#i just seem to secretly love indigo

[bethfuller]

thousands of years apart, ships are burning

find me on instagram!

#i didn't even mean to give these the same colour scheme #i just seem to secretly love indigo #illustration #drawing #artists on tumblr #my art #bump #digital art #art #digital illustration #sketch #bethfuller #artwork #digital painting #original art

[shroomiewrites]

If your love burns, dear, set me ablaze || Simon Riley x Reader

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader || 2.5k words || SFW ||

Warnings/tags: Gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort, mentions of animal gore, non-canon backstory, fluff, sprinkle of angst.

Song recommendation: Indigo Night | Tamino

Synopsis: “They asked "do you love her to death?” I said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me to life.” | Mahmoud Darwish

It took Simon Riley 17 days to touch you. 

Not touch in an intimate, sexual way. Touch as in a graze, a brush of the fingertips. Touch as in an even accidental bump or gentle meet of shoulder blades when you sit too close to someone in the train. Touch as in the way his knuckles feathered your hand when he handed you your drink on a night out with friends a few weeks and meetings of your friendly circle after you first met.

It had been surprising to you how a man like him even had any friends in the first place and even more that said friends also happened to be friends of yours, but Manchester could be small and funny like that, you thought. He made a strong first impression on you, never introduced himself, in fact, he almost never talked, not loud enough at least. Not in the way that people who want to be heard spoke, it was always a rather fatigued mutter, voice brittled and seemingly unbothered and unamused by everything around him. His eyes always felt sharp and alert but also… never there. He existed in a plane of his own, haunting conversations and people he didn’t seem to enjoy, like a ghost.

Ghost.

That’s what they called him, he told you one of the first few times you tried some small talk, embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you laughed before realizing that. Oh God. He's not joking. He didn’t seem affected by it, but then again, he never seemed affected by anything at all. Not the way your friends always talked a bit too much, laughed a little too loud, got a tad too drunk and touched him way too much. He never complained tho, no one could even tell he was bothered by it unless they noticed the slight twitch of his eyes in annoyance as they slapped his shoulder, howling at something he didn’t find remotely funny. You found yourself amused by watching him, like experiencing first hand a cat in the middle of a bunch of golden retrievers. He seemed to notice the way you stared at him for a little too long for it to be just a coincidence. But he never said anything, amused by it too.

Simon, he said his name was one time. You realized how no one ever spoke his name. You thought maybe it pissed him off, but no, not many things pissed him off. He was a surprisingly easy person to be around, not easily ticked off by the stupid jokes or the chaotic antics of your fellow companions. He was a bit skittish and straightforward when he did speak, an acid tint to his sarcastic jokes and monotone timbre. It was actually charming. To your own twisted mind at least. He was also a great listener, another charm of his you noted. He heard you talk for minutes to hours on end, without ever making you feel like you were rambling too much or boring him to death, eyes focused on yours throughout the entirety of whatever gossip or story you felt like he should hear. He secretly enjoyed it a bit too much. Looking forward to your next encounters so he could hear a follow up of something stupid that was happening to someone’s cousin, just to hear your dramatic pauses and mocking interpretations of someone’s voice. He made sure to keep tabs on the names and events, because you always started with a ‘Do you remember-” and he relished the little gleam in your eyes when he repeated back what you told him when you last saw each other with astounding accuracy. 

On the good days, he’d gift you a story of his own. A little tale of his time in the military, sometimes about an operation or mission that he got assigned. Never too many details, just the gist and a little highlight, and you didn’t pry, feeling grateful enough that he felt comfortable to share anything at all. That, and the mysterious aura of his person actually suited the if-I-told-you-I’d-have-to-kill-you way he shared his own experiences with you. You collected them like pieces of the puzzle that made up Simon Riley, celebrating mentally when two distinct strands of information he gave you allowed you to pierce together a slightly fuller picture of who he was, what he liked and what he didn’t. 

He started going back to Manchester often after you two met. He didn’t have much else to go, frankly. His job was his life and when he wasn’t deployed, he felt quite lost in his own head, like it was unknown terrain that he didn’t have coordinates for or a clear strategy. His social life was an even bigger mess, a battlefield is easier to navigate than everyday life. When he was on duty people were blue or red, with him or against. But things got confusing once he didn’t wear a vest anymore and suddenly they were yellow, green, purple… The easy way out? Never strive for more than company. It’s what his body needed, the bare minimum of human connection required for the average person to somewhat function. At least that’s what he told himself. 

His friends – your friends – were people he could tolerate being around and that on rare occasions got a chuckle out of him. But they didn’t mind the mask or that he pretty much only spoke when spoken to. People tend to be a lot easier on those who underperform to their standards, not trying to steal away their spotlight. So he made a social life out of it, walking the noisy streets of his city and drinking bourbon in whatever bar the people he hung out with dragged him into. 

Until you.

You see, when Simon was a kid he found a cat once. Bone thin and wounded. It took a liking to him, to his bruised little hands and puppy eyes that watched the things around him curious and woefully. He found a semblance of comfort in petting the cat, letting it sit on his lap as it purred gently, basking in his warmth. He fed it for a while, gave it food and water as much as he could, given his own difficult circumstances. He watched it regain its strength ever-so-slightly, but even then, he never took it in. Never considered it a friend. Never even gave it a name. It was just a stray cat and he had time and patience, despite the world constantly giving him reasons not to have. Some time later he noticed the food and water were left untouched. Insects crawled on the makeshift bowl he had made out of discarded paper plates and empty tins. He didn’t go after it. Wasn’t his, never was. A few days later he found it on the street near the curb, mashed into the concrete, thick marks of wheels on top of it’s small body, crushed it to death, probably. A weird pang in his chest made him stumble back, the foul smell of rotting flesh filling his nostrils and no matter how long he washed his face after it never left his nose completely, constantly mocking him with the inevitable fate of every living being in existence had to face – the putrid reality of death. The sight before him that day ingrained itself into his young brain, creating roots around his mind and making sure he never forgot it. He couldn’t understand why it hurt that much, why things had to be that way and if he could have done things differently.

It was only years later, after a lot more experience and pain in his life that he finally understood the lesson he was taught that day. That you never start something you’re not ready to finish. He lived by that, built his career on it, his reputation. An operation with his name on it meant an operation carried out, clean, no loose ends. He guaranteed it. The mantra was easy to apply, easy to repeat, gave him comfort and helped him pick his battles right. Never bite more than he could chew, keep his feet on the ground. He repeated it everyday and it helped him improve, strive for more. Not that he was a perfectionist, no. He saw himself as more of a… highly dedicated individual. Committed to the results and the results alone.

He knew something was wrong with him when his mind wandered off to you in the middle of a briefing, or when he laid down in base, staring at the ceiling of his room. He thought about what you were probably doing, if you had any more stories to tell him. He found himself anxious to tell you stories. As he snipped down enemies and dropped down to knife others, a fleeting thought of “I have to tell her about this” made him stop dead in his tracks and physically shake off the alarm sirens that rang in his mind. Everything about you made his brain scream danger. Made him want to run away and close off. And yet, he found himself going back to Manchester, to you. Every. Single. Time.

When his gaze darted down to your reddish lips as you laughed at something he said, while he walked you home after a night out with your friends, and his hands softly brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, breath hitching as you melted into his touch, pressing your cheek further into his palm as you looked at him, fuck, so yearningly he nearly passed out, when you raised your small hands to his cheeks, a surgical black mask covering the bottom half of his face, and you batted your eyelashes at him in permission and he didn’t stop you as you pulled it to his nose and brought his lips to him in a kiss so tender and careful he felt sinless for a moment, that’s when he knew he was beyond the point of no return. 

You attached yourself to his life so seamlessly, so readily, he nearly missed it. He felt like you had always been there. In the early mornings when he woke up from nightmares or plagued by insomnia and he just watched you sleep soundly next to him, not a single wrinkle on your heavenly face as your dreams probably never ended up with you dead. In the afternoon when you danced around the house in only one of his t-shirts, practically a dress to you, and sang loudly, a big smile on your face when you noticed him watching you lovingly from the doorframe, pulling him to your living room as you urged him to join you, laughing at how he pretended to be annoyed at your antics, but he could barely hide the grin that filled his expression whenever you giggled around him, the sound being enough to wash away any worry out of his system and put him at ease. Simon felt his heart burst in euphoria whenever you as much as glanced at him, each touch lighting a fire in him that made him believe in a God just so he could pray for more of you. 

When Simon told you about the cat you cried. Sobbed into his shoulder until you felt dizzy. Not because of the cat itself, although that got into your feelings, but because he’d made a lesson out of it. Punished himself so deeply about something out of his control, had convinced himself so hard that it was his fault, couldn’t stand the guilt that ate him away from losing something that was precious to him when he was far too young to understand what it meant. It physically made your heart ache. The way he shaped his life around it, building walls upon walls until nothing could get in and he couldn’t get out, because it’s easy to avoid the fear of loss when you make it so you don’t have anything to lose. But he failed to realize that it also meant nothing to live for. How he made his life’s purpose to never fail again, beating himself up everytime it inevitably happened. 

His motto hadn't come from a place of efficiency, of a duty well carried. It came from hurt. From the desperation of having so much love to give and nothing to put it into. But he didn’t realize it. Not until you showed him. Not until he saw how you wore your heart on your sleeve, how you poured yourself into every single thing that you did. How everytime you kissed him you had starstruck eyes and a light scarlet tint to your cheeks. How when you made toast you took the time to rotate the pieces of bread slightly in the toaster so the grill marks would make a checkered pattern, simply because it brought you joy. How you always chose to buy the mugs that were chipped or slightly broken, because you said you’d be upset if no one wanted you just because you were slightly imperfect.

God, how far off were you.

To Simon you were perfect. From the tip of your toes to the last strand of hair on your head, to the brightest of your smiles and ugliest of cries when you had to bid him goodbye for another few months. He thought of you every single day, every second possible. He knew that if he lost you, it’d crush him. Irreparably so. Would tear him into pieces until he was just a shell of a man. And yet, he stayed. Dug his grave deeper with every kiss, every hug, every intimate moment you shared together as he felt you clench around him and could swear that he was in paradise. Because it was worth it. He learned that his previous mantra was slightly off, and fixed it into a new one. 

You don’t start things you wouldn’t risk yourself for. 

So he went out and did his job, because protecting people, his teammates, was worth the risk. And he went back to you, tired and sore, but he let you jump on him and squeeze him tightly, let you remove his mask with your delicate fingers, a sigh of relief escaping your lips every time before you got on your tippy toes to press your mouth into his. And he reveled in it. He let you see his face, his body, his soul. He let you see everything of him, the good and the bad. Ask whatever you want to know, take everything from him. He’d rip his heart right out his chest if you begged him once. Because he loved you. Painstakingly, deeply, with enough force to move mountains and start wars, and enough care to sweep the debris and tend to the wounded. Because, by God, loving you was worth the risk. 

For your anniversary you got him a cat. It was the first time you saw him weep. Truly weep. Tears staining his face as his bloodshot eyes rained down on to the carpet, broken whimpers falling from his trembling lips as he sunk to the ground in front of the brightly colored open box. You thought he didn’t want it, that maybe it was too much, too soon. But he assured you it was okay. That it was worth the risk. 

He named her after you.

A/N: This story has been stuck in my head for a few days now, as I often find myself lost in my thoughts, imagining how a man like Simon might love. Frankly, I like to think it'd be like this. Too deeply for his own good, but, personally, I think that's the best way.

Constructive criticism and feedback are always more than welcome! I hope you enjoyed reading~

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #hurt/comfort #fanfic #fluff #angst

[mtchacffinz]

HI LOVE I

I stumbled upon ur blog and ahh love ur writting i wad thinking maybe if ur requests are open that u could write a lil smth IF UR FREE OFC

I was thinking scaramouche x reader argument (angst to fluff :the ansgt shouldnt be brutal bc i dont handle it well heh)

Or if ur not comfy writting that u could doo

Scaramouche x reader scara accidentally confesses to reader??

Dont overwork urself and remember to eat <3

I did both.

hello my lovely! I'm nicknaming you plasmasia if that's okay? i will always indulge in Scaramouche omg. Here you go darliinggg (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) ♡

Since I'm not sure which Scaramouche you might have wanted, I'm going w/ Fatui Scara 🍰

cw. hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, scara is not good with communication, enclosed space (storage locker), accidental confession, perhaps mutual pining..

Scaramouche's face was grim, his eyes of dark indigo fainted with light displeasure; eyes averting your piercing ones. His arms caged your figure— grimacing cause he seemingly has no choice.

You can feel his heart beat as your arms lay on his chest. Damnit, this locker's so small it could barely fit you both. Your faces are a hairs breath away from each other.

That wasn't the only thing lying your displeasures. Currently— you're faced with his stupid face as if he just didn't tell you to go screw yourself hours ago. Knowing the Balladeer's antics and his rubber mouth; seemingly never knowing when to stop he knows he's deeply hurt your feelings when you just stood up and pretended he never existed.

Despite your face embodying an indifferent expression, relaxed and composed— he can see it from the slight quiver of your lips whenever you find his prying eyes gazing at you.

As for him, he doesn't know his eyes betray him. A lot.

There was a seemingly eternity of tension until one of you finally decides to break the ice.

"What are you doing here? Here in a place where you shouldn't even be." You ask, as if demanding an answer. A voice you use when in duty, a voice of command. Scaramouche clicks his tongue embodying the same.

"Quit phrasing it like I wandered here. I'm here for the same reason as you except here to do a better job." Scaramouche did in fact, wander there; lying through his teeth. There was yet again a moment of silence wherein nothing was exchanged. Only the quiet breathing and waiting of time to pass by, letting the ruckus outside the warehouse to die down— the suspicious workers scrambling to settle down, and lastly, to calm their heads and keep high level of integrity.

Yet strangely, it was as if none of it mattered here. It was as if it's only the two of you right at this moment. Secretly indulging yourself with the rhythmic breathing on his chest whilst he resist the urge in wrapping his arms around you never daring to let go.

Yet none of you will speak of it, as your pride's as high as the sky. But like the sky, it changes shape.

You were taken by surprise when you felt slender fingers tucking stray strands to your ear. Scaramouche quickly resumed his arms to caging you, refusing to make contact with you once again; but his voice rang moments after— as gentle as the breeze— barely above a whisper.

"Look at me." He was still a bit arrogant, so you decided to push him a little farther.

"And what if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll make you."

"And what if you can't?"

"Then I'll make you." his hand tugged your face to turn to his direction. To your surprise, your body complied with little to no effort. His face hinted ghost of forlorn, marking one of the reasons why you can't avert your eyes.

You only gazed at his frame for quite a while. The Balladeer returns your sight with the same focused look, not backing down. Inevitably— it doesn't seem like you're looking away soon so he decides to pull a small trick.

He blows on your face. Harshly. You yelp in surprise.

"Absolutely inane!"

He sticks his tongue out in response, now both holding up your frame in his hands. As if he's holding the world, he holds it firmly. He murmurs something that you couldn't quite catch.

Stupid, you're stupid, stupid, stupid..

He keeps repeating it like a matra, each word he taps your scrunched nose, stressed.

"It hurts to like someone stupid."

It hadn't quite sunk into you yet, but you rebut his statement as quick as you can due to frustration.

"Who are you calling stupid?!"

"I'm calling you stupid so you can get it can get through that thick skull of yours. Self awareness is the key to self improvement, you know?"

"Maybe if you held me a little longer I would lose my mind, you know?" you said it with so much confidence, and it suddenly dawned upon you— quickly correcting yourself. "I meant, were you aware if you keep blowing my fair face I would die? Die as in, 'cause you're bad at whatever this is and—"

Another round of blowing hit your face; you were beyond fuming.

"Are you a child!? Let go of me this instant, we're getting out of here. Outside, now!"

Scaramouche's hands were still in your cheeks, firmly grasping them like iron. He only looked at your rambling figure with a sole thought in mind.

It's so hard to like a stupid, sulky idiot.

nothing like a little fluff before i hit the hay. thank you for the kind reminders plasmasia ❤️ hope all of you would stay hydrated and eat well as well (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche

[coolbeansbuddyofmine]

i once believed love would be black n' white (but it's golden)

five times mun-yeong wished to see colour in her life and once she did (or the one where mun-yeong can only see the colors in 4K resolution when gang-tae is around her, and without him, life is muted)

a fic for kdrama secret santa 2022; for @rabonghee

read it on ao3 here!

im also very sorry this is late. a combination of sickness, travel and family stuff had left me busy last week. i do hope you enjoy, nonetheless, especially @rabonghee

a happy belated christmas and new year to you and your loved ones!

i’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night

1. mun yeong’s never had friends before. the boy with the flower at her gate is the first who’s ever come up to approach her and she’s more confused than anything else. everything around her, the world moves so slowly (dreadfully so) in some stupid 20s monochrome film. 

it’s all boring and predictable and even at six, mun yeong knows that life’s not supposed to be like this.

in the books she hides from her mother, read secretly under her covers at night with a soft night light, she knows life can be and have so much more meaning and depth and colour to it than whatever her mother says.

for her few years of life, she’s believed her mother’s every word religiously, hanging on to it as if the word of god herself. her mother is? was? her god, but now, the former believer has committed sacrilege.

free thought has never felt more constraining.

the boy is like a fresh wind of indigo in her imposing house of stark greys and blacks. for her, who’s never seen colour, nor the blinding indigo in a rainbow, he’s her gateway drug.

she wants to pull him to her, magnetised by the beautiful blue hues.

---

he leaves, and she finds herself living in greyscale again.

the things that haunt me in the middle of the night

2. ju ri is kind and loud. mun yeong who would like to be an artist, if she had any talent at it, would paint her a loud and vibrant red; something vermillion or crimson, whatever would describe that prick of a paper cut that first stains it. she could be that crimson, that fresh blood, and she probably is. mun yeong’s eyes are aching and tired, and it filters the world around her, blunting all its edges. 

ju ri is fun, but even she, in the predictability of seongjin city and its coastline, remains predictable. in a world of rectangles and squares, both she and mun yeong are the same; she’s loud in her fury where mun yeong is cold and quiet, that is the only difference. 

the daughters of seongjin are all born angry, it seems.

that boy, mun yeong wonders, is probably a circle. she’s attracted to all those unlike her: that butterfly for one. does fury run in his blood? she wonders. is he a child of seongjin like her? or is a desperate wanderer, a nomad with no grounds to put down, a home that moves around with their people, like her?

does he want to find a home? or has he found it?

even years later, her mind still wanders to the boy who sharpened her edges to show her the most blinding of colors. something blinding in a gradient of darkness, does he pull others into him like he did for her?

is he a star to guide her or a blackhole waiting to devour her?

---

when she kisses ju ri, she wants to see another dazzling color.

she’s disappointed and leaves.

(it’s what she’s good at, after all. leaving just when the relationship was going to inevitably end; it’s called self-preservation, she has to save herself first before the momentum becomes too much and crashes)

luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

3. 

her college boyfriend thinks he’s won. she’s amongst the prettiest women on campus and she knows it: she’s his prize. among the many toys he takes, she’s his one and only trophy. all golden and gilded and glittery surface, hollow and black inside. he plays with her like a toddler with a precious toy; careless and sometimes it hurts. 

but she’s used to falling and bumping and bending. trophies don’t break anyway, he can’t break her because he can’t fix her. or replace her.

all bark and bite, that’s how he likes her. says it makes the sex more fun, and she wants to jeer in his face. her contrarian nature is good for him as long as he wants to roleplay, and beyond it, she’s just a bitch.

(of course she knows of the things he says of her behind her back to his friends. he’s an average steady fuck, so she doesn’t want to quite let go yet.)

when she kisses him, she likes to pretend he’s that boy standing at her gates with a flower. she admires the great bit of courage that boy had picked up to come to her haunted house of a home in all his childish innocence and fears. oppa isn’t brave like him. no, like all good women before she had to bait him and reel him in.

college dating teaches many a great deal about fishing. she would be a pro at it, if she could tolerate amputating and gutting that worm (it feels too alive and her breath catches in anxiety). it’s taught her patience (she barely has some; waiting is for the strong and brave of heart, and she’s far too cowardly to face daunting time).

she doesn’t want to. she tries not to. but inevitably, unfortunately, she tires of oppa sooner than he tires of her. it’s easier to let men leave her, and pretend as if they’ve walked away with breaking her heart (it does things for their ego, and later at night, when they sleep with another, the guilt makes for excellent sex). 

she could scoff. none of her suitors have broken her heart---they’d have to own it in the first place. you can’t break what’s not your own. 

she walks away from the flames and burning embers, as oppa rapidly tries to fan them in vain. she’s not coming back.

it’s a shame she really did like him.

---

she kisses him once again at a party before he graduates. it’s just before he gets piss drunk, and a test for her to see whether any of the remnants of feelings remain.

her heart feels as heavy as steel and yet she’s hollow through and through. within her, her heart is as dense as it is empty, something paradox.

there are so many lines i’ve crossed unforgiven

4. becoming a children’s fiction writer, it’s something she couldn’t even have fathomed in her dreams. she doesn’t think her fiction is for children, even now. it’s based off her own childhood for starters, and that’s appropriate for no child ever. perhaps it is the fantastical elements, the downright grimm-brothers-and-hans-christian-anderson tale that has been her life. like attracts the like, and she’s always thought of life as something a little mystical, unreal even.

something like a long dream she longs to wake up from. 

if everyone that was in her life could see her now. they’d laugh. ko mun yeong? a children’s book author? you must be joking. she hates children.

they’d be right too. she hates children---freud says daughters are a reflection of mother. she’d always thought that lunatic had some truth to his words despite his delusional works most of the times. she is her mother, and all she remembers from that woman is coldness and detachment and her child-like nature to constantly want to please the unhappy, un-pleasable woman. 

(if children got close to her, maybe they’d realize the same and she’d break them. she keeps away for them and herself).

---

she thinks of that boy at her gates. was he as naive and innocent as her? as the other children? would she have broken him then or now?

she’d hate herself more than she does now, more than she can fathom if she had broken him. she’s fine with everyone in the world hating her, but that small part of her traitorous ten-year-old heart still doesn’t want him to ever hate her. not with how much she likes him. still.

---

“was the witch lonely?” a little girl asks her once. her newest book is out, something about the tale of a witch who gobbled children up who came to her door. a little boy spots her eating a child once, her favorite little boy, and he stops at her gates before running away.

the witch never sees him again.

she blinks, and little pinpricks of tears are at the back of her eyes. she wills them not to fall because she’s helen and if she cries, troy will fall. she’s self-sacrificing.

“no, she was bad. a bad bad person. bad people don’t get lonely. they get their come-uppance and have to live with the guilt of their actions, the weight of it, and the people that leave them.” 

she answers it all in one short breath, before smiling and walking away.

---

“people aren’t always bad. they can change.”

not her.

clearing the air, i breathed the smoke

5.

her life has been on auto-pilot. after a certain level of fame, it all started getting a bit too monotonous for her. when the only constant in your life, your only friend is your goddamn publisher, you know it’s getting a little sad. 

she has more than she knows how to spend, and this job is more of a hobby, playing adult, than doing something for actual money. 

life’s too boring, and she aches for just something different. it’s times like this when she thinks of the boy. how unexpectedly delightful he was. a breath of fresh wind in her cooped-up house, something new, something unexpected.

maybe she just misses him. after all, it’s been twenty years now since she saw him last.

the boy...if she could have one wish, one last wish and demand and plea in her life, she’d like to him see him again maybe.

get entranced. transfixed. enchanted again.

(maybe this what people call burnout? boredom? is this what weber meant when he talked about the bureaucracy and disenchantment with life?)

---

sang in suggests she do charity, philantrophy. some of that corporate csr bullshit she’s not on, but he clearly babbles about day and night.

something about building her image.

as if good deeds now will redeem her and save her now. she’s far too gone to be recovered. it’s the gates of hell for her only.

it’s golden like daylight

and once,

1. spring brings back her love to her. they say love is like the tide of the four seasons, it fades in the cold of winter, but as the warmth of spring blooms in, love returns. 

she’s had a very long winter.

twenty some odd years, and the hazy bright golden sun and the pink cherry blossoms around her in a beautiful lovely spring of romance feels dizzying.

that gust of cold northern winds she’d felt from the boy’s arrival years ago, once again bursts in her chest. oxygen fills her lungs, and perhaps she just hasn’t breathed before as well as she does now. greedy little breaths of cold air, and she doesn’t want to return to that recycled, stuffy air.

they say three times is fate.

once, the first. she sees him in spring, walking up to her. pink petals around them. she drops cigarette ash in his cup.

twice, next. she raises a knife, a hand. he catches it, and it, his grasp, his fist tightens. blood flowing. red, red, red. the pink darkens.

it falls onto her hands, her sinner hands, her tight fists. and the mongolian blue mark stains red. (she’s always marked by violence.)

thrice. it’s fate. she’s almost in love. a little bit more and she’ll be there. heart palpitations, sweaty palms, flushed cheeks, and her aching wet cunt. what is love without lust? she hasn’t felt like this before.

(if the boy was here, she’d think he would be just like moon gang tae. moon gang tae. moon gang tae. even the taste of his name on her mouth tastes heady. she feels light-headed and drunk off just this. would she die at the taste of him then?)

they meet in seongjin city. and she knows it’s her boy. that boy. the boy that remains at the gates of her house and her heart. 

---

later, months later. when she finally kisses him, she can taste the freezing north wind boreas in her mouth.

it’s burning like the heat of the golden sun.

#my writing #It's okay to not be okay #ko mun yeong #go moon young #moon gang tae #moon kang tae #mun yeong x gang tae #moon young x gang tae #it's okay to not be okay fic #kdrama secret santa 2022 #secret santa 2022

[taehyungfirst]

Sorry for the rant, feel free to ignore.

I love bts and I love all the members and I always have. But I can’t lie and say it’s not majorly disappointing when songs/works that seem like they least deserve it, end up with the awards or the records (though I’ve never personally cared for records much, awards are what’s actually important aside from the actual music of course, but kpop fabdoms are obsessed with records and numbers so it’s easy to fall into that)

Like I remember feeling it most strongly with dynamite. Sure it’s a fun song to listen and dance to, but it being the first bts song to be nominated for the Grammys? And it being their first song to land a #1 on the hot 100?

And I understand popularity, and success in the US specifically plays a role in this but that’s kind of my point.

The songs they quite literally poured their blood sweat and tears and that we can literally hear and feel every emotion from them will never achieve the kind of things songs like dynamite or butter do. And what’s worse, is that bts become recognized for those songs. And the reason for it is quite literally because of how close minded a lot of people in America are.

I feel like an anti for saying this, and that’s because of my disappointment and also due to the fandom calling anyone who thinks this way an anti, but it does get pretty frustrating especially when the fandom acts like certain songs are giant masterpieces when actual masterpieces made by bts exist.

I always tell myself it’s not that deep and who cares which songs are more successful because in the end, it doesn’t change who they are and what they do but then shit like bang od saying “we’re gonna focus on America” or whatever happens and it’s like “are you fucking kidding me?”

And it’s not that I have anything against jk (he’s literally in ny bias line and I’d feel the same way if it was any other member) but the idea of his most popular and successful work all being tied to that fucking man and those being the most successful soloist songs are so frustrating for me and they shouldn’t be but they are.

Like I love all of jk’s other music and he has one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard, but it’s not those songs that are ever gonna get a lot of attention. It’s the ones he chose in America and the ones he’s tried on different people’s style rather than his own (since he’s still trying to figure out his, he’s said)

And that’s his choice and everything and as a fan I should respect that but it’s like…he has so much more potential than just being another basic American pop singer though that seems to be what he wants. It shouldn’t bother me but it does and I hate that, because who cares? He’s happy and it’s not like it’s bad music, so there shouldn’t be an issue. (But the kind of disappointment still lingers, and it hasn’t stopped since dynamite ngl. Like since dynamite a lot if things have happened with bts and now with their solo projects and if I’m being 100% honest, I saw that coming way back in 2021.)

Also here’s where I know I sound like an anti but it feels unfair that this English American produced and written by big names album will be compared with the other members’ solos by literally everyone.

Like they’re not on the same level at all in terms of promotion, and in terms of the target audience, but this fact will be ignored by everyone except for bitter antis but then those guys will focus on trying to prove “jungkook actually secretly sucks” (which is bs because he is insanely talented and he puts in so much effort into everything he does ) instead of the simple fact that “an album like golden is completely separate in every way from albums like jitb,indigo, face, d-day, and layover (and what ever Jin’s gonna come up with when he gets back)”

Idk maybe I am being one of those bitter people because I tend to be rapline biased (and v biased when it comes to vocal line) but I just don’t see it as a fair comparison.

The biggest music industry in the world is America and golden is made for America and American charts and American audience. Comparing it with albums not really made or advertised much outside of Korea/the Asian market doesn’t seem right.

And the thing is, Jungkook’s album would probably be one of the most successful even if it wasn’t mostly American or wasn’t targeting a western audience. The difference is that I wouldn’t have felt this way because yeah he deserves the success and it would be on the same level as the others.

But here, it feels weird. Because it’s not. Not pointing it out feels like anti behaviour, but also not saying so I don’t get criticized and hated feels like it’s a bit of a cult (if that makes sense)

I know I shouldn’t take this seriously and it’s usually easy for me to not get bothered and remind myself kpop isn’t worth all that, but sometimes things do get frustrating.

ESPECIALLY when you learn about all the sabotage certain members got from certain people/areas that other members did not.

Because several members did face sabotage or did unfortunately not receive the fandom’s full and proper attention or care and that too plays a major part in how the albums succeed, and also in how bothered I get.

Because nothing about this equal.

At the end of the day, all 7 of them are successful as a group and as soloists and they all deserve all the success and appreciation so there’s that I guess

Hi anon! First of all, sorry for the late reply, I was trying to let Jungkook’s album marinate a bit so I could clear my head about it too.

I wanna start saying that it IS unfortunate that most of BTS masterpieces will never get the treatment that the english trilogy got, and it pains me because their korean songs and lyrics are some of the most beautiful pieces we could get, but as you said, Americans— or better, the western industry is still full of prejudices and xenophobia, a korean song will never have the chance to shine like a full english one because the western industry doesn’t put them on the same level. And it’s awful, really. (Even though I liked Dynamite but that’s because it was a happy song that those times needed)

I don’t think it makes you an anti saying that, I don’t think it makes you an anti having a different opinion from the fandom (I’m a tae biased, I have lots of diff opinions and the fandom hates me for all of them ahaha), I didn’t care about charts either but ironically because of the success of the english trilogy, BangPd /Hybe had a Eureka moment and since that moment they tried to recreate that success in every way they could, with every group they could.

Regarding Jungkook, he told us he wanted to try different genres and wanted to become someone who could do multiple different things, I think he kinda succeeded in it with Golden (I say kinda because at the end of the day, he didn’t really try different genres but just pop and pop sub-genres), to be honest I thought he achieved that with Seven already, which was/is a smash hit, and because seven happened scooter obsession started, Bang pd money hungry ass got interested, and here we are. I do think Jungkook likes Golden, I don’t think that’s the best he can do, I don’t want him to think that if one day he’s gonna release a self-written album he should expect a different reaction/support for it, because western support is not the most important (i mean, look at Layover) and the US market is not the only big market in the industry (Asia markets are very big too)…

Because the fandom became very chart driven you will always see those kind of comparisons, even though they are unfair because it’s not the same promo, not the same company support, not the same radio push, versions, remixes, etc etc etc… So I’d say to ignore people who compare stuff like that, at the end of the day it’s just wasted energy and akgaes got lots of free time. But yeah, I hope one day the other members will have a smooth release day like Golden, without sabotage :)

#feel free to rant whenever you want #sorry for the late reply and for the rant #bts #ask #i’m not gonna reread what i wrote sorry

[littlestpersimmon]

Can i PLEASE have namwaren’s hand in marriage

Namwaren visited the small island of Talisay seldomly. Though its folk eagerly welcomed the Janalilan merchants, Prince Namwaren was special. When his ships raised its crab-claw scales, the Talisayano knew, it was the Merchant Prince. His sails were large things of silk- red, the royal Janalilan purple, indigo and threaded with gold.

The body of his ship bore tiger-like dragons, always brightly painted and well-oiled. His three dragon-ships were the epitome of Janalilan craftsmanship. The most beautiful of the three dragonships, Urvashi, was captained by Namwaren himself. On the forefront he stood alone, watching his men row. Holding onto one of the masts, Namwaren shielded his eyes, and smiled in greeting.

Though they surely could not see his expression from such a distance, the prince beamed at the onslaught of Talisayano children. They came to marvel not only at the dragonships, but at the precious prince they carried.

Namwaren held out his hand, and blew kamharic gentleness into it, teasing the dragon-spirit to go faster, eager to make dock before the sun was at its peak.

"Show-off." Srithvi elbowed her brother hard, just to make him lose his stance. Namwaren easily made her stumble by jostling his hips to the side. Srithvi let out a yelp as she fell back, knocking over a barrel of oranges. Laughing, Namwaren helped her up, giving her a noogie, as all elder brothers were wont to do. He pulled from her and jumped down the quarterdeck, shouting commands to his sailors.

No slave had ever set foot in Prince Namwaren's ship. Janalilans found it queer, but many other sunderings secretly thought was noble. It also made the upkeep of Namwaren's ships much more expensive, though the prince himself had never appeared less than marvelously wealthy.

Namwaren leaped from the gangway, landing square on his feet against the sand. The surrounding crowd of Merchants gasped, but Namwaren laughed them off-

"Come now men, how fares this island? I wish to see everything."

He flung his arm around one man's shoulder as they made their way to the prince's lodgings.

I'm writing an offshoot story about him bcos you guys seemed to like him hahahsj fjsjdjs!! But also same, I luv him so much, he's bisexual and himbo-passing, he's actually deeply intelligent, just acts stupid because it's more fun that way. He is like 6 feet, well built, well tanned and thickly muscled and bedecked, he loves boats and Having fun being slutty! Good guy all around, very vain though, which is his only Flaw (jk jk)

[kalosstarters]

Fic: An Unexpected Encounter

Characters: Professor (not professor then) Kukui, Professor Oak, Ash Ketchum, Gary Oak

Summary: Koa Kukui has traveled to Pallet Town in order to start his Pokémon Journey in Kanto, and while he’s there, he meets someone who feels strangely familiar... 

A/N: This idea came to my mind many months ago but finally I found the time to finish this story. I love the SuMo episode where Celebi brings Ash back in time to inspire young Kukui, and when I remembered that Kukui also traveled in Kanto once canonically, I started thinking... what if the same also happened the other way around, without them knowing. So here’s the result. Keep in mind that Kukui was a kid when he met S&M era Ash, while in this fic he is a young adult while Ash is like 5, so no, he doesn’t know the connection (yet). Enjoy and please leave comments, it’s been /ages/ since I’ve last written anything Pokémon related!

Words: 2090+

[AO3 link]

...

“Hello, professor. It’s nice to finally meet you. My name is Koa Kukui.” A young man with his black hair under a cap and clothes that were slightly questionable for Kanto’s weather extended his hand to greet the region’s most well known Pokémon professor, Samuel Oak.

“Alola, Koa! Isn’t that what they say where you live?”

The young man chuckled at the comment.

“That is correct. I suppose your cousin has taught you a thing or two about our region already.”

“Yes indeed, he has. I make sure to visit him at least once a year because Alola is such a fascinating place. I was so surprised when I first saw your gigantic Exeggutor! And your Vulpix are ice type, right?”

“They are,” Kukui confirmed. “It is kind of ironic when you think about the weather differences between these two regions, but it starts making more sense when you learn that the Alolan Vulpix’ natural habitat is Mount Lanakila.”

“Yes, I once read Samson’s article about that.” Oak nodded. “But I don’t think you came here to educate me on the Alolan variants. Samson informed me that a very promising young trainer wishes to participate in our league challenge. What brought you this far from your home, though?”

Kukui’s mouth twitched slightly when he heard the compliment. Apparently Samson Oak did tell his cousin more than just Pokémon puns.

“I am interested in learning more about different kinds of Pokémon moves, but I don’t think Alola alone can give me enough challenge and information to complete my research. People there prefer playing and just relaxing with their Pokémon instead of battling. But hopefully our new school will inspire more young trainers to start battling more seriously and our competitive scene will grow. Once I get my degree finished, I might start teaching there too. However, my ultimate dream is having a league of our own in Alola but that seems a bit, sorry for the pun, Farfetch’d at this point.” 

“You’re an ambitious one, aren’t you?” Oak said with amusement.

“I guess you could say that.” Kukui rubbed the back of his neck.

“Please stay that way,” Oak stated. “Remember that we Kantonians weren’t this serious about battling either back in the day. But the new generation, like our new champion Lance, always brings something new to the table. It sounds like you’re trying to achieve many different goals at once. I remember also being like that when I was younger…”

“Some people say I’m crazy for trying to Tackle so many things in such a short time but I can’t help it. This might sound a bit silly but I’ve been secretly itching to compete in the Indigo League ever since I was a kid. A boy I once met told me that he had battled in different Pokémon leagues and I remember wishing that I could do that too. I guess that thought has in a way stuck with me to this day.”

“Oh. That’s interesting. I think it’s a totally valid reason to want to travel here.” Oak’s eyes focused on his watch for a moment. Kukui imagined that with that many Pokémon in his lab, he probably had a very strict schedule. “By the way, did you bring any Pokémon with you?”

“Just my Incineroar,” Kukui replied. “He’s been with me since I was a kid. I left my other Pokémon in a friend’s care for a time being.”

“I see. I take it you’re planning to catch some new Pokémon here in Kanto, then.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m hoping to do.”

“In that case, we should probably start here.” Professor Oak pointed at three Pokéballs that were put on display on his work desk. Before Kukui managed to take any of the pokéballs into his hands, though, two kids ran into the room unannounced.

“Woah, are you gonna pick your starter?” the first one, with brown hair and clear resemblance to Professor Oak asked.

“What will you pick, what will you pick?” the other one, a boy with black hair and unique lightning shaped markings on his cheeks asked. There was something weirdly familiar about him even though Kukui wasn’t sure what made him think that way.

The boys were both still very young, according to Kukui’s estimation, maybe 4 or 5 years old, and they weren’t lacking energy. They kept staring at him intensely as he considered his options.

“Boys! It’s not polite to interrupt us when we are having a meeting!” Professor Oak scolded them. “I’m sorry, Koa, this is my grandson and his friend who lives nearby. I’ve told them that when I’m dealing with work related things they should not disturb me… but as you can see, they do not listen.”

“It’s OK.” Kukui laughed, waving his hand. “I still remember what it was like to be a kid. If I had been living in a place like this, you bet I would have been so curious about each and every Pokémon around me.”

“Alright, then,” Oak decided to let it be. “Well, I guess these boys are dying to know which starter you’ll choose, so, go ahead and make your decision.”

“You should pick Squee-tle!” Oak’s grandson exclaimed.

“Everyone knows that Cha-man-deh is the best!” his friend insisted.

Kukui was amused by how the boys pronounced the Pokémon’s names, but instead of mentioning that aloud, he took the third pokeball, with a tiny leaf sticker on the surface, into his hands.

“You know what, boys? I think I disagree with you both. I myself think that Bulbasaur is the best Kanto starter. Come out, Bulbasaur!”

A red light flashed in the room and a Pokémon appeared in front of them.

“Bulba! Saur!”

“Wow, it’s so cool!” the black haired boy exclaimed, having already forgotten that he supposedly preferred Charmander. “Look at this bulb on its back!” He started poking it and Kukui could see some kind of powder starting to float out of it.

“Be careful, kiddo!” He warned. “That could be poisonous or even cause paralysis!”

“But… but…” The boy didn’t have time to say more because he fell asleep on the lab floor faster than Kukui could say ‘Litten’.

“Well… I guess we now know the first move this Bulbasaur knows. Sleep Powder,” Kukui said awkwardly as he called the Pokémon back into its ball and lifted the sleeping boy from the floor. Professor Oak showed him a couch where he could let the boy rest while his grandson was jumping around him, asking Oak if he was going to be OK.

“Calm down, Gary, the powder will wear off maybe in an hour or so and he’ll be just fine. You guys have been in much worse incidents,” the professor noted.

Kukui wondered what kind of incidents those had been, but as he set the boy down, he made a solemn promise to be more careful with his Pokémon from then on when there were kids around.

…

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” Oak’s grandson, Gary, said when his friend opened his eyes about an hour later. He had been waiting with Kukui the whole time while Oak had gone off to feed the Pokémon he was taking care of. “We’ve been waiting for aaaages.”

“What happened?” the boy asked slightly drowsily. “Why am I here?”

“It was Bulbasaur’s Sleep Powder,” Kukui responded. “You got some of it into your system and fell asleep.”

“It was really effective, then!” the boy said happily, quickly shaking off his drowsiness.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Kukui laughed before getting serious again. “I am sorry, though. I should have warned you earlier. Bulbasaur sometimes extracts those powders when you poke its bulb.”

“It’s fine! One time I tried to ride one of Professor Oak’s Tauros. That didn’t end well,” the boy reminisced.

“Oh, what happened?” Kukui asked.

“I fell and broke some bones. They had to take me to the hospital. But I’m all good now!” the boy told him, like an incident like that was an everyday occurrence for him.

“Wow, sounds like you have a tendency to get into trouble, young man. Where I come from, Tauros are used as Ride Pokémon, but they can be really fast and unpredictable when they want to, so you need to have some practice before you’re allowed to ride them on your own.”

“Yeah… Well, the professor said we shouldn’t go near them… but he was out somewhere and Gary and I were bored so we wanted to see who would be a faster Tauros rider. I won because Gary didn’t manage to climb up his Tauros.”

“Hah, that’s only because I knew it was a stupid idea!” Gary claimed.

“He’s lying,” the other boy pouted.

“Alright, boys, let’s use Calm Mind” Kukui said before they started a bigger argument. “So, you spend a lot of time here in the lab, don’t you? You must really love Pokémon.”

“We do!” the boys answered in unison.

“Funny, I guess I’m a Psychic type because I knew that,” Kukui chuckled. “Are you thinking about becoming trainers when you’re older?”

“Yes, of course!” Gary answered without any hesitation.

“Yes, I’d like to…” the other boy said, not nearly as certain. Something about his tone caught Kukui’s attention. He couldn’t say he knew this boy very well yet because they had only exchanged a few sentences so far, but based on his earlier comments he wasn’t lacking confidence or will to learn more about Pokémon. That’s why it seemed a bit strange that he wasn’t as eager about starting his own journey as his friend seemed to be.

“Hmmm? You’d like to? Is there something hindering you?” Kukui asked. “If you want to tell me, of course.”

“It’s… my mum. Every time I tell her I want to be a Pokémon trainer when I’m bigger, she gets all weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. She starts mopping or peeling the potatoes like she doesn’t hear me. I don’t think she wants me to become a Pokémon trainer.”

Apparently Oak’s grandson enjoyed sharing a good drama because when he realized that his friend wasn’t going to spill the beans, he announced: “It’s because of his dad. He started his Pokémon journey a looong time ago and never came back home.”

Kukui wondered briefly what exactly that meant; if the dad had simply left them or if he had died on his journey. Either way, he couldn’t help but feel bad for this boy he had just barely met.

“Gary! You didn’t have to tell him that!” the boy exclaimed.

“Grandpa always tells me you’re supposed to tell the truth,” Gary argued.

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” Kukui stopped them. “It doesn’t matter to me why his mother thinks that way. There are still many years left before you’re old enough to become a trainer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, take advantage of that time. Hang out here with the Pokémon whenever you can and show your mother how much you love them. If you still want to become a trainer when you’re old enough, she will understand. She’s probably just worried about you.”

“You think she would let me go?” the boy asked, sounding more hopeful.

“If you know how to pull from the right strings, she will,” Kukui winked at him. 

“Awesome!” Suddenly the boy seemed to throw all his worries away and he asked: “Hey, hey, do you have any other Pokémon with you right now? I’d love to see them!”

“Sorry, I only have one with me here in Kanto and I left him at the Pokémon Center in Viridian City before I came here,” Kukui apologized. “I wanted to make sure he’s in good shape when we start our journey.”

“Owww, that’s too bad. But maybe you can show it another time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Kukui smiled. “And who knows, maybe one day you and I will get to battle each other. Just keep on dreaming!”

“I will!” the boy promised.

Soon after that Professor Oak showed up again and told the boys to not annoy their guest who probably wanted to get going already. Kukui just waved his hand dismissively at him, telling him the boys were not bothering him. As they ran out to continue playing and he himself prepared to leave, he couldn’t get rid of a weird feeling. It was like he knew the dark haired boy already even though he had no idea how that was possible. Something also told him that this probably wouldn’t be the last time he would hear about these boys.

#professor kukui #ash ketchum #professor oak #pokeani #gary oak #my fics

[heliads]

The Issue of the Dance

You’re best friends with Draco Malfoy, that much is a given. When you’re asked to the Yule Ball by a Durmstrang student, however, Draco seems oddly irritated.

masterlist

You may be trying to do your homework, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel your best friend’s gaze burning away at the back of your head. Draco Malfoy has been trying to get your attention for the better part of ten minutes now, but you’re not any more likely to give up and look over at him than you had before. This essay is due tomorrow, you have better things to do then respond to your friend.

Eventually, Draco resorts to more advanced measures, and seconds later, you feel a piece of crumpled paper hit your arm. You don’t spare it a second thought, merely turning over the page in the textbook in front of you. You can hear him sigh in irritation and smile to yourself. You can only mess with him for so long, so you pick it up, carefully uncrumpling the paper to see what is written inside.

It’s blank. Forgetting your forced silence, you turn around and give Draco a look. He’s sprawled in one of the mahogany and viridian silk armchairs sequestered around the fireplace, and he looks up triumphantly when he sees he’s finally made you glance away from your homework. You hold up the paper in one hand. “Really? You’re throwing parchment at me? I thought it could at least be something interesting, like a note.”

Draco grins. “I can give you a note, if that makes you feel better.” You roll your eyes. “It will not. I’m going back to my essay.” Draco leans forward, snapping your textbook shut with one hand. “No, we’re talking. I’m bored.” You reach for the textbook, which is being held out of your reach. “No, we’re not. I have things to be doing that don’t involve entertaining you. Go talk to Crabbe or Goyle.”

Draco sighs. “They wouldn’t know how to have a conversation unless I guided them through it by hand.” You do your best to hold back a laugh. “They’re your friends. You’re so mean.” Draco raises an eyebrow. “I’m not wrong. They’re idiots. That’s why you’re my closest friend, darling, because you actually have the ability to think.”

This time, you can’t stop your laugh. “Darling? That almost makes up for the fact that you think we’re friends solely because I don’t have the brain of a five year old.” Draco smirks shamelessly. “Do you have a problem with that?” You shrug. “I guess I do.” With that, you turn back to your essay at hand, grateful your turned back hides the smile on your face as you hear Draco groan in annoyance behind you.

“Fine, we’re not just friends because of that. Now can you stop ignoring me? It’s going to be a long night for both of us if you do.” You point your quill at him without turning around. “Fine. Will you please stop ignoring me?” Draco asks, and your smile grows. “Fine, I guess I will. Happy?” You turn around once more, and Draco matches your smile. “Very.”

There’s a sound of approaching footsteps behind you, and seconds later, your friend Blaise Zabini slumps down into an armchair next to the two of you. “Honestly, Malfoy, you’re making me sick. Can’t you two stop flirting and just go out with each other? You’re ruining my evening.” Draco gives Blaise a look riddled with disdain. “We are not dating, Blaise, we’re friends. Just that and nothing more.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you bother her more than anyone else?” You flash him a grin. “Because we’re best friends. I’ve earned the title.” Blaise rolls his eyes. “You’re both terrible.” You shrug. “Is that why you’re also our friend? You’re the one who came over here.” Blaise points at you in agreement. “Exactly. I’m not here to bicker about Malfoy’s questionable habits, I’m here to talk about the Yule Ball. If we want to have a good showing we’ll have to form closer alliances with the Durmstrang students.”

You roll your eyes. “Honestly, Blaise, it’s just a dance. You’re making it sound like a council of war.” Draco glances over at you. “He’s not wrong. Having international ties could never hurt. This would be the best place to do it.” You groan, slumping down onto the table in front of you and burying your face in your arms. “Both of you?” Blaise folds his arms in front of his chest. “What, you don’t like the Durmstrang guys? They might seem a little intimidating, but they’re students like the rest of us.”

You shake your head. “Not from the way you’re talking about them. They might as well be businessmen.” Blaise waves this away with his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Look, there’s a group just coming back from the library. You could talk to them, make some friends.” You sit up, a slight smile crossing your face. “I don’t need to. One of them has already asked me to the Yule Ball.” Blaise stares. “Which one?” You return his gaze, feeling an air of victory. “Henrik Rybar.”

Blaise leans back against the chair. “He’s one of the best in the class! How’d you manage that?” You give him an affronted look. “My natural charm, obviously. Do you still want to make conversation with them tomorrow?” Blaise rolls his eyes, but a grin flickers across his face when he glances over at Draco. “You alright there, Malfoy? You look a little distressed.”

Sure enough- Draco hasn’t said a word all this time, just stewing in something that looks almost like malice. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was jealous. “No, nothing’s the matter. Say, I think I left something in the dormitory. I’d best go get it.” He stands up hurriedly and leaves just as quickly. You and Blaise are left to sit alone, an expression of intrigue growing on Blaise’s face.

“Just friends, my arse.” You swat him with the edge of your parchment, but even this can’t seem to get you back into high spirits. You had assumed Draco would be impressed or at least not angry over the fact that Henrik was taking you to the dance- he’s of a prominent magical family, and Draco’s been trying to get the three of you into his good graces for a while. So why is it that he seems so unhappy now?

By the time the Yule Ball rolls around, you’re almost thinking that the dance is more trouble than it’s worth. Draco has been pretending that he wasn’t affected by this at all, that you’re still nothing more than friends, but you can see mute vexation simmering away behind his eyes. The Durmstrang students all sit at the Slytherin table with the rest of you, so it’s not like tensions are eased at all. When Henrik sits next to Draco, the platinum blond boy’s jaw seems to clench. When Henrik sits next to you, well, Draco seems about to punch the guy himself.

However, it’s not like he’s alone in feeling unhappy. Barely a day had gone by after you revealed that you were going to the dance with Henrik that Draco found himself a date- none other than Pansy Parkinson. You suppose you’re not surprised- Pansy has been eyeing Draco for practically her entire life. She’s a Slytherin just like you, so she shares your cunning, your drive to get what you want. Is it really that much of a shock that she would manage to get her hooks in Draco somehow?

You don’t know why you keep thinking of Draco asking Pansy to the ball like it’s somehow Pansy’s fault. Pansy couldn’t have made him ask her any more than another Slytherin girl short of drugging him with a love potion, and he isn’t exactly besotted enough for that. You know that Draco must have asked Pansy for a good reason, a legitimate reason, yet you keep thinking of it like this is Pansy’s decision, not Draco’s. Like if you just phrase it the right way, Draco won’t have feelings for her, like he didn’t ask her to the ball because they were more than friends. Friends is, of course, all that Draco and you will ever be. You would do well to remember it.

Finally, it is the night of the Yule Ball. To be honest, you find yourself a little relieved that it will all be soon over. Draco’s been stiff and wordless with you as of late, like he’s trying to hide something. It only started after Henrik asked you to the dance and Draco asked Pansy, and you have a sinking feeling that this sudden avoidance has something to do with it. If only the dance were over, you could finally go back to what you had before.

Even with all of this, you can’t deny that this night feels magical. You’ve spent days talking about it with your friends, planning out outfits and hair and makeup until you practically felt exhausted. Now, staring at yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but feel a glow rush to your cheeks. You look, to put it simply- 

“Amazing. You look gorgeous, Y/N.”

You smile up at Henrik. He looks nice too- like the other Durmstrang students, he’s donned a crimson dress coat with dark fur lining. You suppose it’s traditional for the Durmstrang students, but it does suit him. You yourself wear a gown of deepest indigo, with a skirt of swirling silk that swishes around your ankles until you feel like you could spin for hours and never stop. Even so, his compliment brings a smile to your face.

“You look wonderful yourself.” Henrik returns your smile. “You are too kind. Shall we go in?” He offers you an arm, leading you through the halls and into the stone atrium leading to the Great Hall. Pairs of students mill about, exchanging compliments on dress robes and hair styles whilst secretly checking out what everyone else has decided to wear or do. Yule Balls are out of the ordinary in a school that specializes in the peculiar, so of course everyone who’s anyone is talking about it.

After a few minutes of waiting, the doors open, and the pairs of students begin to file into the Great Hall, led by the Triwizard Champions and their partners. They, of course, are given the first dance, and then everyone else takes to the floor. You are pleasantly surprised to find that Henrik is an excellent dancer, but for every perfect turn and step, you realize you’re looking for someone else, someone with a shock of platinum hair who is not here dancing with you at all.

You don’t realize you’re searching for him until you see him. Draco is dancing with Pansy across the room, laughing formally at a joke she must have said. She’s dressed in emerald green- Slytherin colors, what a surprise. Draco has always felt shielded by his house pride, so of course she would know to dress in that color for him. They look practically perfect together. 

“He is your friend, no? Malfoy?” You jerk back to reality, realizing you must have been staring. “What? Yes, we’re in the same house.” Henrik nods. “He was looking for you earlier, I think. Before you came down.” You smile despite yourself. “I’ve known him for a while.” Henrik starts to open his mouth, presumably to ask you another question about Draco, but you find you don’t want to speak about him right now, so you hurriedly ask him a question about Durmstrang. Henrik’s eyes light up, and he begins to speak in earnest about his school. At last, something to distract him.

When you look back, Draco and Pansy are gone, swallowed up by the crowd. If you were smart, you would turn your attention back to your date, back to the boy who actually asked you out in the first place. Yet you keep looking for the one who didn’t, for the one who’d looked at you with something like betrayal in his eyes when he found out you would be going to the dance with someone else.

After a couple more songs, Henrik excuses himself to speak to a friend, and strides off across the Great Hall. Now that you’re alone, the noise and action of the room seems to echo off of the walls, the sound of the band playing and conversation reaching an ear-piercing din. You make your way through the crowd to reach the doors, slipping into the grateful quiet of the hall outside. You’ve barely taken a few steps, though, when you sense that you’re not alone.

“Y/N?”

You turn to see Draco, silhouetted against the bright lights still seeping out of the Great Hall. His eyes linger on you. “You look nice.” Somehow, these few words manage to outrank a hundred compliments from Henrik. “So do you.” You’re not just adding pleasantries this time- his black suit jacket is a crisp contrast to the white lines of his dress robes. Henrik’s robes almost look garish in comparison. 

You clear your throat. “What are you doing away from the ball? I thought you would be dancing.” Draco gives you a rueful smile. “I could say the same thing about you. Henrik’s a prestigious wizard, he would be a good partner.” Somehow, you get the feeling he’s not just talking about a dance. “He’s not exactly my type. I don’t know him well enough.” Draco smiles now, a real smile. He holds out his hand from where it had been pressed at his side, and you realize that he’s been holding a necklace in his hand. It has links of gold looped together to support a pendant in the middle, one shaped like a teardrop.

“I was going to give this to Pansy, but it doesn’t really match her dress. She went more along the lines of silver. Would you mind if I give it to you instead?” You shake your head quietly, unable to say anything lest you disturb the quiet peace that hangs over you. You turn around, and seconds later you feel the pendant settle against your throat, Draco’s hands inches away as he fastens the clasp behind you.

When you turn around, his eyes linger on the pendant for just a second longer. At last, he speaks, and he has the rushed energy as if he’s not entirely sure that he’s saying the words until he does. “I wanted it to be you, you know. I was going to ask you, and then he did. I didn’t know what to do.” You stare at him. “You-”

Draco cuts you off. “I know we always joked about just being friends, but I wouldn’t have minded if we were wrong this once.” You feel a laugh bubbling to your chest, incredulous and utterly happy. “You could have said that earlier, you dunce. All this time, we’ve been tossing the same lie back and forth. You could have asked me.” Draco grins, the same cocky, impossible, utterly lovesick grin you’ve seen before. “Guess I was waiting for the right moment.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly is the right moment?” You’re almost expecting it when he kisses you. It feels like closure, like you’ve been waiting for this for a while. It feels like home.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter onseshot #draco imagines #draco x reader #draco oneshot

[catzula]

So, you chose the indigo tent?

Welcome to Shinsou's route on something wicked this way comes. I hope you enjoy.

a/n: so, here goes nothing. I'm really excited for this and I really hope you like it! Leave me a like, a reblog or a comment if you enjoyed it 😗

a big thank you to @qawaii for beta reading because you are the only person I can send this to beta and not die of embarrassment. Also thank you love for always motivating me and hyping me I love you muah.

Warnings: NSFW! Minors do not interact! Smut. 7.4k of pwp. Degrading, blow job, orgasm denial (once), hair pulling, slight choking, calling good girl, enemies to lovers kinda vibe, idk what else

Everyone has their low points of life. This night must be yours, you think.

You're tired- exhausted and on the brink of possibly passing out, even; hungry, frustrated, cold, and shivering, and everything seems to be going wrong.

Standing on the hill before the tents, you try to focus on why you're here. Never to feel like this again, of course, but it's hard to push yourself to take one more step at this point.

You have to find Aizawa; you repeat yourself. Find him, convince him to take you in so you won't ever feel this hopeless, so you won't ever think if you can survive sleeping in a night as cold as this. You can't go back, won't go back to that place you once called home. You're determined to find a new home or never belong anywhere again.

There is a dull pain on your fingers, feeling like they're frozen and burning. You know you gave to find somewhere warm to at least wear the exhaustion off of you, regain movement in your fingers and feel like you won't pass out any second.

You'd rather sleep, but you're more than aware how dangerous that could be, so you'd have to yield to a stop break, instead. As the thought seeps into your mind, your brain doesn't even give you the chance to rethink; quick to come up with more reasons for why you should rest first, then find Aizawa.

It's the sweet hope of finding warmth that pulls you closer to the tents. You know it's mad to even think of going in any of them, straight into the territory of people that are freaks, people with quirks that makes you an easy bait for them to kill.

But exhaustion has that kind of an effect on people, and even the worst ideas seem bright at the time, mind foggy, unable to give you a reasonable answer when you ask yourself what's the worst that could happen.

You won't be staying for long, anyway, if anyone finds you, you'll flee- you're smart, not so strong but quick, you can run, right?

Your eyes scan the tents to see which one you can go in and out of without being noticed, and you're quick to eliminate the red and black ones.

The red tent has torches all over, so there's no way you can try and sneak in. And the black tent- well, you don't have a good feeling about it.

The tent closest to you has heavy-looking, dark blue curtains, but when you look closer, you can see the light coming from there, too. Your body getting heavier and heavier by the second, and you're pouting as your eyes fall on the indigo, purple tent. A few careful steps taken closer, you confirm there isn't light coming from inside.

As you come even closer, so close that the heavy, velvet-like material of the tent brushes your naked arms, making goosebumps run down your body. You wait for a few seconds for a sound, anything that indicates there is someone there, but after a few minutes of waiting, you conclude there isn't.

You're reluctant but quick to slip through the curtains, staying close to the exit so you can flee without having to face anyone.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to adjust in the darker room, and you're careful as you scan the room step by step.

It's not massive, but the area still seems bigger than any tent you've seen. It's almost twice your room- your old room.

Head pounding with exhaustion creeping in, you find a hiding place behind a cupboard in the corner. Your body acts before you, slipping in the small opening with ease. It's an advantageous hiding place , giving you the chance to spy on the entrance without blatantly sticking out.

As you wait for someone to come in, for something to happen in this dead of the night, your body starts feeling the signs of exhaustion even worse than before, with finding a warm place and somewhere to sit, adrenaline slowly leaving your body.

And before you know it, you're asleep.

~

You only after realize that you hadn't thought this through.

You wake up by the dim, reflected light of a candle- you're lucky you're a light sleeper, or you wouldn't have woken up to someone entering the tent.

The silhouette of a man dances on the floor, crouching down as he holds the candle in one hand and busies the other with the pile of clothes. Not sure when he entered the tent, it seems he's not yet aware of your presence, and you know you have to get out before he does.

Noticing his back is turned to you, you finally gather the courage to peep your head from where you sit. A purple head of hair is what you first notice, his ltousled ocks sticking in every direction as if he faced a thunderstorm.

He's reaching towards the pile of clothes, eyes half open as a look of exhaustion challenging yours lingers on his face.

As you stretch your head a little more from the corner you're hiding in, you finally see something hiding between the pile of clothes. It's a cat, you realize. The man's hand runs over the black fur; it makes the cat close his eyes and lean to the touch as he continues to pat its head, scratching under its ears.

You're not aware how intensely you're watching him, wide eyes following his movements, how his odd hair color catches the dim candlelight on itself, soft shadows dancing on the sharp, handsome features of his face.

You know you have to run, get out of here before he notices you, but it's like you're in a faze, curiosity boiling in your body.

It's a scene to behold, the pair of a mad-looking man and a black cat relishing in each others' presence as you gasp and retract back when the cat suddenly opens its eyes, golden gaze looking directly at you.

Your heart drumming in your ears as you sink more into the corner you're in, you miss how the candle he's holding flickers and the way his head tilts your way so slightly.

For a few minutes, nothing happens. You're too afraid to breathe, let alone reach back out to see what the man's doing. It's silent other than your booming heart, and despite knowing you have to get out of there- now, you can't do anything but wait.

"Aren't you cold?" The voice breaks the silence in the tent, a deep grumble that turns your stomach upside down. You think you recognize it; you've heard it earlier today, quickly depicting who he is; the man with the black, beak-like mask who was doing the hypnosis tricks.

"Does anyone want to volunteer for this trick?" He had asked many times that night. "If yes, cheer for me so I can see who does."

It's an automatic response; to cheer with the whistling and clapping crowd, and you hadn't noticed the self-satisfied smile he hid behind the mask at getting a reply from everyone watching him.

"I'm talking to the cat, not to the person hiding behind the cupboard, by the way." The man speaks again, a sarcastic comment that comes out of his lips so indifferently, and it shows how unfazed he is even by having another presence hiding in his tent.

Even the thought of it is chilling, but you don't give yourself the time to ponder about it, now that your cover is blown, leaping towards the exit. You're fast and agile, and Shinsou thinks you would've escaped if you were in the presence of anyone else.

But you aren't, and you soon come to realize that as well.

As you push the velvet curtains and the cold air hits your face, you're sure you've escaped since the man hasn't moved from where he stood. Still, not taking a second more, you're about to disappear into the night.

But instead of running after you, you hear him speak.

"Stop," It's a simple command that would've made you scoff any other time. Does this man really think you would-

stop.

Just in the border of the night and the tent, you suddenly lose the ability to control your body.

You freeze, despite your mind screaming at you to get out of there; you're not able to move an inch as you watch the man as he walks towards you, painfully slow, too.

As he stops before you, you're forced to realize just how bigger he is than you. Crazy locks of hair defy gravity, looking deep blue instead of the purple you had seen in his show.

He looks mean as he stands before you, eyes locked on you. Dangerous, even.

Stuck in a body you can't charge, you have to wait as his eyes scan you with a frown on his lips, the only emotion available on his face being a silent surprise and tiredness. Even with the situation you're in, you can't help but notice he's even more handsome up close. Secretly admiring his dark indigo eyes looking at you with suspicion, the circles under his eyes giving him an even more stern look, lips pressed into a line, high cheekbones shadowing his cheeks.

"Speak." He commands once again, and you fear if you had control of your body, you might've shivered at his tone.

"Wh-what did you do to me?!" It's your first reaction to regaining control; it makes the purple-haired man scoff. He leans a little closer to you, the ends of his locks close to grazing your face, but not quite, inspecting you with a scorning look and a mean frown. He's the source of the tinge of lavender smell in the room, you realize. That and something a little more... musky.

Despite having the control to speak, you're silent as he judges you, and you swear the corner of his lips quirk at that, too. "You were at the show today, weren't you? I think you can guess what's happening."

"You- you hypnotized me!" You shout, terrified. When he hears the accusing tone of your voice, the man quirks a brow at you.

"You broke into my tent." He mocks you with a smile, looking you up and down. "Aren't you cold?" He repeats. "Come in."

Your body obeys the commend, following the man back into the tent you just escaped, your body once again meeting the lavender-tinted warm air. You stand in the middle of the room as you watch him plop himself on a seat, legs wide open, almost invitingly so, his lips curved into a smile as his gaze keeps wandering on you.

You're unable to help it when your gaze starts shifting on his form, too, especially with the way he's looking at you now; you're not sure if it's the harsh shadows on his face that makes him look so irresistible, with that knowing smirk when he catches your eyes flicking lower than they should. When he quirks a brow at you, with eyes that almost tell you; I know what you're thinking, it suddenly feels a little too warm.

A hum vibrates in the air before he speaks again. "Tell me, pretty girl," he says, "why were you in my tent?"

As soon as you hear the command, you brace yourself to blurt out the whole truth, but- you don't. Questioning eyes finding him; he shrugs. "I'm not going to force it out of you."

He looks so smug with the way he says it, too, making you scoff with narrowed eyes. "Oh, how generous of you."

He ignores the mocking tone of your voice, the only indication he even heard them being the slight tilt of his lips. "If I knew you wouldn't flee the moment I let you go, too, you wouldn't be in this situation, either."

"Is that so?" You mutter, seemingly disinterested. "I will, though."

Your words seem to amuse him, the way you resist him, despite being entirely under his mercy, acting like he has no power over you.

So he smiles; it's deceptive, dark, exciting. It makes the air shift into something new; something that feels thicker, hotter, lustful.

He seems indifferent, however, and you hope he's blind to how your body reacts, as well, to when he sighs, hands running through his tangled, odd-colored locks.

"Why are you still keeping me here, anyway?" You blurt out, wanting to get out of here before you do something... mad.

"I'm curious." He answers the question, a smile resting on his plush lips as he shrugs. "Why were you in my tent?"

Eye for an eye, you think as he counters you with his question. He had answered yours, and it was only fair if you did the same. "I was cold," you tell him, staying as vague as possible. "Your tent seemed warm."

"That's it?" His brows arch up. "The rest isn't any of your business."

"I'm curious."

"I don't even know your name!" You huff angrily. "All I know is you're a guy who works in a circus with powers that leave me a puppet in your hands. I'm not here to entertain you."

As you blurt the last sentence, you don't miss his dark chuckle at it. "We'll see about that," he mutters, but before giving you the chance to speak, he speaks again. "My name's Shinsou. Feeling better?"

"Much." You mock him with an exaggerated smile, voice hostile. "Now will you let me go?"

"Why would I?" He laughs. "You still haven't answered my questions, and haven't you heard it's only courtesy to tell your own name when someone tells you theirs?"

"And haven't you heard it's being a basic human fucking being not to keep people under your influence like this?"

A beat of silence passes as he ponders on an answer and fails, and both of you know he lost this round. "Kitty's got claws, I see." He swipes his tongue on his bottom lip, amusedly watching your reaction at the pet name. You sneer at him- but Shinsou's a little too interested in this to miss the way you shift in your place, your quickening breaths, the flutter of your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

"Why? Got you excited?" Shinsou quirks a brow when you squeak angrily. "You won't even tell me your name."

You would've rolled your eyes if you could, instead just sighing at the purple-haired man. "It's Y/N." You answer. "My Name's Y/N."

It's been a while since Shinsou had this much fun; he missed this game of cat and mouse.

"Very well then, Y/N," he repeats your name as suggestive as possible, "would you answer my question? I can force the answer out of you, you know." He looks amused as he leans forward in his chair, suddenly much more interested in what you say, how you move. Like a predator watching its prey. "All it takes is a command."

Each word makes its way out of his lips so smoothly- you shiver at the way he speaks them. And you're disappointed when you realize not with fear.

It was a lost game the moment you even felt a tinge of lust towards the man, but you doubt there is anyone who can resist his charm. Still, you refuse to play into his hand, choosing to fight submitting to him just like that.

"With your witchcraft or whatever it is, yes." You shoot back, "but you can never control me without it." You feel needles of excitement run over your skin.

"Hm?" He quirks a brow, a feline cat on his lips, making you shiver with the lust settling on his gaze. Your eyes follow the movement of his adam's apple when he gulps. "You think I can't make you do as I say without my powers?" His voice drops an octave, and it almost makes you gasp.

"I know you can't." You sneer. "I would never let you."

"Big words from a little girl. Are you challenging me?"

"And what if I am?"

"Well," Shinsou slides his tongue over his lip, your gaze follows the movement. "you'll have to prove it to me."

As he speaks the words, the heaviness that had consumed your body disappears, as well. Your eyes shoot up- only meeting his mocking indigo gaze. You don't need him to tell you what to do, as one glance is enough for you to see how his pants seem a little strained over his crotch, a print making itself visible.

"What?" He asks, a grin resting on his lips as you stay still. His voice is deep, a guttural, almost tired tone that has you shivering with each way he speaks his words. "All bark, no bite? I thought you were up for a challenge- oh." You effectively shut him up when you settle before the man in one quick motion, relishing in the way his eyes widen, a content, almost excited grin consuming his face.

"You were saying something?" You purr innocently, as if you're not kneeling between his legs, licking your lips and giving him a glance from beneath your lashes.

"Nothing," Shinsou huffs out a laugh, settling in his chair to give you better access. "Do go on."

His dick is even more prominent now, you notice, a wicked smile settling on your lips. You lift your hand to trace his cock, touch ghosting him from over the material of his pants. He's semi-hard beneath your fingers, but even then, you have to muffle a gasp at just how big he is. Unfortunately, he seems to notice the widening of your eyes and your gulp.

He leans forward to tease you, but you don't give him a chance. His eyes flutter close when your hand finally takes him in your hold. "Shit-" Shinsou curses, his tongue darts out to wet his lips as you palm him over the material of his pants, not fast nor hard enough to satisfy him but to keep him tittering on edge. "You fucking tease." He sounds out of breath, but somehow manages to open his eyes to give you a dark look.

"Can't wait to fuck it out of you."

Shinsou waits, endures your torture until you yourself can't, growing impatient to feel him in your mouth.

His chuckle sinister as he aids you while your fingers work his pants off, leaving you face to face with his now hard cock, a small patch of wetness painting his briefs a darker color.

"Look what you did to me," Shinsou heaves, forcing himself to keep his indigo eyes open and on you. "making me hard without even taking me in your mouth."

You bite your lip as your hands slip beneath his boxers, feeling him hot and pulsing under your touch for the first time. You both groan at the sensation.

As you finally push his briefs down, you first see a tuff of deep-purple hair, his cock red and angry. "Ah, fuck." He curses at the contact with the cold air, his head lolling and falling back slightly.

"If it's too much-" he breathes before you can move any further, "tap my thigh twice, or yell bandaid." He only lets you go on when you nod, making sure you understood what he said.

Without waiting any longer, you take him in your hand, and it only makes you realize he's even bigger than you originally had thought. You try to hide your doubts on if you're even going to be able to fit him in your mouth, but he realizes anyway. "What?" Shinsou mutters breathily, "scared?"

You don't answer him, leaning forward to take the sensitive tip between your mouth, instead. The bitter taste of precum has a tinge of sweetness to it, and you don't even realize you start suckling on it a bit harder to get more of the taste.

"Oh- fucking hell." He runs his hands through his hair with a loud groan, a borderline moan, when you suck particularly hard, twirling your tongue around his sensitive head. The sound makes its way straight down to your core.

Your other hand comes up to cup his balls as you let go of his angry red tip, tracing his cock to the base with kisses planted along his shaft. "Ah- fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shinsou groans when you massage his balls softly, leaving kisses on the base, your other hand pumping him slower than he wants it.

"Stop fucking teasing." He growls, voice breathy and shallow. "Or are you afraid -ah- you can't take it all?"

The smug grin he has, despite your best efforts to wipe it off has you fuming. You know he only says it to rile you up, but it works. "Shut up." You spit at the handsome man, not even missing a beat or trying to ease him in as you start pushing yourself on his length. It's pure spite, he knows it too, but it only makes it more fun for Shinsou.

You underestimated him.

You open your mouth as much as you can, jaw aching almost immediately with the pressure, but you try to discard the feeling, focused on having as much of him in your mouth.

"Ah fuck!" He groans out loudly, hips twitching, a thrust in your welcoming mouth before he can catch himself. "Good fuckin' girl," Shinsou breathes, his hand flying to your head as support, pushing you even further down. You almost miss the subtle whiny moan he lets out when you gag loudly around him. The head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as Shinsou keeps pushing you down on his cock mindlessly, your heart drums in your ears, jaw aching, breaths shallow and insufficient.

"Look at you- oh, look at you." Shinsou mutters between his ragged breaths. "Such an obedient little girl, so pretty, so eager-" his warm cock thrusts deeper in your mouth and makes you gag once again, tears that had welled in your eyes before now spilling down your cheeks. Shinsou's half-lidded gaze falls on you, face wet with drool, tears, and his precum, and you feel his cock twitch along with a groan, "-so eager to please me."

You wish- you wish you could protest, say he's wrong, that you don't care the slightest bit about how he feels, but you can't. And not because of his cock stuffing your mouth, either.

Instead, you feel the blood starting to rush downwards, straight to your pussy, making you soil your panties with how he spits out each syllable.

Shinsou's aware of this, too, how effective his words are. His head falls back, weak to the pleasure you're giving him, moaning and gagging around his length as he thrusts faster into you. The dull pain in your skull feels so good, the ache of your throat, his cock hot and heavy on your tongue-

"You're- you're getting off on this, huh?" Shinsou tightens his grip on your hair. "You like it when I call you a good girl? You like it when I use you as a fuck hole?"

You try to lie, shake your head no, but he doesn't give you a chance, no room to move your head with how tight his hold is. With one thrust exceptionally deep, Shinsou laughs almost cruelly as he speaks. "Of course, you do. You're sucking me so fucking well; it's impossible you don't."

"Good girl- good fucking girl, I bet you're soaking in your panties, too, huh? What a little slut. I thought you weren't going to give in? I thought you said I couldn't control you?"

"Fuck you." You spit out when you pull away from his cock, but he doesn't seem pleased by it. "Don't speak with your mouth full, darling." Shinsou growls, his hand cupping your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet his, fingers digging deep into the soft of your skin. "Didn't anyone teach my baby any manners? Or are you just too dumb to learn?"

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can even utter a word, his long fingers force their way through your lips; whatever you were going to say stays as a muffled moan.

"You know, from the moment I saw you all I thought about as you talked and talked and talked was how I wanted to put that big mouth of yours into good use."

In all honesty- it was all you thought about as well.

With seeing the glint in your eyes, Shinsou huffs out a laugh. "Oh, look at my pretty little slut." He forces his fingers even deeper, making you gag. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? You think I don't know how much you want my cock in your mouth? Such a whore, hiding in my tent. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Came here to get fucked like a bitch in heat by one of us freaks?"

The last words are but a haze to you since by then; he's already pushing himself back and forth past your abused lips, moaning at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth, without giving you the time to think, to breathe, to accustom. Shinsou holds a ruthless pace, gripping your head fest by the hair as he groans and moans, making you squirm under him. "Good girl- ah, fuck, such a good girl, suck my cock just like that- ah!"

"Fuck- I'm coming." You almost don't hear him, only raise your gaze to his half-lidded eyes and feel his cock twitch between your lips. "I'm coming- ah- shit, shit shit!"

Your moans get louder as his thrusts get sloppier, and you feel his whole body tremble at your voice. "I'm gonna- fuck!" Shinsou finally feels himself falling over the edge he's been dancing on, his hot cum shooting down your aching, abused throat, moaning when he notices how eagerly you swallow his cum.

His body falls limp back on the seat, chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. There is a sheen layer of sweat covering Shinsou's body, making the muscles of his body shine under the dim candlelight.

All you hear in the quiet tent is his deep breaths, his head resting back, eyes closed, and he seems exhausted. A few minutes pass for him to pull himself together, opening his eyes to look at you, and- fuck he's hard again.

"Are you okay?" You shake your head, suppressing a smile at his now even messier-looking hair.

"Are you okay?" You ask smugly, coughing once because of the ache. "Thought you were gonna- hey!" You squeak as he jumps on his feet, and in a moment, you find yourself swept off the floor and in his arms. "I see you still have words to speak." Shinsou laughs, his face so close to yours, you feel his breath fanning against your ear, and he feels you tremble between his arms. He quirks a brow at your surprised reaction. You hadn't expected him to be able to continue, truth be told.

"What?" He continues, "I thought I made myself clear when I said I'd fuck it out of you."

You try to keep your last bit of resistance in you by speaking, "I'd like to see you try." But both of you seem aware you've already lost.

"Oh, I'm sure you do." Shinsou gives you a look before placing- throwing you on the unmade bed, eliciting a loud gasp from you. The dim candlelight hits his naked form in a way that has you rubbing your legs in anticipation. He isn't bulky but well-built and muscular, enough to toss you around with ease, enough to have your mouth watering at the thought of running your fingers over his well-defined muscles.

His gaze predatory, Shinsou looks dissatisfied eyeing you. "Strip." He orders, a knowing smile finding its way on his lips as you realize he won't use his powers but knows you'll obey his command like a good girl.

And you do, too. Maybe it's the anticipation or the uncanny glint in Shinsou's eyes that get to your head, but thoughts of defiance are thrown out of the window as you're shrugging off your clothes without giving it a second thought.

"That's it." He grins, his index finger just barely ghosting over your thigh, and he relishes how you squirm because of it. "Look how good you can be for me."

"Such a pretty girl," his hand continues circling your bare legs, getting dangerously close to where you need him the most, but never quite giving it. "My pretty girl." You feel him smile on your skin, littering it with kisses and bites as his fingers ghost over your pussy.. "A shame she has that bratty streak, though."

Shinsou clicks his tongue, suddenly pulling his hand back away, suppressing a smile at your needy whine. It's the kind of sound that's pushing him closer to ruining you by the second.

"No, no, baby, don't cry." You feel his hand cup your face, pads of his fingers tracing your face. His thumb grazes your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in, the sudden intrusion making you moan around it. "I'm here to help you with that."

Help you, he does. You feel his finger graze your clit, circling it just barely but even that slightest contact has you gasping for more after spending that long focused on him.

"Look at you," Shinsou tuts disappointedly, "just barely touched you, and you're soaking wet. Did you enjoy sucking me that much? Did you like how my dick tastes so much that it turned you on?"

"I-" you try to gather your thoughts, but he silences you by pushing one of his fingers in your pussy, his fingers long and slim, such pretty hands he has, his pale skin glistening with your wetness. "What was that?"

"P-please," you beg pathetically as all his motions still abruptly, eyes turning steal as he leans so close that you think your noses might touch. His other hand latches on your hair when your head lolls back down, his grip forcing you to keep your eyes on his indigo ones. The dull pain in your scalp goes straight to your core, and Shinsou can tell by how you clench around his finger.

"That isn't an answer to my question, Y/N." Your name rolls of his tongue so cold, so distant, you find yourself whining at it.

"Y-yes!" You exclaim, hips moving and grinding against his hand to find more friction with yet another cry, "I did- I did, so please!"

Shinsou has to admit.

Having you look at him with wide, watering eyes, face contorted in need of pleasure, your lips trembling as a form of begging- he doesn't think he can hold off much longer.

You feel so tight, even with just a finger, so warm and welcoming that he might be going crazy. Your mouth falls slack; eyes squeezed closed as you focus on the pleasure, silent other than shallow, desperate breathes.

"That's a good girl." Shinsou approves, adding a second finger and closing the gap between your faces to press a kiss on your lips as a reward.

So desperate for affection, you don't hear nor feel his amused laugh as you throw your arms around his neck when he starts to pull back after giving you but a peck, trying to hold him close, pull him into a kiss.

Shinsou shakes his head no, his fingers curling in you as he does so, your back arching off the bed. "Let's not get greedy, pretty girl. Don't worry; I'll take you there- as many times as you want. Okay?"

"Okay." You nod obediently and- fuck, Shinsou feels his dick ache with how hard he is.

"You take my fingers so well." He mutters, almost talking to himself, fascinated by how eager your pussy pulls him in. "Just listen how you gush around my fingers, how slutty your pussy is," Shinsou chuckles, the wet sound of your cunt making you cry out a whine. "Looks how wet you are, so messy, so pretty, wanna make you cum so many times-" He raises his brows when you shake your head 'no'

"Wanna-" you whine, "wanna cum on your cock."

"Please?" You add quickly, giving him the mastered doe-eyes. With the way his fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs, you know you're pushing him till he can't hold back anymore.

"Ah, fuck baby." You moan as his eyes roll back in his head. "How can I say no to you when you ask so nicely?"

You writhe under him as he rubs the swollen head on your pussy first, wetting the tip of his cock with your arousal as you nuzzle your face on his neck to get more of his scent, his skin muffling your moans when he lightly taps your clit.

"If it's too much," Shinsou holds you by the chin to make you look at him, your gaze half-lidded, mouth agape, you looked fucked dumb already. "what were you going to say?"

"Band-bandaids." You half-moan, half speak. Satisfied with the answer, Shinsou can't wait any longer as he's finally pushing himself in you, your cunt pulsing around him-

fuck- so warm, so wet, so soft-

"Holy fuck!" A guttural groan rips from his chest as he feels your strained walls pulse and flutter around him, trying to adjust to his size as he hears your needy cries right next to his ear. It has him losing his mind; Shinsou angles his hips just enough to have you screaming his name, and the feeling of his cock dragging against your pussy, heavy and hot in you, is enough to have you teetering on the edge already.

"'s big!" You whine into his neck, body convulsing with each drag of his cock in you. "So big- you're so big, makes me feel so full." You gasp, unaware of how you bring your hand to your stomach, pressing on the bulge that appears when he pushes in you.

You look so mindlessly fucked out; with your face twisted in pleasure, mouth fallen slack and drool pooling in the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back in your skull as he plunges in and out of you.

"Shinsou- Shinsou, ah, fuck!" You babble, nails digging in his arms to leave angry red crescents. So lost in the pleasure, you're not exactly aware of Shinsou's hands roaming around your face, cupping your jaw, caressing your cheeks, pushing back stray hairs. So cute, so vulnerable for him- he can't wait to make your face wet with tears.

"I'm gonna- I- I'm gonna cum!" You moan, but he knows this already, by the way your back arching off the bed with each deep thrust of his hips, by your pussy clenching even harder on his cock, your hands holding on to him like he's your lifeline.

In a heartbeat, just as you're sure the coil that's been growing in you is going to snap, just as you're about to fall into that bliss- he stops.

A broken sob follows his stillness, a cry ripping itself off your chest at the feeling that was just beyond reach. "Why?" You whine into his chest, hips wiggling to try and feel the same as you did a second ago.

"Shh, it's okay," he coos, voice breathy, more uncollected than he tries to look, purple locks of hair submitting to gravity and falling down, hovering around his face like an indigo halo. "I'll let you come as many times as you want- if you beg."

He raises a brow at you when you squirm under his touch, clamping down on his cock when he growls in your ear, hot breath fanning on your neck. "Beg for it, pretty girl, beg for me to make you cum on my cock- such a hungry slut- beg and I'll give you whatever you want."

You look up at him teary-eyed, your body shaking like a leaf in hungry need, for release, for him, but your lips refuse to atone, your head shaking side to side as a sob leaves your throat.

You can't, you can't beg, but the feeling is irresistible.

"No?" Shinsou voices your silent rebel, and you think the shadows on his face just got a few tones darker.

"You think you have a choice?" His voice low and grave as you feel a pair of hands snake up your body and wrap around your neck, squeezing just the right amount to have your eyes widen with shock, pussy tighten with need but not so much that you're gasping for air. "Nothing but a filthy whore- look at me when I fuck you."

Another squeeze has your eyes rolling back in your head, his filthy words traveling right down to your weeping core. "Now beg."

This time, you don't miss a beat before obeying, pleas falling from your lips along with whimpers of his name, but it's not enough; that you can tell by the dissatisfied click of his tongue. "P-please, sir," you whisper, it makes him move, a hard thrust in your to show praise.

"P-please fuck me-" you add, trying to speak between his occasional deep thrusts, messing with your head. "Show me my- mmh, fuck!- my place!"

As soon as the words are out of your lips, Shinsou goes out of his mind as well. His eyes widen with how your words affect him, an electrifying warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach. "Show you your place?" He growls, and you cry out a moan when he starts thrusting in a ruthless pace, his grip on your neck now suddenly a tad tighter, black spots dancing around in your vision.

"Show you what a slut you are, is that it?"

You're not even comprehending the words he's spewing, the feeling of his cock filling you up has warm tears running down your cheeks, sobs mixed with moans filling the silence other than the sound of skin slapping skin and his low growls.

"Crying? What a little baby, can't even take a cock in you, huh? Then what are you even good for?" Just as he finishes his sentence, the tip of his cock grazes that sweet spot in you, making you cry out a louder sob. "Sh-shinsou, please!"

Hearing you sob out his name like that has his cock twitching in you, your legs wrapped around his waist, legs digging into the small of his back, your nails biting in his shoulders as if he's the only thing holding you up and sane, newer ones filling his skin with each thrust he gifts you. His lidded gaze focuses on your fucked out face, drooling as your mouth falls slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head, face wet with tears you're still shedding. His hand travels from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to look at him so he can lean forward and plant a wet kiss on your lips.

"Fuck yeah- look at you, pretty girl, crying because how good I'm fucking you, huh?"

You nod pathetically, knowing he's waiting for an answer, but a nod is all you can muster with how hazy your mind feels. "More, more- please sir, ah!" Your hands travel from his arms to his back, leaving red, angry stripes on his back as well; one of your hands find a purple lock of hair, taking it between your fingers and hanging on it as hard as you can-

"Ah, shit!" Shinsou shouts as he throws his head up in the air at the dull pain you give him, his cock twitching in you and making you cry out a moan. You're not even aware you're pulling his hair, not aware you're getting him so close to cumming, not aware of anything but his fat cock drilling in you.

"Shit! Baby don't- ah, don't do that or I'm-" He groans, thrusts getting harder, faster-

"You're gonna cum?" He growls in your ear as he feels you clamping harder on his cock, the feeling of you fluttering around him bringing him to your high with you. "Huh? Are you? Answer me." Shinsou's hand grips your hair, pulling it and exposing the skin of your neck for him, open and vulnerable for him to leave marks.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, the kisses he leaves on every sensitive part of your neck, the way his teeth graze and sometimes bite your skin- it's all too much, your body shaking and back arching, you're close- so, so close that-

"I'm cumming- sir, please, I-"

"Cum for me then." Shinsou orders, voice breathy and shaking with the pleasure he's swimming in.

All it takes is for him to lean for another kiss, his tongue sliding in your mouth, and you're falling off the sweet edge, cries getting louder and body shaking with a ripping orgasm, you're clamping down on his cock like crazy, like you won't ever let him go, your dainty hands in his hair and hanging on his locks without care and fuck-

"Give me one more, baby, one more-" Shinsou grunts in your ear, lips grazing the shell as his fingers rub vigorous circles on your clit, "I know you have it in you, come on."

"I- I can't-" You try to speak, but it's all too much, your mind foggy, the tip of your tongue lolling out. "You can," Shinsou growls, orders. "You can and you will."

It's not much after your body convulses with yet another orgasm, hanging on Shinsou as he keeps fucking into you, and you know he's close.

"Come in me!" Your voice cries out to the man; you have your arms thrown around his neck, pulling him to yourself, want to be closer, closer, closer- "Please- come in me! I want to feel you- ah!"

You gasp as he gives you few last pumps, overstimulation making you flinch. Shinsou comes with a groan, teeth sinking into the conjunction of your neck and shoulders and causing you to cry out in pleasure mixes with a tint of pain.

Your eyes are falling as he pulls you to himself, closing his arms around you and holding you against his chest. You stay like that for a while, both too tired to even ask each other how you're doing. He finally slips out of your abused cunt, standing up to glance at you worriedly when you wince. "Sorry."

"How are you feeling?" You hear him grumble as he shuffles through the drawers, wetting the clean towel he pulled out from there. When he comes back, you also notice the bottle of medicine he has in his hands.

"Here, take this." He gives you the medicine and a cup of water, leaning towards you hesitantly. "Should I?" He brings the towel towards the between of your legs, but still keeps a distance.

When you nod, his soft touch ushers your legs to part. He grimaces when you wince at the contact with the towel, even when his touch is so light, but you endure it.

"I should help you out with those." You mutter, half-embarrassed as you inspect the angry red lines adorning his back and arms. His chest is littered with lovebites and marks you don't even remember leaving, and he chuckles when he drops his gaze to look for himself, as well.

"It's okay; you should rest." He laughs. "I'll take care of it later."

You nod, but you still feel his gaze on you as you push yourself deeper in the sheets, mind swimming in thoughts of-

"What are you going to do now?" Shinsou voices, and you notice he's back in his boxers and a shirt, hair in a little more shape. You blink a few times, not knowing how to answer, not knowing the answer, hands fisting the sheets in tight balls.

"I first wanted to go find Aizawa." You shrug, rubbing your eyes. "Before I came here, I mean."

He huffs out a surprised laugh, glancing at you with his brows raised. "That's a first." He mutters. "What's the occasion?"

A smile sneaks its way on your lips as you give him an unfazed shrug. "You think I'll tell you? Maybe I'll let you hear what it is when you take me to him."

Shinsou stays still for a second or so, the predatory glint he had a few minutes ago appearing once again in his indigo eyes. "My silly little baby," You feel two of his fingers graze the underside of your chin, tilting your gaze to meet his. "I thought we already agreed that I can make you do anything I say." You feel his breath on your lips, leaning to close the gape.

"Or should I teach you one more time?"

#bnha x reader #bnha smut #shinsou x y/n #shinsou smut #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x you #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso imagine #mha smut #shinsou imagine #bnha shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha scenarios #mha imagines

[3desiderium3]

For your love

chapter three - Rotten Wine

[ series masterlist ]

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings : reader x damiano david

story summary : damiano and reader are in very loving relationship that sometimes almost too quickly becomes too toxic for anyone likings

chapter warning (s) : yelling , angst , manipulation , guilt tripping , mind games , toxic behavior , manipulative behavior , strong language

Saturday morning. Special saturday morning.

Today marks exactly a whole week of Y/N and Damiano not fighting. No yelling , no crying , no sleepless nights , no pushing out of the doorway , no drinking to wash away the sins , no mental damage , no nothing.

Instead of all that , they went on a museum date on Friday , they had a picnic day on Wednesday , Y/N bought him the pearly earrings he has been eyeing on for a while , Damiano made breakfast every day for them , Y/N went out in town to frame some of their pictures they took on their previous vacations . They had a few pamper nights in a row , painting each others nails , putting on face and hair masks and even those weird feet one ! Drinking wine and dancing slowly with some slow music. Damiano singing to Y/N more than 2 times a day.

They made love every night.

It was a dream.

Both of them secretly hoping that this dream won't turn into a nightmare.

Y/N was in kitchen cutting some strawberries for the cake she planned on bringing on tonight's gathering at Victoria's house. Ethan and Thomas where coming as well.

Damiano was still sleeping. Y/N was glowing from happiness and joy. She was so in love with him. She had a smile on her bright shiny face for 7 days in a row , her eyes seemed warmer and more calm , her posture was less tensed and she even smoked less.

While she was busy chopping the reddish fruit under her delicate fingers , the room suddenly felt warmer and creamy cinnamon smell filled it.

Damiano had this weird thing about him that often put Y/Ns mind on wander. It was the way his scent and his aura color changed during his mood swings.

Even if it was not visible to human eye , Y/N swore she could see that dim cloud surrounding his body and changing color in some situations.

His scent was natural , depending on the occasion it was sometimes too strong or it could barely be felt.

When he was happy he was shining deep orange tone with the scent of light cinnamon and lemon ice cream.

When he was sad his color was indigo and he left a strong scent of mint and lime.

When he was angry which is often , he gave of wine crimson vibrations and poisnosly sharp smell of rotten wine.

As for the matter of speaking , when lust would take over him and his senses he smelled sweet like rotting roses and he was gleaming in deep burgundy color.

Just like now he was filling the room with the smell of lemon ice cream and cinnamon.

A pair of slender , sun kissed arms wrapped themselves firmly around Y/N's shoulders and chest .

Damiano's warm , naked chest pressed against Y/N's back pushed her slightly to the edge of the kitchen counter. Closing the gap between her and that cold marble.

His lips found their was to gently kiss the lovely delicate neck of hers. Cracking a sly smile upon seeing some of the soft bruises he left on her neck previous night.

"Morning mio amore." Y/N's lover whispered in her ear. His voice was low , golden , filled with care and adoration.

A huge grin appeared on Y/N's face , turning her head to her left side to kiss Damiano's temple.

"Morning love. It was about time you wake. " His raspy chuckles sent shivers down her spine. " It was , but you have no idea how sad it made me to realize I woke up without you by my side. "

Oh what a sweet talker he was..

"Why don't we go back to bed hmm amore? We have a whole day ahead for us." Damiano nuzzled his face into her neck giving it multiple pecks.

" I need to finish this cake first , after it we can do whatever." " You plan on bringing the strawberry cake tonight?" " Yes.. Why?"

Y/N frowned , she turned around slowly hoping that her boyfriend was playing jokes with her. But he had the same confused expression on his morning face.

" Well... My mom is allergic to strawberries I thought you knew that already?" " Why would your mom be there??"

Damiano stepped back a bit clearly confused.

" Why would she be in her own house? I don't know she is living there I suppose."

Y/N blinked. More than once. Is there some sort of a plan she forgot about? Her mind racing now already , trying to remember all of his family members birthdays and important anniversaries .

" Did you forget the plans we arranged for tonight Y/N?" Damiano asked , now with much more serious tone , his face was not so relaxed and it seemed like the air got thicker and it was harder do breath. The look he gave her was chilling.

' Oh not this shit again.. Are we really going to fight now?? And for what?? '

"I understood that we are going to stay in tonight with Vic and the boys at her place?"

" No. We promised my parents we are going to dine out with them. Did you seriously forgot?!"

He half shouted leaving poor Y/N confused and in slight shock. Why was he getting mad at her for such nonsense? Was he waiting for the right timing just to start an argument?

" I am sorry but I do not remember , you ever telling me that we are seeing your folks. "

" Cause you never fucking listen to me maybe."

He walked over the small coffee table in living room to grab his pack of cigarettes' and a lighter. Taking one in his fingers and placing it between his lips lighting it and taking one long drag. The slow smoke coming out of his nose and hardly parted lips.

" Not just that you never fucking listen but you also never fucking care to remember the important stuff I have! "

Okay what the actual fuck.

Y/N though while her eyes went wide from shock under the furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw.

This was some sort of a set up. She clearly remember that he never mentioned that to her before.

And both of them knew very fucking well that she would never in her life forget something that's important to him.

" You are obviously pissed at me right now for whatever reason that you have so I will let you be. When you get your shit together you can talk to me. " Y/N said with her head held high.

She was not gonna let him ruin this day. Instead she continued to make her cake. She needed to focus on something else than his deep dark eyes filled with fire from the thrones of hell burning inside of them.

The room smelled like rotten wine.

" What's the problem Damiano. Are you mad at me for not remembering something you never told me?"

He huffed , aggressively shaking ashes off his cig into the ashtray on the coffee table.

" And don't even try ruining my mood , I was perfectly fine before you woke up , I had a wonderful morning thanks for asking. "

" Are you seriously gonna jump on my nerves with that attitude Y/N? "

" That's what you are asking me to do. If you just admit that you forgot to tell me about plans with your parents we are gonna end the day in peace. "

" You are beyond fucking sweet and so beyond fucking dumb if you expect me to stay calm and be in peace with you. You are so ungrateful and so disrespectful towards me . "

Y/N felt like crying , her hands slightly shaking while wiping the fruits into cream . Why now? Why today? Why did he decided to start all this now?

" I am not believing my eyes now , instead of showing me that I am wrong and that you are not ungrateful , you are standing right here and not even bothering to listen what I have to say! "

" I don't wanna hear your crap Damiano! I am trying to maintain the fucking peace in this relationship while you are constantly the one to break it! "

Damiano also felt like crying. Cause Y/N was right. He did forgot to tell her they where invited to go out with their parents , he was in fact mainly responsible for each of their fights. But was he ever going to admit that he is wrong? No.

Instead of trying to process something she is saying to him right now , or trying to apologize , he stood up from the chair he was sitting on , his mouth placed in a smirk , his gaze piercingly cold despite his hot temper.

Damiano walked up to her standing beside her like an annoying child blocking her movements.

" I am sensing slight disobedience in your tone amore.. Now I think we should start again. You are gonna apolo - " " I will certainly not fucking apologize for anything ! Especially not dealing up with your egoistic ass Damiano!"

Y/N was yelling at him. Not able to handle this pressure of rotten wine.

She was tired again. Everything was pale and grey again. She swore that even the sun outside stopped shining. She was tired again from having to deal with a fucking brick wall.

He was just torturing her. For what? His ego.

He was watching her from above , still smirking with his arms crossed . He adored seeing her shake from rage. She was so obedient and so desperate for home peace that she tried doing everything she could to hold herself back.

" You know what Y/N , if you just once , just for once stopped playing a fucking victim then ma- "

" I AM NOT. PLAYING THE FUCKING. VICTIM!"

She screamed. Y/N Y/LN fucking screamed at Damiano David with all the fore she had in her lungs. Inside her ears it was ringing and she didn't realize that she dropped one bowl at the counter , which just provided clacking noises.

Silence.

Complete silence that smelled like rotten wine.

Damiano took whatever he could feel under his fingers which was on Y/N's unfortune a bowl filled with cake whipping cream . He gripped it firmly before smashing it in one stir way right beside her.

Y/N was standing paralyzed her eyes watering and palms visibly shaking. She was watching Damiano straight into his deep dark eyes which showed no emotion.

" Once you accept your place and know your role and once you admit you are fucking wrong ,we can talk properly. " That was all he said as that sly half smile never left the corner of his lips.

He passed her by walking to their bedroom.

No other sounds or words left.

Y/N grabbed the edge of the counter , holding herself steady so she wouldn't fall. Her mind racing. Legs shaking. Heart beating mad.

'So this is the man I wanna marry? The man I want to have family with?'

The one who just throw an heavy object right beside her head?

The one who attacks her for his mistakes?

Her legs finally gave her away. She couldn't stand straight , crying all the tears she never knew she had. Y/N hugged her knees and placed her head temple on them. What a lovely Saturday morning.

She stayed there on the floor crying for at least thirty minutes. With running nose and sobs that turned into whimpers and hiccups.

She regretted ever talking back to him . She should've simply agree that she forgot what she didn't even knew. A few times thinking and trying to remember if by any chance she did forgot about that plan.

But no. She couldn't remember. She lost all hope she had.

When she felt like she could stand again she stood up not quit bothering to clean up the white and beige mess on the floor. She skipped it skillfully directing herself to their bedroom.

'Think about all the times this has happened before , think about all other times when he was guilt tripping you and using you to water up his garden of ego. '

Y/N entered their shared room where her lover was in. Laying on his back on a bed surrounded by soft cloudy cotton sheets. His arms and hands behind his head . His eyes looking her up and down with a cold expression while behind them a fire from the throne of hell was burning.

The room stopped smelling like rotten wine.

It was smelling very little like the mint and lime.

Slow raindrops hitting the huge windows gently , the sky changed from golden to silver.

" I-I am sorry.. Plea-ase don't be m-mad at me.. " She managed to choke out this apology.

Wishing that she was the one hearing it.

Wishing she didn't have to pray away his sins.

He tapped the place for her to lay beside him.

He made her a bed of thorns. In which this gentle rose was supposed to blossom.

" Ti amo amore mio . "

Oh that silly word she always get instead of apology. Like it would fix something.

She laid down beside him , placing her head on his chest , her left leg in between his and her left arm around his torso.

One of his hands playing with her hair while the other caressed her arm.

His eyes becoming glassy as bitter drops of shame and regret left them.

Both of these lovers crying in each others arms purposely. Eager to be taken care of.

And not being able to stay on the calm shore cause the violence is the only way they know how to love.

#damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin #eurovision #eurosong #eurovison 2021 #eurovision italy #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi #relationship #toxic #toxic behavior #toxic relationship #fanfic #romance #slight angst #zitti e buoni #love

[starlitangels]

Surrender

I wish one of Bren’s siblings was secretly nice, so... I wrote this. (Great excuse to re-listen to Bren’s playlist, too, just for the fun of it.)

—

Bren and I sat on the beach below the Sky Palace, watching the sunset. The first peace we’d had since Bellamy ambushed me at the cove in my village. I held onto Bren, and he held onto me.

“Will you sing something for me?” I asked softly. Apart from the fact that I always wanted to hear him sing, I knew he enjoyed it a lot and didn’t used to get the chance much. So I encouraged him to whenever we were somewhere that we wouldn’t bother people.

He hummed. “What would you like?”

I shrugged. “Anything.”

He smiled. “Say something I’m giving up on you,” he sang quietly. “I’ll be the one, if you want me to.” His voice was as melancholy as his face. “Anywhere I would’ve followed you...” His eyes stared out at the sea, violet in the fading sunlight, but he didn’t seem to be seeing it. “Say something I’m giving up on you.”

“And I...” a female voice, soprano, joined on the harmony. “Am feeling so small.” Bren and I looked around wildly for the source. It wasn’t me—I couldn’t sing like that. “It was over my head. I know nothing at all.”

Bren stopped singing.

A young woman appeared from around the corner. Tall and slender, with long black hair, bangs, and lots of violet and silver rings woven into the many plaits her hair was bound in. She had the same fair skin as Bren and Bellamy and Barrow, but her eyes and fins were indigo, leaning toward violet. A whip dangled off her hip, on a small loop attached to the skintight black leggings under a thin, light violet skirt.

Bren shoved me behind him. “Jericho!” he spat as I stumbled. “What are you doing here?”

Jericho took the whip off her hip and dropped it into the sand, putting her hands up. “Stand down, Bren, for once I’m not here to hurt you,” she said. Her voice was smooth and melodious. Another siren, if I had to guess.

Bren held onto me so tightly it made my bones protest. “Then what do you want?”

“Father sent me to beat you up and bring you home,” Princess Jericho said frankly. “Unfortunately for him, this was the one opportunity I needed to make things right.” She kicked the handle of the whip closer to us. “And please tell your pirate to put that sword away. I’m not here to fight.”

Bren snatched up Jericho’s whip, coiled the whole thing, and handed it to me.

“Talk,” Bren ordered. I was impressed at how much braver he’d become the last few weeks. I had too, I guessed. Living on a pirate ship tended to do that.

“Father’s angry that you found out the truth about your past. He sent me to bring you home. But this is the first time in our entire lives I’ve been alone with you away from the prying eyes of anyone in the palace. And... I came to surrender to you. To... apologize. 

“Bren, I am so sorry. You have every right to be furious with me, and I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. The things I did to you... they were horrible. They were wrong. I know that. I never wanted to be cruel. But everyone else treated you so poorly, and Father expected them to do it. I knew you and I would both be in trouble if I was ever kind to you. So I played along. I tried so hard to only hurt you if I absolutely had to—and to make it as minimal as possible.

“I know you’re not Father’s son, by the way,” Jericho added. “I figured it out a long time ago. I can’t say for certain whether the others know, but I don’t think they do.”

“How did you figure it out then?”

Jericho raised one black eyebrow. “If you were Father’s son, and Mother truly gave her life in childbirth for you, then Father would have loved you most of all. Well, not loved. Father can’t love. But he would have favored you. Instead, he hated you, blamed you for Mother’s death when we asked, turned the rest of us against you. How could you be his son, if he felt no remorse doing that?

“Then, when I was twelve, I found the records of Mother’s travels. That night she ran to the Sky Palace. Dragon territory, seeking asylum for the night. It was nine months before her death. Putting two and two together wasn’t hard.” Jericho shrugged. “I’ve known for a long time.”

“So, what do you want?” Bren asked.

Jericho took a deep breath. “I want you to turn me over to the dragons. I want them to beat the hell out of me and dump me in the waters over the palace so that the guards find me before the sharks do. Meanwhile you take your... pirate and run somewhere safe until this all blows over.

“If you have any other ideas, I’m open to suggestions, but this is what I came up with.” Jericho sighed. “I spent so many years hurting you... I’m trying to protect you now. Mother loved you so much she gave her life for you. You... you were the only child born to her out of love. She would be beyond disappointed in the rest of us for how we’ve treated you all these years. It’s deplorable. Despicable. Pathetic. There’s... this doesn’t even begin to redeem me for everything I’ve done to you, but it’s what I can do in the present circumstances. I’ll even give the dragons some information on our armies. Nothing super useful, of course, but enough to turn the tide in the next fight, probably.”

I leaned around Bren’s shoulder. “Did you take your anger out on that servant after Bren left too?”

“Wait, what?” Bren asked.

Jericho scrunched her eyebrows. “No. I pretended to, but I missed every strike. How did you know about that?”

“That servant was so distraught by the pain your brothers and sister inflicted that they ran away toward the surface and got caught in the same net of the same pirates as I did, just a few days before me. Said pirate is taking that servant to Destimona to be sold as an aquarium decoration as part of the half-blood slave trade.” I chose to omit the part where the pirate captain was absolutely head-over-heels in love with that servant and they were probably already running away to Queen’s Garden together.

Jericho looked genuinely sad. “I’d hoped they were still alive. I’m sorry. For everything.” She held her hands out, wrists together. “Someone will shackle me, I’m sure, before I’m dragged in front the dragons.”

Bren and I looked at each other. “We don’t just have shackles on us at all times,” Bren said.

Jericho rolled her eyes. “What kind of pirate are you?” she asked me.

“Pirates don’t take prisoners,” I said darkly, glaring at her, tightening my grip on my sword.

She smiled. It was a more relishing wicked smile than even Captain Silvertongue’s scariest smile. “Ah. Your captain taught you well,” she said. Her eyes turned to Bren. “I can’t pretend I’ve been a good person if we’re not even counting what I’ve done to you. Father didn’t raise us to be good people. He raised us to be warriors. We’re at war with the dragons. I’ve killed dozens of dragon soldiers. But I want to be better. I don’t want to be this woman full of nothing but malice anymore.

“I tried to help you, back then. Who do you think mysteriously left food in your room? Or medicine sometimes? Why do you think I was always complaining to Barrow about the healers leaving the door to the infirmary unlocked or the cooks wasting food in the kitchen? I only ever did it when I knew you could hear, in hopes that you’d go be able to help yourself. And I only did it around Barrow because he was too stupid to realize what I was doing, and didn’t realize he should have been telling Father.”

As she spoke, I used her whip to fashion a binding, tying her wrists together. “No funny business,” I snarled at her.

She smirked. “Pirate,” she accused. Her expression relaxed. “I have no intention of any funny business. I mean what I say. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to redeem myself for everything I’ve done to Bren, but I’d like to try and do one thing right in my life.”

“So, why do you want the dragons to beat you up?” Bren asked as I yanked Jericho’s whip to tighten the bond.

“To explain to Father why I returned empty-handed, and to give you time to get somewhere safe. Maybe further inland. If they dump me in the waters over the palace so the guards find me before the sharks do, I get to tell Father that, in my attempts to bring Bren home, I was discovered by the dragons. I explain that they captured me and tortured me for a few days for information on our armies, but I didn’t tell them anything vital before they deemed me useless and dumped me back home to send a message to the merfolk king. To Father.”

I glanced at Bren. “It seems like an okay plan to me, but maybe Abul’s got a better idea?”

“We should take her before Abul anyway, whether he does or doesn’t,” Bren said. 

I nodded. “Agreed.” I grabbed the center of Jericho’s bindings. “Let’s go,” I said. She didn’t resist as I led her back toward the Sky Palace. Bren walked ahead of me. He was still a little awkward on his legs. He wasn’t able to use them for 23 years, so I didn’t blame him.

He led us to the palace. “Has anyone seen Abul?” he asked a passing servant—a brunette half-dragon girl with big green wings protruding from her back behind her. “We have a prisoner that my brother needs to see.”

The girl started and looked at the three of us. Her orange eyes widened when she saw Jericho. “Let me go find him,” she said. “I’ll send him to the throne room?”

“Wonderful,” I said as Bren nodded enthusiastically.

We led Jericho to the throne room while the servant girl ran off to find Abul. “Tell him to bring some shackles!” Bren called after her. She turned and nodded before rushing off.

“So. The new dragon king is your other half-brother,” Jericho remarked. “I bet he’s been nicer to you than the rest of us have.”

“Yup,” I said, popping the p.

Bren said my name warningly.

“What? It’s true,” I replied defensively.

“I figured as much anyway,” Jericho remarked. “We really are terrible.”

We waited in the throne room for almost ten minutes. Jericho seemed perfectly content to stand there with her hands bound. Never even tried to go for my sword. I kept meeting Bren’s gaze while giving him confused looks. He just shrugged. Apparently Jericho meant what she said.

Or she was biding her time, waiting for Abul to come in to attempt an assassination, but I highly doubted her whip could take down a half-dragon easily. Especially not Abul. I’d never seen a being—half-dragon or otherwise—quite as built as Bren’s new older half-brother. Even Barrow, the Aquinas prince just older than Bren, wasn’t quite on the same level.

But, if Jericho tried, I’d pull a Captain Silvertongue and slit her throat before she could do any serious damage to Abul.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a deep voice demanded as the door to the throne room banged open and shut. Abul stormed in, Kassia right behind him, both looking hostile.

Bren stepped between the dragon king and princess and his sister. It both broke my heart and pissed me off that he was still kind and compassionate enough to try and protect Jericho from the full brunt of Abul’s wrath. I would have let him deck her then and there. I’d heard from Abul’s personal servant that he’d once smacked them hard enough that they fell unconscious, back when they first met, before they became friends. A punch from Abul would probably knock Jericho’s brain right out of her skull.

“She surrendered,” Bren said quickly. “My—no, her father sent her to come bring me back, but she chose to surrender.” He quickly recounted everything Jericho had told us on the beach as Kassia slapped steel shackles around Jericho’s wrists and confiscated the whip. I added a few details he missed.

Abul didn’t look impressed, but he did seem intrigued. He looked at Kassia, who’d taken hold of the chain between Jericho’s shackles. “Take her to the dungeons. Post six knights to watch her. I’ll be down shortly. First, Bren and I are going to have a conversation.” He leveled a fiery orange stare at me. “And, unfortunately, you are not invited.”

Bren opened his mouth to protest, but I set my hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry. I get it,” I said. I gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek under his scales before following Kassia and Jericho out of the throne room.

I made my way to Bren’s loft and sat in the bay window overlooking the sea. I knew the dragons weren’t a big fan of me being there. They accepted Bren as family, but I was an outsider, just as much as Abul’s human servant was, so I did my best to stay out of their way whenever I wasn’t with Bren.

The wait was about an hour. I wondered what Bren and Abul were talking about. Probably Jericho and what to do with her.

Bren came in, breathing a little hard from the stairs up to the loft. “Well, the good news is, he’s not going to kill Jericho.”

“Is there bad news?” I asked.

“Apart from the fact that he doesn’t know how to improve her plan at the moment, the bad news is that it’s going to be hard to keep her safe. Even in the dungeons. The other dragons—his grandfather’s generals and lieutenants—are going to be really mad at her because, like she said, she’s a warrior. A damn good one too, who’s fought in this war a lot.”

“But Abul’s gonna try to keep her safe, right?”

“As best he can,” Bren said. “Abul’s a good king. A good man. And I know he wants to get some information out of her too. So, I don’t think he’ll let any of the soldiers hurt her for a while. Not until he gets whatever information he’s after.”

I hummed and gathered Bren into a hug. “How... how do you find it in yourself to still care about her? After everything she’s done to make you suffer?”

Bren wrapped his arms around me. “She’s my sister. And... and I want to believe that she’s trying. Everything she said... it actually checks out. No one else gossiped about the infirmary or the kitchens except her and I don’t know how else she would have found out about the food and medicine that occasionally turned up hidden in my... room. Closet.” His grip around me tightened. “Maybe I believe her because I want what she’s said to be true. Maybe I just wished that one of them actually loved me.”

I held him tighter. “I hope she’s telling the truth. For your sake.”

“You looked ready to slit her throat and dump her in the sea for the sharks,” Bren pointed out, almost protesting.

“I was. And I am. Cap’m Shay would be so proud of me. But I love you, Bren. Enough to put all the rage I feel on your behalf toward Jericho and her treatment of you aside. So that I can be here for you. As comfort and support.”

He kissed my hair. “You’re amazing.”

“I’m not the same person you saved from the dragon’s net all those weeks ago, anymore,” I said softly. “Living as a pirate—even under a captain who was a good man at his core like Shay—it hardened me. Before, I would have been too timid to even think about harming Jericho. Now... now I don’t even know if I’d regret it if I did hurt her. If... if I killed her.”

Bren sighed. “These past few weeks have changed both of us,” he murmured, resting his hand on the back of my head.

“Me for the worse,” I muttered.

“I don’t think so.” His fingers tightened on the back of my head. “You’re still amazing.”

I almost swore, before remembering that using the name of any of the Seven Divines was illegal in dragon territory. “How are you still so kind?”

“Some of it’s instinct. Most of it’s a choice,” Bren said.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

“Wait. Did you say you love me?” Bren asked.

#Siren's Son ASMR #Sirens Son ASMR #Bren #fic #Abul Dyrion #Abul #Bren Aquinas #Jericho Aquinas #Bren Dyrion #Starlit Fic

[on-maars]

Indigo Night

Just a cute lil fic based on this post because it was honestly hilarious.

Title doesn’t really have anything to do with the fic, I just like the song. 

Read it on AO3.

It’s a quiet night inside the fire station.

Eddie is comfortably seated on the couch, waiting for their next call but secretly hoping he can sleep until the end of his shift.

Hen is seated on his right side. She seems focused on a book but from the way her eyes keep shutting every few seconds, Eddie knows she’s one second away from falling asleep.

Chimney’s there too, sprawled on the armchair, his eyes fixed on the television currently broadcasting an old episode of Friends, his mouth agape.

And then there’s Bobby, seated at the table, focused on some documents. Only Buck is absent, probably still fast asleep in his bunk downstairs.

“What you doing, Cap?” Hen asks from the couch, her voice low.

“Just getting the paperwork ready for when Eddie and Buck finally get together.” Bobby answers and his voice is deadly serious but a small smile still stretches up his lips at the edges. Eddie whirls his head around and rolls his eyes at him.

“That’s hilarious, Cap.” He says sarcastically and sighs, throwing his head backwards until it touches the backrest of the couch.

“He’s not wrong, y'know.” Chimney adds. “Just tell the damn man you’re in love with him already. This is getting embarrassing.”

Eddies lets out a small laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. There’s no point in denying it any longer – he thinks. Because he is. In love with Buck, that is.

And it’s not breaking news either. It might have been a few years ago, might have been a few months ago, even. But not anymore.

It seems to be a widely accepted truth among the 118. Whether it be among his closest co-workers or among the b-shift as well, everybody just seems to be in the confidence. Nobody questions it. No-one even doubts it. It’s just there, so vibrant, so loud, and Eddie just came to the conclusion that there was simply no need to acknowledge the elephant in the room. No need to make it clearer than it already is. Not after what happened. Not after that day.

Not after the shooting.

Christopher knows, too. Eddie thought he had been discreet enough not to arise suspicion from his own son, but when this one asked him whether the reason he broke up with Ana was because he was in love with ‘his Bucky’, Eddie realized that he had read it all wrong once again. Christopher was just too damn smart for his own good.

Even his own family. Abuela, Tia Pepa, his sisters, all of them confronted him with the truth the day after his break-up with Ana.

“For the love of god Eds please tell him because we’re getting real tired to hear you whine about it every single time we have you on Skype.”

And in his defense, Eddie’s trying. He’s trying really hard to get the message through the thick brain of his best-friend but he may as well waste his breath.

“Yeah well.” Eddie starts and rubs his temples with his hands, holding back a yawn. “I’ve been trying, guys. Buck is just… Clueless.”

“Maybe it’s time you use a more direct approach?” Bobby dares asking after a few seconds.

“Clearer than making him the legal guardian of my own son?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“Fair enough.” Hen admits quietly. “But you know, maybe you should just be m-”

The rest of the sentence dies in her throat as Buck makes his way upstairs. His steps are heavy with sleep, a steady beat that gives Eddie more comfort than he’d care to admit. His hair is completely disheveled, his face grizzled as he makes his way towards the couch. He takes a seat next to his best-friend, their thighs pressed together and that’s just another thing that drives Eddie crazy, the way Buck always seems to seek comfort in his arms, whether it be after a short nap inside the fire station, after a long shift or a hard call.

And who’s Eddie to deny him? He can’t.

So once again, he lifts his arm and his face softens when Buck instantly leans against him, shyly, discreetly, as if he’s still wondering if it’s allowed, as if he’s still wondering if that’s not crossing a line in their friendship. Eddie wraps his left arm around his shoulders and ignores the knowing looks of both Hen and Chimney, tracing small patterns on Buck’s chest instead.

“What were you guys talkin about?” He says, his voice still groggy from his nap.

“Eddie’s new crush.” Hen says so naturally Eddie almost misses it. But then Buck suddenly sits straight, whirling his head around until his eyes are fixed on him.

“Your… Your new crush?” Buck asks and his face scrunches up in the most adorable confusion Eddie has to physically refrain himself from cradling his chin and kiss him right there on this couch. “You… You didn’t tell me you were… Interested in someone.”

“Yeah well… That’s actually the reason I broke up with Ana.” Eddie tells him, looking at his best-friend without batting an eyelid. For a few seconds, Eddie thinks he can see a flash of hope and longing cross his best-friend’s eyes but it’s gone just as fast. Buck’s eyes still shuttle back and forth, though, as if performing an internal scan of his face and Eddie only wishes he could know what kind of thoughts invade his best-friend’s brain.

“Oh.” Buck only answers, looking away. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and there’s that faraway look plastered on his face, the one he gets when his brain is working too fast for his head to catch up. “I- I didn’t know.” He adds. “That’s cool, man.” He says, his tone so cheerful and it’s like a switch flipped in his brain. There’s no confusion, anymore. No hesitation. No hope either. Almost like he pushed these feelings far, far in the back of his brain and forced himself to adopt his good old careless, bright and sparkling attitude.

“Yeah. I’ve actually been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for, like, six months now. No response.” Eddie says. Hen snorts next to him.

“Wow they sound stupid, Eds.” Buck answers.

“But they’re not.” Eddie contradicts him. “They’re really smart, actually. Just… dense.”

“Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like I don’t know… ‘Hey I love you.’”

Eddie raises his eyes until they fall on Chimney and Hen who’re both watching him with so much expectation and what the hell? Eddie thinks, the opportunity is right there and it’s too good to be true and he would be damned if he didn’t use it.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He says, and takes a deep breath before adding: “Hey Buck, I love you.”

“Yes exactly!” Buck answers, smiling big and Eddie raises his eyebrows in confusion. “Just say that!”

“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie whispers while pressing his hand on his forehead, disbelief clearly shown on his face. Hen dissolves in laughter and Chimney hits his head with his book, like he can’t quite believe he saw that scene with his own two eyes.

“If that flies over their head then sorry Eddie, but they’re too dumb for you.” Buck adds after a few seconds, and really, Eddie always prided himself for being a patient man but there’s only so much he can do. “What’s her name?” Buck goes on asking and Eddie sighs.

“She’s a he, Buck.” Eddie instantly answers, exasperated. “He. Masculine. A guy. I like dudes, alright?”

“Really?” Buck smiles. “Do I know him?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Hen groans, rolling her eyes.

And just when Eddie thinks he got through to Buck-

The bell rings.

The call is not bad. Nothing too major. No fire. No major injuries. Just a small car accident, the people involved more frightened than injured. They still take a few minutes to make sure everyone is okay and Eddie’s honestly thankful for the distraction.

Buck is there with him and they’re working in sync just like they always do, but his friend seems to be in a faraway land, his face constantly scrunched up in confusion. Eddie can feel his gaze out of the corner of the eye and there’s nothing more he wants than to turn around and kiss him to finally remove any doubt from his best-friend’s head but they’re on a call and Eddie knows that this is probably the least suited place to have that kind of conversation.

They need to keep it professional.

The drive back is silent, filled with an uneasiness no-one dares to question. Buck is seated right next to him in the ambulance, their shoulders touching with every turns and jolts. No-one questions it anymore. They stopped doing that a long time ago. Hen and Chim are there as well, facing them, invading their safe space and so Eddie gently nudges Buck, making sure his best-friend knows he’s there and ready to talk as soon as they can have some form of privacy.

When they get back inside the fire station, Eddie is once again drawn to Buck. He takes a seat next to him on the couch and smiles to himself when Hen, Chim and Bobby all collectively decided to give them the room.

Eddie can sense the anxiety radiating from his friend’s body and so he decides to take the matter into his own hands and gently catches Buck’s wrist and regularly taps his soft skin with his index, until he can feel his best-friend’s body relaxing next to him.

“Eds, this… this guy.” Buck starts, his voice uncertain, filled with doubt. “Is he uh... a good friend of yours?” He asks and Eddie knows there’s more to it than Buck lets himself express.

“Yeah, Buck.” He answers, squeezing his wrist and looking up at him. “The best-friend I’ve ever had.” He says and Buck’s breath catches in his throat.

“Well for the record, I- I’m pretty sure he likes you too.” Buck says, glancing at him nervously but looking away just as fast.

“Oh, you think?” Eddie teases him and that brings a smile to Buck’s face.

“I know.” He corrects himself. “I know he does. He just- I guess he just didn’t know how to tell you, and- and he also needed to be 100% sure that this was the direction you two were taking to- to actually do something about it.”

When Buck looks up, Eddie smiles softly at him and runs his right hand through his hair, letting it on the back of his head afterwards, making sure he has his undivided attention before saying these next few words.

“Then maybe you should tell him he’s it for me.” He says, and then adds: “I’m all in, Buck.”

“I love you.” Buck blurts out but he doesn’t stop there. “And I love Christopher. So damn much.” He adds. “So damn much.” He repeats. That makes Eddie smile. “But- Eds, you- I’m a lot of hard-work and I- I’m so messed-up man you have no idea how messed-up I am.” Buck marks a pause, and adds. “I mean, who am I kidding, of course- of course you do because you’re you and you’re putting up with my shit all the damn time and I’m just-”

Eddie cuts him off by pressing their lips together.

His thumb rubs his cheek while the rest of his fingers play with the roots of his hair. Buck’s palm is pressed on his chest and the next second, Eddie can feel Buck’s fist hold his shirt tightly, creasing it.

“There’s nothing to put up with.” Eddie says against his lips, cupping his cheeks with his hands to make him look up. “Alright?” He adds.

“Alright.” Buck’s voice is still fragile.

“Good.” Eddie says. “Glad we got that cleared up.” He adds casually and Buck scoffs. “Next time though, maybe be a bit quicker on the uptake?”

“Oh fuck off.” Buck says, nudging him playfully. He stays silent for a while before adding: “Can we go back ho-” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, correcting himself. “Can I hang out at your place tonight?”

Eddie sighs and intertwines their fingers together.

“Course you can.” He only says. “This is your home too, Evan.”

#buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 #911 #my writing #buck x eddie

[bakugohoex]

"When he put the what in where" but shinso, please 😩❤❤ ur writing is 😤👏👏👌

“you guys did it where?”

pairing: hitoshi shinso x female reader

cw: fluff, slight NSFW, kissing

word count: 2100+

a/n: thank you so much for the support i really enjoyed writing shinso so if you guys have any other requests for him send them in

summary: in which your in a secret relationship with shinso until at his party celebrating his first day in the hero course he can’t keep his hands off of you

↞ back to my hero academia masterlist

His lips left open mouthed kisses on your neck, his hands travelling up and down your waist kneading the skin as you let out small moans. He bit and sucked at your neck as you wanted to feel more of him.

You had only come to his room to see how he had thought his first day in class 1A had felt, you had already been in that class and had been secretly dating Shinso. What led to you asking if he liked the class had made him tower over you pushing you onto his new room.

His body on top of your own feeling his heavy hungry breath pleading for more, “They’re decent, I did meet them at the sports festival y’know.”

He spoke as he let go of your neck, still touching your sides as soon as he stopped talking his lips attached to your own, to stop you from speaking. His tongue in your mouth moving with your own, he let out a moan himself, taking your shirt off as he smirked watching as your boobs laid perfectly in the purple bra he had bought you. It cupped your chest perfectly as his mouth travelled towards your chest.

“I just want you to like them.” You giggle feeling his lips on your now exposed chest.

���I have you kitten, that’s all I need.” You let out another chuckle, your hands wrapping around his wet purple locks, him sucking at the skin on your chest before both hearing your phones go off.

He got up leaving you high and dry as you whimpered to feel his touch, he sat on his bed as you wrapped your arms around his body, trying to tug his shirt off as well. He showed you the message that had been sent to the group chat that he had now been added too.

‘Shinso we’re having a celebration for your first day in class 1A, it’ll start at 6.’ Is all Iida said in the text, laughing at your now horny boyfriend, who would rather celebrate with you alone instead.

“Guess we’ll have to reschedule for tonight.” You mutter standing up and picking up the bra that was on the floor, it was already half five and you wanted to look at least decent for the celebration.

“Can’t we have a quickie?” He questioned.

You raised an eyebrow as he remained seated on his bed, you moved towards him just in your bra and UA skirt from not having changed yet. Your legs in between his own as his face was in direct contact with your stomach, “I wanna look nice for you.”

He rolled his hands gripping your waist so you couldn’t move, “you always look nice though.” His eyes looked solemn and tired but still when he looked at you he saw love and happiness.

You both countered each other perfectly and so nobody had ever expected you to be dating. When Aizawa had introduced the class to him and he sat in front of you, he turned around smiling at you as you shook your head in a laugh. The class coming up to say hi to him so that some sorts of friendships could occur with him, he replied with his bored appearance, remembering their first encounter where he called them ‘egomaniacs’.

You had made him apologise for including you in the group but even then his sour look prevailed, he hadn’t thought of making any more friends than the ones he had, but even then you were all he really needed.

“Ugh okay but if you don’t wear my favourite stuff on you then we’re leaving early.” You chuckle as you put your shirt back on, he opens the door for you as you give him a small kiss before leaving his room up to yours.

On the way to the elevator you spot Ururaka coming out of her own room, “Hey, you haven’t changed yet, did you see the group chat?” She questions wearing a skirt and long-sleeved green shirt.

“Yeah I saw, I’m about to get ready now actually.” You pause thinking, “before you go what do you think of Shinso”

“Oh, I like his quirk, he seems a bit a cold though, hopefully the party will make him warm up to us.” You nod as you agree, Shinso needed to try and make friends he couldn’t spend the next three years just with you.

You went up to your room, quickly putting on a skirt with a purple long sleeved shirt as you put some make up on to hide the marks Shinso had previously left scattered along your neck. You made sure to check that you had worn Shinso’s favourite lingerie set, the V neck of your shirt allowed the bra to be visible but just hidden so it would make Shinso somewhat happier.

You stepped out of your room walking towards your elevator, Bakugo grumbly waiting inside, “don’t be a baby Bakugo.” You laugh as you see him complaining.

“I could be sleeping soon.” Is all he mutters.

“It’s only 6, you still have two hours, let loose Bakugo.”

He glares as you give a chuckle, “shut up extra.”

You cross your arms looking at him, “You’re soo angry just have some fun, for Shinso and the rest of the class.”

He leans against the wall as he had probably been made to wear the button up maroon shirt and black jeans, “Why should I care about brainwashing boy? He’s just another person to crush to get to the top.”

You hit his arm as he looks at you wide eyed, “Don’t be mean, be nice.”

The elevator doors opened as you and Bakugo continued to torment each other, “just because you and purple hair are dating doesn’t mean I have to be nice.”

You stop in your tracks grabbing his arm, “W…What?”

“Y/n I have seen purple hair go to your balcony at night, I do sleep next door.”

You face begins to flush red as you give an embarrassed look, “Please don’t tell anybody?”

“Yeah, Yeah I could care less about your relationships.” You both continue to walk your face still bright pink as Bakugo scoffed at your embarrassment.

The class was already there with Shinso next to Momo who was explaining what everybody’s quirks were, “This is Bakugo and Y/n, he blows stuff up with the sweat and she’s able to (insert any quirk you want), late per usual you two.”

“They were probably making out.” Your eyes go wide at Mineta’s comment.

You glare as Shinso gives a glare to Bakugo, “Grape boy I’m going to kill you.” You turn to the rest of the class, “Bakugo was complaining about not wanting to be here.”

You go over to Shinso as he stood up to meet you half way, “let’s get some food.”

You both walked towards the kitchen separating you from everybody, “Bakugo?”

“He knows we’re dating.” Shinso gives a silent glare as you sit on the counter top, he stood in between your legs as nobody had noticed the top of you. “He said he wouldn’t tell anyone though.”

You swing your legs as Shinso grabs your exposed thighs, he had worn some jeans and a purple button up, matching your outfit in a way, “you’re wearing my favourite set?” He notices your bra peeking through your shirt and your skirt had ridden up your thigh to see the visible underwear underneath.

“I said I would baby.”

“Such a good girl for me aren’t you, kitten.” You let out a soft moan as he rubbed your thigh with his finger, leaving a purple bruise as he did so.

“Where did Shinso go?” You hear Iida say as he removed his hands off your thighs and moved away from between your legs.

Iida came running in seeing you both talking, “There you both are, Sato made a cake for you.” He left as swiftly as he came as Shinso held your hand as you jumped off the counter.

“It’s no fair for you to be that tall.” You pout as he ruffles your hair laughing at your small frame against his own.

“There you two are, is Y/n making friends.” Mina laughs out as you stick your tongue out playfully.

“The cake looks amazing Sato.” You compliment him as Shinso goes to see it,

“Thank you.” Is all he says as you give a smile, he was trying at least, “Thank you all for this whole thing.”

He would never admit it but he was having fun, even talking to Denki and Izuku, you had seen Mineta trying to get a view from the girls skirts, as you rolled your eyes about to kick him so he could hopefully go away forever. Shinso had spotted you standing up as he excused himself knowing what you were about to do.

“Let me handle this, Kitten.” He softly whispers in your ear as he went up to Mineta who had tried to look up Momo’s skirt. She was about to kill him herself.

“What you doing?” Shinso said it quiet enough for Mineta to question him.

“Huh, what did you say?” As soon as Mineta spoke, Shinso’s quirk activated you crossed your arms rolling your eyes at how easily it was for Shinso’s quirk to work.

“Go to bed.” Is all he muttered as you and Momo watched as Mineta started walking away.

Momo and you smiled at the indigo haired boy, Momo patting his back for helping as you smiled at him, “look at you helping us out.”

“I didn’t want the perve anywhere near you, kitten.” You smiled softly as he came to your ear, “Let’s go find somewhere private.”

You knew he didn’t want to leave the party entirely but still wanted to be alone with you, you grabbed his sleeve taking him into one of the storage cupboards, his hands instantly attached to your own.

“Your so needy, kitten.” He laughs as you start to unbutton his shirt, his hands already having taken yours off leaving you in his favourite bra of yours.

“I want you.” Is all you could say through the kiss his body pushing you onto the door as his own pressed against your exposed skin, his shirt finally coming off as your hands circled his chest an abdomen.

“You’re so pretty.” He whispers again making soft moans come from your mouth as his hands cupped your breasts, massaging it as instant pleasure went through you.

Whilst you and Shinso had been making out, Kirishima had knocked into Jirio making her spill her drink, Kirishima offering to help wipe the floor went into the storage cupboard which was currently pre occupied with you two.

He walked towards the door, hearing soft muffles, ignoring it as he opened the door. As soon as the door opened, your back was no longer leaning against it, Shinso grabbed you quickly to stop you from falling as you had both fallen out.

Kirishima giving a shriek as he hadn’t thought you two were in there, the whole class ended up coming to see the commotion, instead seeing a shirtless Shinso and you trying to find your shirt. “Guess your secrets exposed Y/n” Bakugo laughed as he leant against the door.

“I fucking hate you.” You mutter as you hand Shinso his shirt, both your hairs dishevelled, and the marks scattered along your neck more visible now. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You two weren’t about to fuck in the cupboard.” Todoroki spoke trying not to laugh at the embarrassing face you held.

Shinso gave a small chuckle as you looked down, “that was exactly what was happening.”

You hit him stomach as you glared at him, “I thought some of you were smart enough to have seen the signs.” Bakugo paused as he looked at your reddened face, “they’ve even fucked in our showers.”

Your face fell as your eyes widened, “you guys did it where?”

“You heard that.” You whisper to Bakugo.

Bakugo grinned at seeing his friend blushing as he rolled his eyes, “Y/n you should’ve told us about you and Shinso dating.” Ururaka said as you looked down.

“You guys know now at least.” You look up as you look at their faces.

“Yeah, yeah now you have to tell us everything.” Mina grabbed your hand as she made you come with her and the girls, the celebrations continuing.

Shinso smiled watching you as he talked to Izuku and Kirishima about something, you stuck your tongue out at Bakugo who was talking to Denki, still pissed off that Bakugo exposed you both. But at least now you didn’t need to hide your relationship and as Shinso looked at you all he saw was law and affection. Even with the friends he was making you would always be the first person he loved and cared about in Class 1A.

If you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and I’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alaina-rose13

#my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero headcanons #my hero academia x you #bnha #bnha x y/n #bnha headcanons #my hero academia shinso #bnha shinso #my hero academia hitoshi shinso #bnha hitoshi shinso #hitoshi shinso x y/n #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso headcanons #hitoshi shinso x you #shinso x y/n #shinso x reader #shinso x you #bakugohoex #fluff #hitoshi shinso imagine #hitsohi shinso fluff #bnha shinso x reader #shinso fluff #headcanon #imagines #scenario

[drivingsideways]

Seo-ryeong and Tae-eul, allies

She sees her shoes before she sees the rest of her.

Correction: she sees her feet, before she sees the rest of her- the tension of the high arch radiating up to the calves revealed by the thigh high slit of her indigo skirt, as she climbs the stairs ahead of Tae-eul. It's a quick, confident gait: the stilettoes not wavering a centimeter. Tae-eul, slowing down, feels her back tense in sympathetic reaction.

She pauses at the door, hand raised to knock, when she realizes that she's not alone, and turns.

Tae-eul has already realized who it is, so she's able reply with composure.

"Madam Prime Minister, what a surprise."

The stairs give Koo Seo-Ryeong even more of an advantage; she looms, larger than life, than reality itself on Tae-eul's doorstep, her expression guarded.

"Detective Jeong," says Koo Seo-Ryeong coolly. "I'm glad to find you at home."

A pause, an upward curl of lip.

"Your real home."

"I'm sorry it's not fit to greet Your Excellency," Tae-eul says, mildly, as she reaches the landing. Koo Seo Ryeong doesn't step back, so she has to awkwardly move in the small space between the door and the giraffe behind her to unlock her door. Perhaps it was something in the water in Corea, she reflects, but they really did seem to produce people who couldn't resist being unnecessarily dramatic.

Koo Seo-Ryeong waits until the lights are switched on before she ducks her head to step over the threshold. She looks around, taking everything in- there's not much, Tae-eul admits, but it still feels like exposing her underbelly to a predator. But Jeong Tae-eul isn't a fool; she knows which battles to pick.

As does Prime Minister Koo, she thinks, watching her face as her gaze lights on the wall with the photographs. Without a word, she makes her way to it; saunters, really, like a giant, sleek cat strolling the savannah. The tension from the stairs is gone, replaced by indolence; which one is the act, Jeong Tae-eul wouldn't place bets on.

"Would you like something to drink?" Tae-eul says, after a minute.

"Hmm?"

Koo Seo-Ryeong tilts her head, showing off her lovely profile, her porcelain-cheek finely contoured, the elegant line of her neck. Her hair is coiled in a loose bun settled at her nape, a delicate white- jade hairpin holding it in place. She looks like the queen she intends to be.

"No."

"Suit yourself," Tae-eul says, shrugging, as she walks to the counter and turns the coffee maker on. "Personally, I find that caffeine helps speed up my brain."

Koo Seo-Ryeong turns toward her then, a half-smile playing on her cherry red lips.

"What's the hurry," she drawls. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

A pause, then a long, fair hand lifted to cover her mouth, showing off perfectly manicured nails in that same blood-red as her shoes. "Oh, that's right, you must be waiting for His Majesty."

Oh for the love of—

"What do you need my help for?"

"Did I say that I needed your help?"

Tae-eul rolls her eyes, as the coffee-maker hisses behind her.

"Your Excellency," she says, trying to use her best traffic-cop-explaining-rules-to-eighty year old ahjumma-in-a sedan-voice, "I can't imagine anything less than an emergency has brought you to my door. So, let's get to it."

"Where's your mother?" Koo Seo-Ryeong asks.

Tae-eul blinks at her.

"Dead," she says, after a minute. "I was five, it was cancer, there was nothing we could do."

She thinks rapidly, trying to remember the factoids of Koo Seo-ryeong's life that she'd devoured during her brief time in Corea.

"Where's yours?" she asks, but she thinks she knows the answer.

"Lee Lim's got her," says Koo Seo-Ryeong, casually, as though reporting the weather, "Somewhere here, in this world."

"Are you sure?" Tae-eul asks, after a moment. "It's my understanding that he usually—that he doesn't leave any loose ends," she amends, at the last minute, because there's something in the rigid nonchalance of Koo Seo-Ryeong's face that tells her she's not ready to hear the words "dead" and "your mother" in the same sentence.

"Somewhere in this world," Koo Seo-Ryeong repeats, "I'm sure."

"And you want me to help you find her," Tae-eul prods.

Seo-Ryeong shrugs. "You're a detective aren't you- and you and that little hound dog that follows you around- you've been investigating Lee Lim for a while now, so—"

Tae-eul sends up a prayer of thanks that hyungnim isn't around to hear this.

"Why should I, though?" Tae-eul asks.

It's not that she hasn't already made up her mind- taking down the bad guy is the job description, hello, and that's the golden rule even if the person who benefits from the work is a snake—but Koo Seo-Ryeong is a mystery she'd never thought she'd get a chance to solve, and here she was, delivered to her doorstep.

Plus, this was work.

Koo Seo-Ryeong looks bored.

"Do I have to explain the advantages of taking down a common enemy? Are you really the child you look like?"

Tae-eul takes a sip of coffee to hide her grin- but not fast enough, because Koo Seo-Ryeong's expression changes into a storm cloud.

"I see," she says.

Then the expression smoothens out, like a magic wand has been waved.

It was fascinating.

Tae-eul wonders if she'd ever thought of a career as an actor, and then reflects that Koo Seo-Ryeong's makjang style was probably more suited to her current career.

"If those are the games you like," the Prime Minister of Corea is drawling, "I can guarantee that His Majesty is going to bore you to death in two weeks."

"I'll take my chances," says Tae-eul placidly, hopping onto the kitchen counter, and swinging her legs. "Alright, eonni- I can call you that, right? Since we'll be working together and all? Tell me everything you know."

"You may not call me eonni," says Her Excellency, from her throne at the center of Master Jeong's 2 x 4, "And I will tell you what you need to know."

"See," says Tae-eul, slurping her coffee loudly and enjoying the barely hidden wince from the woman opposite her, "That kind of thing isn't going to work. All or nothing, Your Excellency."

"The things that you don't know, and I do, could fill the library of Sungkyunkwan," declares Koo Seo-Ryeong.

A pause.

"I will answer any questions pertinent to the situation."

"Cool, cool," says Tae-eul, "I can live with that. What's your favourite dish, Your Excellency?"

A glare.

"Why is that relevant?"

"It’s relevant to our dinner plans. I can't think when I'm hungry."

A (glorious) sneer.

"Pathetic," says the woman who possibly secretly smoked two packs a day to remain that svelte and run a country.

Tae-eul shrugs, pulling her phone out. "Alright, fried beef dumplings it is, then. I take it you won't mind it spicy?"

They're poring over the files that Koo Seo-Ryeong had brought- intelligence reports, and her own notes from her meetings with Lee Lim, comparing them with the information that Tae-eul has so far on her side, when the doorbell rings.

"Oh yum, food," says Tae-eul springing up and scooting to the door.

It's Jo Yeong, looking like Doom, as usual.

"Oh, not food," she says, disappointed, and steps aside to let him make his dramatic entrance.

Seriously, Coreans.

But hyungnim's right behind him- or would be, if he wasn't leaning against the railing with a put-upon look on his face.

Behind her, she can hear the exchange of artillery fire as Captain Jo Yeong meets the bane of his life in Master Jeong's living room.

She closes the door behind her.

"So, what, you and that crazy woman are allies now?" Kang Sin-jae asks, as he thrusts a bag at her, from which the delicious smell of fried dumplings wafts up.

"Nope," she says, rooting around in the brown paper bag, because she knows a fried food aficionado when she sees one, and if she doesn't get to her share now, it was unlikely that Koo Seo-Ryeong would be considerate enough to leave her any. Besides, for a woman like Koo Seo-Ryeong, ally would rank higher that blood-brother or soulmate for other mortals, and Tae-eul hadn't earned it. Not yet. There was time, she thinks, for that.

"Nah," she says, again, over half a mouthful of crunchy goodness. "just two people working together. Shall we go in before there are bodies to bury?"

"What, again?" mutters hyungnim, but he opens the door for her, and follows her in.

#*offers this up to senpai * #*scurries away * #tkem #the king eternal monarch

[bookwormsid1015]

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by  a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist. 

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail. 

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves. 

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised.  “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!” 

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know. 

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did. 

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.

#Kayama Nemuri #Bnha Midnight #Ms. Joke #Ryukyu #Mt. Lady #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Bnha spoilers #Bnha manga spoilers #Shirakumo Oboro x Kayama Nemuri #CloudNight #My Writing #Bnha Vigilantes Spoilers #Bnha Vigilantes

[ladyfloriographist]

Just a little something I’m trying on for size. Tell me what you think x

Prompt: #53 “I just want to be swept off my feet…is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.” rearranged a little bit, and a smattering of #54 One reaching for the others hand to comfort them, to provide support. A thumb brushing lightly against skin.

Pairing: Jonathan Pine x femme!Reader

Warnings: false names/identities, the Mallorca period, a bit of angst and feelings

XXXX

He watches from the cottage as you sit on the shoreline, facing away from him and looking out over the water.

Waves leisurely chase each other to the shore, and moonlight shimmers on the dark indigo expanse.

You dig your palms into the sand, he sees, and Jonathan remembers the first time he’d ever heard of you.

“I’ve procured a girl for you, my good man,” Roper said one morning over breakfast.

“A girl, sir?”

“A live one, too. I've had Corky have a little squiz into her, but I'd like to you to look over what the old boy has dug up.” He took a sip of half-orange, half-soda. “It’s too odd, Andrew, when we’re out. Can’t have you skulking about, the only single fellow in the party—”

“Well, Corky—”

“Nevermind Corky, young chap. Bachelorism doesn’t serve our purposes. You need a woman on your arm.” Roper tossed a passport at him with a casual flick of his wrist. “She arrives today, you lucky boy.”

Jonathan opened the small leather book, and read a name printed next to your photo.

“Olivia Marie Cresswell and one Andrew Birch,” announced Roper grandly. “A nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Dicky’s words echo in his ears as Jonathan observes you on the beach. In the hours before your arrival, a few weeks ago now, he had examined your very life. He’d looked at where you’d grown up, where you went to school, where you’ve lived. Who you knew and who you screwed. He even knew the last lipstick you bought and your favourite coffee shop. Your photos had struck him: your eyes and your hair and your smile. How you'd gotten yourself caught up with a man like Richard Roper, he’d shuddered to imagine.

Without realising it, Jonathan had walked from the cottage to the beach, all the way to your side. “May I join you?” he asks as you look up at him, almost forgetting himself.

“Of course,” you reply. It was a strange thing that you navigated, to be so close and so far from someone. To be so outwardly intimate and so secretly distant. “Lovely night for lovers,” you say as he settles beside you on the sand.

“Mallorca is beauteous.” Jonathan dusts off his hands, pulls his knees up and leans on them.

You nod and sigh. “It’s a beautiful place, here. The people in it...” you trail off, unable but moreso unwilling to finish your thought.

Silence hangs on the warm, salty air—even the soft lapping of the gentle waves on the shore seems hushed.

“It’s late,” Jonathan says. “You should come to bed.”

You huff a small laugh. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I made you sleep on the couch for another night.”

He hums a quiet laugh of his own. “It’s not as uncomfortable as you may think, Liv.”

Liv. Another falsity you’d grown used to, and in such short shrift, too. “Jonathan,” you say into the night air, and he glances at you. “Andrew. Thomas. Jack.”

Jonathan swallows, and looks out over the rippling crystal of the black water.

“Don’t you lose track? Get tired of it all?”

“It’s important that I don’t,” he says, and the words weigh far more than the air he breathes them on. He stretches his long legs out flat along the sand, and holds himself up on flat palms.

“Why are you here, Mister Birch?”

For a moment Jonathan purses his lips, and subtly his eyes narrow as he draws in a deep, slow breath.

“No,” you course-correct, not wanting or needing to know anything more than what you already do. “Not that. Why are you here,” you point a finger to the sand, “now. With me.”

He’d liked the way you said his name, earlier—the name his mother had given him—and all he had left for you now in the warm, dark night was honesty. “I tend not to do things by half-measures, and I’m… I’m fed up of being alone.”

With tentative caution you reach for his hand and fold your fingers with his, offering what small, little comfort one alone, lonely stranger can to another.

To your surprise he clutches your hand tightly in his. You don’t say anything.

“Would it be so bad,” he murmurs, looking down at your joined hands, “if I swooped in and swept you off your feet? You could do the same for me. We could pretend. Is that so bad?”

“We are forever pretending, Jonathan,” you say, and his big blue pained eyes flick to yours. On a whim—or something deeper: on a sudden impulse, a tugging urge, an urgent need—you cradle his cheek, his skin warm and stubbled, and whisper, “Let’s not pretend, tonight.”

His gaze roams your face, landing on your lips.

Breathing deepens, and time slows, for both of you. “I’m not Olivia, Jonathan,” you murmur.

“I know,” he replies.

A mild summer breeze caresses your skin as Jonathan caresses your lips with his own. You kiss under the moonlight: slow, exploratory grazes as your mouths find rhythm against each other. He cups your face in his palms, his skin roughened with sand, and deepens the kisses he pries your soft mouth open with.

#jonathan pine x reader #jonathan pine #the night manager #oh my hEART #i think i like this #i think i could do #~more~ with this #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader