitation for you to barge in and try to help.

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"No I'm not!"

"Hmm. . ." You leaned back, looking over the river. "So what's your name then? If you don't tell me I'll just have to call you cry baby."

“. . . It’s Tendou Satori.” He muttered. Tendou was eyeing you warily, like a stray dog afraid to take a treat from a stranger.

"I'm (L/N) (F/N). If you want me to leave I can, but you just looked so sad sitting here alone." You gave him the warmest smile you could before returning your attention to the water. Satori's red eyes stayed locked on you but he didn't ask you to leave. A few moments passed in silent solidarity before he spoke up.

"I'm usually alone."

"I know how you feel." You sighed.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah. I moved around so much before grade school that I don't know anyone here." You paused. "But, hey, now I know you, right?" Your smile made Tendou forget all about the tears. His cheeks flushed pink under the setting sun.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked Satori, who desperately wanted to believe you were being genuine. But years of abuse had a hold on his heart.

You blinked. "Why wouldn't I be nice?"

". . . 'Cause I. . . Everyone says I'm a-"

"Ah! Look guys, it's the monster!" A group of children walked up behind the two of you. They were pointing at Satori with mocking grins. "You shouldn't get so close to him, he'll gobble you up!"

"Monster?" You glanced over at him but he was purposefully avoiding your eyes. If possible he would've liked to completely melt into the grass. Away from everything and everybody. But you weren't sinking into the ground, you were rising up. The bullies took a step back as you stomped up the embankment. "What gives you the right to call him that, huh?"

"W-What?" The ringleader stammered. "You've seen him, he's a freak! He shouldn't be allowed near us normal huma-"

He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek. Everyone's eyes were wide and glued to you.

"Y- You just punched me!?"

"And I'll do it again!" You stared down the boy while his friends helped him to his feet. Before you could say anything else, or fight a 1 v 4, someone grabbed your hand. Tendou dragged you away while you stuck your tongue out at the still stunned bullies.

Neither of you would ever forget that day. It was the start of a lifelong friendship, and eventually, something more.

On your first year of middle school you officially learned what soulmates were. It was assumed most parents would give you the talk before then, but the school board wanted youths to be prepared.

"They taught us about soulmates today in class." You were both lounging around in his room reading the newest Shonen Jump. You sat next to him on the bed, trying to keep up with his reading speed.

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"When you turn 18 your soulmate's name appears on your wrist. . . But, if you're older than them you have to wait for their birthday so the marks can appear at the same time. . . And then some people don't even get a soulmate." He wasn't paying attention to the manga anymore. His eyes were fixed to the floor while his brain waged war against itself. Tendou had been sure you were his soulmate since that first night. The butterflies in his stomach still hadn't gone away and every time he looked at you he felt like a pile of mush.

But, still, the 'I think you're my soulmate.' died on his tongue replaced with something much more depreciating. "I'm probably one of those people. Monsters don't get soulmates after all." His grin was shaky at best and you saw right through it.

"Don't call yourself that." You chided. "And of course you have a soulmate, Tori. Someone out there doesn't know how lucky they are. Soulmates with the best volleyball ball player ever. And the greatest friend ever, too."

You flopped down, holding your wrist in front of you. "I don't know if I'm excited or nervous."

"Well, it's a good thing, isn't it? Having a soulmate? You'll have someone who belongs with you and will love you no matter what." You pouted at him and he smiled, continuing with his speech. "I can't wait till we turn eighteen. And I know you can't wait either. Even if you're being a baby now."

Tendou had your eighteenth birthday planned out for years. Step one, he'd take you to the river where you met. Step two, shower you with presents and affection. And step three, wait for your soulmate's name, his name, to appear. Step four (profit), live happily ever after. However, like many things in life, it didn't go quite as planned.

On March 21st, right after the end of your final year of junior high, your mother died. It wasn't a shock, she had been sick for months, but the pain was still unbearable. Your mother's side of the family wanted to bury her in the family plot. An old tradition from an old, rural, part of America. Your father gladly handed the responsibility off to them.

Tendou remembered begging his parents to let him see you off at the airport. He remembered how red and puffy your eyes were, the sad smile on your face when you promised him you'd be back soon.

But you weren't.

Your father was in no shape to take care of you. Burying himself in his work to try and forget his loss. February came around and you had your 16th birthday in America. The first year of highschool had started without you. Tendou sent you pictures from Shiratorizawa every day, making you promise to try and get back as soon as possible.

Another February came and went. Your father was getting better and you were slowly but surely convincing him Japan was the right place for you to be. Tendou texted you every day, talking to you about his volleyball matches, his friend Ushijima, how much he missed you.

It was your third year of highschool and finally, finally, you were heading home. You told Tendou the news as soon as you knew. He seemed even more excited than you. You knew why, even if you didn't say it. Tendou had always been the one you thought of when you imagined your soulmate. But. . . There was something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. The whole thing made you nervous, so you kept your feelings to yourself.

Tendou stayed up all night on your birthday, hoping, praying. His eyes never left his wrist for a second and finally at 2:45 a.m. , something happened. Your name, in your sloppy, too quick, handwriting, appeared. The relief of ten years of wondering washed over him. He laughed, breathless and giddy. He immediately messaged you, sending you a picture of his wrist before a barrage of messages, most of them legible.

A minute passed by, then ten, then twenty. . .

You had to see it too, right? So why hadn't you said anything? You hadn't called, texted, or, hell, even emailed him. Tendou started to feel his heart sink with each passing moment.

What if you were disappointed?

Tendou's breath caught in his throat and he could feel his face burn. His phone clattered to the ground as he sank down into his bed. He tried to calm himself down, he didn't know what time it was where you were. Maybe you were out celebrating your birthday or sleeping? He just needed to sleep it off and give you time to respond.

Chest tight, Tendou waited. He waited till hours turned to days and suddenly it was March and his heart was broken. He wasn't sure what was going on at this point. You two had almost never gone a day without talking. But you hadn't read any of his texts or snaps. Eventually he stopped messaging you all together.

But he hadn't given up. He knew you were flying back to Japan soon and he was determined to ask you what the hell was going on.

By mid March you had moved back into your old home. Your father had graciously gotten a moving company for you and your meager belongings. Somehow he failed to show up himself though. You didn't blame him though, he was busy and you haven't been the best company recently. Before leaving America your grandma had begun calling you the walking dead. You were barely sleeping, your eyes were puffy with designer bags hanging heavily underneath. She understood why you were feeling so down and she was empathetic, but the rest of your small town wasn't.

You thought about the timing of it all as you began to unpack. The first box, full of books and notes, was barely empty before the doorbell rang.

Tendou was standing on your doorstep. Your soulmate was standing before you, and your first thought was to shrink back and pretend you weren't home.

He rang the bell again. "(Y/N)! I know you're home! I just. . . I just want to talk okay? . . . Please?"

Tendou stepped back as the door swung open. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, looking anywhere but at him. He could see how red your eyes were, though, and thought they matched his completely.

"Why?" He muttered. One pitiful idiot to another. "Was it so fucking awful? Having my name on your wrist?"

"It wasn't. . ." You started. "Tendou, it wasn't just your name."

#soulmate #soulmates #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #ushijima x you #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou fic #tendou x reader #tendou satori #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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blackstarising · 3 years

Text

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #buckysarah #bucky x sarah #sarahbucky #sarah x bucky #otp: buckysarah

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prettiestvulcan · 3 years

Text

pairing: enji todoroki x oc

rating: explicit

wc:

summary: a summer getaway gets heated, in more ways than one.

warnings: none

a/n: part of @delirieum's hot milf summer collab!

She’s always had a dislike for summer. The sticky, humid heat. The influx of tourists, which meant more crime. The increase in her number of patrols. Summer meant more work in near unbearable conditions.

There is one plus to summer, though. It means the kids are out of school, so she gets to spend more time with them. Sure, during the day she’s always on patrol, but then she gets to pick them up from her parents’ house and take them to pick out dinner. They don’t have to be in bed for school, so she can introduce them to her favorite childhood movies.

This summer is different, though. Her parents are taking their grandkids on a vacation and she can’t go with them. Work is having their own week-long mandatory ‘vacation’, which involves flying out to an island for team-building exercises disguised as fun. It’s the first time the agency has done something like this, but her guess as to why is as good as anyone else’s.

“Mommy, do you have to go?” Her youngest asks. She kneels before him, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but mommy has to go because of work.” He pouts, crossing his arms with a frown.

“I don’t want you to go.” Isaac looks close to tears. “I don’t want to go with Nanny and Pappy. I want to go with Mommy.”

“Isaac,” she brushes tears from his cheeks with a thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Mommy will be back. And I’ll call every night before bedtime.”

“Promise?” He sniffles. She nods, holding out her pinky. He grins, wrapping his much smaller pinky around hers.

“I pinky-promise,” she answers. His tears have started to dry up.

“Okay,” he finally relents. “I’ll go with Nanny and Pappy.”

“That’s my boy,” she ruffles his hair, the curls catching occasionally. He doesn’t seem to notice.

He runs off towards the front door, giggling the whole way. She stands, watching him go with a smile. He’s always been a cheerful kid, willing to do as she asks. She’s grateful for it. However, her eldest isn’t as agreeable. Perhaps being close to ten, she’s just going through a face. She was a fussy baby, though, so something tells her she just takes too much after her father.

“Why do I have to go?” Hazel starts. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Hazel,” she reproaches. “I don’t have time to find you a babysitter. Nanny and Pappy already agreed to take you somewhere fun.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Whatever, mom.” Hazel storms off without another word. She frowns, watching her go. If only there was some way she could make both of them happy. She hadn’t lied, though; the trip for work was very sudden and she didn’t have time to look for a babysitter. It was only through luck that her parents had agreed to take them on vacation with them this year. Perhaps because they were both old enough not to need as much supervision and constant care.

With a sigh, she grabs her suitcase once more and climbs into the taxi. She really wishes she could have given Hazel a goodbye hug, but she knows her daughter well enough to know that wouldn’t have gone down easily. There would have been a lot of yelling and pushing, possibly some kicking. She really hopes Hazel doesn’t regret not saying goodbye.

The taxi drops her off outside the entrance of the airport. She takes her suitcase from the trunk before heading inside. The layout is huge, but everything is clearly marked and mapped. She has no issues finding the check-in for the airline. Finding the gate is even easier, since each gate is in a specific order. She sits down to wait for their boarding time, taking her phone out to make sure there are no calls or texts from her parents. Thankfully, there are none so everything must be alright.

She decides to look around the area from her seat, spotting several familiar faces in the seats around her. They all seem absorbed in their own activities, so she leaves them be. She was never really familiar with any of the other sidekicks, anyway. Being a single parent meant she didn’t have much time for get-togethers, so she was always turning down invites after patrols. They’re always friendly towards her, however, so she thinks they’re all on good terms. They probably understand her hesitance to leave her kids at home with the babysitter longer than needed.

After a while, it’s time to board the plane. It’s her first time flying since before Isaac was born, but she still remembers the drill. Show your boarding pass, get it scanned, find your seat. It’s very straightforward. Everything about the trip so far has been, which is something she’s grateful for. She’s not a huge fan of surprises. Never has been. Although she supposes Isaac and Hazel are two surprises she absolutely couldn’t live without.

Soon, the pre-flight announcements are beginning. She’s surprised to see no one in the seat beside her. It’s nearly a full plane, though she’s not going to complain. It just means she has more room to stretch out. She listens to the pre-flight announcements, turning off her phone as instructed. She takes her in-flight bag off the floor, putting it in the empty seat beside her. She couldn’t quite reach the overhead bin and had been too embarrassed to ask for help.

The plane takes off, bringing with it a slew of emotions. She’s excited to be going somewhere, even if it’s for work, but she’s going to miss her kids. Not being able to see them for an entire week? It’s an entirely new experience for her. She’s been home with them basically since they were each born. She’s been there to kiss ouchies better, to read them stories before bed, tuck them in with a kiss on their foreheads. She’s been there to wipe their tears, to make them smile and laugh. Being away from them will be a new experience for all of them, but at least they won’t be completely alone. She trusts her parents to take care of them, just like they cared for her as a child.

She takes comfort in that thought, relaxing back against the seat. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been the whole time, but once she relaxes the soreness of her muscles makes itself known. She rubs at her thigh, trying to soothe some of the pain. It works, to some degree. She’ll just have to remind herself to relax and take something for the pain once the plane lands.

She rests her head against the headrest, closing her eyes. Nothing wrong with a nap on the flight. Just as long as the turbulence of landing wakes her, she’ll be fine. She feels herself slipping into unconsciousness….

The island is beyond anything she could have imagined. It’s lush and tropical, palm trees dotted everywhere. The air smells like salt from the sea, but somehow still refreshing compared to city air. Even the hotel is magnificent. There’s an indoor spa! She’s never stayed anywhere with its own spa.

They arrive late the first day, so they’re told to find their rooms and get settled in. They’ll receive instructions the next day, according to Burnin who is giving the orders. She wonders if Endeavor will show or if this whole event is being organized by Burnin. She’s certainly capable of doing it.

She spends the first night unpacking and familiarizing herself with the hotel. There’s so many extra amenities and she hopes she has time to try out some of them. She takes photos of the view from her hotel window, sending it to her parents so they can show Isaac and Hazel. When she’s finished exploring, she retires to her room and makes the promised call.

Everyone is doing great, of course. They also made it to their hotel, which Isaac excitedly informs her has an indoor pool. Hazel is much less talkative, but seems to be in high spirits even if she doesn’t outright say it. She’s glad they’re enjoying their trip so far and hopes they keep up the momentum. When they finish swapping stories, she wishes them goodnight and tells them she’ll talk more tomorrow.

The next day, they all have breakfast in the hotel’s café before convening outside. It’s more upscale dining than what she’d have expected. Once outside, Burnin gathers everyone close before speaking.

“Hello, everyone!” Her voice easily carries across the crowd. “I hope you’re ready for a fun week!”

There are cheers from the other sidekicks.

“Well, have I got a surprise for all of you.” She’s close enough to see Burnin grin. “There’s no agenda for this week, aside from getting out there and having fun together!”

No agenda? She’s a little surprised by that. She thought this was a mandatory team-building trip, not just a vacation. She feels conflicted. On one hand, she’s glad for the opportunity. On the other, she had fully expected the week to be planned out for her so now she’s at a loss.

What does one even do on vacation? It’s been eighteen years since she’s done anything by herself. Sure, she’s taken weekend trips with Hazel and Isaac but never alone. And never somewhere so opulent or tropical. She doesn’t know what to do with herself now.

“Now get out there and have fun!” She snaps back to reality at the sound of everyone’s cheers, before shuffling back inside the hotel. Whatever she wants to do, huh?

She changes into something more comfortable, having expected there to be training. Thankfully, she had thought ahead and packed extra clothes on the off-chance there was any free time. It looks like her foresight had come in handy, as she takes out her bathing suit and coverup. Nothing like a trip to the beach.

She’s surprised that there’s no rigorous training. Endeavor is known for running a tight ship, so this whole trip seems out of character. Then again, ever since his last major fight, something had changed. He’s still just as strict, but he seems almost approachable now. A little more lenient. She’s certainly not as terrified of being called to his office anymore.

She wonders if he’s come on this trip, as well, or if he’s staying back at the office. He could use the trip, she feels. He’s always working so hard. Besides, she swears she saw his youngest in the crowd. If his son is here, surely he would’ve come as well.

Someone clears their throat behind her and she startles, realizing she’s just been staring at the open elevator doors. She shakes her head, murmuring an apology, and enters the elevator. The figure behind her enters, as well, and as she turns her eyes go wide.

“Endeavor, sir,” she hurries to greets, giving a polite bow. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with a grimace. She wonders if she’s said something wrong before he grumbles something under his breath, inclining his head in acknowledgment. He doesn’t say anything else, but she’s shocked to see him. She wants to comment on it, but the elevator arrives at the ground floor before she can figure it out.

“Ah, Endeavor, sir,” she calls out without thinking.

“Please call me Enji.” She can’t help the eyebrow that raises. “We’re on vacation. I’m not your boss right now.”

“Of course, Enji, sir.” He doesn’t look pleased with the added ‘sir’ so she tries again. “Alright. Enji.” It feels awkward coming out of her mouth. He’s been her boss for the better part of a decade and never once called him by name.

He seems pleased by the amendment on her part, though it’s hard to tell with him. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to figure out why she even called out to him. He waits, turquoise eyes trained on her.

“Would you like to come to the beach with me?” She almost smacks herself with how bold she’s being. Sure, he’s been nice to her over the past few months, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be friendly.

He looks just as surprised by the offer, one eyebrow raised. She purses her lips to keep from saying anything more, waiting on an answer. Her heart pounds in her chest. Finally, he speaks.

“You’re going to the beach?” She nods. “I’ll accompany you. I was headed there regardless.”

She takes in his appearance for the first time, noting the swim shorts. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, a towel slung over his shoulders. She nods to show she understands, eyes moving back up his hulking frame, to find his eyes also looking over her.

Had she just been caught checking out her boss?

Had she just caught her boss checking her out?

The thought brings warmth to her cheeks. She ducks her head down, though she’s sure he’s already seen her blush. She decides to take the lead, brushing past him towards the door. She can feel him follow, after a few tense seconds.

She feels a little silly. She’s too old to be checking out other men, let alone her boss. It doesn’t matter if he’s older; he has his own family. She knows he has at least three kids, though she’s never heard about their mother. He has to be married, though. There’s no way a man like him hasn’t been snatched up.

She tries to push those thoughts aside, instead focusing on walking down to the beach. It’s not far from the hotel; might as well consider it the backyard. The closer they get, the more of the ocean she can smell. She’s not sure it’s an entirely pleasant scent.

There isn’t much in the way of conversation. For her, it’s just too awkward to start one and he’s not exactly known for being chatty. She’s sure he doesn’t find it awkward at all, the silence. But she does.

As she scrambles to come up with something to say, they finally arrive at the beach. There’s a few others on the beach, rainbow color of towels spread along the sand. She tries to find a spot some distance from the main crowd, not wanting to interrupt or intrude.

She expects him to part once they reach the beach, but he keeps pace with her easily. She did invite him to come with, but she hadn’t actually expected him to follow through. Sure, they talk at work about work. But conversations about patrols are entirely different from conversations about life and the weather.

They lay their towels out, red and blue side by side. It’s a little closer than she’d been expecting, but still a respectable distance apart. She hesitates a brief moment before pulling her coverup off, folding it and setting it aside. She has nothing to be embarrassed about.

Hero work has been good to her. Even after two kids, her physique is still desirable. She’s not exactly slim, but she’s muscular enough to hide the chub from two kids. She has very few major scars, the most notable being the faded white scar on her right leg from a piece of metal out of a falling building. She’s lucky it didn’t take her entire leg.

“I’m going to swim,” she announces to her company. He inclines his head, again not saying anything. She leaves him where he’s reclining on his towel, heading down to the water.

She feels more comfortable in the water. It’s cool and refreshing, compared to the sticky heat on the beach. She takes her time in the water, swimming around and floating. She even rides a few waves to the shore before swimming back out. When she’s had enough, she returns to her towel.

Endeavor—Enji, she corrects herself. He’s still laid out on his towel, but his eyes open when he hears her approach. She flops down onto her towel, feeling energized after her swim. She turns her head to face Enji, having felt his eyes on her.

He’s wearing an inscrutable expression. He’s not exactly easy to read, but it looks as if he’s taking extra care not to express any emotion. She offers him a smile, not sure what to do or say. He doesn’t return it, but he does finally look away.

She peers up at the clear blue sky, wondering what kind of exchange that was. She rests her arms behind her head, closing her eyes. It’s a vacation. She’s going to get in as many naps as possible….

She wakes sometimes later, having been shaken awake. She blinks a few times to clear the sleep from her vision.

“The tide is coming in,” Enji tells her. She nods to show her understanding before sitting up. She stretches with a yawn. “Dinner?”

She’s not sure if it’s a question or a demand.

“Sure,” she agrees. “I could go for something to eat.” She stands, grabbing her towel. She shakes off as much sand as possible before slipping her coverup back on.

“We should change at the hotel,” he says.

“Good idea.” She looks down at herself. “A quick shower might be good, too.” She gives him a crooked smile. He nods and she swears she sees the ghost of a smile on his lips.

She feels significantly less uncomfortable on the walk back, perhaps because he’s actually not that scary. He’s just not very talkative. And if she doesn’t think about how he’s her boss, it’s almost like hanging out with a friend. A very new friend. Okay, maybe it’s still a little awkward.

Dinner is a quick and quiet affair. He doesn’t say much and she isn’t sure what to say. When they finish, they bid each other a good night and go their separate ways. She takes the time to call her parents so she can speak with Isaac and Hazel. They tell her all about their trip so far and she shares hers.

“You spoke with Mr. Endeavor?” Isaac seems in awe.

“Yeah, sweetie. I spoke with Mr. Endeavor.”

“Can you get his autograph for me?” She can hear the excitement in his voice.

“His autograph?” She repeats.

“Yes!” Isaac is definitely bouncing on the other end. “I saw him on the TV! He’s my new favorite Hero!” She chuckles.

“Sure thing, sweetie. I’ll get his autograph for you.” It shouldn’t be too difficult. He is her boss and she’s sure he’s used to being asked for it.

“You’re the best, Mommy!” She smiles at that.

“Love you, too, sweetie.”

“Okay, I’m gonna give the phone to Hazel now.” There’s a shuffling noise before she hears Hazel’s voice.

“How are things going, Mom?”

“They’re going well,” she answers. “How are you doing?”

“It’s okay.” She hears Hazel shrug. “Nanny took me to the museum, so I guess it’s alright.”

“The museum?” She prompts. “Which one?”

“The Hero Museum,” there’s a smile in her voice. “It was pretty cool.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” She really is. Hazel is a difficult child sometimes, but her interests aren’t outside the realm of any other ten-year-old. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Mom,” Hazel huffs. “I’m giving you back to Nanny now.” More noise as the phone is swapped to another.

She talks to her mom for a few more minutes, just to be sure the kids are behaving. Her mom assures her that everything is fine and to enjoy her own vacation.

The next day is spent much the same: at the beach with her boss. Enji. She keeps having to remind herself. She does manage to get his autograph, explaining it’s for her youngest. He asks about him, and she’s more than happy to talk about her kids.

He speaks about his own children, much older than her own, but there’s pride in his voice as he speaks about them. She can’t help but smile, her laughter coming freely when he tells embarrassing stories about them. It feels like she’s getting to know him and she can’t help but like what she’s seeing.

It’s hard not to find him physically attractive, but she’s old enough to not be distracted by a pretty body. She’s worked for his agency for nearly ten years; she’s long gotten used to the way he looks. But something about their conversations has her reassessing him.

The third day on the island, something feels different between them. He feels warmer, somehow. It isn’t exactly anything particular he does. It’s in the way they lean towards each other when they speak, the way they keep bumping into each other, the way they keep finding ways to spend time together. It’s a combination of all these things that has her heart pounding when she sees him.

She decides to make a move. Either he ignores it or he reciprocates. Either way, there’s no harm done. They’re on vacation. Perhaps she’s feeling a little risky because of it. Away from work, away from her kids, she’s feeling a little more brave than usual.

It’s been years since she last was with anyone. After Isaac’s father left, she swore off dating and catching feelings in general. It was just too much of a hassle. Why now, after all these years, she isn’t sure. Something about it just feels different. Feels right.

They go out for dinner as usual, but she invites him to the hotel bar afterwards. She doesn’t fully expect him to agree, so when he does she’s feeling more confident. They sit next to each other at the near empty hotel bar, drinks in hand.

When she makes a joke, laughing at it while he gives a slight grin, she reaches out to put her hand on his arm. He looks surprised by it at first, eyes going slightly wider. She wonders for a brief moment if she’s overstepped, pulling her hand back, but he quickly grabs it before she can withdraw.

They stare at one another, neither saying anything. It’s like he’s waiting for a signal. She nods. He moves into action, pulling her up from her seat. He keeps their fingers entwined, tugging her along to the elevator.

It’s actually happening, she realizes, as she leads him to her hotel room. She didn’t think this would ever actually happen.

He presses her against the hotel door, mouth hot and heavy on hers. She grasps at his arms, his shirt, anything she can reach to keep herself afloat. She’s quickly giving in, sinking further into his desires. She doesn’t think she wants to fight them anymore.

His mouth moves down to her neck, biting and kissing. She can’t help the sounds spilling from her and just hopes no one in the rooms around can hear her. His hands—big, so big—tug at her dress until she’s slipping the straps from her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.

His bright turquoise eyes stare at her, wearing nothing more than a pair of lacy underwear. She feels intimidated by that heavy gaze, feels the urge to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he growls as he grabs her hands, pulling them away. “Let me see you.”

She lets her hands fall to the side, trying not to feel so self-conscious. She tries not to think of all the stretch marks across her belly and thighs, on the tops of her breasts. She tries to remind herself that they wouldn’t be here if he didn’t see something desirable about her body.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping a breast. It fits perfectly in his hand, his thumb rubbing circles against her nipple. She squirms, a moan slipping from her parted lips.

“You too,” she tosses back. “I want to see you, too.” He grins, something crooked and slightly menacing. But he pulls away from her, tugging off his shirt and shorts. She reaches for the last piece separating them from each other, pulling them down.

She can’t help but stare. She knew he was a large man, but it couldn’t have prepared her for how proportionate that made him. Long and thick, red at the head. She wraps her hand around him as best she can, giving a few short tugs, and hears him groan. Will it even fit?

She doesn’t have much more room for thought as he pulls her in for another kiss, tugging her towards the bed. She goes willingly, wanting nothing more than to feel him against her. He nibbles at her bottom lip and she licks at his; soon their tongues tangle together. It’s been so long since she’s been with anyone like this. She hopes she can make it as good for him as it feels for her.

She lays on the bed, situating herself against the pillows. She beckons him, wanting to close the distance between them. He lays himself atop her, balanced by his hands on either side of her hips. He kisses her, sweeter this time. Not as desperate.

He kisses a path down her neck, across her shoulder, before dipping to take a nipple into his mouth. She shudders, pleasure welling within her. She runs a hand through his hair, red strands tickling between her fingers. He hums, licking and sucking her nipples.

“Enji,” she whines, pushing on his head. He chuckles, moving lower. He plants kisses across her stomach, still a little pudgy from her last pregnancy nearly eight years ago. She feels self-conscious about it, but the way he worships her body makes it a little better.

Finally, he’s exactly where she wants him. He wastes no time, diving right into his task. Her head knocks against the headboard, but the brief bloom of pain is nothing compared to the sensation between her legs.

He eats her out like a man starved. A little uncoordinated, but enthusiastic. His tongue circles her clit before flicking it, a single thick finger toying with her hole. She grips the blankets beneath them, unable to stop the noises slipping out of her kiss-swollen lips.

He slips a single finger in finally. It’s as thick as two of her own, but she knows she’s going to need the preparation if he’s going inside of her. She squirms, wanting to clamp her legs shut, but his shoulders keep her spread. She has no choice but to give in to the onslaught of sensations.

And give in she does. Head thrown back, mouth open and spilling profanity with his name mixed in. She couldn’t keep quiet if she wanted to and she can tell he definitely doesn’t want her to keep quiet. That single finger pumps in and out, stretching her, before he adds a second.

It’s almost too much, but she forces her body to relax. She’s soaking, giving him plenty to work with. His spit and her fluids ease the way for that second finger. She moans, pressing down against him. She feels his laughter, a gentle vibration through her cunt.

“Please,” she begs. “Want you inside.”

She’s ready for it. She can handle it. He pulls off, looking up at her, and she can’t help but flush at the sight of him. His chin is wet with her juices, his lips swollen. He shifts up, towering above her, and reaches down to line himself up.

Her mouth opens on a silent moan as he pushes in, stretching her beyond what she thought she was capable of. It’s painful at first, but as she has time to adjust it morphs into pleasure.

“Finally,” his voice rumbles through her. “Been wanting to do this.”

She whines, pushing her hips down and against him. She needs him to move already. It’s been ages since she last got fucked and she’s eager for it. She wants him to pound her into the mattress until she forgets who she is.

He delivers on those fantasies. He fucks into her roughly and with abandon, until she’s moaning his name and his name only. He shoves two of his fingers into her mouth and she sucks on them, drool seeping from the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t even care, too busy with the feel of him.

She doesn’t even care anymore when things changed between them. The only thing she cares about in that moment is coming around his cock. She can worry about feelings and emotions later. Right now, she’s only focused on reaching that high.

He reaches between them to roll his thumb against her clit and she can feel her eyes roll to the back of her head. Just a few circles and she’s cumming hard around his cock. He fucks her through it, fingers shoved deep in her mouth.

When she comes down, she takes a moment to appreciate the fucked out look on his face. The squinting of his eyes as he concentrates, the sweat beading on his temples, and the slack-jawed grunts and groans spilling from his lips.

“Inside,” she tells him. “Come inside me.” It’s a risky request, but she wants it. He does, too, judging by the way his thrusts speed up until he growls and spills inside of her.

When he pulls up, she feels his semen trickle down the inside of her thighs. He collapses onto the bed beside her, but searches for her hand among the sheets. He laces their fingers together and she smiles up at the ceiling.

The mood is ruined by the sound of her ringtone, however. She’s tempted not to answer, but it might be her parents calling about the kids. With a sigh and a silent promise to return, she gets out of the bed to answer.

“Mommy!” Her son, Isaac, shouts from the other side. “Are you coming home yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie,” she laughs. “In a few more days.”

“Awww,” he pouts. “You’re with Mr. Endeavor, right, mommy?”

“Yeah,” her voice is soft with affection as she gazes towards the bed, where Enji is lounging.

“Did you get his autograph for me?” She chuckles, but confirms she did.. “Yay! You’re the best, mommy!”

Isaac hands the phone off to her mother, who updates her on her eldest who refuses to come to the phone. It’s just like Hazel to be so stubborn. They’re doing fine, her mother assures her, and tells her to enjoy her only vacation in eight years. She just laughs, but promises to have as much fun as possible.

When she’s finished, she sets her phone back down on the desk and wanders back to the bed. Enji greets her with open arms and she rests her head on his chest. She listens to his heartbeat, letting it lull her to sleep.

Best getaway ever, is her final thought before she falls asleep.

#🖖🏻.writes #bnha #endeavor x oc

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lazywonderlvnd · 3 years

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*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.

* * *

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch.

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So that’s why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * *

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and very desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them . Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation.

It’s like this every time.

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

* * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.”

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says.

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier.

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers.

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up.

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor.

* * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him.

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings.

“That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not … that surprised.

That hurts.

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing.

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?”

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter! He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before? Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly, embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden.

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously.

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco —”

“Poor Draco’s fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!”

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am not laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them, wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling.

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

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lovehugsandcandy · 3 years

Text

just close enough (Logan x MC, RoD)

A/N: I am sorry, I have been very out of touch. I apologize for not responding to tags and chats. Things haven’t been great and I am surprised that I have anything for rodaw. Please keep tagging me on your stuff!

Pairing: Logan x MC, ROD

Length: ~1700 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (sorry, in rereading this, yeah, you probably shouldn’t read this at work)

Summary: Distance can be measured in miles and inches, and none of it is too far for Logan to travel.

He’s almost asleep, sliding into the hazy space between full alertness (how he spends every waking moment) and complete unconsciousness (where any dream he regretfully remembers is from a past best totally forgotten). The couch cushions are rough along his spine, spring digging into a shoulder blade, but he’s slept in worse places. He’s almost blessedly asleep, darkness warm and welcoming and-

“Logan?”

His eyes fly open and he jolts up, instantly awake. The room is in shadows, light of the moon filtering through the LA smog, bathing his surroundings in a sleepy glow. He turns his head; other than the call of his name, the loft is quiet, still. With a lifetime spent attuned for threats, he can sense that the calm in the air signals safety.

“Logan?” she slurs again, voice tinged with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

He blinks, squinting over at the lump under his sheets. “What?”

“You’re too far away. Come here.”

God, he wants that, more than anything. In the daylight, when the corners of the shop gleam sharp and lethal, he knows it is too dangerous to get close. That distance is the one thing that will save her from mistakes he has spent a lifetime making and atoning for. But here, in the stillness of night, when the scratching fabric chafes his back and the siren in his bed calls, he feels his resolve weaken, scattering in shards to the floorboards to join the dust and grime underneath.

He pads over, the rhythm of his footsteps matching the soft sigh of her breath, and cautiously perches on the mattress, giving her a beat to reconsider before he swings his legs over and slides under the covers. She is soft and warm, coconut and sunshine next to his grease and oil, and she rolls over to edge soft on his side.

“Close enough?” he asks into the curls pillowing over his shoulder.

“Mmh… almost.”

He chuckles as he catalogues the space between them, an inch where her waist curves concave from his, a rumpled barrier of fabric where her feet are entangled. They could barely be closer, but somehow, he still agrees with Ellie.

The smile is still on his face as he drifts off into a contented sleep.

~~~~~

He’s not used to being in the passenger seat.

The view is different here, shifted, the rows of parked cars tilted and angled askew, but he sat relaxed, legs splayed and hair catching the wind the entire way. It’s a testament to her driving; she’s brilliant behind the wheel, beaming with every acceleration, leaning into every curve, and he can tell - she finds the call of the road freeing, just like he does. She’s come a long way from the shy bookworm whose path he stepped in front of. It’s barely been a few weeks, but it feels like forever.

He wishes it could go on forever.

He inhales harshly through his nose, recalling the day they met, the hushed conversations that preceded it. She deserves to know the truth and here, parked in this lot waiting on a disconcertingly mysterious job, seems like the perfect place to tell her.

But before he can find the words, she turns, fixing him with a devious smirk.

“Come here.” Her finger beckons and, just past it, a devious smirk glows in the multicolor shades alight from the dash.

“What do you…”

“Come here. You’re too far away.”

He leans forward, and the center console digs into his ribs. It doesn’t matter, not when she tugs on a strand of hair to pull him closer, so close he can map the lines of her smile with an intensity usually saved for fuel intake lines and racetracks. “Better?”

“Nope.”

He inches forward. “How about now?”

“Nope.” Her voice is teasing, soft, a whisper of air against his lips, the tingling of excitement before the fall.

He’s completely in her space, so close he can’t see beyond the dark of her eyes, the apples of her cheeks. There is no world beyond the girl in the driver’s seat. “Now?”

“... almost.” She breathes the response into his mouth as their lips finally meet; he realizes with a start that he will never be closer to anyone, here in this stadium parking lot, with his hands tangled in her hair and poisonous secrets in his heart.

Even when they are close as can be, he still feels the distance.

~~~~~

Logan’s just catching his breath, skating a shaking palm over her side. “Are you ready?” The words make him pause.

“No.” He blinks at her as she rests against the pillow in Vaughn’s spare bedroom, hair spilling down against the pillow; the strands curl around his finger as he absentmindedly runs his fingers in a tense pattern. He could never be ready for this, to see the one person he ever trusted, the one person he ever loved, race for their freedom on a pitch-black highway.

“We don’t really have a choice.”

“I know.”

“Logan, we need to do this.” She props herself up on her elbow, and his heart falls.

“I know. I just… I hate the thought of not being with you, not being able to protect you.”

She blinks down at him, and his fingers reach up to tangle in one graceful coil of hair strands soft on the pads on his fingers. “You know I can drive.”

“Of course, Troublemaker, I’ve seen you drive. I just… I don’t want you to be in danger. I hate that you’re going to be out there where I can’t help you.”

“I’ll be too far away?”

“Yeah.” For as close at they are now, where he can catalogue the distance between them (millimeters between his shoulder and hers, three inches between their lips, and no distance at all where his cock is just stirring, again, into the soft skin of her stomach), he knows that the waiting, the space on the highway --- it will wreck him.

She smiles, faintly, distantly, her eyes echoing his own pain. “I’m here right now.”

“You are.” He spins, hand on her hip pushing until he is over her, legs intertwined, fingertips around her waist, every inch of them aligned and in sync. “And I’m going to make the most of it.”

~~~~~

You’re too far away.

The words are high in the wind and he whips his head around frantically, as memories collide with the storm brewing outside. The first flake is a shock, pelting his forehead in an icy portent and, mere seconds later, the grey clouds above part in a mass of ice and slush.

It never snowed in LA.

Logan cranes his neck up to feel the full brunt of the storm hammer his face, each frosty blast a jolting reminder of how far he traveled from the last few months, the distance between him and his old stomping ground washed away as the frozen water melts over his face, droplets pouring down his brow and drenching his hair.

His face is frozen when he steps back into the shop, some run-down shithole he found in inner-city Detroit. Here, locals don’t ask questions, and there are no reminders of the mentor who was almost like a father and the girl who was almost like forever.

This time, they are miles and days and utter lives apart, and he worries that nothing on the earth will bring them together again.

~~~~~

The years flow like molasses. Fall edges into winter, which thaws into spring and heats into summer, and then it starts all over again, punishing, never ending.

The cities stack up almost as easily. After Detroit, it’s Miami, then Houston, a long stretch in Nashville before Milwaukee calls and then, finally, to the East Coast. He stops for a spell in DC, walking through shaded paths as the cherry blossoms sway above him. The pink defies imagination. He’s used to vehicle-grade candy paint, each car brighter and more audacious than the last, a parade of vibrant neons and sultry veneers that spin rainbows around tracks.

This pink is soft, petals even softer against his fingertips, and Logan feels an irrational stab of guilt for the calluses that dare grace the blossoms swaying in the wind. His dark past makes him unworthy to touch such beauty and, as he watches the petals flutter to the ground, he thinks of another beauty that slipped through his fingers.

He stays for a few months, enough to learn the grid of southeast DC and the bisecting avenues, but then spring tiptoes into summer. He’s used to the sun but the goddamn humidity makes his hair pouf into patterns he knows gentle fingers would soothe, so he heads north.

It’s a quick drive, the four lanes of 95 providing ample room to swerve and fly; he imagines another car with another driver speeding down these roads.

Finally, the wheels lead him to New York, where he trembles on a doorstep under flickering lights in this apartment building, fighting up five floors where every step made him want to vomit.

He breathes through his nose. He didn’t come all this way (trans versing the United States, multiple times, him and the Devore burning miles and gas but subsisting on memories and love) for nothing. His fingers shake and he rings the doorbell.

When it opens, she looks just as she does in his memory, eyes warm and bright, smile breaking out over the apples of her cheeks. His heart leaps.

“Logan?”

“Hi,” he breathes. He had been unsure of his reception but now, with her blinking up serenely at him, the years fade away and he’s brought back to the moment in front of her fathers house, watching the tears pool in her eyes and wishing futility on every star that life could be different.

They move at the same time; she jumps forward, and he pulls her in and their lips meet as if no time had passed, as if they had never been apart, as if distance were meaningless in the troublemaker's face who stole his heart.

“Close enough now?” He beams at her, smile so wide it hurts, cheeks pinching unfamiliarly, and he never wants to leave her side.

Her answering smile shines brighter than any shooting star he’s seen, and he knows he is right where he needs to be. “Finally.”

Tags:

Perma

@leelee10898, @client-327, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @choicesarehard, @burnsoslow, @zaffrenotes, @kat-tia801, @desiree-pow-35-1986, @ritachacha

ROD

@omgjasminesimone, @mskaneko, @alyssalauren

#logan x mc #rodaw #amy writes #playchoices fanfiction #rod choices #n*fw

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august-bleeds-red · 3 years

Text

Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Dinner that night is stew.

You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

“Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

“His face?”

You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

“He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

“I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

“How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

That was the last time you went to camp.

Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

“Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

“Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

“Oh God, help me . . .”

“God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

“Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

“Oh God,” she gasps.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

“NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

“Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

“Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

“You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

“That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

“Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

“I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

“What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

“Come on, then.”

Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

“Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

#thomas hewitt #tommy hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #slasher lover #slasher fandom #slasher community #the texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #slasher fic

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paterson-blue · 3 years

Text

Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago); Part 3

Part 3: The Date

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5

Summary: Things don't go exactly to plan. Clyde stresses.

Word Count: 4,010

Warnings: fluff, spice, grumpy Clyde Logan, pouty boy (but he's still in love), sentimentalism, sickly sweet pet names, smoochin', grindin', oral sex (male receiving), cum on body (not in!), original female character–let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Thanks again to @paper-n-ashes for being my beta reader & quelling all my writing jitters. You're the absolute best!

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

It’s a fuckin’ disaster.

Starts out nice. Juniper shows up on his doorstep wearin’ a slinky little black dress, one that shows off her curves and makes Clyde’s mouth go dry. She tells him he looks handsome and he feels giddy. He sweeps his newly styled hair out of his face, sayin’ she looks absolutely stunnin’. Juniper beams, grabs his hand, tells him they better get a move on ‘fore they’re late.

They’re late. They’re later than late.

They aren’ five minutes outta town when lightenin’ starts to streak across the sky. Clyde shifts uneasily, eyes cast upward towards the swirling heavens. It’s rainin’ cats and dogs in no time and Juniper has to slow to half the speed limit to drive safely. Clyde’s thoughts go to the river up ahead, the one the road crew was still tryna’ re-stabilize since the last storm flooded it.

Fifteen minutes from their destination and they have t’pull to a stop on the highway, suddenly blocked in a jam. Flashin’ red and blue lights indicate an accident up front, and while Clyde spares a thought to whoever was involved, he can’t help but check the time. They aren’ gonna make their reservation, he just knows it.

The car behind ‘em lays on its horn, the sound makin’ both Clyde & Juniper jump. The driver either doesn’ seem to understand the concept of bein’ stuck or plain just don’ care. Clyde clenches his jaw, glowerin’ into the rear view mirror—he can only see the driver’s silhouette behind the bright glow of the headlights. He’s keepin’ his cool until the driver reaches his arm out, in the pourin’ rain an’ all, just t’give Juniper the finger.

Clyde’s unbucklin’ his belt quick as can be, chest heavin’ as he reaches for the door handle. He’s ‘bout ready to stomp to the car and yank the man out.Teach ‘im a lesson on manners, teach ‘im t’treat a lady like—

“Clyde.” Juniper stops him in his tracks with just his name on her lips. He looks over at her from under his hair, expression tense. She reaches up to caress his cheek, holdin’ his face in her little palm so sweetly, thumb brushin’ over the sharp line of his jaw. “Leave him be. It’s not worth gettin’ into trouble.”

Clyde deflates, honey brown eyes downcast. He sounds miserable when he speaks. “… We’re gonna miss dinner.”

“I know, sugar. It’s okay.”

His heart flutters in his broad chest despite his distress. She’d called him ‘sugar.’ He likes that; wants to hear it again real soon.

By the time they get through all the traffic and make it to the restaurant, their reservation is indeed gone, table havin’ been given away. They stand together just outside the building, under the little awning in an attempt to stay out of the rain.

Clyde huffs, so morose that he’s unable to enjoy the way she was pressed up against his side. “M’sorry.”

Juniper frowns, reachin’ up to pat his stomach gently. “You stop that. You haven’t done anything to be sorry for.”

Clyde shakes his head sadly, heavin’ out a sigh. “It’s the Logan Family Curse.”

She looks up at him, brows arched, her hand still settled on his belly. “Oh is it now?”

He nods, brows pinched together. Juniper reaches for his hand, pulling it to her lips and pressin’ a kiss to his knuckles. “You aren’t cursed, Clyde Logan. And if you are, I’m perfectly happy to be cursed right along with you.”

Clyde doesn’ quite know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to right away. Juniper moves her lips to the pads of his large fingers, kissin’ ‘em gently before lettin’ him pull his hand away. Clyde cradles her pretty face in his palm, takin’ the time to admire her. Finally, he speaks. “Thank you, darlin’. That’s mighty nice of you t’say.”

Juniper nuzzles into his touch, sighin’ happily; it makes Clyde feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’m only saying what’s true. Now c’mon. I know it’s a Friday night but there’s bound to be somewhere we can eat.”

They end up findin’ an old fashioned drive-in burger place, somewhere they can park and eat in the car out of the rain. It’s not where Clyde wants to take her; she deserves to be wined and dined all proper, not greasy burgers and milkshakes. But Juniper doesn’ seem to mind; as soon as they’re parked she’s squintin’ up at the menu, a big smile on her face.

“This all sounds so fucking good.” She giggles, lookin’ over at him. It makes the disappointment in Clyde’s chest fade away, and he leans over the center console to peer out the window to see what choices they were offered. It puts him in her space, and Juniper leans in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. He blushes, his cheeks only getttin’ hotter when she brushes some of his hair out of his face. He desperately wants to kiss her but he doesn’ know if it’s the right time.

He’s finally acceptin’ the night’s change of plans—finally acceptin’ that this might be good, burgers and fries while dressed up nice, watchin’ the rain pour from the safety of Juniper’s little Corolla—when the carhop comes out to tend to them. Clyde’s already diggin’ into his wallet as Juniper rattles off their order; he holds his debit card out, arm reachin’ over Juniper’s lap.

The carhop doesn’ move for the card. Instead, they say “Card machine’s down. Cash only.” in what Clyde thinks is possibly the most bored tone they could muster. He tries not to bristle as he fumbles with his wallet for a second time, patience already worn thin from the night’s events. He’s only got a fifty in his billfold. The fifty.

Their fifty.

He hesitates, even though he knows it’s irrational; Jimmy always did tell him he was too damn sentimental for his own good. Juniper must realize—she always does, Clyde never seems to have to explain himself to her—because she grabs her purse from the floorboard. Clyde stops her, shakin’ his head as he tugs the fifty dollar bill out. “S’alright, darlin’. Y’told me t’save it for a rainy day.”

Juniper’s face softens at his words, and Clyde hands the money over to the carhop, who looks like they want to be literally anywhere else. Soon Clyde’s been given his change, and he quickly puts it back up. As soon as he’s done Juniper’s reachin’ for him, pullin’ him in by his collar. Clyde goes willingly, twistin’ in his seat to move his prosthetic to the middle of her back, arm wrapped around her.

“I’ll give you another one.” She tells him firmly, and Clyde huffs out a laugh.

“Well that’d be awful silly of ya, Junebug. You’ll run outta money real quick if y’keep givin’ it all t’me.” He tries to soothe her with a joke, wantin’ to let her know that it was alright. Sure, it had been special to him—reminded him of their meetin’—but it was just a piece a’ paper. What was a piece a’ paper when he had the most important thing right here in front a’ him?

He wants to curl up further into her, but their positions don’t allow for it—the vehicle doesn’ exactly allow for him to move his long limbs much a’ anywhere. If this was as close as he could get, he was satisfied. Juniper shifts suddenly, eyes trained on him as she leans closer. They share a breath, then two, and then she’s pressin’ her mouth against his.

It’s nothin’ if not chaste. Clyde gets the feelin’ she doesn’ exactly want to neck in the front seat of her car like teenagers—at least not in plain view of the drive-in’s staff and other patrons. Just a gentle kiss, a little more than a peck; firm and lingerin’ just enough that he knows it happened. Juniper follows it up with another one at the corner of mouth, their noses pressin’ against one another’s cheeks.

It’s more than enough for Clyde; more than enough to get his pulse to sky rocket. He can’t remember the last time he’s been treated so gently, so much love in such a small movement. She gives him a smile when she pulls away, and they both sit back in their seats, starin’ all heart-eyed at one another. She takes the metal of his hand in hers, holdin’ it, and Clyde thinks maybe he should reconsider the whole curse thing.

They head back home after finishin’ their meal, the storm slowly peterin’ off as they get closer to Clyde’s trailer. Juniper walks him to his door, gigglin’ when she offers him her arm to escort him. He takes it, grinnin’ like a fool as they stomp up the front steps. They stand there under the yellow porch light, humid heat surroundin’ ‘em. Clyde usually hated the humidity, but not when it was like this, creatin’ such a hazy, intimate bubble around ‘em. Juniper drops her arm, but only to reach for Clyde’s flesh hand, holdin’ it in both of hers.

“I had a really nice time tonight, Clyde. Best date I’ve ever been on—and I mean that.”

Clyde can feel himself blushin’, a pleased smile turnin’ his lips up. “I had a good time, too. Wouldja—wouldja wanna do it again? Sometime soon?”

“Yes.” She answers almost before he can finish askin’, and they both laugh. There’s a beat, a pause, a breath, and then Juniper is leanin’ up the same moment Clyde’s leanin’ down. It’s a relief when their lips touch, like the first drink a’ water in the mornin’. Clyde thinks he’s been parched his whole life and never even knew it.

Juniper’s the one who deepens it, the one who drops his hand to lean into him, to thread her fingers through his thick hair, holdin’ him close. And fuck, Clyde isn’ gonna fight it. He wraps his arm around her, prosthetic against her back as his hand moves to hold her face. His palm envelops her cheek, thumb under her chin to keep her head lifted. They kiss and kiss, and when she makes a little whine in the back of her throat Clyde swears he’s floatin’.

When she pulls away to breathe he makes a sound of his own, a disappointed little groan that she huffs out a laugh at. He’d be embarrassed if she wasn’ nuzzlin’ her nose against his cheek like she can’t get enough.

“Those lips a’ yours aren’t fair.” She murmurs, and Clyde hums, strokin’ his thumb along her jawline. He doesn’ want this to end, he thinks for possibly the thousandth time that night. He doesn’ wanna let her get back in her car an’ drive across town, over the train tracks, past the antique shop, until she gets to the bed & breakfast.

He wants her right here, and he’s never been the one in this position, but he doesn’ hesitate when he asks her, “D’y’wanna come in?”

She nods, and it sets his chest aflame. They straighten up, untanglin’ themselves from one another even as she leans into his side, not wantin’ t’be too far. Clyde’s hands shake as he unlocks the front door but he doesn’ care if she sees. He wants her to see, wants her to know what she’s doin’ t’him. Maybe then...maybe she won’t leave.

Clyde flicks on the lights, closin’ the door behind both of ‘em. He watches as Juniper assesses his things: his clumsily cleaned living area, the small kitchenette that was (thankfully) decluttered. The hallway leads back to the bathroom, and then his bedroom, but Clyde doesn’ dare look towards it, much less lead her that way. Instead, he steps towards the fridge, hand reachin’ out to brush against the door.

“Want anythin’ t’drink?” He asks, voice quiet, as if nervous to disturb the silence. Juniper shoots him a smile, shakin’ her head as she perches on the couch.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Clyde nods, lingerin’ there even though he doesn’ want a drink neither. Her eyes look him over, amusement showin’ in them.

“Why don’t you c’mere? If you want, of course.”

He wants. Oh, how he wants. So he goes, movin’ across the distance between them in three long strides until he can sit himself next to her. He’s stock straight, heart thrummin’ in his chest; his nice button-down feels all tight against his skin, too itchy. He thinks only her touch’ll soothe it, but doesn’ wanna ask her. Juniper, however, reads his mind; she always can. She smoothes a hand over his jean-clad thigh, leanin’ in ever so slowly, like she’s gonna startle him if she moves too fast. Clyde’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses him again, and it's heaven, it's heaven.

It’s different from in the car, from on the porch. This time there’s more purpose to it. Juniper’s kissin’ him—tastin’ him— like he belongs to her, and Clyde thinks maybe it's because she knows he does. He’s tryna’ angle his body just right, tryin’ t’lean down without puttin’ a crick in his neck. Not that he’d care much, if he did--a crick was worth this, worth the feelin’ of her tongue brushin’ against his bottom lip, against his teeth.

Juniper makes a frustrated little noise, pullin’ back, and Clyde’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Wha--Wha’s--?” He stammers out, flesh hand flexin’ on her waist, the silky fabric of her dress feelin’ so soft and cool against his skin. Juniper’s lips are plush and kiss bitten; Clyde tries to take a picture of ‘em in his memory, eyes trained on their pretty color. He almost misses her question. Scratch that, he does miss her question; has to very ineloquently say “huh?” to get her to repeat it. She ducks her head, voice shy.

“Can I, uh--get in your lap?”

Shit. Shit. Clyde nearly feels dizzy for all the blood rushin’ down south. It makes him a little self-conscious; she’s not gonna want t’sit on his lap and have his cock pressin’ into her all demandin’ like. But damn, his little Junebug looks so eager, her eyes darker than he’s ever seen ‘em, and like he’d said: he wants. So he just nods, barely breathin’.

Juniper shifts, pushin’ him into the back of the couch and he goes easily, willingly. She hikes her dress up her legs and Clyde gets a barely there peek of dark green lace before she’s straddlin’ his lap. He moans, can’t fuckin’ help it, and Juniper dives in to capture the sound with her mouth. Her hands are on his face, in his hair, fingers rubbin’ the shells of his ears—he’s surrounded, he’s drownin’, suffocatin’. He’s never felt so alive.

His own hands are placed chastely on either one of her hips, though he knows his flesh hand must be grippin’ her somethin’ fierce. The thought flashes in his mind, of him leavin’ little fingerprint shaped bruises on her skin for her to feel the next day. It makes him shiver underneath her.

Juniper takes and takes, and Clyde lets her. Clyde wants to be taken, in whatever way she’ll have him. Suddenly she’s pullin’ away just enough to suck in a little air, lips still brushin’ against his. He presses his long nose into the soft skin of her cheek, breath hot between them. When Juniper speaks, her voice is strained.

“Touch me, Clyde. Please.”

He doesn’ hesitate. His good hand moves from her hip to her ass, grabbin’, kneadin’ as he pulls her tighter against him. She lets out the prettiest noise Clyde thinks he’s ever heard, and his lips find her neck as his other arm comes around to hold her close. God, she tastes so good; her perfume fills his head until he feels dizzy with it.

She's pressed flush to him like this, grindin’ her hips against his. Clyde’s hard and leakin’ in his brand new jeans and the only thing he can think of is hearin’ her little noises again. Her hands are back in his hair, pullin’ at it, sweepin’ it away from his face so he doesn’ get tangled in it as his mouth makes a hot path down the neckline of her dress.

It feels so damn good that Clyde doesn’ realize she’s tryin’ to get his attention until she yanks on his tresses, his scalp burnin’ from it. Honestly he thinks he groans, rough and wild in his throat, the pain shootin’ straight to his cock. But it makes him look at her, and she holds him from divin’ back into her skin.

“Clyde I wanna—I wanna taste you. Is that okay? Can I?”

Lord Almighty above. That should be his line, it really should. But how can he argue with her? He’d give her anythin’ she wanted, anythin’. And she wanted—wanted to put her mouth on him. Clyde spares a thought for all the trimmed and proper men he’s seen in porn, how much nicer they looked, how Juniper deserved the best. West coast mean surely didn’ look the way he did. But then,“Yes,” he’s sayin’, voice ragged, “yes.”

And she’s slippin’ out of his lap onto the floor between his legs. Clyde’s heart pinches, and he leans forward to pick her right back up. To say “oh, darlin’, y’don’ need to be on the hard floor like that. Lemme stand an’ you c’n sit right back on these here pillows.” But before he can get his legs under him she's pressin’ her face between ‘em, nuzzlin’ into the scratchy fabric of his jeans, right up against his cock. Clyde’s brain short circuits.

“Been wantin’ this.” Juniper murmurs, small hands workin’ at his belt, and Clyde arches his hips up, tryin’ t’help her get his jeans off. He can’t believe this—can’t believe this is happenin’. She tugs his jeans and pants down his legs, just enough that his cock is revealed. Clyde clumsily unbuttons the first couple buttons at the bottom of his shirt, not wantin’ to get the new fabric messy. Juniper seems to like his idea; she sighs and leans forward to press her lips to the bare skin of his stomach.

“Sweetheart.” Clyde whispers, voice all trembly. He stretches out a little, givin’ her more access to his pale abdomen. Her lips are so soft against his skin, against the dark trail of hair leadin’ down, down, down. She follows it, nosin’ to the crook of his thigh, teeth scrapin’ deliciously ‘fore she turns her attention to his cock—already plump and stiff, and very interested in her ministrations. She wraps a hand around it and Clyde’s breath catches in his throat. She studies his cock, gives it a gentle stroke, thumb rubbin’ at the velvety head.

“You’re so big.” Her voice is quiet, but it startles Clyde all the same—he’s been transfixed by the vision in front of him.

“O-Oh, I-m, uh—“

He’s attemptin’ to apologize—his first instinct, really. But his brain isn’t really functionin’ all that well, and then she’s leanin’ in to lave her tongue over his slit. Clyde groans, a sound comin’ deep from his chest as he zeros in on the pretty pink of her soft, wet tongue. Juniper hums as if she’s pleased, a little smile on her face, and then she’s slippin’ her mouth over his cock in earnest.

Clyde’s head drops back against the couch pillow, lungs strugglin’ to suck in air. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck—it felt so good. She was gorgeous, she was perfect, she was a fucking angel doin’ this for him. She couldn’ take all of him into her mouth but goddamn she was tryin’. It didn’ matter—even if she wasn’ usin’ her hand to make up the difference, Clyde thinks he could cum just from seein’ her there between his legs, her silky soft lips on his skin.

He moves with her—not in a way where he’s pushin’ her or askin’ for more, but in a way where she’s pullin’ him; she’s the ebb and flow of the tide and he follows her willingly. His back arches, toes curlin’ up in his boots; his prosthetic settles on top of her free hand where it was grippin’ one of his large thighs. His other hand is too busy grippin’ the couch cushions to do much else. He’s lost to it—to her—an’ he doesn’ wanna be found.

It’s over far too quickly, embarrassingly so—it even surprises him. He’s ridin’ the high of his pleasure and his orgasm hits him so hard and fast that Clyde barely has any time t’warn her. All he can do is make a frantic noise, her name garbled in his throat as he quickly tries to push her off a’ him. But it’s too late—he’s cummin’ the same time that she’s pullin’ away, and Clyde can only watch in an odd mix of both arousal and horror as his cum paints her chin, neck, and cleavage.

Juniper’s mouth is held open in a surprised little ‘o’ shape, brows arched, and Clyde feels fuckin’ humiliated.

“J-Juniper, darlin’, m’so sorry, I—“ He scrabbles behind him for the throw blanket layin’ across the back of the couch, tuggin’ it into his lap so he can clean his mess off a’ her skin. He’s quick to tend to the spend on her cleavage first, hyperaware of how close it was to the fabric of her pretty black dress. “I’m sorry, I tried t’warn ya but it was too—“

“Clyde, it’s okay.” Her voice is all raspy and Clyde bites back a moan at the sound of it. She was so fuckin’ sexy, fuckin’ flawless. He’d cum all over her, messy and wild, and she was still lookin’ at him like he’d hung the damn moon. She pulls herself to standin’, and Clyde’s gaze dips down to where her knees were all red from kneelin’. Just another thing he didn’ know he found hot until now.

“But I guess it’s a little dangerous to keep this on, huh?”

His gaze snaps up to her face when she speaks, and she’s wearin’ a grin, eyes alight. Then she’s twistin’ her arms around, wrigglin’ out of that cute little dress until it graces the linoleum floor. She bends down to pick it up, drapin’ it carefully over one of the kitchen chairs. She moves like it’s nothin; like the sight of her in her heels and underwear ain’ makin’ his cock try to thicken up again.

“Yer so beautiful.” He tells her, gaze trained on her as she walks back over to him. Clyde feels so small with her standin’ in front of him; feels vulnerable even if he was still mostly dressed. Juniper steps out of her heels slowly, placin’ them to the side before leanin’ in, restin’ her hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head so she can kiss him.

Clyde runs his flesh hand over her bare waist, down the swell of her hip, toyin’ with the band of her underwear. He doesn’t push it down; he won’t without her permission. It’s enough to kiss her like this, soft and lazy, feelin’ her skin underneath his. He feels all gooey and happy from his orgasm, even if it had come sooner than he’d have liked.

He sighs into her mouth, content; chases her lips when she pulls away. Juniper starts to work on the buttons of his shirt, and he sits up to help her ease it off a’ his shoulders. She folds it neatly, settin’ it to the side; Clyde forces himself to speak, tryin’ to get his brain back in workin’ order. “D’y’wanna—wanna go back to the bedroom? You c’n lay down and I’ll—I’ll take care a’ ya.”

He thinks he sounds all awkward and silly, but Juniper gives him a warm smile, and his insecurities fade. She was always comfortin’ him, whether she knew it or not. She places one last lingerin’ kiss to his lips before noddin’ at him. “I’d like that.”

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taglist friends!

@paper-n-ashes @glassbxttless @mariesackler @leatherboundbirate @millenialcatlady @jynzandtonic @peachyproserpina

#clyde logan #clyde logan fic #clyde logan x ofc #logan lucky #clyde logan smut #clyde logan fluff #clyde logan x oc #adcu #feedback always welcome & appreciated!#clyde logan x original female character #tori writes

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sokkascroptop · 4 years

Text

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 14

part 1 | part 13 | part 15

A/N: Just a warning, if you all hop in my asks saying Y/N x Katara Rights!! i’ll cut you :) so this chapter is kind of a filler and was so hard to write?? but it’s needed because of literally one part and you’ll know what it is when you read it. Also, Katara and Y/N separately have One Brain Cell that serves as impulse control but when they’re together they cancel out and they would rather die than think.

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. They had all decided to turn in early since Sokka wanted them up at the crack of dawn, but Y/N couldn’t stop tossing and turning, thinking about the little village on the water down below them that was suffering so much. Suffering because of her nation. Their nation. Katara was right, she felt cold and heartless doing nothing, but Y/N wasn’t sure of what she even could do for them.

Seeing the rundown fishing village was the worst part of their journey so far. Y/N had never imagined in her wildest dreams that there were Fire Nation citizens living in such poverty. At home, in Capital City, a pretty picture was painted of all the towns in their nation, even towns like this one, where steel mills were built to provide their armies with weapons; actually, especially these towns.

“Look at this place. We have to do something!” Katara said as soon as they stepped onto one of the docks.

Sokka stopped in his tracks. “Uh no, we can’t waste our time here. We have a bigger mission we need to focus on. These people are on their own.” He waved his hands, signifying the end of the discussion.

However, Katara was just getting started. Aang and Y/N shared an uncomfy look as the two Water Tribe siblings began arguing. “These people are starving, but you’d turn your back on them? How could you be so cold and heartless?”

“I’m not turning my back!” Sokka said defensively. “I’m just being realistic. We can’t go around helping every rinky-dink town we wander into. We’ll be helping them all by taking out the Fire Lord.”

“Hey, Loudmouth!” Toph smacked a hand over Sokka’s lips. “Maybe we should be a little quieter when we talk about ‘taking out the Fire Lord’.”

“Katara, be reasonable about this,” Sokka said quietly. “Y/N gets it.”

At the sound of her name, Y/N looked up from where she was dragging her sandal between the slats of wood, trying to become invisible. Katara and Sokka both looked at her expectantly. “Katara, I’m sorry but I think Sokka is right.” She frowned at her own words. “The mission needs to come first. It will help everyone in the long run.”

“Let’s just get what we need and go.” Aang tried to sound upbeat but everyone knew he was just trying to defuse any more arguments.

Sokka laid out his schedule across their campsite right over Y/N’s lap. As Toph, Aang and Katara bent mud out of the river’s water and boiled it to drink, Sokka and Y/N peered over the paper. She couldn’t read any of Sokka’s messy handwriting but she was able to get the gist of things with the copious color coding. Sokka was crouching over her shoulder mumbling to himself.

She turned to him. “Does it ever stop?” She asked.

Sokka grunted, “Huh?” he continued to look over the schedule, tracing the lines with a finger.

“That little hamster-weasel running on the wheel that powers that brain of yours. Does he ever stop?”

Sokka narrowed his eyes and stood up, completely ignoring her which made her giggle. “Because we spent the whole day here, we’re going to have to wake up every morning forty-three minutes earlier to make it to the Fire Lord in time for the invasion.”

“Forty-three minutes,” Katara deadpanned.

“Well I’m not waking up early,” Toph said, lying back on the dirt.

Y/N reached up and yanked on the hem of Sokka’s tunic until he paid her attention. “Yeah, me either, bud. I don’t get up before that sun rises.”

“Then we’re just going to have to take potty breaks with food breaks.”

There was a chorus of, “ewww” from the rest of the group but Sokka looked unperturbed. “It’s efficient!! It doesn’t matter, we have to leave first thing in the morning.” Sokka rolled up his schedule and stomped off to his sleeping bag leaving the four of them to wonder how he became the one in charge.

---

Y/N sighed and turned over for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night. She grimaced as her shoulder rolled right onto her hair, yanking it painfully from her scalp. She sat up pulling her hair around to the front. She’d never thought much about it before, always putting it in a braid to keep it out of her face while sparring. Now that she was walking around the Fire Nation with it down all the time to hide her identity, she was much more aware of it. She couldn’t remember the last time it was cut, it was as long as Katara’s and the humidity had made it wavy. It was heavy and thick and always made her hot when the sun was shining.

She ran her fingers through it a couple times, pulling at some tangles (that was another downside to it being down all the time) then slid out of her sleeping bag. She padded quietly barefooted past Toph, who was next to her and walked in the direction of the village. She climbed a little hill and sat with her knees pulled up in the grass overlooking the small water town. Thick black smoke billowed from the towers, even though it was well into the night.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Y/N jumped at the sudden voice but settled as Katara sat next to her, pressing their arms together. “Sorry.”

“I see that you couldn’t either.”

“Every time I close my eyes I see those villagers,” Katara mused.

“Me too.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you agreed with Sokka on leaving them to deal with everything on their own.”

“I was wrong,” Y/N admitted. “I think I wanted to ignore what was happening because I didn’t want to believe that my nation would let this happen, but it’s right in front of my eyes. They let these people down. I want to help in some way.”

“Do you have a plan?” Katara was smiling now.

Y/N smirked. She hadn’t known the girl for long, but it was like their minds had already melded. “Kind of. But I think I need the help of a really powerful waterbender.”

---

“My mom used to tell me stories about the spirits,” Y/N used her thumb to wipe a line of red paint down Katara’s chin. They were sitting on the edge of the bank near the muddy water. The tiny village was across from them, quiet for the night. “There was one that was my favorite and she was called The Painted Lady. Close your eyes–” Y/N wiped the red paint over Katara’s eyelids and made curling lines over cheekbones. “–she was a river spirit. It’s the best persona you could have for where we are. If anyone sees you they’re going to think that’s who you are.” She wiped the leftover paint on her skirt.

Katara donned the wide brimmed hat they had found and Y/N helped her position the lace netting around her face. Y/N pulled the hood of her black cloak up and she hopped in one of the canoes. She crouched down on the bench as Katara created a mist to hide the boat and began to bend the water around them and push them towards the factory.

It took most of the night to distribute the food they had stolen. The boat was only so big and two trips had to be made to get enough which made it all more risky but both of the girls knew that it would all be worth it in the end. When they reached the shore Y/N collapsed with fatigue on the sand while Katara washed the paint off with clean water.

Katara sat down heavily next to her. She sighed but she was clearly pleased with what they had done.

“Katara… I need your help with something.”

---

“Are you sure you want to cut it all off?”

Katara hovered over Y/N’s shoulder holding the blade Y/N had stolen from Sokka’s bag when she stole his cloak. Slowly, she reached out and touched a few strands of hair at Y/N’s back.

Y/N nodded. “Right here.” She pointed to her shoulder. She stared straight ahead into the water as she spoke, not trusting herself to look back at her friend. “Hair is our honor. I know it’s silly, it feels so stupid to be so attached to something so insignificant like hair, but I just couldn’t do it before. I think I still believed in the back of my mind that I could go back; that I could be accepted back. But, not anymore. And I don’t think I want to. Not until it’s some place I can be proud of again. I cannot have honor in a nation I don’t even find honorable. I need redemption for myself. I need to prove to myself that I am not like them anymore. And step one is cutting all ties,”–Y/N took a deep breath–”so get to cutting.”

---

The next morning, Y/N woke to shouting. Before she was able to even see clearly she had jumped to her feet and grabbed her sword. Only then did she realize it was Sokka yelling.

“What’s going on you guys?” Y/N rubbed her sleep bleary eyes. Katara and her had walked back with the sun on the horizon. Neither one of them could have gotten more than an hour of sleep.

“Appa’s sick! It’s awful!” Sokka wailed.

Y/N reached over and patted the sky bison on the snout. He gave a large groan as if to emphasize he wasn’t feeling well. “Aw, poor guy.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Sokka,” Toph said as she scratched under Appa’s chin.

“We might as well just throw out the whole schedule!” One look at the others, who were glaring in his direction, sent him stumbling forward to hug Appa’s huge neck. “And I’m concerned because my big furry friend doesn’t feel well.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Y/N rolled her eyes in Katara’s direction.

Sokka did a double take. “Your hair.”

Y/N reached up to touch the ends self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“Who’s hair?” Toph asked.

“Y/N cut her hair!” Aang exclaimed.

Toph’s glassy eyes widened. “How short!?”

“It’s at my shoulders,” Y/N replied.

“When did you cut it?” Sokka furrowed his brow.

Y/N shrugged. “Last night.”

Before Sokka could ask more questions, Katara broke in. “I think we should head into town for some medicine for Appa.”

---

Y/N walked in the back of the group next to Katara. “How did you… you know?” She cocked her head back in the direction of their camp.

Katara smiled mischievously. “I found these purple berries and fed Appa a ton of them. He just has a stomach ache.” Both of them began giggling which earned them a suspicious look from Sokka.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing!” Y/N waved a hand around her. “We’re talking about how much the village has changed.”

Indeed the village was much livelier due to the food Katara and Y/N had delivered. And like Y/N suspected, they all thought it was because of The Painted Lady. Shoe had commended her for bringing them food in the night. When they found out that there was no medicine in the town, Y/N knew what Katara had planned for the extra night they were going to have to stay.

---

Sokka had ignored Y/N the whole day. If he had done so a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have thought for a second about it. But now, they were friends, they sparred every evening but even when they weren’t sparring they still talked. She watched him plan for the invasion or he watched her and Katara make dinner.

Silence had never been so deafening.

And finally the silence was broken during dinner.

“You said that you went and cut your hair in the middle of the night.”

The spoon that was halfway between her bowl and her lips almost slipped through her fingers. “Yeah, so?” Y/N asked.

“Well, Shoe said that The Painted Lady was delivering food to the village in the middle of the night but you didn’t say anything about seeing her.”

“I didn’t see her,” Y/N said defensively. “I’m not sure why you’re interrogating me.”

“I’m not interrogating, just wondering.”

Y/N watched as Sokka went back to eating his dinner like nothing happened. She narrowed her eyes at him. There was only one reason why he would be asking such weird questions...

“I just think it’s a little weird that you cut your hair in the middle of the night.”

A shot of anger coursed through Y/N’s body. She couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward. “Sokka, go ahead and ask it because I know you’re dying to.”

“Are you The Painted Lady?”

“No,” Y/N dropped her bowl next to the fire. “I’m going for a walk.”

“I’m coming too!” Toph chirped.

Y/N turned back to look at the girl. “No, you’re not.”

“Too late, Not Painted Lady.” She was already pushing Y/N’s back, guiding them away from the campsite.

---

“You know I’m really not The Painted Lady,” Y/N said. She began to balance herself on a pointy rock but thought better of it when she felt it begin to shift underneath her. She sent a dirty look in Toph’s direction.

“I know, but Katara is. And there’s no way she knew about an obscure Fire Nation spirit.”

“Um...”

“You guys weren’t necessarily quiet when you came back this morning.”

“Riiight.” Y/N bit her lip. “You’re not going to tell Sokka are you?”

“What Sokka doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Y/N sighed, relieved. “Thank you, Toph.”

“You’ll owe me of course.” Toph began to balance herself on the same rock, Y/N had just been on.

Y/N laughed. “Owe you?”

“Yeah. Like, sometime, someday I’ll come to you and you owe me for keeping your secret.” Toph grinned.

“I’m going to come to regret this, I think.”

“Probably.”

---

Y/N stayed behind that night. Sokka had been too suspicious of her and besides there wasn’t much she could do while Katara healed all of the sick villagers. The next night, however, Katara shook her awake after only a few hours of sleep. She held a finger to her lips and led her away from the campsite, far enough so they could talk without being heard.

“I need your help tonight,” she whispered.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. “What are you thinking of doing?”

Katara’s eyes were wide. “Sokka was right. These villagers need to be able to help themselves but they can’t while that factory is still polluting their water.”

“Oh, you’re gonna–”

“Yeah, we’re going to blow it up.”

“I’ll get my sword.”

---

Y/N sure wasn’t expecting Aang to be so open to the idea of ecoterrorism considering his usual passive nature, but he was a big help with destroying the factory. They were lucky that he had woken up and caught them when they were leaving.

The sun was shining when the three of them got back and it was already starting to warm up. Y/N had her black cloak thrown over her shoulder and she was laughing at something Aang had said.

“–and when you unscrewed those screws with your sword and water came bursting out and flooded the whole floor.” Aang made an explosion noise and started giggling all over again.

Katara shushed them both. “Quiet, we don’t want to wake Sokka up–oh hey… Sokka.”

Y/N tucked her cloak behind her back but the damage was already done. “We were just out on a morning swi–”

“Walk,” Katara corrected. Y/N bit her tongue. How had she almost said swim? Swim?! The river was literally polluted with probably dangerous levels of chemicals and she had almost said they went swimming in it.

“I know you’re The Painted Lady, Y/N! I know you’ve been sneaking out at night and helping the villagers but I didn’t think that you would recruit my sister to help you!”

Y/N was taken aback at the anger that was radiating off of him. It was so different than just a few days earlier when they were sitting in Appa’s saddle joking with one another. As a matter of fact, Y/N wasn’t sure he’d ever shown this much outward fury to her when he hated her.

“Sokka, leave her alone!” Katara stepped in.

Y/N grabbed her arm and pulled her back. It was better for him to be mad at her than his sister. “No, it’s fine. He’s right. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Sokka was fuming. “You put this whole mission at risk while you were off being reckless. We’re leaving right now.”

Normally she might have said something to defend herself but instead Y/N just bumped their shoulders together as she walked past him. She packed her bags silently and rolled her sleeping bag before tossing it all into Appa’s saddle.

Her feelings were hurt that Sokka would think that she would intentionally put them in harm’s way or mess up their mission. But something about his anger seemed misplaced; like there was more to it all. She could have expected that reaction if she had gotten caught, but she hadn’t been. As Y/N tried to rack her brain to figure out what made him tick she heard a buzzing out on the river. Even from where she was standing she could see the Fire Nation soldiers from the factory riding jet skis towards the village.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Y/N ran to the cliff overlooking the village and fell to her belly. Katara dropped down next to her and Sokka and Aang on her other side.

Toph came up last. “What’s going on?”

Y/N watched in horror as the Fire Nation soldiers rode up alongside the dock and jumped off their jet skis. They began to approach the large group of villagers who had come outside to see what the noise was about.

“What did you do?!” Sokka accused Y/N. She shook her head, unable to speak.

“We destroyed their factory,” Katara muttered.

“You what?!” Sokka yelled.

“It was your idea!” Katara yelled back at him.

“It doesn’t matter whose idea!” Y/N shot to her feet. “I’ve got to help them.”

“You can’t!” Sokka grabbed her wrist to keep her from running away. He was holding on a little too tightly and Y/N desperately wanted to yank out of his grip. She looked at his wild eyes and it finally clicked what the other emotion was. He was scared. Afraid that they were going to get hurt. Afraid that she was going to get hurt. “Those soldiers are out for blood. They want revenge.”

“Well, she’s not going alone!” Katara ripped Sokka’s hand off of Y/N. “We can’t turn our back on people who need us.”

---

Katara and Y/N ran side by side down the trail that led to the water. “I’ll go buy some time. You go put on The Painted Lady costume. If the soldiers think that this village is protected by her they’re less likely to come back.”

“Got it,” Katara ran off in the direction she had stashed her cloak and hat.

“I’m coming with you,” Sokka panted as he ran down the hill followed by Toph and Aang.

“I thought you wanted to leave them,” she retorted. Y/N was done being nice if he wasn’t going to be.

“I’m not going to leave you.” Sokka held her gaze. “Or Katara,” he added quickly.

Y/N blinked. “Oh. Okay, come on.” She pushed one of the canoes into the water. “Aang, can you push us over to that dock there?” She pointed to a deserted dock on the back side of the village. The soldiers wouldn’t see them there. “And then go help Katara.”

“You got it!” He said brightly.

“What do I do?” Toph asked, clearly feeling a bit left out.

“Go make scary spirit noises for Katara,” Sokka instructed.

“Ugh, okay.” Toph ran off among the rocks and cliffs.

---

Aang used water bending to push their canoe. They each grabbed the wooden dock and hauled themselves up it, their boat floating under the dock and off with the current. No going back now. Sokka and Y/N snuck up to the back of the group of villagers and caught the tail end of whatever the soldier had been telling them.

“–destroyed our factory! We’re going to cure the world of this wretched village.”

Y/N pushed her way to the front of the group. “No you’re not.” She held her hands in loose fists by her side. She was itching for her sword but she had left it at camp in her rush to get here.

“And who’s going to stop me?” the large soldier taunted.

Y/N didn’t spare a second thought. She leapt forward and punched him in the chest twice. The armor made her knuckles ache and sent reverberations up her arms. She ducked under a flaming punch from him and kicked his kneecap. He grunted and fell to his knee. He reached forward and before she could jump away, grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her feet out from under her. She shrieked and twisted midair, landing on her shoulder.

That’s when a boomerang came from behind her, looping around to hit the soldier in the back of head, only to be caught again by it’s master. It only gave Sokka enough time to pull Y/N to her feet, because the soldier barely flinched. Agni, his head must be thick, Y/N thought.

The soldier pulled back his fist ready to throw fire at them when it was quickly stifled by a stiff breeze that whipped Y/N’s hair around her face.

He tried again, only for his fire to be blown out again. He growled and went to try a third time. He was interrupted by another soldier. “Uh, boss? What’s that?” He pointed in the direction that the wind came from. A large wall of fog was moving their way. In the distance, there was a rhythmic thumping that could only be a large boulder being lifted and dropped over and over again on the ground; and Y/N was sure she could hear Appa growling as well.

The fog parted and Y/N could see Katara standing between two rolling, white clouds. Then, she was moving towards the dock at frightening speed, gliding over the water like she was flying. She landed gracefully and stood there staring at two soldiers in front of her.

“Come on, let’s move the people further back.” Y/N patted Sokka’s shoulder and the two of them guided the villagers further back onto the platform to keep them out of harm’s way.

Behind her, Y/N heard a yelp and two of the soldiers ran back to their jet skis and drove off without another thought. Only after they left did their swords hit the deck with a clang, evidently bent out of their hands by Aang and thrown to the sky.

“Stand your ground!” Their leader shouted. Katara bent the water around two more of their jet skis and lifted them high in the air. Y/N watched in complete awe as she threw them sideways into the face of the cliff where they exploded on impact. The rest of the soldiers sprinted back to their jet skis leaving their leader alone.

“I’ll take care of this myself,” he growled. It was like it all happened in slow motion. He created a whip of fire and bent it at Katara. Y/N was sure it was going to hit her, she didn’t even move to block it. Y/N gripped Sokka’s arm and then Katara was gone.

From below the deck, Aang had bent the air around Katara and lifted her high above them. Another gust of wind knocked the soldier into the muddy water. Katara floated on mist above him.

“Leave this place and never come back,” The Painted Lady commanded.

Y/N had never seen someone swim so fast. That was when she realized she was still holding her breath. She sighed in relief as Katara landed back on the platform. Aang crawled out from under the dock and Sokka and Y/N ran to join them.

Behind her, the villagers were cheering but the sound was muted because Y/N didn’t care about that, all she cared about was that her and her friends had made it in one piece.

A loud bang sounded from the shore and everyone went silent, their eyes searching for where the noise came from.

“HELLLOOOO!” Someone shouted angrily from the bank.

Sokka and Y/N shared a confused look before she burst out laughing. “Oh my spirits, it’s Toph. She can’t get over here.” Y/N grabbed Sokka’s hand and pulled him to one of the canoes to paddle over and pick up their friend.

---

A/N: So i just wanted to say that I’ve had the hair cutting scene planned from the beginning, I just was waiting for the right time to place it. her hair is cut now. and the fire nation is dropped. and now all i have to say is: IT’S IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. IT. IS. IN. THE. NEXT. CHAPTER

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mollygetssherlockcoffee · 4 years

Text

Broken

Pairing: Spencer x Fem!reader

Summary: When Rossi makes a comment which upsets the Y/N, Spencer is there to reassure her

Warning: Mentions of rape and murder. Talk about the medical condition Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Sadness. Fluff at the end

Words: 1,824

A/N: As someone who has this condition, this a drabble I have always wanted to read.

Master List HERE!

This last case had been particularly hard for you. You’d gotten your diagnosis three days before you left for California on a case involving an unsub forcing women into pregnancy, only to kill the mother and sell the child. The latest victim to have been found, Amelia Bragg, had been found on in a ditch. She had been raped, repeatedly, but she had not given birth and wasn’t pregnant. However, the signature of the female gender symbol carved onto her hip post-mortem indicated it was the killer you were after.

“Why didn’t she have a child like the others?” JJ asked, looking from the screen where Amelia’s picture was shown to the files in her hands.

“She had a condition which made it difficult to have children… she was ‘broken’” Rossi had replied, glancing at Amelia’s medical records. “PCOS and endometriosis.”

“PCOS? What’s that?” Derek asked, looking towards Reid for an answer.

You jumped in first, not even looking up from the file in front of you, “Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Follicles surround the eggs, making ovulation difficult. As such, their periods are irregular, and they struggle with fertility. Women often experience head hair loss, while gaining excess hair in other places, such as their face, due to increased androgen. Also, they can experience increased pain anytime through their menstrual cycle, on their period or not. People with PCOS tend to struggle with their weight, due to the hormones. Also, they’re more than likely to suffer with mental illnesses such as depression or anxiety due to the imbalance of hormones. Endometriosis is where tissue similar to the lining of the room grows in other places, like the ovaries or fallopian tubes. Endometriosis causes a lot of the same problems as PCOS, but it is known to be much more painful.”

The room is quiet for a moment as the team takes in your words. You don’t look up, you can’t look up. Rossi’s words had hurt you and you couldn’t help but answer before Reid. It was a subject you had knowledge in, you had done for a while. You best friend, Jamie, had endometriosis and you had done your research after her diagnosis in an effort to support her.

“How do you know that, Y/N?” Derek questioned, his voice gentle as he realised you might have experience with the conditions.

You shrugged ad remained silent for a moment. You didn’t really want to tell them all. Sure, they’re your friends, family even, but did you want all of them knowing this? Finally, you settled on a half-truth, “I know people with the condition, so I learned about it.”

You’d caught the unsub in the end, but not before another girl had been kidnapped. Thankfully, the team had gotten to the house, and then into the underground ‘lair’ before she was raped. It was horrific done there. It was dark and with the mass of six women, all in various stages of pregnancy, crammed into the small space, it was dirty and humid.

The women had been sent to the hospital for a check-up and the unsub taken to the police station to be processed. With the case complete, Hotch decided to postpone the flight home until the morning, saying everyone deserved a night of rest.

And that was how you found yourself sitting on your motel bed, arm around your knees, as you cried.

You’d been having troubles for a while now. Your periods were irregular, only having one every few months, and yet you often walked around with pain low in your belly and back. You often had to wax your upper lip, while you often lost long strands of your hair. Your moods swung, and your weight was a like a seesaw.

You’d went through this for more than a year before you went to the doctors. They’d listen to your symptoms before ordering a thorough blood test which came back with results saying you had excess hormones. This wasn’t enough for a diagnosis, and your doctor had sent you for an ultrasound.

And there they were. Little follicles surrounding your ovaries. There was your answer, you had PCOS. You’d been fine with the diagnosis. You had friends with the same condition, and you knew the ins-and-outs of it. However, what Rossi had said really got to you. In that one instance, your entire mental approach changed and your mind told you that your body was broken. That you were broken.

And that hurt.

PCOS was currently incurable. Medication could be taken to help the symptoms, but there was nothing to stop them. When you wanted a child, you could take medication which may help to be able to conceive but there was no guarantee that you would become pregnant. You were broken. The one thing you were designed for, as a woman, was something you couldn’t do. You were a woman, you were meant to bare children. Yes, you’d never through about having children before but now the choice had been taken from you.

There was a knock at the door. You held your breath, keeping the sobs back. There was another knock. A moment passed before the knock sounded again.

“Y/N, open up… please, I know you’re in there” Spencer begged, knocking on the door again. “Please, just let me in.”

Out of everyone on the team, Spencer was who you were closest to. When you had first joined the BAU, he had helped you with your paperwork. He knew you weren’t a huge fan of clubbing, so while the rest of the team went for drinks, he invited you to go with him to his favourite café. You’d get together every week to watch the newest episode of Doctor Who and when the season ended, you would just watch reruns. Spencer was the one you had warmed up to first, and he was still the person you’d consider as your closest friend.

Knowing that Spencer wouldn’t go away, you pushed yourself to your feet. You opened the door enough for him to squeeze through and quickly closed it behind him. Spencer entered the little room, moving to drop the armful of snacks on the bed before turning around to you.

He didn’t speak, just opened his arm. A fresh wave of tears burst forth and you rushed into his arm, burying your face in his chest and letting the tears fall. His arms wrapped around you securely, holding you to his chest tightly. His chin rested on your head as he held you to him, his thumb rubbing over the top of your arm where his arms wrapped around you.

After a few minutes, you calmed down, your snobs turning to quiet sniffles. He gently released you but took your hand, leading you over to the bed. You climbed on, grabbing a packet of gummy bears before you curled in his side.

“So,” he started. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

You wiped your hand under your eyes, getting rid of another tear. “You remember that I told you I hadn’t been feeling to great and that I had that appointment at the hospital for some tests? Well, I got the results.”

“I know. PCOS” your head turned so quickly that it took your eyes a moment to catch up and focus on your face. “I know the symptoms of it Y/N, and… I had suspicions. Your knowledge of it confirmed those suspicions. You have much more than just a ‘friend offering support’ knowledge.”

“What Rossi said…” your lips rolled between your teeth and you shook your head, looking away from Spencer. “I wasn’t really bothered at first by the diagnosis but when Rossi said that Amelia was ‘broken’… that hurt. Is that how people see me, how I am, broken?”

“Of course, you’re not broken” Spencer reassured you, pulling you tightly into his side. “Rossi didn’t mean it like that. He meant it as broken for the unsub, in the unsubs mind.”

“I know how he meant it” you assured him. “Its just… I can’t help but feel like people will think I’m broken. And who would want a broken girlfriend, or wife? I’ll have these mood changes, weight problem, hair troubles for the rest of my life. And I’ll struggle to have a child too… Who would want someone like me?”

A firm hand grasped your chin and turned your face. Spencer looked at you, his face more serious than you had ever seen it. His jaw was set and his eyes held such an intensity, that you struggled to make eye contact.

“Who wouldn’t want someone like you? You’re amazing” he reassured you, his voice firm and full of sincerity. “You’re kind, funny, smart, a little too sassy at time, generous and…and gorgeous. You’re amazing. You helped me find a place for my mom, you bring me my favourite coffee and a doughnut every time I’m sad. You drive me to and from work because you know I hate to drive. You are amazing. Your mood changes? Everyone’s moods fluctuate, yours maybe a bit more than others, but that doesn’t matter. Your weight? Y/N, you’re perfect. And your hair? That shouldn’t matter to anyone because its not about what you look like, its about who you are. There is nothing saying you won’t be able to get pregnant. Yes, it’ll take longer and you made need help but still, it can happen. And if it doesn’t, there are other options. Like surrogacy or adoptions. And that’s even if you want kinds. You don’t have to have them. And the man you’re with should accept all of these things because they are what make you you. And you are amazing, you’re perfect. If they can’t accept you as you are, this perfect person, then they don’t deserve someone as amazingly brilliant as you.”

Your heartbeat wildly in your chest as you stared at Spencer. Your eyes prickled with tears again, but this time, they were in awe of the beautiful things he’d said about you. The way he spoke about you… you felt warm inside, you felt appreciated, cared for… you felt loved.

Your hand lifted to cup his face and your thumb traced his cheekbone. His eyes were soft as they met yours, the light brown orbs full of warmth. Your eyes trailed to his films, his prefect lips, and slowly, you leaned in. He met you halfway, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss.

The kiss was soft and gentle. His hand trailed from your chin to the back of your neck, tilting your head to allow him better access to your mouth. You sighed into the kiss, the warmth in your heart all consuming.

Slowly, he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes meeting yours again. “Y/N, you’re prefect and… I…I love you.”

You smiled at him. “I love you too.”

You pulled him towards you to kiss him again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #cm #criminal minds #david rossi #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction

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waywardimpalawriter · 3 years

Text

Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: angst, hurt, comfort,

Word count: 1,795 (It wasn’t suppose to be this long, seems I can never write anything shorter than a 1,000 words.)

Summary: Lone phone booth, broken hearts and empty words, promises he tries to keep. Wanting to make his way back with the sunshine.

Notes: Let me start by saying I’m sorry but I’m not really. You may need tissues. Written for the very lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog for Writer Wednesday. I figured since last weeks was fluffy I’d break out a little angst for this week. Set before and right after the events in Triple Frontier. Inspired by the amazing Bill Withers song “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone.”

“You’re promised no more trips, you’d stay home help raise Luciana, be here,” last words whispered more to yourself than to the man standing opposite. Knowing what you signed up for being the girlfriend of a military man. It’s different now though he’s out, no more deployments to places all God knew about. Going weeks, mostly months without seeing him. Warm body held tightly in your arms when he came home, soothing the nightmares that followed.

Dropping his head, chin resting on his chest not wanting to look into those hurt eyes. For anyone else he’d say no but these fella’s are family, you know this having taken them all in like brothers. Frankie understood your anger more directed at the fact he’s leaving you alone when he’s promised that would never happen again. “I’m sorry mi amor,” raising his head to stare at you. Crystalline tears catch light from the near by lamp glinting mockingly. Knowing sorry isn’t enough empty words and promises laying bare between the both of you.

“How…” arms wrapping around you plush middle. Fending off the worry and holding yourself together even for a few moments. “How long?”

Taking a step towards you, “Three days max. Pope says it’s just a quick recon and intel job. You won’t even miss me.” Corny joke tasting bitter on his tongue that licks across dry lips. Unsure if you’d accept him right now but wanting to hold you so badly. “It’ll be quick and easy sweetheart, then I’ll be back with my girls.”

“Three days?” Seeing him nod you swallow harshly staying still for a moment longer. Till you couldn’t stop yourself from running into his arms, wrapping them so tightly around his body the air is knocked from his lungs. Vise grips of flesh and bone holding on securely, wishing the trip would already be over. “You come back to me you hear Fransisco Morales or so help me I’ll search all over this God forsaken planet till I find you myself.” Words muttered and clogged with tears streaming down cold cheeks. “You have a daughter to raise…”

“And a woman to love,” peeling himself back from your embrace. His own arms resting on your thick waist, large hands splayed out over your back taking in your warmth and love. “I promise mi amor I’ll be back in no time.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him to stay. Plead your case, demand he make good on those promises spoken with the last deployment. Yet, you know this is different and that’s what scares you the most truly. You’d loose so much with this one trip. They won’t have backing by the government in case… pushing those thoughts away you press yourself deeper into Frankie’s body. Stealing his calm, trying to soak it into your veins and sooth your nerves. Knowing the only way to truly do that is by having him stay and you’d never be selfish to ask.

“You know there’s no sunshine when you’re gone,” pressing your lips to the little patch of missing hair in his scruffy beard. “Come back to me Frankie I can’t do this without you.”

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

It's not warm when she's away

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And she's always gone too long

Anytime she's goes away

A week and two days he’s been gone. Nerves shot to hell you asked Will’s girlfriend Abby to watch Luciana for a couple of hours. Knowing the other woman needed a distraction from the worry just as much. You scooping up the keys, placing a quick kiss to your daughter’s forehead, a nod to Abby and you’re out the door. Heading to that little spot you and Frankie like to camp. Drawing a smidgeon of peace from the place that’s much loved between you.

Trying to keep those pesky, traitorous thoughts from invading your mind. Imagines long forgotten with the Delta force days behind you, resurface every night Frankie’s gone. Picturing the worst every time your eyes close. Fists clinching at your sides long sorrow filled scream winds itself from deep within your chest. Thankful no living humans are around to hear the agony scare any woodland creatures far away. Screaming till your throat is raw and parched. Dropping to your knees not caring about the dirt and buries that’ll show up later. In the back of your mind the little voice chastising you for having so little faith in Frankie.

It couldn’t be helped thought, you missed your sunshine. Wanted his presence more than your next breath. To see that ratting Standard Heating oil cap cover his curls, left dimple making an appearance when he smiles at you. Wrapping your arms around his body drinking in the scent of piney woods, touched with motor oil and a spice that’s all Frankie. Afraid of what state he’ll be in that is if he returns. Face pressed into shaky hands hiding from the world as tears coat the palms in salty moisture while rocking your body. Trying to push those thoughts out of your mind to form happier, sun filled ones. Not realizing the rain started to fall from heavy laden clouds, promising a soaker of a storm. Till ramblings of thunder make you gasp and look up. Fitting stormy grey skies meet your sorrowful eyes. Raindrops hitting your upturned face, dropping into your eyes making them blink closed. Heart aching for the man you love and wishing for Aladdin’s magic lamp to grant you just one precious wish that’s all you needed.

Shivering from your soaked clothes, gusty winds howling through the pines returning your grief. Slowly you manage to drag yourself up and back to Frankie’s truck. Sitting watching the rain slash against the aged windshield. Creating different rivers and puddles of water, sunlight catching a perfect drop when the clouds part and shine into the cab and over your face. Warming the cool skin as a sob leaves your throat praying this burst of light is a good omen.

Wonder this time where she's gone

Wonder if she's gone to stay

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And this house just ain't no home

Anytime she goes away

You stare at the cell phone laying on the seat beside you. Hoping it’ll ring with a number you don’t recognize. Pleading for some kind of answer anything to stop the worry. When no answer me dance lights the piece of tech you slam an open palm against the steer wheel unable to keep the tears from sliding down your face. Unaware of how long you’ve sat there eyes closed rain pouring down around you.

Bill Withers smooth tenor making you jump and clutch at your chest. Eyes flying open to stare out into the utter darkness surrounding you not recognizing the ringtone for half a second. Fear and dread incasing your wildly thumping heart as you reach out for the cell phone. Not recognizing the number, you shakily press and slide your finger. Putting the phone to your ear breath lodged in your throat. Dry and deep from screaming, “Frankie?”

Shattering at the sound of your sweet scratching voice, Frankie sags against the phone booth. Warm glass meeting sweat soaked button up covered back trying to hold in the sob. “It’s me mi corazón,” finally answering short whimper on the end of the endearment. Making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop any other sounds from escaping. Dragging in the humid night air to fill his lungs and steady his heart. The heat is oppressive hanging heavy around the small glass and metal enclosure as his large hand grips the weathered plastic receiver.

“What happened mi sol?” Fear gripping tightly around your heart at hearing the sorrow in his voice. Aching to hold him and chase away the darkness you know will follow.

Pressing a hand to the glass cursing the fact this call wouldn’t be long enough to explain himself. “When I get home I’ll tell you everything sweetheart. I’m on an old pay hone right now so there’s not much time. I just…” swallowing harshly, eyes closing over those sadden brown eyes. “I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’m here baby,” wiping at the tears of relief and sitting up straighter in the bench truck seat. It didn’t matter what happened just knowing he’s alive and coming home to you it all that’s important. They could sort out the rest in time. “When are you coming home Frankie? Luciana misses her daddy.”

Watery chuckle leaves his lips, head resting on the dirty glass behind him, “I’ve missed her to hermosa,” taking another breath to steady himself. “I love you so fucking much.”

Heart clinching tightly at his words the desperation in the tone destroying you. Responding without thought, “I love you to Frankie,” gulping in a breath whimpers bitten off to keep from him knowing how torn up you are. Clap of thunder followed the streaks of lighting illuminating the night sky making you jump and gasp.

“Where are you sweetheart?” Having heard the thunder a little too loudly for you to be at home.

For the first time in your relationship you think of lying to him so he didn’t worry. But you remember the promise made and wouldn’t break it. “Our place,” comes the short answer hearing silence on the other end and you think he’s run out of time.

Finally finding his voice pushing through the pain in his heart. “I’m sorry mi corazón we… I never should’ve…”

“Shh Frankie it’s okay I came here to be closer to you. Wishing for you to call and you did,” soft chuckle leaving your mouth accompanying a small sob. “My sunshine broke through to let me know you were okay and coming home before you called.”

Pulling his cap off to rest on top the worn metal of the cradle and run a shaky hand through his curls. “I think you have that backwards, you’re my sunshine sweetheart and I can’t wait till I see you shine for me.” Electronic voice reminding him of the seconds he has left, precious and too few for his liking. “I’ve got to go mi corazón. I’ll be home soon I promise, I love you.”

“I love…” words cut off making Frankie curse and slam the receiver back into the cradle wanting to kick the old piece of junk. But knowing it wouldn’t get him anywhere but a busted foot most likely. He settles for slapping a palm against the glass before snatching up his cap and leaving the claustrophobic inducing box without a backwards glance. Setting his sights on the airport a short power walk away, towards home and into the arms of his girls.

#Writer Wednesday #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x F!You

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nekokoaa · 3 years

Text

Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (XVI)

Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader

Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW

(Chapter XVI/??) All chapters in AO3 and masterlist

Phew, glad I got this out! Enjoy!

Taglist:

@freedom-for-bum@reallyfuckingangrylatina@risarisarisaa@ashherssss@mels-heart@xa-dia@shanty-lol@amkxh@chims-kookies@fantasticapple@thalia-luna-hawthorn@skzero-99@marvelobsessedteen@thenezuko@icythotsenpai

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XVI: Bonded

Your clothes dropped to the floor with a soft thump, rimming around your ankles as your eyes briefly looked over your nude body in front of the mirror. You could hardly see yourself since the fog around the edges of the surface crawled until it completely engulfed it. Even a brief wipe on the mirror did nothing to deter the fogginess. As long as you were near the hot springs, you figured it would be like this. You gathered your clothes, folded them, and left them on top of a table.

In your peripherals, you spotted Ochako approaching you, cautiously and light on her feet. Like she was hunting you or something, but she was really nervous to speak to you. She pulled you aside earlier today to talk to you about what you stumbled upon. You were with Katsuki at the time, so you told her later before the bathing ceremony. It was another one of the wolves’ traditions before the wedding day, which was tomorrow. You found it was similar to bachelor and bachelorette parties instead the bride and her friends and the groom and his friends would hang out in the hot springs the night before. Their last night before becoming bonded.

“Are you mad at me…?” Ochako’s wolf ears were pulled back and her tail hung low and limp behind her. Even her natural curls in her hair seemed dull. Although it could be the surrounding humidity being the cause.

“I’m not mad,” the image of Ochako on top of Izuku resurfaced in your head, “just surprised.”

“Izuku and I wanted to keep it a secret especially with what’s been going on in the pack. We just thought it would cause trouble.”

“It’s okay. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“Then why does your tone sound short with me?” A whimper left Ochako. She was biting her bottom lip.

“It was awkward seeing you guys like that, but I’m not mad, really, I’m not.” It was true. There wasn’t a hint of anger within you. You kind of just wanted to forget what you saw.

“Hmm,” another whimper, “okay then…”

Ochako then left you alone, turning around and disappearing in the heavy steam coming from the outside. You followed after her shortly, exiting the cave and walking through the steam. The deeper you went the less opaque your surroundings became until it revealed large pools of water with stones and large rock formations curbing the edge. The surrounding trees were slanted forward while it’s branches and leaves enclosed like a curtain sufficing the perfect privacy.

Mitsuki, Mina, Kyoka, Momo, and Tsuyu were already relaxing in one of the pools, deep in conversation. Ochako was climbing in, toes first, her worries melting from her expression, at least temporary. When the rest of the girls spotted you standing by the pool they beckoned for you to come and you listened. Mimicking Ochako, your toes touched the water first and already you felt its hotness that you yelped and pulled your feet out.

Mitsuki laughed.

“Just throw your whole body in! You’ll adjust!” Mina said with a grin.

You doubted her words but followed it anyway. You couldn’t hold back the painful groan that left you. Through gritted teeth, you submerged your legs in the water and walked through with until you sat between Mina and Mitsuki. It was only a couple of seconds until your body adjusted to the heat and you returned a smile towards Mina.

“This is nice…” you sighed, already feeling the heat penetrate your strained muscles.

“I knooooow. I needed this. Especially after dealing with all that set up for tomorrow,” Mitsuki moaned and sunk deeper into the water. Her skin was flushed pink from the heat. It was amazing how good her skin looked for her age, not a single wrinkle in it.

“I’m excited! It’s been a while since we had a wedding. Last one was…”

“Mine!” Mina interjected Momo, raising her hand in the air.

“Oh, that was a blast. Remember when Eijirou started crying as soon as he saw you?” Kyoka laughed.

“Oh, Eijirou cried his eyes out! But that was very sweet of him.”

“You were beautiful that day. I don’t blame him.” Momo smiled softly.

Mina giggled, “If I wasn’t pink already! Well, now it’s ____’s turn tomorrow. Nervous?” She turned to you, leaning until her shoulder briefly bumped yours. Tsuyu already pulled herself from the water and sat on the rocks with her legs still half in. She fanned her hot cheeks, thin tongue flat on her bottom lip as you could swear you heard a small “ribbit” from her.

“Um, is it obvious?” You chuckled to hide the nerves that resurfaced whenever you thought about the wedding.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re just marrying my loud-mouth son.”

“I understand why you would feel that way.” Momo also pulled herself from the water. “Being bonded is not easy. You can’t just think about yourself anymore.”

“Yeah and wait until children come in the picture,” Mina sighed.

“You and Katsuki were waiting until the wedding night, right?” You didn’t think your cheeks could get any warmer until you heard Ochako’s question.

“Ooooh yeah, are you ready?” Mitsuki nudged your shoulder with her elbow.

“I—yeah I am… Actually, I was wondering… do you guys have any advice for that night? I never had sex before—like I know what to expect but I don’t want to seem inexperience.”

“You shouldn’t worry about that. Just have fun,” Kyoka shrugged.

“Well, one advice I can think of is if you like it, don’t hesitate to give him a scratch or two,” Mitsuki smirked.

“Maybe even a bite! You won’t regret it,” said Mina.

“It’s a huge compliment. We love scratching and biting during sex. It’s how we show if we’re enjoying it or not,” Momo added.

“I’m sure Katsuki will take good care of you. Maybe be honest about how you’re feeling at the moment too.” Tsuyu dipped back into the water.

“If anything, the only thing you should worry about is becoming pregnant.” Pregnancy? It was something you didn’t consider a possibility. “Katsuki was conceived on our first night being bonded. I’ll never forget the look on Masaru’s face when I told him I was pregnant weeks after. He was so happy but so terrified at the same time.”

“On your first night?!”

“Yeah, now you and Katsuki will be living away from us for a few weeks so plenty of time for me to finally become a grandma!” Mitsuki looked genuinely excited but her words had worried you. It was a tradition after the ceremony for newlyweds to live away from the pack for a few weeks to enjoy their time alone—an equivalent to a honeymoon. You had no doubt you and Katsuki would be sexually active during those few weeks, but pregnancy and children was something you didn’t even think of. You weren’t even sure if Katsuki wanted children so soon.

“But it’s not like I’ll get pregnant during that time, right…?”

The women looked to one another, their expressions unreadable. It worried you to no end until Mina spoke up.

“Um—Well, things happen, you know? You don’t really know when it happens but the more you do it, the more chances you’ll have.”

Tsuyu nodded, “but it’s nothing to really worry about. You have Katsuki and us to help you if that happens.”

“Okay…” you gulped. Fuck. You really didn’t think that far, but now you seriously had to. It wasn’t just marrying Katsuki because you love him but creating a partnership that’ll help you grow as a person and possibly a family. You never thought of yourself as a mother and wasn’t sure if you could even handle it. It was a conversation worth talking about with Katsuki.

After the hot springs, you said your good nights to the girls and retreated to your cave. Katsuki wasn’t there so you assumed he was still at the springs with his friends. You decided to go to bed before him and crawl under the sheep wool covers.

But you couldn’t fall asleep. You were anxious, of course. Tomorrow, you were to become a bride, a wife to a wolf. But it wasn’t just any wolf but one who was a descendant from Fenrir and the future leader of the largest wolf pack on this side of the planet, and you would also be considered a future leader once you marry him. It was why some wolves were still against it. They didn’t want to take orders from a human. You understood that.

Most of the pack decided to tolerate it. They were more loyal to Katsuki and the Fenrir bloodline and if that’s what he decided, they would go along with it. Some even used the argument that Fenrir’s wife was human, so it was permissible for Katsuki to marry you. The few who were against the wedding were given permission to leave the pack until they were ready to return. Mitsuki would accept them with open arms.

“You awake?” You jumped slightly as you felt Katsuki climb into bed. He expected to find you asleep, but you were lying in bed with the covers over your body and you were staring at the burning candles on the table. You felt his heavy arm hook around your waist and turn you around to face him. You felt your cheeks warm up. Gosh, there was just something about seeing a shirtless Katsuki in dim lighting with the shadows hitting his face and muscles just right.

“Yeah I am. How was the spring?”

You soon felt his fingers in your hair and his face moved close, then you felt his lips touch yours, kissing you lightly but with a sort of aggression that only seem to fit Katsuki. He even let out a growl when he pulled away like he was reluctant to do so but had to. He didn’t move far but stayed close enough for you to feel his breath. You also felt his tail wagging as it would smack against your thigh sporadically—the only indication that he was happy right now.

“Good. Were you waiting up for me?” You realized Katsuki’s skin was still moist from the springs when you stroke the side of his arm.

“Not really, couldn’t sleep,” you started drawing circles in his skin with your finger.

“Thinking about tomorrow?”

Your eyes flickered up to find Katsuki’s glowing red ones with a hint of gold reflecting in them from the candle flames.

“Yeah… Can’t believe it. Kind of feels like it was yesterday when I met you.”

“Yeah…” his fingers lightly brushed your arm. He looked tired. “You’re scared?”

You laughed.

“More nervous actually—Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you at the altar or something—I’m just a bit worried about becoming a wife and a leader. You know—me being human and all.”

“You’re worried about that shit again? I told you—”

“I know what you told me. But you know I can’t help but think about it. I’m not insensitive like you,” you sighed. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Although, Katsuki was unaffected by your tone.

“You don’t have to think about being a wife or leader. Everything will be the same only that we’re bonded forever. Don’t let all these duties and those old jerks cloud that.” The ‘old jerks’ that Katsuki mentioned were the Elders. The Elders were advisors to the pack leaders. They usually like to give their opinions on what goes on in the pack, but the leaders have the final say. You met them a couple of days after the party and it was a group that consisted of four men and four women, all elderly, hence the name ‘The Elders’, and you remembered that they didn’t stop pestering you about your studies about the wolves’ culture and surprisingly, baby plans. They even questioned whether or not you were pregnant now. The nerve of them!

“I can’t believe they asked if I was pregnant.”

“I don’t blame them. We don’t wait until marriage to mate. You probably would’ve been a mother already.”

You looked at Katsuki through wide eyes. He was just telling the truth but something about it unsettled you. You weren’t ready to be a mother and won’t be for a couple of years.

“I can’t imagine myself… pregnant,” you mumbled. “Do you even want children, Katsuki?”

You thought you should have this conversation with him since there was a good chance of you conceiving on the wedding night.

Katsuki shifted slightly to where his head was on the pillow and the arm around you started to squeeze your waist and his hand began to roam around your back. Whenever he did this, he was preparing to sleep.

“I wouldn’t mind having a few brats running around, you know…” he yawned, his large fangs on display for you.

“I don’t think I’ll be ready until—maybe, after a few years?”

“Take all the time you need… Don’t let those old jerks pressure you… I’ll wait…”

Before you knew it, he was snoring lightly, his eyes closed, and body limp. Katsuki was tired from everything he had to do today. Before he hung out with his friends in the springs, he helped the pack with the final preparations for tomorrow, setting up the stage, the sitting area, making sure everything was in order for you two to wed. So, it did not come as a surprise that Katsuki nearly knocked out the moment he climbed into bed.

You sighed softly, and you still couldn’t fall asleep.

You brought a hand to Katsuki’s cheek and softly caressed it. Your fingers touched his nose and parts of his lips. You then moved to buried them in his hair and as soon as you touched his wolf ears, they began to twitch. You smiled because you thought it was so cute. That wasn’t a word you normally used to describe Katsuki, but it definitely fit the situation.

You continued playing with Katsuki’s hair, waiting for sleep to claim you.

The echo sound of drums being beaten was what woke you out of your slumber. It was early in the morning, perhaps a few hours since the sun had risen. You heard your name being called and you opened your eyes and saw several wolf women surrounding you. You let out a gasp, bringing your covers over your chest when you noticed it had fallen when you sat up. You quickly looked to your right and noticed the space next to you was empty. Where was Katsuki?

“Sorry for scaring you,” one of them said, smiling lightly, wolf ears fluttering. “But you have to get ready for the ceremony.”

“Congratulations!” Each of them said immediately after, already pulling you up by your arms. Your covers dropped. You couldn’t shield yourself because they were still holding your arms. Even though they were women, you still felt self-conscious.

“Ah—wait, where’s Katsuki?”

“Future leader is already getting ready. You won’t see him until it’s time for the bond.”

The women then gathered some of your clean clothes, helping you dress before they pulled you towards the bathhouse. You were practically pushed into the baths, and they scrubbed and scrubbed on your arms and legs until you felt yourself turn raw.

“Humans have such soft skin,” one of them commented, seeing parts of your skin start to bruise before they dumped a large bucket of warm water on the top of your head. “Don’t worry, we have some cream that’ll make those go away.”

“You’re so lucky, miss, to be getting married to our future leader!” One of them gushed and the rest giggled.

“L-Lucky, really?” They brought you to your feet and helped you step out of the bath. They immediately began drying you with towels. You haven’t been this pampered since… never.

“Of course! Future leader is the descendant of Fenrir, the first wolf. There’s magic in his blood, you know.”

“And not only that, but he’s hot.”

“And I heard he’s good in bed.”

The women could not stop yammering about Katsuki even after they dressed you up in simple clothes and guided you back towards the mountain. Once they had you in a cave, they undressed you and moisturized your skin with that cream they spoke of and they sprayed an excessive amount of perfume all around your body including your inner thighs. They mentioned something about smelling delightful for the wedding night. You found yourself at their mercy as they sat you down in front of a mirror and began doing your makeup and hair. Slowly, you watched yourself transform. By the time they were done, you looked like a completely different person.

And then it was time for your dress that was custom fit to your size. The women mentioned that it was a dress designed specifically for Katsuki’s betrothed. As you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t believe the woman staring back was you. Not that you ever thought you were unattractive, but you have never seen yourself look this beautiful. Even the women who helped you dress were in awe of your beauty, soon telling you that it was Katsuki who was the lucky one.

The drums were louder outside. They echoed into the blue sky, absent with clouds as the sun shimmered brightly upon the mountain. There was no longer any snow except for the mountain tops and the temperature was the warmest it’s been since winter diminished. It was a glorious day to marry. Many of the wolves believed it was Fenrir himself, giving them his blessings.

Crowds of wolves had already gathered in the courtyard. It was a mixture of different packs from nearby lands that traveled far to see the descendant of Fenrir marry. The energetic Kaminari Clan, the strong Toshinari Clan, the mellow Aizawa Clan, the caring Ashido Clan, and more well-known packs were all here. And even though there were wolves who disagreed with who Katsuki was marrying in attendance, they respected his family line enough to be cordial. A wolf marrying a human hasn’t happened recently in modern times. In fact, in some packs, the hatred of humans was so severe that if caught having a relationship with one would lead to exile, hence becoming a lone wolf.

Regardless of their opinions, Katsuki was relieved that all seats were full. He was sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the stage, arms folded at his chest, while he waited for you to come out. He could see everyone’s faces from this height. His mother was sitting in the front row along with all the pack leaders and the Elders. The second row was family and friends—those who were close to him and you. He had to hold back his snarls when he saw Izuku next to Ochako. He hated that he came but it was what you wanted, and he wasn’t going to deny what you wanted on your wedding day. Surprisingly, the pack wasn’t so against having him here so at least his presence didn’t cause any problems.

Katsuki’s traditional garments were his usual but he was lathered in jewelry from necklaces to bangles. Black lines of paint from his forehead, over his eyes, to his chin and under. His left shoulder was red and swollen from the tattoo he received before dawn, an intricate silhouette design of Fenrir’s head surrounded by a border with rounded edges—a symbol that he’s a bonded member of his bloodline. And on top of his shoulders was the fur top of his red cape that draped the stage behind him dramatically.

To everyone, Katsuki looked like a powerful, stoic leader ready to be wed. But internally, Katsuki was nervous as any man on his wedding day. It was the feeling of butterflies in his stomach which he wouldn’t have been able to describe until this day. Katsuki of the Bakugo Clan, descendant of Fenrir, next in line for pack leader, had never been nervous before and he never thought he would ever be bombarded with these feelings because of a woman. Katsuki used to walk this earth untamed—no strong bonds that tethered him. He always expected to wed a random woman, probably forced to by the Elders because he was getting older and he needed to birth an heir. He never would’ve predicted that he would marry for love, nor did he desire to at that time.

But ever since he first saw you, there was a force that pulled him to you and he hasn’t been able to shake it off—not that he wanted to, of course—but it was a tether that connected you two, an unbreakable bond that would never sever even after death.

Katsuki looked up the moment he heard the drums slow to a steady beat. It could only mean one thing. You were coming out.

As if on cue, all the wolves turned their heads to look down the aisle.

Katsuki was quick on his feet, steady red eyes glued on you when he saw you standing at the end of the aisle. Oh, his heart fluttered wildly at the sight of you, palms clammy like fire had come from his fingertips. You were the moon to him, beautiful with a glow that had him staring for ages. Apparent, even in the darkest of surroundings. Full, in the shape of your hips in your mostly white dress where the hue changed to a fiery orange-red at the bottom—like fire lilies, like his eyes, his cape. At that moment, he questioned if you were real because he couldn’t believe such a woman like you would be by his side willingly.

When you started to slowly walk towards the stage, Katsuki made his way down the stage, almost slipping on the first step, and recovering ungraciously that it had you giggling—A warm tune that made his ears twitch in joy, heart palpitating, hands shaking. He didn’t care how clumsy he looked walking down those stairs. He wanted you in his arms already. Katsuki’s strides were wide and covered more ground than you. He ignored the hissed words of his mother telling him to slow down.

And when he met with you at the center of the aisle, he grabbed your arms and saw through the veil covering your face that you were smiling—widely, giggles leaving you like you were mad.

“What are you laughing about?” He growled, a playful smirk on his face. He saw that you were decorated with jewelry similar to his own on your ears, arms and wrists but your neck laid bare for his golden necklace to be put on.

“Hehe… you tripped.”

Katsuki sucked his teeth, pulled you closer, and pressed his forehead against yours. He breathed in your scent deeply and you hummed at the feeling of his warmth.

He grabbed you by your hand and together, the two of you walked back to the stage. He helped you sit on your cushion and as soon as Katsuki sat on his, the drums creased and Mitsuki stood up, turning to face the guests.

“Thank you everyone for being here. Today, we witness another bonding ceremony for a member of the Fenrir family line. I’m sure those of you who were old enough to remember my ceremony could recall the looks on Masaru’s and I’s face when we walked out of here bonded and how much blessings and love we received from everyone. I ask that you show that same love and respect to my son and his beloved on this day. Regardless of how we feel about humans, we will treat her like she’s one of us and after this day, she will be.” Mitsuki spoke loud to where all the wolves in the vicinity heard her, some of them sneered at her words but stayed quiet, others nodded, agreeing with her.

It was a divided crowd, but it was the least of Katsuki’s worries.

“Now we will begin the ceremony, once again, thank you everyone for being here.” Mitsuki sat back down and another person rose up, this time an older wolf wearing long robes and holding a large book in his hands that he flipped open when he kneeled in front of the stage, facing you and Bakugo. Around his wrists and hands were tiny bells that jingled the moment he slapped his hands together and in a loud voice he said, “O’Fenrir! Let us call upon you to bless this joyous day!” And he began to recite what was on the pages. He was the head priest of the pack. First, he would pray to Fenrir to accept and bless the marriage and then he would read from the scriptures in an old language long forgotten in the pack—only those training to be priest learn to read them.

But Katsuki didn’t care about any of that. Since he sat down, he’s been glancing at you—sometimes even staring at you. He was so used to seeing you in your regular clothes, bare faced or sometimes with light make up that you honestly looked like a different person in that dress. It was a different from when he saw you at the party last week. He wanted you in his bed because of how sexy you looked but this time, you looked like a pure beauty, delicate but not fragile. You held your head high and although the veil covered your face, he saw those strong eyes behind them—steady like a leader overseeing her people.

And when you finally caught him staring, the brightest smile he ever saw from you hit him like a branch in the forest. The flutters in his stomach grew at an all-time high, his cheeks turned a red hue, and his tail began to wag furiously. He couldn’t believe it. A single smile had reduced him to a teenage wolf again.

You didn’t expect Katsuki to reach out and hold your hand on your lap. It was strange to see him so happy (by the sight of how fast his tail was moving) but you were enjoying it. Your smile grew larger and with your other hand, you clasped it over his and caressed his fingers. This only made him happier as there were moments when his tail would thump against the stage and the sound echoed throughout the courtyard with the priest’s voice. You glanced at Mitsuki. You could tell she already wanted to tell him to calm down.

“Now I call upon the carriers to bring the necklaces to the descendant of Fenrir.” The priest kept his head low as he called for Minato and Mie who were already walking down the aisle with their short legs and hands heavy with the necklaces on top of cushions. Mina and Eijirou were smiling proudly as they watched them climb the stairs and kneel down on one knee to present them.

“Thanks, brats.” Katsuki ruffled both of their heads before setting down the cushions in front of him.

“With the necklaces arrival, we may begin the bond.”

The moment the loud booms of the drums returned, the faster your heart seemed to beat. Katsuki turned to completely face you and you did the same. He slowly reached for your veil and flipped it over your head like he’s been waiting to do that since he saw you. You heard some wolves gasped when your face was revealed, and you felt your cheeks warmed because you knew it had to do with how beautiful you looked. You even felt the light touch of Katsuki’s knuckles brush against your cheek because he couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect you looked. He needed to touch you to confirm your existence.

“Please repeat after me, Future leader. I, Katsuki of the Bakugo clan, will take this human to be my wife. With Fenrir’s blessing, I will do my duties as a husband, protect my wife and my family from anyone who might threaten them. Honor this bond through sickness and health and care for my bond whenever she may need me.”

Katsuki looked straight into your eyes, grabbed your hands and repeated the vows. You felt tears welling in your eyes as you listened to him.

“Now please repeat after me, ____. I, ____ of the human race, will take this wolf to be my husband. With Fenrir’s blessings, I will do my duties as a wife, protect my husband and my family from anyone who might threaten them. Honor this bond through sickness and health and care for my bond whenever he may need me.”

It was hard to repeat the vows because you were trying to hold back your hiccups. A single tear rolled down your cheeks and was quickly captured by Katsuki’s thumb. He smiled so softly—it was a look you rarely saw; his eyes glossy and he couldn’t hide those flushed cheeks, nor could he blame it on the warm weather.

Katsuki then picked up your golden necklace from the cushion, he felt the weight of his ancestry in his hands as he dressed it around your neck. With a click, he secured it on your neck and looked you over like a completed masterpiece.

Next was your turn as you reached for the other necklace that looked similar to yours but less decorative—still, it held the meaning of someone who was bonded. You hooked it around his neck and it stood out among all the necklaces there. He looked so handsome, like you finally found a piece to complete a puzzle.

The priest had raised both his hands in the air, praising Fenrir once again, before he closed his fists and then the drums creased with a final boom. His body dropped into a prostrate, both his forehead and nose touched the ground as his cloak drape around his body. You thought it was dramatic how he was acting but you knew the priests practically worshipped the Fenrir bloodline. They weren’t upset at Katsuki marrying a human because Fenrir did the same thing and as long as Fenrir did it, it was permissible to them.

“With Fenrir’s blessing and vows exchanged, I announce the ceremonial bond complete.” He spoke into the ground and then the wolves immediately broke into howls, noses high in the air, lips pursed as they celebrated your joining. Even Mie and Minato joined the howling with their tiny voices and jumped in place excitedly. Izuku joined in by applause, clapping awkwardly as he was startled by the sudden howls.

You were grinning at Katsuki, sight blurry with endless tears springing from your eyes. It was happy tears nonetheless, and you gazed upon your now husband that returned your grin with one of his own. You could tell he wanted to kiss you, but it was tradition that the bride and groom must not engage in anything intimate until the wedding night. You and Katsuki let go of each other and turned to face the crowd, smiling brightly as the wolves howled and cheered for your bond.

If you had told yourself months ago that you would meet a wolf, fall in love with him, and marry him, you wouldn’t have believed it. Becoming a wife and the second leader of a wolf pack, abandoning your own people to live with the wolf you love. You wondered if you made your parents roll in their graves with the decisions you’ve made. But at this point, you didn’t care. You were living life the way you wanted.

Katsuki’s such a brash, arrogant, and cocky wolf, all qualities that’s unlikable at first but after getting to know him—all that hardness, that coldness, was his exterior. Inside, he cared, loved, and helped in his own way, a Katsuki’s way, that you wouldn’t truly understand if you didn’t bother getting to know his true self. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. And yes, there were times when he was unbearable, and he would get on your nerves with his snide comments, but you learned that your love for him had overwhelmed the negatives. You gave up your life for him just as he risked his life for yours. You wanted to be with him, start a family with him, and live out your days with him. Today was only just the beginning.

With sacrifices and all, finally, you and Katsuki were bonded forever.

The ceremony after was one you would never forget. The wolves partied for hours. When evening reached, lanterns around the courtyard lit up around you as well as the ones behind you on stage. The wolves were continuously handing you and Katsuki wedding gifts on the stage that you accepted with a smile. Most of it was meat and handmade trinkets or jewelry. Mina gave you these beautiful beads that you thought was supposed to go around your neck, but she told you with a laugh that it was for your waist. And with a whisper in your ear, she told you to wear it for tonight. The heat rose to your cheeks and you gave a glance at Katsuki who was distracted by what Eijirou was telling him. Mina left you a wink before dragging Eijirou away. Next came Ochako and Izuku who earned a snarl from Katsuki.

“Ignore him,” you simply said but Izuku couldn’t help but cower under his glare. Ochako smiled uneasily probably because she was still thinking about what happened at the hot springs yesterday. But you moved to hold her hand and that gentle smile on your face had relieved her. It was too joyous of a day to keep the awkwardness between you and her.

Ochako then gave you a bottle of perfume made from flowers while Izuku pulled out a bouquet with a letter attached to it. He told you the letter was from Inko who he informed about your situation. You were grateful he did because out of everyone, you at least wanted Inko to know that you were alive and happy.

Many other wolves came to give you gifts as well, many that you didn’t know yet. Some of them were important clan leaders that congratulated you and Katsuki, neither friendly or rude, just acted in curtesy. Denki and Kyoka gave their gifts with Denki mentioning he couldn’t believe Katsuki found someone willing to be around him. Katsuki, of course, didn’t take that lightly. He banged his fist on the stage and told him to stop talking, growling through gritted teeth.

In between everyone visiting the stage, you and Katsuki took the time to look at each other. Unfortunately, you couldn’t show any intimacy yet, but you can tell from the look in Katsuki’s eyes that he couldn’t wait to have you all to himself. You could even hear his low growls from his chest the longer he stared at you. Love embedded in those red eyes, and of course, you didn’t miss the lust in them—a look you recognized since he kissed you on that tree many months ago.

Soon, Mitsuki came after Denki and Kyoka, interrupting the silent moment between you. She gave you a hug and expressed how happy she was for you. She then gave Katsuki one and as reluctant as he was to wrap his arms around her, he still awkwardly held her with his frown deepening. Their relationship was still sour, but you knew Mitsuki was proud of her son and supported him in everything he wanted to do. She was the first one to trust you because she trusted her son. In her eyes, he was still the young wolf that she raised to be the man he is now—stronger than all in the pack. She only wished Masaru lived long enough to see it.

“Your father would’ve been proud…” She whispered when she released him, her shaky hands still on his shoulders. Katsuki didn’t expect to see Mitsuki’s glossy eyes, but not a single tear fell because he knew she was holding it in. He couldn’t deny that his mother was strong. It was where he got his strength from.

The gifting went on, even after food was brought to you and Katsuki. Honestly, it was a little annoying because you wanted some alone time with Katsuki already. You couldn’t get a word in without someone coming to interrupt you. Weddings in the wolves’ culture was definitely different than human weddings. Majority of the time, you and Katsuki were sitting on the stage overlooking everyone while they converse and ate with each other. There was no dance between the wedded couple nor a cake to cut and smash the piece in Katsuki’s face. No father and daughter dance nor a mother and son one. Although, there was a dance performance that impressed you with their rhythm and ended with fire being blown from their lips. You gasped and grabbed Katsuki’s arm when the flames blew into the air. All Katsuki did was laugh at you and watched on.

Next, Kyoka sang a song for you two. You never knew she had such a beautiful voice. Even Denki looked mesmerized by his wife. Katsuki told you that Kyoka often sings to Denki before bed (Denki loves to brag about it which is why Katsuki knew).

After Kyoka was the belly dancers which was something you weren’t fond of. The men started howling and licking their lips as soon as the dancers rock their hips to front of the stage in revealing, flashy clothes. Their eyes on no one else but Katsuki. Of course. You huffed and crossed your arms. You really wanted to tell them off and show them Katsuki was your man. The dancers shook their hips side to side, creating a perfect arch that had most men wagging their tails. Honestly, you couldn’t move that way even if you tried and it was quite obvious that these women were trying to make you jealous on your wedding day.

You were taken by surprise when Katsuki’s hand moved over yours. Your angry eyes broke away from the dancing women and softened once they met with Katsuki’s. He leaned towards your ear and whispered something about one of the girls on the left being off sync and laughing about it. He wasn’t enticed by the women at all. His eyes only saw you.

The celebration stretched through the evening and the party would continue on without the newlyweds.

As you and Katsuki get ready to end the night, you’ll have a party of your own—privately, away from everyone, whisked away by pleasure. At least you hoped. You didn’t exactly know what to expect. You knew what went on between humans but how exactly did wolves have sex? You had to admit you were a little startled when Mitsuki and Momo told you about biting and scratching being an important part when you’re feeling good. Surprisingly, you weren’t afraid at all—definitely nervous, but not afraid. You knew Katsuki would treat you well and would go at your pace. You looked forward to spending some time alone with him, talking and cuddling by the fire in bed. Maybe sharing a kiss or two and feeling his palms massage your thigh and other places.

You held your hot cheeks, wanting to slap them to calm yourself down from your heated imagination. Gosh, it was really going to happen.

As Katsuki helped you down the stage, most wolves gathered near you two to say farewell and to wish you luck on your night. Katsuki ended up telling you that the women who helped dressed you for the wedding would help you get ready for the night and as if they were summoned, they surrounded the two of you, bowing before their bright smiles shone on their faces.

“I’ll see you soon,” Katsuki gave your hand a squeeze before you were dragged off.

The women acted fast in preparing you. They dressed you in a bra and underwear and a sheer garment-like dress draped around your figure in layers. Through the sheer, Mina’s beads were loosely hugging your hips and bangles dangling on your wrists matched the golden necklace on your neck. Natural perfume was sprayed on your inner thighs again just in case the smell worn off and soon they started giving you some tips and advice. Not that you asked but they taught you things about what wolf men normally did and liked done to them. You didn’t think scratching and biting would be such a big deal to them, but the women advocated that it was the best thing to do.

Once they were finished, they threw a heavy fur cloak over your body. They helped you travel off the mountain and into the forest. They led you another way that made you reach another part of the mountain you haven’t been to. At the base, there was a fairly large cave cavity with a heavy cloth hanging over the opening. You could tell the cave was already brightly lit by the glow that emulated through the fabric. This was probably the cave that you and Katsuki would stay in for the next couple of weeks.

The women bid you farewell far from the entrance. They said it was to not have their scent linger in the area any longer. You didn’t have the chance to ask them why it was a problem before they scattered away and left you alone.

You eyed the cave before you approached it, light on your feet and cautious. Although you didn’t know why, but you felt your anxiety rising. It was possible that Katsuki already arrived and was waiting for you inside. You shifted your cloak by the lapels nervously, feeling the night chill run through your spine. You were basically in your underwear under there and that urged you even more to go inside, especially as you felt the heat sneaking through the small cracks of the cloth, beckoning you to slip inside.

And so, with a deep breath, you listened.

The cloth fell behind you gently, and immediately you were drawn to glowing crimsons across the room. The hue so prominent behind the orange flames of the candles that your heart rattled as it so often did when in front of them. The heat from the makeshift fireplace was not the only thing making you warm, but the presence of your now husband, standing by it topless. Without a doubt, the shadows had contoured his muscles making them seem more profound and elevated that you wanted to feel them under your fingertips. There it was—that curiosity that sprang from you the moment his tongue had touch your leg many months ago. Finally, you will be able to indulge it.

#bnha #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #wau bnha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader

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stenbrozier · 4 years

Text

Mixed Emotions (Teen!Bill Denbrough x Reader + Teen!Richie Tozier x Reader)

“Henlo! I couldn't find your masterlist ): so I don't know if you already did something like this, but could I request a hc where Reader is split between Bill and Richie, totally lost and confused because feels like they love both? If you're okay with it of course” - @beauregard-s

Plot: You’ve known Bill and Richie since you were kids, running around in their backyards and playing with water guns. As you grow older, you grow closer to them and involuntarily start to notice how absolutely lovely they both are. You don’t wanna destroy any friendships, but you also don’t wanna suppress your feelings any longer.

Warnings: Slightly NSFW (making out, groping), implied smut, mentions of smoking weed + drinking, a n g s t + swearing

A/N: I ended up making this a fic cause I had trouble with the headcanons, but I hope you still like it ❤️ Aged up to 17!!

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Bill laughed loudly as Richie squirted you in the face with a water gun, causing you to drop yours and bring your hands immediately up to your face. You rubbed the water off of your face, trying to rub the sting out of your eye as well but not realizing you were making it worse until it hurt so bad you started to cry. Richie dropped his gun first, coming over to help you get whatever it was out of your eye.

“(Y/N/N), I’m sorry,” he said, his high pitched voice ringing in your ears as you tried to thrash and pull yourself away from him. “Bill, go get Mommy.” Bill ran through the backyard, banging on the glass sliding door before Mrs. Tozier appeared at it and wiping her hands on her apron. She opened the door, and Bill grabbed her hand, pulling her to where you were.

“Mommy,” Richie yelled loudly as he pointed at you, still crying and wiping your eyes. Mrs. Tozier ran right to your side, gently prying your hands away from your eyes as she saw the redness that took over your eye.

“Okay, Honey, can you blink?” she asked as you nodded, still blubbering as she softly blew into your eye. After a few minutes, you were able to blink without it stinging and your sniffling had stopped.

“Richie, you’re mean,” you mumbled as you pulled away from Mrs. Tozier going to sit next to Bill on the little porch swing they had. Mrs. Tozier has offered you and Bill to come over for a play date, and you guys usually loved being with one another and nothing and ever happened; however, Richie was being a bit of a “meanie”, as you would call it, and had shot you with a devilish grin on his face. His mom had him in time out, sitting on the stool at the corner of the porch while you cuddled up to Bill on the swing. You guys swung a bit, trying to sneak a conversation with Richie while his mom counted down the minutes of his punishment while she made you guys dinner.

Mrs. Tozier poked her head out of the glass door and curled her finger in a “come here” motion. She whispered something in his ear, patting his shoulder as she slipped back inside. Richie sprinted over the swing, hopping on it and causing it to rock back into the house, a smile dancing on his lips. He threw his arms around you as the swing swung back and forth, mumbling “I’m sorry” over and over again into your neck until you accepted his apology. You stayed snuggled up to Bill, and Richie wrapped himself around you. Bill’s stomach rumbled, and you giggled at the weird, moaning sound it emitted.

“You g-guys are my b-best friends,” Bill confessed after the fit of giggles that you set off. You smiled up at him, hugging him closer as you felt Richie reach his arms around to hug you both.

———————

You and Richie sat on that same porch swing, now 17, getting ready to live your last summer together before college. You had slept over the night before to avoid the inevitable chores your parents would’ve given to keep you away from the Losers, the friend group that had been growing ever since you were five. They didn’t like the most recent additions, addition being Bev and recent being about four years ago, and they only really liked the four original boys that you’d met through the playground and school. Bill, Richie, and you had known each other since diapers because of your moms meeting at the park while you were all playing. Stan and Eddie were the two you had acquired in kindergarten, noticing their reluctance to reach out. You decided to reach out to them, Bill and Richie tagging along and getting closer to them than you were.

However, making new friends had never separated the original trio. You and Richie were inseparable still, his outgoing personality a perfect match for yours. He had grown up a lot over the years, towering over you, and everyone, at 6’3 with skinny arms and legs. His face had thinned out and his chiseled cheek bones made every girl fawn over him, though none of them cared to admit it. None of them but you, that is.

You had developed a crush on him over the years. Truly, you think it’s more of you just finding him super hot and wanting to make out with him once or twice, but you still thought that there was some sort of attraction there. You knew that you wanted something with him, but you didn’t know what. You were pulled out of your thoughts with Bill sitting on your opposite side of the swing, throwing an arm around you and kissing the crown of your head. You looked up at him, his soft green eyes meeting yours.

Now, Bill was the one you knew you had a crush on. He had been your rock for so many years, had given you so much hope and love that you didn’t know what to do with it. When you were younger, you had always kinda liked Bill: the 5’7 boy with pretty green eyes and wispy brown hair that held you while you cried and let you stay over his house for weeks at a time. Everything with Bill was always so domestic feeling, while everything with Richie was fast paced and “live fast, die hard.”

You sat in between them both, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back as you basked in the soft breeze and low humidity. Suddenly, you heard the crash of the Tozier’s metal gate hitting the fence right next to and it jolted you out of your comfort. Bev and Eddie walked in first, Eddie mumbling to himself about the heat as he slathered on what looked, and smelt, like sunscreen.

“What the fuck,” Richie said loudly as he gestured towards the fence where Mike and Ben were walking in from. Ben closed the gate softly and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Where’s Stanny?” you asked, looking around confused as Eddie shrugged his shoulders. From beside you, Bill began to speak.

“S-stan said he’d be a b-b-bit late. H-his dad nee-needed him to r-run some err-errands.” Everyone nodded, taking their seats on the wooden porch as you scooted closer to Bill so Eddie could squeeze in next to Richie. Richie looked over at Eddie with a look of adoration, and you stifled a laugh. Of course Richie loved Eddie and not you. It might’ve made your heart sink a little in your chest, but it was easier for you to now decide who to go after.

Or so you thought.

That night, after drinking and getting high in Richie’s backyard while his parents were away, you couldn’t stop thinking about his dark, curly hair or Bill’s nonstop attention on you. You had slept over Richie’s again, not wanting your parents to see you so inebriated. Richie was still wearing off the effects of his high, cuddling up to your side as a movie played on the VCR that his parents had in the living room. He was rambling on about how pretty everyone had looked today.

“Did you see Eds’ hair?” he asked incredulously. “It was so blonde today. Maybe it was the sun, but...” He snuggled closer to you, his head finding it’s way into the crook of your neck. Your heart raced at how close he was. Yeah, you guys had cuddled before, but this just felt different. You were about to reach out and grab his hand, but then soft snoring filled your ears.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, feeling his hands move to splay over your hip and pull you closer. You were in deep, for the both of them.

——————

The loud party music from inside the house made you whine as you cuddled into Richie’s side, one of his arms around you and the other around Eddie. Richie looked down to you at the small noise, rubbing your shoulder and covering your other ear as he realized you were sensitive to the sound.

“Richieee,” you whined loudly as you clawed at his chest. “Take me home.” You gave him puppy dog eyes as he shook his head, making you pout in despair.

“I can’t just take you home,” he said softly into your ear, leaving a kiss on your temple before continuing to talk. “Eds and Bill need a ride home, too, and only Mike and I have cars.”

You looked over to where your tipsy mind last remembered seeing Mike, and he was still over there, watching over the very drunk Stan and Bev, both of which who were screaming along to the music. Bill was with them before noticing you looking in that direction, and he staggered over to you. He sat down next to you, pulling you from Richie’s grasp and holding you in his lap. Your arms went around his waist, and you stuck your head into his neck.

“Y-you tired, (Y-Y-Y/N)?” he asked softly, seeming almost sober. He hadn’t had anything to drink that night, but he did have a joint or two and his eyes were a pinkish color. “We sh-should get R-Rich to take us ho-ho-home.”

“I already tried,” you said with a bite in your voice, sighing as you snuggled into him. “He’s just being an asshole.”

“L-let’s walk h-home,” he said softly, standing up before leaning down, motioning toward his back. You shook your head ‘no’, Bill’s face falling slightly at your rejection. “O-okay, then. Y-you just g-gonna wait for R-Richie?”

“Yeah, I was gonna sleep over again,” you mumbled softly, sighing when you looked into his sad green eyes. “My parents can’t see me like this.”

“Y-yeah, I-I guess th-they c-c-can’t,” Bill answered, giving you a tiny wave before going around to the Losers and saying his goodbyes. Your eyes met his again as he walked out the side gate of the yard, slamming it behind him as his shoulders slumped. Richie tapped your shoulder, opening his arm and letting you snuggle into his side. Eddie has run off to dance with Bev and Stan, and you snickered at him tripping over his own feet.

“Why’d Bill leave?” Richie asked you, looking down at you before running his hand over the top of your head and kissing your forehead gently.

“He said that he wanted to leave,” you said back, leaning up into the kiss, the slight upward movement with you head cause your brain to feel like it sloshed around in your skull. You groaned, cuddling into Richie again as he sighed.

“I’ll go get Eddie.” He squeezed your waist before standing up and walking over to a stumbling Eddie. Stan and Bev came running up to him with Eddie, Stan fussing with the collar of Richie’s shirt. A few minutes later, Eddie was trailing behind Richie with a pout on his face and a hand on Richie’s shoulder, steadying himself. Richie picked you up by the waist, holding his arm there until he could get you to the car. You weren’t completely drunk anymore, the three or four beers had started to wear off, but you were still a little high from the joint or two that Bill had smoked near you and blew into your face.

“Rich?” you mumbled as he got into the car, checking the backseat to make sure Eddie was okay while you sat next to him in the passenger’s seat. He hummed, looking back at you with a tiny smile on his face. “Can I sleep with you in your bed tonight instead of on the couch? So we can cuddle?” He chuckled lightly, nodding his head and placing a hand on your thigh to gently squeeze it.

“Of course, doll,” he answered back softly, pulling away and starting the car. He drive to Eddie’s first. His mom was away for the week so that meant he could let loose a little and not worry about consequences.

“Bye Eds,” you said with a soft smile, Richie helping him inside. You could see Eddie’s bedroom light turn on, and you knew that Richie was helping him get ready for bed in a calm manner. You knew Richie wouldn’t have left him there by himself because of how caring and loving he was towards his friends, but Eddie didn’t like sleeping at other people’s houses besides Bill’s. You sat and watched the lights in the house turn on and off as Richie went into a left other rooms, probably getting Eddie water and Aspirin for the morning. A few moments later, all the lights shut off, and the front door opened, Richie’s lanky body walking out of it with a bit of a tired limp. He came into the car, sighing and sitting down in the driver’s seat.

“He’s tiring when he’s drunk,” Richie said with an exaggerated sigh, looking over at you with a smile on his face. You smiled back, noticing the glimmer in his eye when you did. He traced his eyes over your body quickly, not caring that you knew he was doing it. He sighed heavily, turning around in his seat and starting the car back up, putting his hand on your thigh and squeezing. You cleared your throat, looking down at his hand.

“R-Richie-“ He cut you off with a chuckle.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said softly, turning the corner onto his street. “The cuddling, the eyes. It might not mean more than just you think I’m attractive, which is fine, but-“

“Richie, I have a crush on Bill,” you blurted out, watching the way his face went from confident to skeptical as he pulled up the front of his house.

“Well you’re staying the night,” he started, taking his hand from your thigh as you both got out. He came around to your side of the car, caging you in against it as you looked at him with wide eyes. Richie’s face was inches from yours, and he raised his eyebrows. “Can...can I-“

You didn’t give him the chance to finish before you leaned up and planted your lips onto his hungrily, the only illumination being the streetlight across the street that was flickering on and off incessantly.

“Inside?” you mumbled against his lips. He nodded, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands was kneading your ass, the other fishing for his house key since his parents were away visit Went’s parents for the weekend. He unlocked the door with you still in his arms, slamming it shut and running up the stairs before you even realized you were inside. Richie threw you on his bed, slipping off your shoes aggressively as he pushed his off.

“Mm, you’re so pretty like this,” Richie mumbled as he climbed on top of you, kissing your neck gently as he messed with the bit of your bra strap that was peeking out of your shirt. He hungrily kisses your lips as he reached under your shirt to undo your bra, earning a moan from you. He decided to pull off your shirt first, smiling at you as you sat up and raised your arms above your head. He admired for you for what felt like hours, eyes tracing down your body as he smiled gently.

“You gonna get me naked and fuck me, Tozier?” you teased, brining one of your hands up to softly run against his chest.

“You...you have a crush on Bill, though. I should...I should-“

“Don’t stop,” you begged loudly, tightening your legs around his hips. “I want you right now. Please?” Your puppy dog eyes had Richie melting immediately. He growled, ripping off his shirt before working on getting you naked, the whole time trailing kisses down your body, worshipping you.

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time, looking deep into your eyes as he massaged his hand over your side.

“Yes, Rich,” you begged, writhing underneath him. “Please.” He dove into your lips, kissing them and nipping at them, his hands roaming as you arched into his touch.

——————

You woke up to a soft creaking, and you felt arms tighten around you right after it. You looked up to see the underside of Richie’s face, his jaw clenching at the same sound that had awoken her.

“Rich, are you-“ Bev’s voice rang through the room and stopped abruptly, noticing you in bed with him. You jolted upright, wrapping the comforter further around you as Richie groaned at your sudden movement and Bev’s voice.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he said groggily, his arm still around your waist as he sat up with you. “Get out so we can get dressed.”

“W-we?” Bill asked as he barged into the room. His face dropped into a scowl when he saw you there, and he mumbled something to himself before walking out of the room. His pounding footsteps could be heard going down the staircase and out the front door.

“Can...can you guys wait for us outside?” you meekly asked, rubbing your hands over your face as you heard the retreating footsteps. “Richie, I fucking told you we shouldn’t have done this.”

“Babe, you weren’t complaining,” he says with a cocky tone. “Besides, it’s not like you’re dating Bill.”

You leaped out of his bed at that, grabbing your jeans and underwear off the floor and sliding them on. You searched for you shirt angrily, not being able to find it, so you went into his drawers and pulled out one. You threw it on, tying it up in the back since it was a little long. He came up behind you, softly placing his hand on your shoulder before you jerked away.

“I have a crush on Bill,” you said with a bit of bite in your voice. “Not you, Richie. Bill. And I can’t believe I slept with you!”

“(Y/N), you wanted-“ Richie’s voice was calm and collected, the complete opposite of your abrasive and loud voice.

“I fucking know I wanted it, asshole,” you screamed. “But I want Bill. I want everything with Bill. I’m sorry if you have feelings for me, but they’re not reciprocated.”

You grabbed your shoes from for the floor, slipping them on before you marched out of Richie’s house angrily, passing all of the Losers. Bill sat on the curb outside the house, and he gave you a sad look as you passed him.

“Wh-where are you g-going?” he asked confused, gesturing towards the others.

“Home,” you yelled back. “I’ll see you guys later.” You felt Bill’s eyes on the back of your neck as you walked away. The sound of Richie’s front door slamming made you look back again. You saw him run his hand through his hair as he searched for you, but by the time he had looked over to where you were walking, you had turned onto the next block.

#bill denbrough smut #bill denbrough headcanons #bill denbrough x reader #richie tozier smut #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier headcanons #mike hanlon x reader #beverly marsh x reader #ben hanscom x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #stanley uris x reader #it chapter one imagines #it chapter two imagines #masterlist

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