#mark lacks A LOT time management and lying of one is doing well the other suffers

[todoscript]

sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

.

.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him—far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #mha smut #bnha fic #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki imagine #mha x reader

[huggybearsunshine]

Tether Me

Takes place during Regarding Dean, but Sam does call Cas for help, and Dean just doesn’t know what to make of him when he sees him.

“He’s in here,” Cas vaguely registered Sam’s voice saying behind him as he pushed into the room.

The green eyes he found trained on him looked lost in a way Cas had never seen in the hunter. He must have forgotten where he was and no one was in the room to ease his mind or remind him.

“Oh, Dean,” the words pushed out on a breath.

“Who are you?” the other man looked to him.

“You don’t know me,” he should’ve been prepared for that, but the Angel’s only thought since he spoke to Sam was just and entirely get to Dean, “I’m Castiel… You prefer to call me Cas.”

“Cas,” Dean repeated the name as if it felt familiar, or maybe that was just what the Angel wanted to believe, “Who are you to me?”

He shifted awkwardly in his spot on the bed to leave room in case Cas was planning to sit as well.

Cas’ head tilted curiously at this choice.

“I’m… We have been good friends for a long time,” Cas settled on with a tight-lipped smile, shooting for reassuring but missing the mark a bit.

“Friends,” Dean repeated back, but this time in concern.

“Yes,” Cas reassured, lacking anything better to say, and a loud silence fell over them.

“Wanna watch tv?” the hunter finally broke it, and Cas couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Of course,” he took the offered seat next to Dean.

Cas forced his eyes from the man next to him. The Three Stooges played out on the screen, and Dean laughed when his eyes returned to them as well.

“I like your smile,” the hunter commented without breaking his focus from the show, “Feels good when you smile.”

“That’s very kind, Dean,” Cas took in the hunter’s profile for a brief, unabashed moment before turning back to the television set.

“Is the red-haired woman still here?” Dean asked after a moment.

“Yes, she and your brother are going to find the witches who did this to you,” Cas answered honestly, “They’re making a plan now.”

“But you’re staying here, right?” Dean looked over, seemingly unaware that they were closer than he’d usually permit.

“I’ll be staying here with you, yes,” Cas nodded and Dean sighed out a held breath.

“Good,” he nodded, before leveling eyes locked Cas’ in place.

He knew this look- Dean wanted answers, but Cas wasn’t aware that there was a question until…

“And we’re… friends,” Dean dropped the words like they weren’t touching something the two had very carefully left undisturbed for many years.

A Pandora’s box Dean was in no state to be opening.

“Very good friends,” the Angel provided in an effort to dissuade the direction this was going in, “We’ve been through a lot.”

“Can I touch your hair?” Dean’s eyes had wandered, his mind doing the same.

“I suppose,” Cas acquiesced.

A mistake, it turned out, as his eyes fluttered shut the moment he felt the hunter’s touch.

“Soft…” Dean mumbled, and Cas had to find his voice again.

“Is it?” he managed, earning a nod from the other man.

“Cas,” the voice fell out in a way the Angel had never heard from him.

It was almost needy, and Cas’ eyes snapped open to lock with his.

“I want…” Dean seemed to stop himself.

“What?” Cas couldn’t help but chase.

“Can I kiss you?” the hunter’s hand trailed down to Cas’ jaw, pulling an approving hum from the Angel’s lips.

“Dean, I don’t think you know what you’re asking me…” Cas clasped his own hand around the one cradling his face, holding it there as his eyes shone sadly.

“You don’t feel this?” Dean looked hurt.

“I didn’t say that…” Cas admitted, noncommittal.

Dean’s eyes scanned as he turned the answer over in his mind.

“What’s stopping us?” he inevitably asked a question that Cas didn’t know how to sidestep without lying, and knowing Dean secretly felt this way meant he couldn’t do that in good conscience.

“You don’t want that,” Cas settled on.

“I’m telling you, I do.”

“Not the real you,” the Angel looked upon him with gentleness as he let his hand reach out and brush over the other’s cheek.

“I don’t believe that,” the hunter whispered defiantly.

“It’s complicated…” Cas dropped his hand away, and pulled the one still holding Dean’s from his face and into his lap.

He gripped the fingers and palm between his own supportively.

“You’ll have your memories soon enough and it will all make sense,” he smiled sadly.

“So you’re saying when I remember myself, I won’t feel this way anymore?” the hunter hushed.

“You will remember why we are what we are…” Cas swallowed emotionally.

“No,” Dean shook his head, “I don’t want that.”

The hunter’s free hand shot up to pull Cas forward by the back of his neck and their lips collided in between.

Cas gasped into the pressure and his hands clung desperately.

However, the sound of the door opening had the Angel yanking free, and horrified eyes found Sam’s amused gaze.

“So five minutes alone with you with no memory is all it took,” the younger Winchester laughed.

“Sam, I shouldn’t have-” Cas stood, speaking more to the floor than to the man.

“Cas, I’m not mad…” Sam assured softly, “Dean’s gonna have a lot to figure out when he gets his memories back, but it’s been a long time coming… Maybe you should go with Rowena instead though…”

“No,” Dean stood abruptly.

“It’s alright,” Cas gripped his shoulders and turned him toward himself, “I’ll be back, and things will make more sense…”

“Don’t want you to go…” Dean shifted, “Might not remember you…”

“You will,” Cas assured him, “And if not, I’ll remind you.”

He softened and nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

“We’ll be back shortly,” Cas nodded toward Sam as he passed.

“Be careful,” the taller of the brothers smiled after him.

“I want a sandwich,” Dean piped up a moment later, and all Sam could do was laugh, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sam found a place that delivered and waited for their food to arrive, but as he returned to the room, he realized that his brother was a pain in the ass with or without memories.

The room was empty and bathroom window opened, a piece of torn flannel still snagged on a loose nail to top it off.

Sam pulled his phone out and found Cas’ name in his recent calls.

“Dean’s gone,” were Sam’s first words when the Angel answered.

“Yes, I know,” Cas sighed, “He’s in the back seat… He forgot what he was doing and gave himself away…”

“I just got confused! I’m fine!” Sam heard Dean argue from the back.

“He says he’s gonna stop me from getting his memories back,” Cas sounded fondly exasperated and it pulled a grin to Sam’s lips, “Am I right in assuming why?”

“I’m confident that your assumptions are correct,” Cas’ jaw was tight around his words.

“I can make new memories, I don’t need the old ones,” Dean ranted in the background.

“Well, isn’t that cute,” Sam taunted sweetly, “Do I need to come get him?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Cas sighed.

“Maybe I should’ve just gone with Rowena after all,” Sam laughed and Cas’ mouth tilted upward on the side.

“Yes, maybe so,” the Angel acknowledged before hanging up.

They pulled up outside of the house, and Cas immediately turned in his seat to face the hunter.

“Dean?” the man turned to him and two fingers touched his forehead before everything went black.

———————

A/N: Hit a horrendous spell of writer’s block, so I haven’t abandoned my other fics- just needed to get out of that. Thus, Tether Me was born! Lol Hope you enjoyed!

@spuffy-destiel @destieliscanon5nov

#dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #rowena mcleod #witches #lost memories #regarding dean #spn 12x11 #spn #supernatural #castiel x dean #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #Dean Winchester needs to use his words

[no-reply95]

The Power Of Framing: John and Paul

Over the last few days I've been posting some quotes of interest that I'd bookmarked from Mark Lewisohn's Tune In book.

Tune In's reputation preceded it, every Beatles podcast I listened to mentioned it, Lewisohn's name either came up in conversation or the man himself would turn up for an interview so it got to the point that Tune In was so ubiquitous that I had to read the book and form an opinion for myself.

There are a lot of opinions I have on Tune In, both good and bad, but I'm not going touch on all of that here, at least not in this post.

The aspect of Lewisohn's narrative style that I want to get into is the way he frames the "bad" behaviour displayed by John and Paul.

There are two quotes from the book that I want to analyse, I'll start with John first:

John

“George was second only to John in the swallowing of Prellies and knew better than most the sum effect of taking too many for too long, how the combination of pills plus booze plus several sleepless days caused hallucinations and extreme conduct. He’d describe one occasion when he, Paul and Pete were lying in their bunk beds, trying to sleep, only for John to barge into the room in a wild state. ‘One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, “Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.” [He was] a frothing mad person - he knew how to have “fun”.

Handling John was something his friends were well used to doing. If he didn’t murder them in their beds there was no greater buddy. They might fear for their lives but they loved him still. No way would they walk out and join another group. John was just John, and Paul and George’s hero-worship stayed fully intact.”

The above passage comes from the stint in Hamburg directly after Stu's death. John had always been the one to take the most prellies, as Lewisohn highlights, but he relays the fact that John was even more messed up than before subsequent to Stu's sudden death. I've highlighted a couple of lines from the extract to highlight how John's behaviour is framed by Lewisohn:

"the combination of pills plus booze plus several sleepless days caused hallucinations and extreme conduct"

From the outset Lewisohn is careful to outline the fact that John is under the influence of both bills and booze as well as being exhausted as a result of "several sleepless days" which has the sum impact of causing hallucinations and "extreme conduct" so in short, Lewisohn suggests that this behaviour from John is atypical and directly related to the substances and conditions he is under, the subsequent behaviour he displays, therefore, isn't a function of his innate personality, just a reaction to the chemicals and circumstances he currently finds himself beholden to.

"he, Paul and Pete were lying in their bunk beds, trying to sleep"

In terms of those impacted by John's actions, it isn't one individual that Lewisohn highlights, it's George, Paul and Pete, which to me suggests that anyone could have been on the receiving end of John's outburst. When describing the bedroom scene prior to John's entrance, Lewisohn describes the three guys as "trying to sleep", so a picture is painted of a quiet room where there's a lack of activity as everyone is tired and, either on their way to or currently, asleep.

"some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe"

Firstly, the story that George relates (source Anthology, 2000), unlike the scene Lewisohn sets, makes it clear that there was only one target for John's outburst, not George, Pete or even Paul but an unnamed woman whose only crime was to be "in bed with Paul" so, far from trying to get to sleep, Paul was in fact having sex with this woman when John barged into the room. John, in the altered state that he's in, zeroes in on this woman by cutting up her clothes and stabbing at the wardrobe - it's a scary scene that George describes, so what is the lasting impression Lewisohn leaves us with?

"John was just John, and Paul and George’s hero-worship stayed fully intact.”

Despite the shock of the scene that George describes, ultimately John's behaviour has no lasting impact on his relationships with the others or on the future of the band. Lewisohn confirms that "Paul and George's hero-worship stayed fully intact" so not only was their view of John unharmed but they continued to hold him in the highest possible esteem, but how did they rationalise the unpredictability of John's behaviour? Well, "John was just John" the others knew that this was how John got from time to time, this was nothing new for them and their hero worship continued on, the core relationships were unaffected and the operation of the band was unscathed because there was no way that George and Paul would ever leave and join another band so, all in all, no harm done.

Paul

“Brian, John and George went to the Beehive and John used a public box to call Paul, returning with the message ‘He says he’s not coming.’ Brian must have been apoplectic: they’d be unable to play the booking, letting down the university and their paying audience, embarrassing him, ruining their chance of a rebooking, and undoing his repair work to the Beatles’ old bad reputation. He went back to his office to phone Paul, but Paul refused to speak. Jim informed Brian that Paul said he wouldn’t be turning up, and that was that.

Recalling the night five years later, Paul told of how, having discovered Brian and the others hadn’t waited outside his house for him, he decided ‘Fuck them - if they can’t be arsed waiting for me, I can’t be arsed going after them. So I sat down and watched telly.’ Jim was unable to persuade Paul to change his mind. Paul said he’d felt he’d always been ‘the keen one’, so now he’d go sharp the other way and make no effort at all.

John saw a bigger picture, and it would be surprising if it wasn’t equally obvious, or made obvious to Brian and George. He likened Paul’s enduring snag with Brian to his other long-standing difficulty: ‘[Brian] and Paul didn’t get along - it was a bit like [Stuart and Paul] between the two of them’.”

The above passage comes from a time in the Beatles' career, not long after they've agreed to take Brian on as their manager. Brian's hard work on their behalf is starting to pay off and they're getting the opportunity to do loads of gigs for good money. Lewisohn discusses an instance where Brian goes to 20 Forthlin Road to pick up Paul for the night's gig only to be told that he's running late and won't be able to get going for a while. As with the first passage, I've highlighted a couple of lines to highlight how Paul's behaviour is framed:

"Brian must have been apoplectic"

In this passage Lewisohn provides his interpretation of how Brian must have felt to turn up at Paul's house only to find that he'd defied his instructions to be on time. Right from the beginning of this story we are able to empathise with Brian, as the principle victim of Paul's actions.

"letting down the university and their paying audience, embarrassing him, ruining their chance of a rebooking, and undoing his repair work to the Beatles’ old bad reputation."

For the avoidance of doubt, Lewisohn details the wide reaching impact of Paul's behaviour and the list of the aggrieved is long: the university, the paying audience and ultimately the band, all the hard work that they and Brian have put in has been undone by Paul's actions and the tarnished reputation of old is back with a vengeance.

"John saw a bigger picture, and it would be surprising if it wasn’t equally obvious, or made obvious to Brian and George. He likened Paul’s enduring snag with Brian to his other long-standing difficulty: ‘[Brian] and Paul didn’t get along - it was a bit like [Stuart and Paul] between the two of them’.”

If the reader was left wondering if this was a one-off incident or if Paul was just having a bad day that he'd taken out on Brian, Lewisohn suggests that this was, in fact, part of a pattern of behaviour as "John saw a bigger picture" and Lewisohn remarks that "it would be surprising" if both Brian and George weren't equally aware of the bigger forces at play here. To reinforce the lasting implications of Paul's actions, Lewisohn talks about "Paul's enduring snag with Brian" and then likens it to Paul's other "long-standing difficulty" with Stu, which triggers the readers' knowledge of Paul's jealousy of Stu's closeness to John and invites the reader to also view Paul's relationship with Brian through that lens. The extract is then capped up by a quote from John (source, McCabe and Schonfled interview, 1971), seemingly, supporting Lewisohn's premise by linking the clash between Paul and Brian to the clash, that Lewisohn has already expertly laid out in his book, between Paul and Stu.

How the framing differs

In both excerpts I've pulled Lewisohn uses direct quotes from the principles as well as his own interpretation, both to varying impacts.

In the first excerpt, Lewisohn provides a context for John's behaviour, it's not long after Stu has died, John is under the influence of a cocktail of drugs and substances, so we're led to feel sympathy for the state that he's in and to excuse the frightening behaviour that subsequently follows. Lewisohn doesn't offer any context for Paul's behaviour, we assume that Paul is sober and of sound mind so there's no confusion as to the fact that Paul is in full control of his actions so we're less likely to excuse or able to rationalise his actions.

The preamble that Lewisohn writes prior to George's recounting of John barging into the room, mentions George, Pete and Paul being present, so Lewisohn gives us the impression that John's later actions are almost random, maybe it could have been Pete, or George, it just happened to be the woman in bed with Paul who triggered John's anger. We never hear about how the woman reacted to having her clothes torn to shreds just because she slept with Paul, Lewisohn doesn't offer any thoughts to Paul's reaction to having John barging into the room and raising hell while he was sharing an intimate moment with this woman. In stark contract, we're told precisely by Lewisohn about how he presumes Brian felt in the face of Paul's obstinance and the seriousness isn't lost on the reader because every possible group of people negatively impacted is called out with evocative language (i.e. embarrassing, ruining).

Lewisohn frames the Hamburg scissors incident in such a way that it's clear that this was just a blip on the band's radar, the "hero-worship" of George and Paul is undimmed and we're given the framework, either by accident or design, by which to view any similar outburst in the future, it's just John, he may overdo it from time to time but his negative actions will never be consequential because the love and worship the others have for him will never be overcome "no way would they walk out and join another group" because no matter what John did, Paul and George would condone it, stick by him and love him regardless, so why shouldn't we?

However, Lewisohn couldn't be clearer that Paul's disobedience of Brian was part of a larger pattern of behaviour that was detrimental to the band, John could see the bigger picture, the same bigger picture that was "obvious" to Brian and George. Rather than startling an unnamed German woman (Lewisohn leaves this to our imagination) Lewisohn carefully plots out how Paul's actions directly hurt the band and the good work they'd been doing with Brian's help. Far from a moment of chemically induced madness, Paul's behaviour is familiar, we've seen it before with Stu, now we're seeing it with Brian - Lewisohn is clear that the seeds of the break up are sewn in Tune In so is he suggesting that the behaviour Paul displays here can also be traced to 1969?

Was this difference in framing called for?

These two stories outlining John and Paul's behaviour aren't identical, one takes place in Hamburg in the privacy of a bedroom and directly impacts two people while the other takes place in Liverpool and directly impacts several people as well as the band, it could be argued that on this basis these situations Lewisohn was justified in framing these two incidents differently.

However, there are several similarities that I can spot between the behaviour John and Paul displayed:

Pattern of behaviour - Lewisohn appears to be making the case that John's outburst was purely circumstantial while Paul's clash with Brian was part of a longstanding jealousy issue Paul had of anyone close to John. I do think that jealousy may have been a factor in the clashes Paul had initially with Brian (as referenced briefly in my Jealous Guys post) but in my opinion there are complexities that exist with Paul's relationship with Brian (namely around Paul's dislike of authority figures and need for control) that don't exist in Paul's relationship with Stu or, further down the road, Yoko as neither Stu nor Yoko were ever in a position of authority over Paul, John didn't bring them into the band as a manager or producer so I think the more natural comparison is Stu and Yoko not Stu and Brian. Further, despite Lewisohn's descriptions to the contrary and lack of relation to a bigger picture, John's behaviour here was in fact part of a pattern of behaviour, this woman wasn't the first and would not be the last of Paul's love interests that John reacted negatively to; Jane Asher, Peggy Lipton and ultimately Linda would feel the brunt of John's negative attention throughout the Beatles and post-Beatles years, this was an opportunity for Lewisohn to lay the groundwork of that but unfortunately he didn't want to connect these particular dots.

Impact on the band - Lewisohn is at pains to outline how George and Paul weren't going anywhere and there's no suggestion that John's actions would have any impact on the band or its future but, with the hindsight we have, is that correct? Even before Hamburg, John is abusing alcohol, largely to numb the effects of the sudden death of his mother, then in Hamburg, he's now abusing drugs too which negatively impacts his behaviour. For the rest of the Beatle years John's substance abuse issues appear again and again (Bob Wooler incident at Paul's 21st birthday, destruction of ego and fall in productivity due to prolonged LSD use, increase in the communication issues in the band in the wake of John and Yoko's heroin addiction). If Lewisohn was really interested in giving us the bigger picture, why didn't he outline the detrimental impact that John's substance abuse issues were having on the band, all it would have taken was for him to help the reader to understand how the woman and Paul felt as a result of John's actions but instead he uses this story as another opportunity to reinforce the idea that Paul and George hero-worshipped John.

Links to the break up: In many of his podcast interviews (Nothing Is Real and Fabcast spring to mind) Lewisohn is clear that, although the events of the break-up are years away from being committed to paper, the roots are laid out in Tune In. Paul's clash with Brian is framed in such a way to underscore how it fostered long difficulties between Paul and the band's manager in a way that was obvious to the others, does that sound familiar? If we sub Klein in for Brian, we've suddenly been transported to the summer of '69, I believe this is intentional and given the pretty uncharitable way Paul's actions are described (Paul should have been on time but leaving without him so that he had to take several buses instead only made everyone later and poured gasoline on an already open flame, neither Paul, Brian or the band won in this situation which I think all parties came to realise at a later stage) we're already being conditioned to believe that by the time it's 1969 this reckoning for Paul has been a long time coming and we should be glad that John, George, Ringo and Klein are finally stand up to Paul's immature power plays. However, can the break up also be traced to John's actions. As already discussed, the first excerpt outlines one of the first instances of John's substance abuse negatively impacting the band, in 1961 he's destroying a woman's clothing, cock-blocking Paul and terrorising everyone, in 1969 he's in a heroin haze with Yoko which hinders the already frayed communication links with the rest of the band and fosters an environment where, to John, only "JohnandYoko" matter ("I mean, I’m not going to lie, you know. I would sacrifice you all for her [Ono]", Get Back Sessions, 1969) to the extent that they're able to be wooed by Allen Klein who knows exactly what John and Yoko want so they allow him to give it to them, irrespective of what the rest of band need or want.

In the end, I have no problem with either story being included in Tune In, neither John or Paul were saints and in these instances we can see aspects of their personality that will feature, for better and for worse, over the course of the rest of the Beatles' career and, in John's case, his life. However, it is a shame that time and time again, when given the opportunity to frame John and Paul's actions Lewisohn opts to minimise John's misdeeds via his emphasis on Paul and George's love and patience for him, while for Paul almost no context is provided for his negative actions and Lewisohn subtlety begins to plot the lines that will eventually lead to the 3 to 1 split and the lawsuit that, not only breaks up the band but ensures they never reform again. The part Paul plays in the break-up does have roots in his personality, which we see glimpses of in his interactions with Brian in 1961 (he won't be pushed around and his reaction to being pushed is to fight back not fall in line) but we also see John's role start to take shape too (the unpredictability of his actions under the influence of substances and the chain of events that would occur as a result i.e. LSD - loss of ego - jealousy of Paul's output and his loss of dominance - openness to Klein who identifies John as the leader and reinforces his belief in his supremacy in the Lennon-McCartney partnership as well as filling John with misinformation like reminding him he wrote most of Eleanor Rigby). It's a problem that only Paul's negative reactions and missteps are framed in the wider context of the band because this skews the story and fails to accurately plot the role John also played in the band's demise. If Lewisohn's aim is to provide us with a balanced, definitive take on the band's story then, based on this evidence, he's falling short.

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #brian epstein #john and paul #mark lewisohn #tune in #framing behaviour #interested to hear any alternative takes on my thoughts #i do think lewisohn's preference for john and disregard for paul's feelings may undermine his books #both john and paul's action can be seen in a bigger picture #i think we can provide context without whitewashing john's behaviour #long post #thoughts #apologies for rambling

[ibijau]

Oh, here's a prompt! Nie Huaisang travels back in time to ensure that Jin Guangyao stays away from the Jin sect. When he gets back, he's disturbed to find that not only is Meng Yao now his stepbrother (or has at least become a very respected disciple of the Nie sect), but is also now engaged to Lan Xichen. Cue screaming and/or fainting. But at least Minjue is still alive, right?

It was surprisingly easy to make it all happen, much to Nie Huaisang's surprise. In stories time travel was always so complicated to orchestrate, with so much to plan for... but Nie Huaisang had just done it, and it seemed to be working well.

His first stop had been to Meng Shi, shortly after the birth of her son. He could have gone back further and prevented her from ever having that son, but... but at the end of the day, he'd been impossibly fond of Meng Yao even if he'd grown to hate Jin Guangyao. The solution, then, had been to visit his mother and make sure she didn't fill her son's head with impossible dreams.

It had taken some money to get Meng Shi out of the brothel for a few days, and she'd been quite suspicious of him at first. But Nie Huaisang had been a gentleman, and she'd warmed up to him a little. She'd even given up on trying to seduce him once he'd explained that while not opposed to feminine charms on occasion, he mostly cut his sleeve. She'd acted quite sorry for him when he'd explained that actually, he'd just gotten out of a long relationship that had ended badly due to some trust issues and a the betrayal of a man they'd believed to be their friend. Meng Shi had shared a few stories as well, some her own, most her colleagues'.

By the time they'd arrived in Lanling, Nie Huaisang had become quite attached to Meng Shi, and decided he might change his plans a little, depending on what would happen in the next few days.

Meng Shi was not happy to meet other women who'd had the dubious pleasure of sharing Jin Guansghan's bed. She was even less happy to talk to them and learn that none of them, not a single one, had ever received money or attention again after he'd left them, not even those who'd had a child. One of them, the servant of a powerful family of merchants, had gone begging at the door of the Jin sect when her three years old daughter had fallen sick with something nobody understood. She'd been sent home under threats of a beating if she ever showed up again, and her daughter had died.

That had been nearly four years earlier. Jin Guangshan hadn't been sect leader yet, but he'd been his father's favourite and most spoiled son, so he would have had the power to do anything he pleased, including sending a doctor to his daughter, or having her brought into Jinlin Tai to make sure no dark spirit was attacking her. He wasn't even engaged to his wife at the time, so it was impossible to use her to excuse his lack of care. And he'd known about the child's sickness, because he'd happened to be passing by when the mother came begging for help. It was he who had ordered she be sent away, annoyed by her crying.

Meng Shi had gone paler and paler as that poor woman told her tale of sorrow, clutching her son tighter against her chest. When Nie Huaisang and her had returned to their inn, she had asked him why he'd wanted her to meet those other women.

“I just don't like what he's doing,” Nie Huaisang replied, a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought she might get curious. It was stupid of him. Meng Yao surely couldn't have gotten his brains from his father after all.

Meng Shi, sitting on her bed, rocked her infant son in her arms in silence for a moment.

“They were all weak,” she said after a while.

“Who?”

“Those other women. They were all weak.”

Nie Huaisang tensed, fearing that she might announce she was cut of another cloth, that she would persevere where they had given up, but Meng Shi only sighed and kissed her son's forehead.

“He picked them so they were young and would have no one to turn to. Servants and prostitutes and unwanted daughters... he picked us so we'd have no one to turn to when he'd abandon us, no one to defend our honour and force him to pay for the children he made us have. Women like us, it's our own fault for getting pregnant in the first place, isn't it?”

Nie Huaisang stared at her, and realised she was right. He'd been so busy collecting names, he hadn't paused to wonder if there had been a pattern to Jin Guangshan's actions.

“Are there any more you want me to meet?” Meng Shi asked.

“No, she was the last one.”

“Then I suppose we'll started heading back to Yunping City tomorrow. I'll have to make new plans for...”

“No, we're not going back,” Nie Huaisang announced, startling her. “It's too unfair if you go back, you deserve better. Both of you deserve better!”

She blinked a few times, and gave him an amused smile, still rocking her baby. She didn't believe him, of course. Nie Huaisang could hardly blame her for that. After her last experience with a cultivator...

But Meng Shi really did deserve better. Nevermind that in a future he hoped to have now prevented, he'd desecrated her body to get back at her son, this was a different thing. Meng Shi was not a bad person. He'd once thought her guilty of ambition at least, but after a couple weeks in her company, he realised she'd just been desperate for a chance to escape her lot in life. He couldn't really hate her for that, even if it had led to such tragedies after her death.

Nie Huaisang liked her now that he'd met her, and he couldn't condemn her and her son to a worse fate than what they'd have known without him.

He needed a plan.

He needed a smart plan.

He had a plan.

“So, I might have lied a little, you're going back to the brothel,” Nie Huaisang said, earning an unimpressed smirk. “But not for long! I'm going to try something but... would you be willing to lie about who sired your son?”

“Why not? At this point, the truth won't get me much.”

“Perfect. Then I'm going to warn my sect that I have fathered a child, and that I'm unable to care for it at the moment. I'll have to write to them but... but I know Nie zongzhu will immediately send for you. He'll probably ask after me, he hasn't seen me in nearly a decade, but I know he won't have forgotten his cousin Nie Xingyu, and he'll do what's right for my son and his mother.”

And there was no risk of the real Nie Xingyu ever returning to ruin that story, Nie Huaisang knew. His father's beloved cousin, who'd become a rogue cultivator after an argument with their grandfather, had actually died a year or two before Nie Mingjue was even born. A Night Hunt accident, one which Nie Huaisang had discovered by chance while investigating some of Jin Guangyao's crimes. But he remembered his father always hoped to see Nie Xingyu return, always speaking so highly of that cousin who had been almost a brother to him.

Nie Huaisang's father would be delighted to meet his cousin's son, and if “Nie Xingyu” asked for it he would buy Meng Shi's contract in a heartbeat. It would only be a matter of convincing sect leader Nie then, and Nie Huaisang wasn't worried about that. His father had kept all the letters his cousin used to send and read them to his sons, so Nie Huaisang was confident he could imitate his prose and handwriting, not to mention he too carried the Nie seal to mark that letter.

At worst, if it didn't work, Nie Huaisang could always find the money somewhere to buy that contract in person and try to find somewhere to leave Meng Shi, but he'd rather know that she and Meng Yao were safe and sound in the Unclean Realm.

Meng Shi, of course, looked unimpressed by his plan. She still thought he was lying, or trying to sell wonders like other men before him so they could share her bed for a reduced fee, or demand more of her than they'd paid for. Nie Huaisang didn't mind. If people's opinions of him mattered, he would have chosen a different way to avenge his brother, wouldn't he?

-

It took nearly a month after Nie Huaisang had brought Meng Shi back to her brother, but one morning, from the room he'd rented across the street, he saw a small group of Nie cultivators go in. His father was among them, and when they excited the building, he was carrying little Meng Yao in his arms and chatting cheerfully with Meng Shi who seemed shocked at this turn of events.

Unseen by her Nie Huaisang smiled, and went to activate the talisman that would take him back to his own time. Hopefully this would have been enough to save Nie Mingjue. And if it hadn't... well, he knew how to travel to the past now.

-

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes. He was in his room, and yet not. This was what used to be his room when he was young, before he became sect leader. A little smaller, a little more private, with a view on a small private garden where he kept his favourite birds. Hisroom, the one he'd always preferred, and had only abandoned in a desperate attempt to be the leader he'd thought his people would need. If he still lived in this room, then it meant Nie Huaisang wasn't sect leader.

Delighted by this apparent victory, Nie Huaisang sprung to his feet and rushed out of the room, only to run head first into someone.

He'd ran into that person enough times that he knew them instantly, even before seeing their face.

“Well someone is in a hurry,” Nie Mingjue said with a laugh.

A laugh.

Nie Mingjue was laughing. Nie Huaisang couldn't even remember the last time he'd heard his brother laugh like this. Not since the Sunshot Campaign, he thought.

“Your cousins haven't arrived yet,” said someone standing just a step behind Nie Mingjue, her voice also full of laughter. “You didn't oversleep, don't worry.”

It took all of Nie Huaisang's willpower to look away from his brother (Nie Mingjue, happy, laughing, healthy) but he managed it, because that other voice was a little too familiar.

It was odd to find Meng Shi in her fifties when just a few hours ago, Nie Huaisang had seen her in her early twenties. Her hair had turned grey, there were wrinkles on her face, and she had exchanged the bold colours she used to wear at the brothel for the muted tones the Nie sect favoured. It suited her. Growing old suited her, if only because she would never have had the chance, had Nie Huaisang not changed her fate.

“I think he's not quite awake yet,” Nie Mingjue teased when Nie Huaisang stared too long, poking his little brother in the shoulder. “But at least I don't have to drag him out of bed. Can I leave the rest to you, auntie?”

Meng Shi smiled, and assured him she'd make sure Nie Huaisang was ready for his cousins' arrival. Nie Mingjue thanked her and left. Nie Huaisang almost ran after him, suddenly needing to touch him, to hug him, to make sure this was real, that he had truly...

“Now it's finally you,” Meng Shi noted, earning a curious glance. “I've realised a few years ago that you looked oddly similar to the man who helped me. Too similar to simply count it as family resemblance. But until today, you didn't look quite right either.”

When Nie Huaisang could only blink at her, she laughed.

“I thought so. I've been wondering for years, but... you did something to change what was meant to happen, didn't you?”

“I did. I wanted... I needed to save certain people.”

“Your brother,” Meng Shi guessed.

Nie Huaisang nodded.

“And my son?”

He nodded again. “Where is he? Is he well? He learned cultivation, right?”

Meng Shi smiled proudly. “He's one of the best in his generation, people keep telling me. He's married now, and living with his husband, but they come visit often. They wanted me to come live with them in the Cloud Recesses, but it's too cold for me over there, and I like the friends I've made here in Qinghe, so I... is something wrong?”

Nie Huaisang nodded, then shook his head. “His husband?”

“A-Yao is married to Lan zongzhu,” she explained. “I would have preferred if he'd married a woman, but Lan zongzhu is a very good husband to him, and they always seem so very happy when they're together. It's all a mother can truly wish for, isn't it? To see her child settled and happy.”

Nie Huaisang said nothing.

He did not run back into his room, didn't hurriedly prepare some ink so he could draw another time travelling talisman and set things right. It was tempting, so tempting. But Nie Huaisang resisted that temptation, and forced himself to smile.

“I'm so happy for them,” he mumbled after a while, and hoped he would learn to mean it.

#Meng Shi #Nie Huaisang #xisang #xiyao #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #this was super fun to write thanks for the prompt!!

[comfortbucky]

Hey! Can i request a cold, lonely ex-hydra reader × bucky who falls in love with her. Adding some panic attacks and nightmares of the reader.

i love this idea!!! thank u for submitting🥰

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗲 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: avenger!bucky x ex-HYDRA!fem!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers, angst (if u squint), soft!bucky

warnings: canon level violence, description of injuries, blood is mentioned, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares

A/N: i just came up with a random name for the HYDRA leader the reader is after🤣 so just ,,, ignore // also!!!! i tried out a different writing style than what i’m used to! hope u don’t mind🥺 just been feeling like a lot of my writing is the same and wanted to try something new!!!

word count: 3.5k (this is so long LMAO sorry 😭 literally why am i like this)

my masterlist!

completed requests!

The suit that you once considered a second skin, now felt uncomfortable and constricting, like a python squeezing the life out of you. Although, it made sense since the very organization of the uniform you were wearing did exactly that.

HYDRA.

For so long you were just another mindless pawn to them, just doing without every actually thinking. Unlike your younger brother, Alex. They indoctrinated him as well, getting a hold of both of you from a young age, but he was there when Captain America took down S.H.I.E.L.D. and it changed his entire worldview. You found everything he said about “freedom” to be stupid, naive, and dangerous. And you would later prove yourself correct.

You pull yourself from your thoughts as a group of HYDRA soldiers walk past the shrubbery you hid behind. Quickly and quietly, you get up and join them as they march towards the HYDRA base. As soon as you get inside, you manage to slip away from the rest of the group to search for your target.

Since HYDRA took the possibility of you ever having a normal life away, as far as you were concerned, your only purpose in life was to kill the man who was at the center of it all, Viktor Cross. And after months of tracking him down, formulating the perfect plan, that’s exactly what you were going to do today.

You make your way towards one of the main lab facilities, gun in hand when you see several unconscious guards lying on the floor in front of you. Shifting your gaze up, you see that the door has been ripped open, grip marks on the sides.

This was not part of the plan.

As you squeeze through the open door and enter the lab, you come to a halt, frozen in shock. There’s your target, Viktor, shoved against the wall by none other than Captain America himself. You almost let out a chuckle in disbelief at the irony of the situation. Instead, you take a step forward, and the glass cracks beneath your feet, alerting the men of your presence.

Shit.

Immediately, both sets of eyes are on you. Viktor’s lips curve into a smirk as you make your way to them.

“Agent- Miss Y/N,” he corrects himself. “What a pleasant surprise.” You ignore him and look to address Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America.

“Let him go and give him to me,” you start, Steve eyeing you cautiously. “So I can kill him,” you snarl, quickly turning to Viktor to see that his smirk had been wiped off his face.

“Aren’t you HYDRA?” He questions, nodding to your suit and eliciting a cackle from Viktor.

“Not anymore,” you mumble, before lifting a leg to kick Steve in his side. You hit him across the face with the end of your gun for good measure. He stumbles over, giving you enough time to grab Viktor’s collar, before he falls to the floor, and slam him back against the wall. His eyes are full of desperation and you felt nothing but pure, burning rage. You shove the barrel of your gun under his chin and place your hand on the trigger.

“You were such a gifted agent, Y/N. Don’t throw away such potential, come back.”

“Go to hell.”

Before you could pull the trigger, a force propels you to the ground and you feel a sharp pain in your side. Silence and then ringing fills your eyes as you squint your eyes to try and visualize the situation. Your vision is blurry, but clear enough to clouds of smoke engulf Viktor’s figure as he escapes. A muffled voice from behind you speaks, but you can’t make out any of the words they’re saying. You look down to see red. Just crimson red, staining your abdomen. Hands land on your shoulders, shaking you gently as your vision fades to black.

Viktor is in front of you, the barrel of his gun directed right at your head. He smirks as he moves his hand to the trigger.

“Hail, HYDRA.”

A gunshot goes off, forcing you to shoot up in bed, gasping for air. As you start to regain your senses, you realize you’re surrounded by a group of strangers. Well, not complete strangers, the Avengers to be exact. Part of your job required you to study their files, learn everything about them. You could recite from memory where and when they were born, their greatest strengths and weaknesses. Suddenly, your side starts to burn with pain, and you carefully lean back in bed. There’s an array of wires and tubes connected to you and you hear the rhythmic beeping of various machines. You’re in a hospital, or some sort of medical facility.

“That, is exactly why I said we should use restraints.”

You’re staring at the ceiling when you hear Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark, speak.

“Tony, she lost a liter of blood, she’s not going anywhere.”

Steve appears in your view, looking down at you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

You shift your gaze away from him. The last thing you expected to come out of this mission was to meet the Avengers, let alone them save you.

Steve sighs, “We’re not gonna hurt you. We wanna find Viktor too.”

There’s nothing he could say that could get you to speak. Your hatred for HYDRA didn’t mean you suddenly liked the Avengers. If anything, they were part of the problem too, so you stay silent.

“Told you, she’s not gonna talk,” Tony quips. From your research, you had come to learn that he was an arrogant man, and his statement only proved you right. “Maybe you should get Manchurian Candidate to come down, give her an ex-HYDRA buddy,” he says sarcastically.

Upon hearing “ex-HYDRA buddy,” you furrow your brows. Maybe it was the lack of blood in your body, but it took you a second to process his words and understand who he was referring to. Your eyes dart back to look at Steve’s but he’s gone.

“I’ll be back.” His voice trails off as he exits the room.

You’re still staring at the ceiling when you hear footsteps return and then several others departing.

There’s only one other person in the room beside you. Without even looking up, you already know who it is. His breathing was slow and steady until you started to shift in bed to reposition yourself. His breath hitched for a moment, before returning back to his normal breathing pattern.

“Killing him isn’t gonna make you feel better.” His comment makes you roll your eyes as you slowly sit up to look at him. There were no logical thoughts in your head, all you could feel was pain and fury. Anger swelled within you, your emotions boiling over.

“That’s rich, coming from the Fist of HYDRA,” you spat out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your stomach drop. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one you hadn’t felt in a while. What was it? Regret?

Bucky’s face fell but he kept his eyes on you. It was a look that made you feel worse, worse than the searing pain in your side.

“I’m not a killer anymore,” he said in a tone so gentle, you felt another strange, new emotion but couldn’t quite label it. You quickly shift gears to avoid addressing the uncomfortable feelings swirling around in your stomach.

“Are you keeping me hostage to lure Viktor in? Because it's not going to work." Bucky shook his head.

"We want..." he trailed off, causing you to tilt your head in curiosity. “We need your help finding him.” You scoffed.

“What do I get out of it?” Bucky’s silence gave you your answer. Shaking your head, you start to disconnect yourself from the multitude of wires attached to you and get out of bed.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he started, as you threw off your blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

Standing up quickly, the blood from your head pooled in your legs, causing you to feel dizzy. Your head spun and your arms reached out for something, anything stable to grab onto. It was a metal hand. Despite it being cool to the touch, it ignited a heat to rise to your cheeks. You look down and mumble a thank you as Bucky helps you back into bed.

Letting out a sigh, you realize with the condition you’re in, you can’t leave. Definitely not well enough to go after Viktor alone. Shutting your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, you curse under your breath.

“Fine,” you finally speak, keeping your eyes closed. Bucky nods, even though you don’t see, and you hear him walk off.

After a couple days of rest, you were cleared by Bruce to get discharged. Viktor had gone deep in hiding, making your job to find him a lot harder. Tony had so graciously given you an extra room in the tower, right next to Bucky’s. He was probably the one person you saw the most, purely due to location, and the fact that everyone else cautiously kept their distance from you. It made sense though, since you rarely spoke to anyone and spent most of your time in the lab looking for any clues of Viktor’s location. When you weren’t searching for him, you were training in the gym. Bucky was there a lot too, both of you waking up at ungodly hours of the morning. No words were ever exchanged between the two of you, and yet, there was some level of comfort you felt being around him. Must’ve been an ex-HYDRA thing.

“What’s on your mind?” You walk over to Alex and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He sighs.

“What if,” he starts, furrowing his brows. “What if freedom is good?” He speaks quietly, fearful of HYDRA listening in on your conversation.

It feels like you’ve got the wind knocked out of you.

“Alex,” you grab him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?” You’re searching his eyes, trying to understand what’s gotten into him.

“Captain America.” The biggest threat to HYDRA’s existence. He looks down at his hands. “He was willing to risk his life for it. It has to be worth something right?” Alex looks back up to you with a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen since you were children. Uncertainty. You sigh and pull him into your chest, stroking his hair.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Maybe.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Hot tears fall from the corners of your eyes. It’s the same dream you’ve had for the last week. Although, you wouldn’t consider it a dream necessarily, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Just a bittersweet memory.

Bucky could tell that something was up with you for the past week. Despite having gone through a bit of therapy, Steve’s idea, the nightmares still came to him. So Bucky was already wide awake when he heard your weeping on the other side of the wall. It didn’t help that he was also a light sleeper with super-soldier hearing. He didn’t know what was causing you to be so upset, but he didn’t want to intrude and ask. Neither of you had spoken to the other since you first arrived.

But this night was different from the rest. Usually, you would flip endlessly through channels on ur TV until you eventually fell asleep, but it wasn’t working this time. There’s a tight pain in your chest and suddenly, you’re suffocating. You rip off your covers and spring out of bed, tripping on your blankets along the way. At this point, you don’t even register the pain of slamming down, face-first on the ground. Panic has taken over your body, tears now streaming down your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for relief.

He wasn’t planning on doing anything until he heard a loud thud from your room. Immediately, Bucky gets up and arrives at your door. It’s rude to just barge into someone’s room, his mom taught him that from a young age, so he settles on knocking. You don’t hear it though, the only sound you hear is the sound of your rapid breathing as you hyperventilate. Bucky hears it too and ultimately decides on inviting himself into your room.

“Y/N?”

You’re lying on your side, curled up in a fetal position with your hands covering your face, when Bucky opens the door. He quickly arrives by your side, kneeling beside you, as he examines you for any injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

You manage to shake your head in response, anxiety still flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, Bucky’s familiar with panic attacks, having had them himself. But he also knows that everyone deals with them a bit differently. Guess he did manage to learn some useful things from therapy.

“Can you try breathing with me?”

He starts to take deep breaths in and out until he sees you start to follow along with him, your hands still covering your face. There’s a part of you that feels stupid for keeping them there, but they help ground you, so you continue to shield your face. After what feels like an hour, but was probably only 10 minutes, your panic subsides. That’s when a wave of embarrassment hits you, realizing that it had been Bucky with you during your panic attack.

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you’re greeted by piercing blue eyes. You blink a couple times, realizing that Bucky had taken a spot on the ground, lying on his side to face you, his hands pressed together under his head like a pillow. He smiles and you feel warm. It’s terrifying, the new feelings that Bucky has caused you to feel and yet, you don’t mind.

“You feelin’ better?” You nod and smile back, something you haven’t genuinely done in a while.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You stare at each other in silence, lying side by side. There’s no physical touch involved but somehow, this moment, it feels intimate. Bucky breaks the silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks in a voice so soft, it almost sounded like a whisper.

It might’ve been the fact that he just calmed you down from a panic attack, but as you looked into his eyes, you felt the walls you had built up for the last year slowly come crashing down.

“He killed my brother,” you reply, maintaining your eyes on Bucky. You searched his eyes for any fear or pity, but all you could find was a look of understanding. His eyes were starting to become a safe place for you.

“Alex was there when Steve took down S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA along with it. He wanted out, out of the organization.” Taking a deep breath, you continue. “Word got around about a “rat,” so I took the blame. Viktor was about to shoot me when Alex’s dumbass ran in front of me, sacrificing himself.” You let out a chuckle, your vision getting blurry as tears swelled in your eyes. “He was a goddamn idiot, but he also had a heart of gold.”

As you start to cry, Bucky hesitatingly extends an arm to hover over your body, trying to gauge your reaction. Physical touch was something he struggled with during the beginning of his recovery, and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He’s reassured when you grab onto his shirt and pull yourself closer to him, and wraps an arm around you, his other hand softly stroking your head.

You hadn’t cried like this since Alex died, bottling up all of your emotions to focus on finding the man responsible for his death. But as you sobbed into Bucky’s chest, you realize that your love for Alex had transformed into an ugly, burning hatred for Viktor. He wouldn’t want this. You didn’t want it, at least, not anymore. The only thing you wanted was your brother back, and that was impossible.

Bucky held you in his arms until you fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your slow, rhythmic breathing, dozing off shortly after.

That night with Bucky had softened your cold, hard exterior that you initially presented yourself with. You would willingly spar with Nat in the training room and join the team for breakfast or dinner. Everyone noticed and, while at first thrown off by it, happily embraced it. Especially Bucky.

Initially, he got up to work out in the early hours of the morning as a habit. Now, he woke up to see you. His heart did flips in his chest every time he walked in the gym and saw you. Since that night, you started to acknowledge his presence, turning to smile and wave as he walked through the doors. It was something he looked forward to every day.

During the day, you were focused hard on tracking down Viktor and Bucky knew that. But he also knew he wanted to spend more time with you. He looked for reasons to enter the lab, whether it was offering snacks to you throughout the day or helping Bruce or, even Tony. Anything to see you again.

Bucky realized that there was a deeper, stronger emotion that he felt for you when he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. The first thing he thought about was you. Specifically, how you were the only thing that could possibly calm him down. Although he’d come in that night to help you with your panic attack, you ended up helping him as well. He hadn’t slept as soundly and peacefully as he did with you. And you hadn’t either. There were several nights when neither of you could sleep and ended up running into each other. It slowly became a routine that would begin in the kitchen, exchanging life stories, and end on the couch in the common area, entangled in each other’s arms.

Tonight you didn’t show up and Bucky panicked. He stared at the kitchen clock. It had been 20 minutes and you still hadn’t shown up. Bucky racked his brain for anything he could’ve done to scare you off, but came up with nothing. It wasn’t like you two had been officially together, Bucky had no idea what you were to each other. All he knew is that he wanted to be with you, always.

You were soundly asleep in bed, passing out as soon as your head hit the pillow. It was a particularly physically exhausting day for you, training with both Nat and Steve.

Bucky was so caught up with the thoughts racing through his head, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had taken him right to your door. He stands there for a moment, silently debating what to do. Grumbling under his breath, he musters up the courage to knock on your door. Right as he was about to turn away and shuffle off to his room, your door opens. You greet him with a yawn and a tired smile.

“Oh, hey Bucky.”

He looks at the bags under your eyes and feels instant regret wash over him, realizing that you weren’t avoiding him, but just getting some sleep.

“Sorry,” he looks down at his feet. You frown and place a hand on his cheek to lift his head up.

“Something wrong?” He avoids your gaze, partially because he’s embarrassed and partially because his cheeks were turning red because of your touch.

“No.” You cross your arms and let out a sigh.

“You’re a bad liar.” It’s his turn to sigh, as he scratches the back of his head.

“You didn’t come to the kitchen,” he lets out, in almost a whisper. It hits you. You were so tired, you had completely forgotten about your nightly tradition. “It’s stupid, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up," he mumbles. Bucky begins to walk off but you grab his hand. When he turns to look at you, his brows are raised at your touch.

As you start to speak, you pull him close, facing you. “It’s not stupid.” His hands move to hold your waist as yours move to wrap around his neck. You pause, an idea popping into your head. “I’m kind of tired from training today, wanna just come sleep with me?” He nods and you drag him to your bed, nestling into his arms as he holds you to his chest, his chin resting above your head. You tilt your head back to see him looking down at you. There’s a fluttering feeling in your chest and you smile.

“Just for future reference, you have an open invitation to cuddle with me, anytime.” Bucky chuckles at your offer.

“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

Bucky cups your face in his hand and you nuzzle your cheek in his palm. His eyes dart down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Then, the most delicate, sweetest kiss you’ve ever received is on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open as you both pull apart. He quickly kisses your nose before pulling you back into his chest, speaking softly.

“And you have an open invitation to kiss me, anytime.”

#bucky barnes #request! #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky imagine #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #soft!bucky #soft!bucky x fem!reader #fluffy!bucky #fluff #imagine #oneshot #winter soldier #the winter soldier #enemies to lovers #avenger!bucky #bucky x avenger!reader #angst #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #tw anxiety #tw panic attack

[tennessoui]

hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?

hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger

this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.

(2k WHOOPS)

The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.

After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.

Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?

It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.

(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”

“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”

“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.

Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”

Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)

(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)

(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.

“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”

“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”

Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”

Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”

“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”

Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)

The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.

Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.

Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.

Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.

It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.

It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.

Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.

He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.

When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.

“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.

“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”

Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”

“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”

Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”

“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.

Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.

“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.

There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.

(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)

(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)

(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.

“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”

The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.

“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.

“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.

“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.

Is that too much to hope for?

He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.

Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--

Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?

Oh shit.

Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.

Oh. Shit.

#asks #one more ficlet in this universe and i will have No Choice but to piece them together somehow on ao3 #there was supposed to be a bit where one of his students is like 'oh i didnt know you were a father!' #and obi-wan is like 'im not a father' #and then he plugs in his laptop to pull up the powerpoitn for the day #and his background is a picture of luke and leia #not even doing anything theyre just sleeping peacefully in his favorite armchair hugging the same book #anakin had sent it to him #with the text that they were taking turns playing Obi-Wan and Student #but the game was so boring they fell asleep #KUWSK

[fangirlsmood]

Tomioka Giyuu x reader - inferiority complex

Summary : Noticing how Giyuu doesn't know his own worth, you try to remedy his inferiority complex.

Warnings : Spoilers about Giyuu’s past.

author notes : Seeing our little Giyuu blame and put himself down breaks my heart, it's time for someone to comfort him and tell him what an amazing person he is.

_ Tomioka-san ! 

Hearing your voice, Giyuu stopped in his walk and turned to you, nodding his head to greet you. You noticed that he was holding a bunch of papers, probably a mission report he had to return to Oyakata-sama.

_ You’re already back ! After filing your report, would you accept ...

_ No.

_ But...

You've been begging him for a while to train you. He had saved you a few months ago from a demon and since then you had only one wish: to become like him. You were infinitely grateful to him and you were so admiring. Not really knowing how to fight but wanting to be useful you had started to help at the Butturfly estate. However you wanted to do more, you wanted to save people before they could get hurt like Giyuu had done for you.

_ Ask another person.

_ Kocho-san is already taking care of Kanao, Rengoku of his little brother ... Everyone else is too busy to spend time with me. I want you to train me... please.

He looked you straight in the eye for a moment then sighed, unable to resist your perseverence :

_ Fine. I will train you but don't expect me to be a good teacher.

Since that day Giyuu trained you every time he return from a mission. You couldn't be happier. The training was difficult, tiring and sometimes painful but for you it was an honor. Even if he didn’t said it Giyuu was proud to see your progress. Besides, it was nice for him to have company. 

•••••••••••

One day, at the end of a hashira meeting, Rengoku came to approach him.

_ Tomioka ! We don't see much anymore (Y/n) at the Butterfly estate. I heard that you train her.

 He nodded, Rengoku let out one of his loud laughs :

_ It's surprising ! I had offered to train her but she had refused. Is she doing well?

_ She’s not bad.

It was surprising indeed. You told him that no one was available to train you and he learned it was a lie. Why had you been lying to him? He didn't understand what you could gain from it.

••••••••••

That night he found you serving dinner for both of you like you did almost every day since you had become his student. 

_ Welcome home ! How was the meeting ?

_ Good.

His gaze immediately made you uncomfortable. Usually he always gave you a warm look, while now he was looking at you coldly, as if he had difficulty recognizing you. He took a seat in front of you and began to eat. After a heavy silence which weighed on him as well as on you, he decided to speak :

_ Why did you lie to me ?

You did not remember having committed such an act against him. Seeing your confused stare he developed his point :

_ Rengoku told me he offered to train you. Why did you tell me that no one has time for you ?

You didn't think he would find out someday. Nothing in his attitude or his voice let show anger but you knew he was necessarily upset. Giyuu was a man of his word and honor, for him a lie was a lack of respect. You were terribly ashamed, however, you manage to stammer an explanation :

_ Oh ! It’s not what you think ! In fact it is but... I mean I didn’t really thought about it... Believe me it was far from my intentions to disrespect you, I would have never offended you on purpose ! I just... I just wanted to be trained by you.

_ Rengoku is a really good and strong man. You should have accepted his proposal. 

He marked a pause.

_ Go back to him, if you ask him I think his offer still stands.

Was Giyuu denying you? Did he no longer want you as a student? He got up and turned his back to you as if to end this discussion but you got up in turn, you wanted to stay by his side: 

_ I don’t want anyone else to train me ! 

_ It would be better for you.  He will be able to take care of you and make you evolve. 

Suddenly you realized what was going on. Giyuu thought Rengoku was a better hashira than him. Didn't he know how strong he was too? You stood in front of him so you could look him in the eye, so he would know you weren't lying :

_ You’re strong too. And you’re a good professor. 

_ You don’t know what you’re talking about. I am stronger than you that’s all. 

_ You’re a hashira ! You’re one of the strongest !

He lowered his head you saw in his eyes, him who was usually so impassive, a hint of sadness.

_ I don't deserve this title. I shouldn't be there.

_ What do you mean ? 

You noticed that his hands tightened on his haori.The words struggled out of his throat, as if part of him wanted to hold them back while another wanted to get them out :

_  Those who owned the two parts of this haorie should be there, they should be alive. Them, not me.

It was the first time Giyuu had talked about his past. You kept silent, you didn't want to rush him. You just wanted to understand him, reassure him, make him feel surrounded. 

_ (Y/n)... I know you admire me and it's nice to have someone so dedicated by my side but you don't know everything. You idealize me. I am not a strong. I am not a good person.

One of his hand clenched the red part of his haorie :

_ I wasn’t strong enough to protect my sister...

His other hand clenched on the other part :

_ I shouldn't have passed the Demon Slayer exam ... Sabito should have, he was much stronger, much better in everything, but he protected me and it cost him his life.

You were speechless. Knowing that Giyuu, who was so generous, strong and usually impassive, had suffered so much broke your heart. You wanted to cry for him but you knew it would only cause drama. You will cry another day, now you needed to cheer up your beloved master.

_ Rengoku will know how to protect you, you will be safe with him. 

••••••••••

The next morning Giyuu couldn't find you anywhere. He assumed you had chosen to join Rengoku. He was sure it was the best option and it suited him for the moment. He felt ridiculous for confiding in you last night, and was too embarrassed to see you again. Nevertheless he had become so used to your presence that he already missed you. Part of him regretted telling you to leave. 

Fortunately you came back little less than a month after your departure and with a surprise. You ran to him yelling a "tomioka-san" as a greeting before handing him a package. A little taken aback he examined it for a moment. Impatient you pressed him a little : 

_   It's a gift for you! Open it !

He followed your instructions and found a nice little bundle of papers taht were of different sizes and different colors. The writings and the ink used were also diverse. You started to explain nervously :

_ I wanted you to know how amazing you are, so I asked the hashira, your old master and a few of the people you saved to write down what they liked about you or what you had did good for them ... Oyakata-sama and Gyomei-san could’nt write but they dictated to me and I transcribed everything ... I didn't think it would take so long to contact everyone, sorry ... 

He had already started to read. Everyone had written something even Obanai, Sanemi and Shinobu had found a few nice things to say. Shinobu had recounted a mission accomplished with Giyuu and admitted that without him it would have been a failure while Obanai and Sanemi were content to write a single sentence where they said that Giyuu was not "that bad" and that "some of these techniques were quite impressive". Urokodaki gently reprimand him so that he would stop always blaming himself and telling him that he was proud of him. 

And finally there was your letter. It was the longest and as he read it he wanted to cry with joy. He wondered what he had done to deserve so much praise, he wanted to deny all these compliments but you had written a real reasoning full of examples to support your words that he was obliged to recognize his qualities. 

He felt his heart melt. it must have taken so much effort from you to collect all these little words, it was a real treasure that you had just offered him. You watched him silently in his reading which lasted a long time and since he didn't say anything you wondered if it was really a good idea :

_ Erm... Do you like it ? It's okay if you don't, but keep them anyway. That way you could always reread them when you needed to ... you know ... know how amazing you are.

A smile covered his face and you noticed that his eyes were bright like a child who discovers the world. His smile was so faint you might not have noticed though it was the sweetest you've ever seen. 

_ Thank you. It's the nicest thing anyone's done for me. It must have taken a lot of effort from you to convince Obanai, Sanemi and Kocho and put it all together.

_ You deserve all the effort in the world.

You gave him a huge smile and he believed you. He felt all the weight he had on his heart, all his guilt shut up in the face of all these kind words. For the first time Giyuu told himself not only that he was lucky to have you by his side but also that he deserved to be happy. Every time he read one of the letters he said to himself, although it was still hard for him not to doubt it, that he was worthy. More than feeling worthy, he felt loved.

••••••••••

Navigation

#giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #giyuu tomioka imagine #tomioka giyuu imagine #giyuu tomioka x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader fluff #giyuu x reader fluff #tomioka x reader fluff #tomioka giyuu one-shots #giyuu one-shots #kymetsu no yaiba fluff #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba one-shot #kimetsu no yaiba x reader fluff #demon slayer x reader #kymetsu no yaiba scenario #kny x reader #kny imagines #kny one-shot

[the-littlest-goblin]

ooooooooh for fic prompts, could i request: essek interacting with Frumpkin, specifically playing with him (so as to impress Caleb and earn his favor a bit), but our favorite hot boi most likely did not have pets growing up and is at a bit of a loss with what to do. (bonus: Caleb sees this and thinks it's incredibly endearing)

I think you got everything you wanted. ft. my personal 'here’s how Frumpkin can still win’ headcanon.

----

This was not how familiars were supposed to work.

Essek may not have summoned one before (he’d never really understood the use of an assistant with no opposable thumbs), but he had read enough about the spell to know that this was not how familiars were supposed to behave. 

Maybe that was because Frumpkin didn’t technically count as a familiar anymore.

No one knew exactly what had happened, or why. Essek and Caleb had exchanged a number of theories on the matter, but so far the best explanation still went to Beau’s conclusion: “weird fey shit.”

After Aeor and the Somnovem, when they had all finally gotten a chance to breathe again, Caleb had done some sort of ritual to more permanently banish his familiar. Essek hadn’t gotten the full context at the time, but it had something to do with symbolic closure and moving on. The cat was already gone from the Material Plane at that point, but Caleb had wanted to remove the temptation to summon him again, and so devised a sort of reversal of the Find Familiar spell.

However, upon performing the anti-summoning ritual, the cat had appeared in the ritual circle as if Caleb had cast the spell as usual. Only instead of going to his master’s side, Frumpkin had sauntered away from Caleb with a swish of his tail and gone to sit directly at Essek’s feet.

“Hmm,” Caleb had muttered, the hint of a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “It looks like he has made a choice.”

Ever since, Caleb had been unable to banish Frumpkin, or communicate with him, or give him orders. He had seemingly lost his magical connection to, and mastery over, the cat—Frumpkin was no longer his familiar, as had been the intention. It was just that Frumpkin apparently liked the Material Plane better than the Feywild, and so refused to leave. And since Caleb had let him go, he chose a new wizard to keep him company. For the next several days they had spent recuperating and planning their next moves, Frumpkin stuck with Essek, never straying from his side for long.

But, crucially, he did not become Essek’s familiar, a lesson they had learned quickly enough. Essek didn’t even have Find Familiar in his spellbook. He couldn’t banish Frumpkin, he couldn’t communicate telepathically with him, and he certainly couldn’t give him orders. 

So, Essek just had a pet cat now, one which happened to be fey in nature. Stranger things had happened—much, much stranger—so for Essek’s part, it had seemed easiest to just accept this development in stride. At times, he was even grateful for the cat’s presence. 

But right now, he was very much not. At least familiars were obedient.

Essek winced against the sound of shattering glass—a sound which was becoming somewhat routine since taking up residence in these new, temporary lodgings with Frumpkin as his roommate. 

Essek closed his eyes and took one deep breath before looking up from his notes to survey the damage. His gaze met Frumpkin’s round, amber eyes across the room, looking impossibly innocent where he sat primly on one of the tables which Essek had set up to house his research. His tail swished back and forth where it hung over the edge, acting like a flashing signal to point Essek’s attention down towards the starburst of broken glass glittering directly beneath him.

Mercifully, the beaker which Frumpkin had marked for termination had been holding a harmless and easily replaceable solvent, rather than any of the more valuable or dangerous liquids Essek had lying around in his provisional lab. His fingers curled protectively around the precious vial of liquid dunamis sitting next to him.

“Why?” He let the single syllable of the word stretch out into a long, bone-deep groan lasting several seconds. The question was aimed both at Frumpkin and at himself, and covered a variety of curiosities he had about the situation. Why did Frumpkin feel such a persistent desire to destroy Essek’s belongings? Why had he chosen to adhere himself to Essek in the first place, when he seemed to hold a deep disdain for everything Essek owned or did? Why was Essek incapable of learning the very simple lesson of locking the door to this makeshift lab? Why had he promised Caleb that he would take care of Frumpkin while the Mighty Nein dealt with the Assembly, instead of throwing the mangy beast out onto the streets of Port Dumali as soon as they had arrived at the safe house?

None of these were questions to which Essek was about to get any answers, so he tried another one.

“What do you want from me?”

Frumpkin blinked.

“You are still a fey being. You don’t need food or water, and as far as I understand, providing those two things are the pillars of caring for a pet. So, what else could you possibly need that requires my attention?”

Frumpkin flicked his ears.

Caleb had given Essek a brief overview of what to expect in terms of cat-care, but either he had chosen to leave out a lot of unsavory details, or decoupling from their arcane connection had put Frumpkin through a drastic personality change, because Essek had received no instructions about how to handle the kind of stalemate in which he currently found himself.

“You have my sincerest apologies, but unlike your previous master, I cannot read your thoughts, and your current methods of communication are lacking in clarity.”

Frumpkin’s tail began swishing faster. He broke eye contact with Essek to gaze intently at the row of jars lining the next table over. These were full of various concoctions, including some potentially dangerous acids, the results of Essek’s increasing boredom as he stayed hunkered down in his safe house day after day. He only ever went out for the duration of a Disguise Self to buy food or other necessary supplies; he was too noticeable to amble around the city for leisure, on the slim but ever-present risk that word of a strange drow in Port Dumali would reach the ears of Ikithon or his servants. Essek was under strict instructions to stay as hidden as possible until he got the all-clear from the Mighty Nein. With only the materials to continue his most basic experiments with dunamis, he was growing bored out of his mind. 

Essek heaved another deep sigh before reluctantly abandoning his notes and gliding over to where Frumpkin had stationed himself. With a short wave of his hands, the spill vanished and the broken shards of glass floated gently into the trash bin. Then, Essek unceremoniously lifted the cat into his arms before he had the chance to wreak any more havoc, and deposited him outside the door. 

Distraction removed, Essek made to turn around and return to his research, this time intending to lock the door to prevent further feline interruptions. But before he could do so, he made the mistake of looking into Frumpkin’s eyes again. The cat’s pupils gleamed, impossibly wide and round, and his tail was still swishing back and forth in an incomprehensible pattern, like some sort of code. A mixture of affection and guilt welled up in Essek, rooting to the spot.

Godsdammit, but he had promised Caleb he was going to take care of his cat, and that meant not ignoring Frumpkin when he was clearly trying to tell him something. Because even if Caleb no longer wanted a familiar to travel around with him, he still loved this damned cat, and also Essek was trying to be less callous and heartless in general.

He thought back to Caleb’s instructions with a fair bit of desperation, searching for some hint of what would make Frumpkin happy. All he came up with was a faint recollection, something about enjoying being scratched behind the ears.

“Is that all you want? Is that what you interrupted me for?” Fighting not to roll his eyes, Essek reached down for a pet.

As soon as he got close enough, Frumpkin lunged.

“Gah!” Essek snatched his hand back, nursing the sting of pain from Frumpkin’s bite. There was no blood; the little demons’s fangs hadn’t managed to break the skin. It could barely count as an injury, but the shock of betrayal hurt more than the scratch.

“What in the Nine Hells was that for?” Essek glared at Frumpkin, then noticed just in time that the cat was poised to strike again. This time, he only had to turn slightly to keep his hands out of harm's way, but Frumpkin wasn’t aiming for the exposed skin. There was a loose thread dangling from the hem of Essek’s sleeve, apparently caught by the previous attack. Frumpkin was intent on it. He flung himself at the thread, grabbing at it with his clumsy paws. It slipped through his grip, and he lunged again without hesitation.

Experimentally, Essek lifted his arm so the thread dangled higher off the ground. Frumpkin took the challenge to heart, leaping to grab it in his teeth before it slipped out of his grasp again, and he landed on the floor in defeat. Essek moved his arm over to one side, and Frumpkin followed with enthusiasm, this time managing to get the thread around one claw. The split second of resistance was enough to tear it from Essek’s sleeve. Frumpkin rolled over onto his back, victorious, batting his prize around in euphoric glee.

A grin spread across Essek’s face as he watched this display of simple delight. 

“I suppose you were just bored, too. Was that it?”

Frumpkin responded by biting the string with a vengeance. 

An idea began forming in the corner of his mind as he watched Frumpkin playing. Absentmindedly, Essek twisted his fingers and summoned a trace thread of dunamis into his hand, shaping and stretching it into a longer and longer cord of greyish, glowing energy, which he then dangled tantalizingly over Frumpkin’s head. The boring, non-magical string was immediately forgotten and discarded as Frumpkin caught sight of the dunamis toy. His whole body wiggling in excitement, he lunged at the cord again and again, pulling a genuine laugh out of Essek as he bobbed and weaved the magic around, dancing it out of Frumpkin’s grasp. He needed a break from his lab anyway, and this was shockingly entertaining.

---

“Well? How are they?” Just a hint of nerves colored Caleb’s voice, as it did every time they checked in on Essek. The fear that this time, the scry would reveal him not safe and sound on the Coast, far from the Trent’s reach, but somewhere cold and dark and threatening.

The faint glow faded from Jester’s eyes as the spell ended. Looking up at Caleb with a smile, she said, “You’re not going to believe this Caleb, it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Caleb grinned back at her.

#critrole #critical role #my writing #fic prompts #the pedant in me needs to point out that Essek would definitely be wearing his anti-scrying necklace but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #Anonymous

[yourmidnightlover]

also.. fluff 10 and smut 5 maybe 😌

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: i LOVE fake dating.

fluff #10: fake dating

smut #5: first time (a classic)

CW: cursing, unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, oral (fem receiving), virgin!spencer, leaning towards dom!reader but not explicitly mentioned. *let me know if i’ve missed anhthing*

he needed something. something to make him seem less loser-y. he needed you.

spencer reid’s high school reunion was right around the corner. said high school reunion had all of the kids who would make fun of him, pick on him. the ones that stripped him naked on a pole. now he was 26 and in the bau for the fbi. he was successful. he made his mark. he saved lives.

but he still didn’t have a significant other. he didn’t have someone to come home to. he would have to go to his high school reunion with the knowledge that everyone was still more successful than him in the relationship aspect because he didn’t have that special someone.

“kid,” morgan intervened, “don’t let something like that make you not go to the reunion. you’re successful now. you’re pretty boy. that alone will rub it in their faces.”

“i know but everyone’s probably in a relationship now. they might even have kids and a wife or husband. i just... i want to seem like something to them,” he placed the lid on his coffee cup and began walking with morgan back to his desk.

“then ask someone to go with you. i know a little someone who wouldn’t mind posing as your girlfriend for a few nights,” morgan nudged his shoulder.

“morgan,” he rolled his eyes. “you know who i actually want to go with, which means you also know that she won’t want to go with me,” he finished explaining.

“y/n?” morgan whispered. “the girl who’s been fawning over you since she got here? the new liaison that’s been here for over a year that you still haven’t asked out?”

spencer turned his face to look at you through your office window. you were busy filing through cases, your head down in focus as you bit your lower lip while concentrating. your hair was crowding your face, obstructing the view of the beauty spencer has become mesmerized by.

“reeiidd,” morgan sang mockingly. “that just proves my theory. ask her out already.”

“i don’t want to ruin things, morgan,” he sighed as he sat down at his desk. “i wouldn’t even know how to ask her. i’ve barely kissed a girl, let alone ask one out.”

“you don’t have to ask her out, really,” he sat atop his desk. “just mention the situation and say she was the first person that came to mind, flatter her.”

“morgan, drop it,” spencer hissed as the bau filled a bit more.

“just ask her to go with you,” he said a bit louder.

“ask who to go where?” your voice rang through his ears, he liked up to see morgan smirking.

“uhm ask...” he ran his mind for another answer besides the truth.

“i know when you’re trying to come up with a lie, spence,” you chuckled.

“fine,” he sighed. “i wanted to ask if you’d mind going to my high school reunion with me?” he couldn’t meet your eyes.

“oh sure! that sounds fun,” you agreed. “why were you so nervous to ask?”

“well, you see,” he cleared his throat. “everyone in my class has a significant other and i just wanted to seem a bit less like a loser.”

“spencer you aren’t a loser,” you said sympathetically. “you save lives on a daily basis, you’re crazy smart, you have the sweetest personality, and you’re gorgeous. there’s nothing loser-y about you.”

“re-really?” he asked.

“of course, really,” you nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. “and if you’d want me to pose as your girlfriend i’d be more than honored,” you added with a chuckle.

“thank you, y/n,” he smiled. “it-it means a lot to me.”

“of course. but for now,” you motioned to the files in your hand, “it’s case time.”

-

after a couple of months had passed, the reunion was finally upon the two of you. spencer had insisted on paying for your ticket to vegas because ‘he got you into this mess in the first place.’

you and spencer had to reserve one hotel room - courtesy of the school reunion. they just so happened to decide to allow the two of you to share one bed. it was reasonable, and cost efficient.

as the two of you entered the room, you were surprisingly caught off guard with not only the one bed in the room, but also with how nice the hotel room was. out on the balcony there was a jacuzzi that was covered by an awning. when you looked in the bathroom, there was a rather large tub and a separate shower adjacent to it.

“wow,” you awed. “this place is really nice.”

“i didn’t expect this,” he added. “i guess they saved the money from my actual high school years.”

you plopped down in the center of the bed, sighing as the soft mattress curved around your back, “i could really get used to this.”

“yea, me too,” he took the time to gawk at you as you seemed so peaceful, lying on the bed. “we uhm,” he cleared his throat, “we should probably start getting ready for tonight.”

“alright,” you groaned, slowly sitting up to prepare for the evening.

-

walking into his old high school, spencer felt a wave of nostalgia mixed with bile rising in his throat. this place was absolute hell for him. he was teased, ridiculed, practically tortured for being special.

“hey,” you squeezed his arm, which yours was wrapped around. “you’ve got this, spence. you aren’t the same defenseless kid you were back then,” you stopped him in the middle of the hallway and placed your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging them. “you are a successful adult with an amazing job and friends to support you. plus, you have a really hot girlfriend by your side,” you both chuckled at that.

“thank you,” he took a deep breath. “thank you for being here.”

“it’s my honor,” you placed your arm in the crook of his once more. “shall we?”

“we shall,” he smiled as you entered the gymnasium of his old high school.

spencer tried his best to avoid any glances or possible stares. it was nerve wracking, being here with his previous bullies. granted, with you by his side he was far less worried.

you had found a group of people he used to hang out with. he was never close with people in high school, but these kids at least didn’t make fun of him. they were all proud to see that the former child prodigy is now using his gifts for the betterment of their country. you had even seen his old math teacher that took a liking for him many years ago.

“spencer?” he heard a very familiar, chill-inducing voice. he looked up to see none other than her.

alexa lisbon.

“spencer,” she chuckled. “it’s me, alexa.”

he felt your grip on him tighten, reasonably so since you knew about what had happened.

“h-hi,” he stuttered out.

alexa wasn’t as beautiful as she was in high school. it’s true what they say about those who peek in high school, he presumes.

“how’ve you been? i heard you work for the fbi now?” she placed a hand on his shoulder, which he resisted swatting away.

“yup. the behavioral analysis unit,” he looked at you before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “i actually met her there, at work.”

“...her? are you two...?” she retracted her hand from his shoulder as you curled into his chest.

luckily, you two had already worked out the kinks of your “relationship.” where you met, first date, how long, everything was figured out.

“yes. for six months now, actually,” he smiled and looked down at you. “it’s been an amazing time with her. i wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. i love you.”

“i love you too, sweetie,” you gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, noticing his blush once you retreated.

“well, that’s... nice,” she almost grimaced as she gazed over you. “how did he manage to get a girl like you?”

“like me?” you asked for clarification.

“y’know... beautiful?” she lent in towards you as if spencer wouldn’t be able to hear what she had said.

“excuse you?” you scoffed.

“you heard me,” she rolled her eyes.

“no, i heard you. i was just wanting to give you the chance to realize how incredibly dumb you sounded, but apparently you truly are just that. dumb,” you placed a hand on spencer’s chest protectively. “this is one of the strongest, smartest, and most brave men i’ve ever met. he protects our country every day by using his own intelligence, something you clearly lack. so next time you ever think about insulting him or me, i suggest you ask yourself whether or not your even deserving of talking to him.”

“i-i just-“

“just nothing,” you interrupted. “how about you go and annoy someone else with your lack of brain cells?” and she walked away with a roll of her eyes.

“i can’t believe her,” you scoffed, turning around to look directly at spencer.

“you uhm, you didn’t have to stand up for me like that,” he whispered.

“i wanted to,” you wrapped your arms around his torso. “she’s a bitch and it seemed like nobody has ever put her in her place. i’m glad i got the honor to do so,” you gloated.

“i know. but thank you,” he sighed, briefly looking over his shoulder. “i think she’s still looking.”

“do you trust me?” you placed your hands on the side of his face, drawing his attention to only you.

“always,” he nodded as you got on your tip-toes, gently pulling his face into your own.

he placed his hands hesitantly on your waist, helping to hoist you up to meet his own lips. it was better than he’d imagined - and boy, did he imagine this. you were gentle, and delicate but provided the passion that spencer shared with you, pulling his bottom lip between your own and gently nibbling it. he let one of his hands trail up your body, going to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. at this point, he had forgotten all about alexa and the other students at the reunion. it was just you and him.

“can we-“ you whispered softly to him, your forehead pressed against his, “can we get out of here?”

“please,” he breathed out as you grabbed his hand, pulling him back through the doors of the gymnasium to exit.

-

as soon as you opened the room, you were on each other. you nearly tore his jacket off of him as he worked on the dress you had worn. he wanted to take his time, to relish in this moment while it lasted, but his own eagerness betrayed him. he was far too excited to be able to slow down.

his hands roamed your body, pawing at the soft tissue of your breasts over your bra as you moaned into his mouth.

“take it off,” you sighed, allowing him to reach behind you and unclasp the clothing.

“fuck,” he awed upon seeing your bare chest, you giggled at his eagerness.

as he gawked at your chest, it was almost as if something had clicked in your mind. and he saw that it had.

“have you... done this before?” you asked, your hands moving down to his shoulders.

“like am i a... a virgin?” he bit his lower lip as he saw you nod. “... yes.”

it didn’t truly surprise you. he had never had a long term girlfriend, and as a child prodigy sex was probably pushed to the back burner.

“are you sure you want your first time to be with me? i’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be special,” you smiled half heartedly.

“of course i want to do it with you. was your first time special?” he rebutted, maybe he knew it wasn’t special ahead of time.

“you deserve for yours to be, though,” you tried to reason.

“it will be if it’s with you, please,” he let his hands trail to your waist as he gave you his best puppy dog eyes, pleading for you to keep going.

“and you’re sure?”

“so sure,” he whispered, smiling before connecting your lips once more.

you were content with that answer. he felt your hands wound in his hair once more, gently tugging at the locks to elicit a groan from spencer. you slowly pushed him back to sit on the bed and straddled his hips, his hands still firm on your waist. clearly, he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. placing your hands atop his, you trailed them to the front of your body, stopping them once they reached your breasts. he looked up at you with eyes seeking approval, which you granted in the form of a nod. he leisurely took one of them into his mouth, your head rolling back in pleasure from the feeling. his hand continued to work on the opposite side, tweaking the nipple when he took it between his teeth.

“so good to me, spence,” you praised from his lap, slowly grinding against his bulge to seek any form of relief.

you were both getting more and more eager as the time passed, evident by the groans and whimpers that left each other’s mouths. because if this, you ran your hand down his front and let it remain over the bulge before gently stroking it.

“y/n...” he murmured. “please, i-i need...”

“need what, baby?” you asked with a smile. “need my mouth on you? need inside of me? tell me, sweet boy.”

“anything,” he decided to go with. “i need anything.”

“how about i just...” you got off of him to remove your pants before looking back at the man sitting before you. “care to even the playing field?”

“ri-right,” he chuckled before standing up to undo his belt and throw his pants off, followed by unbuttoning his shirt.

“so fucking pretty,” you walked closer to him and slid off your panties. “do you think i’m pretty, too?”

“i-i- of course, i do,” he reached for your waist hesitantly, eyeing your now bare pussy, his nerves not getting the better of him.

“yea?” you straddled him once more but this time pushed his torso down so he was lying on the bed.

he felt your hand trace his bulge that was still trapped inside of his boxers. the light touch was enough for him to whimper. he wanted nothing more than to make you feel good, but he was too mesmerized by the feeling of you.

“morgan has a point when he calls you pretty boy,” your lips were now happily decorating his neck. “i’ve never met a man who i can confidently call pretty, yet here you are.”

“plea-please,” his hips bucked up before you reached inside of his boxers, pulling him out of the fabric.

“before we keep going,” you paused for a moment. “i have condoms in my bag, but i’m clean and on the pill if you’d want to...”

“... not wear one?” you nodded your head. “i’m clearly clean, too. and i just - i really want to feel you.”

“perfect,” you chuckled. “let me do the work, baby,” you sat up temporarily, placing his dick just below your center. “you feel that? how wet i am?”

“yes, god, yes. i feel it,” his hips bucking forward allowed his dick to rub between your folds.

“that’s from you, my sweet boy. all you,” you ground your hips against his member once more, sending his head flying back from the friction.

“please,” he breathed out with obvious frustration. “i-i won’t last long if you keep going.”

“alright, i’ve got you,” you finally rose your hips, reaching between the two of you so you could line him up with your entrance before slowly sinking down on him.

“oh my god,” he whimpered. “you’re-you’re so tight and wet and - god.”

“does this feel as good for you?” you asked as you stayed stationary on his lap, trying to let him soak in this experience as much as he could.

“probably better, if i’m being honest,” he let his hands grip your hips with a bruising touch, too eager to realize his own strength.

“i doubt that,” slowly, you rose your hips before dropping them back down.

spencer’s hands found their way up to your chest, gently pawing at them with fascination. his hips began to meet yours as you picked up the pace.

“fuck, it feels so good,” he cried out, placing one arm around your waist so he could fuck you from beneath.

“ditto, pretty boy,” you groaned as his hips picked up the pace. “so fucking eager, baby. you feel so good inside of me. cum whenever you need to, baby. i want you to cum inside me.”

“fuck - i’m gonna - i-i-“ his hips thrusted up one more time before spurts of his cum filled you up. “oh, fuck!”

“oh, you did so good, sweet boy,” you stroked his hair as he fucked his cum into you, trying to ride out his orgasm. “so, so good.”

you continued to rub his shoulders and stroke his hair as he came down from his high.

“you didn’t come,” he whispered against your chest.

“it’s alright. i still enjoyed myself,” you smiled at the sentiment. “sex isn’t always about coming. it’s also about the intimacy.”

“but i wanted you to come, too,��� he nearly whined. “can i... can i make you feel good, too?”

“how do you wanna do that sweet boy?” you wanted to hear him say it, that much was obvious.

“you know,” he turned his head on your chest, placing a chaste kiss on your breast.

“do i?” you tugged gently at his hair to hear him whimper once more.

“please, can i...” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “perform oral on you?”

“oh, i love it when you talk dirty to me, doctor reid,” you sighed with a soft chuckle. “of course you can.”

you lifted yourself off of him before he slowly rolled you over, kissing his way down your body to meet with your center. he placed a soft kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke up your slit, cleaning up the mess he made inside of you.

“fuck, good boy,” he moaned at the praise, wanting to hear more and more every day.

and he worked for the praise. he lapped at your center and sucked lightly on your clit, quickly building the tension inside of your stomach. once he entered his finger, unprompted, you questioned how experienced he truly was. he curled the finger inside of you expertly, trying to find your g-spot and successfully doing so. it was only a few stroked from inside of you and sucking on your clit for a few more seconds when you came on his fingers, tugging on his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder.

“fuck, spencer!” you moaned out, throwing your head back as he worked you through your own high.

once you had come down, it took pulling spencer up by his shoulders for him to let up on your pussy. that man might’ve been made to eat a girl out.

“you did so fucking good, spence,” you praised before connecting your lips, gently sucking on his tongue.

“that was...” he trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe it. “it was enticing,” he settled on.

“yea?” you chuckled against his lips.

“yea,” he smiled back before sucking your bottom lip between his own. “thank you, for this.”

“thank you for trusting me with this,” your fingers twirled his locks between your fingers.

“i don’t know how this normally works but... i think i just really want to-i want to...” he squinted his eyebrows before ripping the bandaid off, not wanting to sound too squishy. “can we just cuddle? i think i need to feel close to you.”

“of course we can, spence,” you replied. “but first i need to pee. i refuse to get a uti,” you quickly got up and ran to the bathroom, returning later and finding him cuddled underneath the sheets, leaving space on the bed beside him for you.

once you had laid down, he laid his head on your still bare chest. he loved the closeness and intimacy being bare with you had, and he had never felt it before.

spencer knew he had chosen the right person to not only share his high school reunion with, but also share his first time with. perhaps you would be the first, and last.

#spencer reid smut #mggwl 1k celebration #spencer reid

[citrus-lady]

Shigaraki and Dabi's (separately) reaction if their girlfriend plays a prank on them. For example, they see her with a false hickey/bruise or "dead". Sometimes I'm ruthless and I want to make these men nervous

You got it!

Shigaraki

Please don’t play dead with this man it is literally his worst fear and he will not think it's funny. He’ll cry and when he finds out it was fake he will be so relieved at first but then he’s going to be incredibly mad. He won’t talk to you for days.��

Other, milder, pranks are okay though. Those will only annoy him. Water bucket above the door frame?  Whoopie cushion on his gaming chair? Oreo filled with toothpaste? Childish. This might even inspire him to get you back with a couple of his own pranks. 

Just don’t pull any pranks on him in front of the league. He will not tolerate being made a fool of in front of his group. If you do he will be furious and you will regret doing so. 

If he does start to prank you back, his pranks are a bit more personal. He does things like switching your shampoo with hair coloring and putting fake spiders and snakes where you can see them, totally not so you can jump into his arms for comfort.

He’s a big hypocrite because he will subtly prank you in front of the league. He’ll put hot sauce in your drink or itching powder in your underwear and silently watch you suffer. Then he’ll act like he doesn’t know what's going on. What’s wrong? Something wrong with your drink? Having an allergic reaction?

Eventually, one of you two will take it too far, so it might as well be you. When you put a fake hickey on your neck it's the last straw for him. Shigaraki is a pretty possessive guy and he’s going to flip and go into an enraged tantrum. He’s very insecure so he’s going to assume either one of two things. He’s either going to assume that you’ve cheated on him or that someone has forced something on you, and neither of these options is acceptable to him. 

If he’s going with option one then he is going to be so hurt and pissed off at the same time. He’s going to yell and demand the name of the bastard that you betrayed him for, the person who is apparently better than he is, so he can kill them. He’s also going to demand you tell him why you did it, was he not enough? 

If he’s going with option two, then he is going to be even more enraged. How DARE someone do something like that to his lover. His first instinct is going to be to assume it was someone from the league Dabi since you two are around them the most. He is going to try and comfort you and coax what happened from you all while wrapping you in his arms before you have the chance to explain it's a prank. 

Depending on his reaction to the fake hickey he’s either going to feel relieved or even more pissed. If he thought you cheated he’s going to be even more pissed than he was before. Why would you do that? Why would you make him feel insecure and hurt like that? You should expect to give him some space for a couple of days. 

If it's the other option though he is going to feel so relieved that nothing happened to you. Shigaraki was ready to decay a bitch and is filled with relief that it was fake. He’s still going to scold you though, you had him so worried. 

After that you better not pull any pranks for awhile. In fact, the prank war is pretty much over per Shigaraki’s demand. Overall, pranks are okay as long as they do not interfere with his work and do not emotionally hurt him.

Dabi

If you try to play dead on Dabi then he won’t buy it. He’ll walk in the door and see you lying face down in a puddle of liquid and shattered glass and he’ll just walk over and grab you by the back of your shirt collar. “ Come on, dummy.” he says as he drags you to the bedroom. Not to say it doesn’t startle him for a second, after all, he is afraid of losing you to something like this. However, he's very perceptive, and when he notices the lack of blood and the slight movement to your chest he puts two and two together. It all just seems too planned. 

That being said, most pranks don’t actually work on Dabi, he’s too perceptive to his environment and your behavior. He’s going to instantly notice your avoidance of certain areas or the extra attention you’re giving him to see if he’ll trip the trap. He thinks it’s cute though, so sometimes he’ll act like he doesn’t see it coming to make you happy. He just thinks it's too cute when you act childish and you have that big, dumb smile on your face, showing all teeth. 

He’s going to want something in return though, so every time you prank him he’s going to pull you into his arms and bury his face in your neck. He’ll pepper you with soft kisses and serenade you with teasing words. The one thing he thinks is cuter than your smile is your blushing face. 

Normal pranks take too much time and effort so he gets you back in a different way, he’s not quite as childish as Shigaraki. So his version of getting back at you is teasing you relentlessly. Teasing gropes, teasing whispers and words, teaing slaps and pinches. He loves to see your blushing face and the way you try to squirm and wiggle away from him. Like you could.

If you do manage to pull one over him he’ll both be impressed and amused. He’ll chuckle and shake it off. He’s impressed because wow, you actually outsmarted him. That or he’ll be disappointed in himself like he really fell for something that dumb?

What he wasn’t expecting was you to put a fake hickey on your neck. Don’t get me wrong, he puts a lot of marks on you, but he also keeps meticulous track of all of them. He’s proud of the marks he gives his s/o, so when he sees one that’s not his, he’s PISSED. 

Dabi is both jealous and possessive and his mind, much like Shigaraki’s, goes to the same two options. Except for, either way, he’s pissed. If he thinks you cheated then he is going to show you exactly who you belong to and what you're risking. Don’t expect to be walking any time soon. It’s really up to you to decide to tell him it’s a prank before or after though. 

If he thinks someone hurt you or took advantage of you then there is going to be trouble. Whoever did it is as good as gone, a literal dead man walking. You’re going to have to stop him from stomping out the door and explain to him that it’s just a prank. It’s just a prank bro

Once you tell him it’s a prank he’s going to be kinda amused but also take it as a sign of war. He’s going to get you back big time, meaning you two are about to spend a lot of time in bed with him showing you who’s boss. 

#dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #mha headcanons #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #requests open

[cursed-or-not]

I couldn’t get one of the vignettes to work, so naturally this sat in my drafts for way too long, but this is based on a post by @thiscastielhasflown about Cas blushing around Dean :))) 

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever felt so human and so holy at the same time.

He is not who he thought he was, and neither is Dean Winchester.

When Cas accepted his orders, when he agreed to go to Hell, it was under the pretense of rescuing a righteous man. Cas expected a soul so pure it hurts to look at it straight-on, one so bright it burns.

What he did not expect were the ragged shards in front of him, thrumming like a heartbeat.

It’s not the concept of a soul, not the made-to-order design, but instead the lived-in, broken essence of a human.

It is still bright, but just enough that Cas can’t look away.

Here is a human soul: righteous and recalcitrant and real.

Cas doesn’t know how he’s supposed to move on. This is an order unlike any other, a mission he’s not sure he can complete; he doesn’t know how he can pull this soul from the fire with the clinical precision that’s expected of him. He isn’t sure he can leave the scene without leaving fingerprints, a sprawling scar that proves his guilt.

Yes, this is ordered, but it’s also intimate.

Cas knows what souls look like in theory, but this is messy and charred, and there is light shining through the tatters.

Cas is captivated by the man behind it.

Here, Cas can see the toll a lifetime takes on a human; he can see this soul’s--Dean’s-- greatest joys and miseries, can feel his pain and pleasure and imperfection.

It’s achingly, hauntingly personal, and Cas’ face burns at the intimacy of it all.

Cas doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he thinks it’s distinctly human.

Cas is already marked.

                                                         . . .

It happens more and more often now that he’s human.

Cas’s cheeks burn every time a customer yells at him at the Gas n Sip, every time Nora looks at him a little too long, every time he makes a new mistake at being human.

It never feels the same as when it’s Dean making him blush, but Cas has started to forget what that feels like.

When Dean visits, he can’t fathom how he ever couldn’t remember.

They’re in Dean’s motel room together, and Cas is trying with everything in him not to break down.

This man, this kind, beautiful, caring man is the same one who sent Cas away.

He doesn’t know how to reconcile that, and Cas feels ready to burst with everything he’s not saying.

Part of him wants to ask. Part of him wants to make Dean tell him why Cas had to leave, why he wasn’t good enough anymore, and part of him wants to tell Dean that look, this is what’s become of me since then; I don’t have a bed or a home or a family, and I don’t know what I did wrong, but I know you sent me away.

Another part of him wants to cup Dean’s jaw in his hands and kiss him until everything feels okay.

“You know, Cas, it’s real good to see you,” Dean says, and Cas almost yells at the sincerity.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair because Cas wants to hear it and Dean means it and they’re still so far apart.

“You too, Dean,” Cas tells him, because this part of him always wins out.

Dean offers a small smile, but something in his face is crumpled and wavering beneath it.

Dean lets out a quick exhale, and Cas can’t read his expression.

“Cas…” Dean begins, and Cas doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

“It’s okay,” Cas says quickly, and he can’t tell if he means it or not.

Dean closes his eyes.

“It’s not,” he shakes his head bitterly. “I’ll explain it to you, one day, but for now it’s shitty and selfish and not okay.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say. He’s still hurt and angry, but this is Dean, and today is one of the days Cas wishes that he had powers that could heal more than just physical wounds. He wishes he could lay a hand on Dean and make him better, make him smile, but even when he was an angel, the best he could do was heal battle wounds before they bled out. Today, he doesn’t even have powers.

“I believe that you had a good reason,” Cas says honestly.

He doesn’t know what else he believes, but that much has to be true.

“It doesn’t matter if I did,” Dean tells him, but he doesn’t look quite as exhausted as he did before. “I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles gratefully.

“Thank you for coming,” Cas says. “And for letting me stay with you.”

“Well, mi casa es tu casa,” Dean jokes, gesturing around the motel room. “Weird stains and all.”

Cas almost slips up, then. He almost says that a cheap motel room with Dean is better than a sleeping bag in a lonely store, but he catches himself.

“I don’t mind,” Cas says instead. “I’m grateful.” Dean huffs a laugh.

“Come on, man, it’s not like I’m doing a huge favor. It’s a shitty motel room.” Dean grins. “Not even the honeymoon suite.”

For some reason, the idea of sharing a honeymoon suite sets Cas’s cheeks ablaze.

Dean doesn’t notice under the dingy motel lighting.

Later, when Dean wakes up to Cas watching him for the first time in years, Cas doesn’t notice the blush coloring Dean’s cheeks, either.

                                                     . . . 

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like the Sword of Damocles, but Cas thinks that the only one threatened is himself.

Dean won’t say it back, Cas knows.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but Dean won’t look him in the eyes and Cas needs to say something else before this stretches on any longer and his cheeks are burning again.

Cas wishes he could write off the blush as an effect of the poison, but he thinks that whatever this is won’t break as easily as a fever.

Cas looks away.

“I love all of you.”

He leaves it at that.

                                                         . . . 

Cas has been back for three days when the house of cards finally crashes.

It’s been delicate, since he got back.

He understands; you can’t just drop a love confession on someone and expect it not to get awkward. Cas may not understand everything about being human, but this, he does.

At first the lack of confrontation surprised him. Looking back, though, Cas thinks that it’s the most in character reaction possible.

Cas had come back, Dean had pulled him into a fierce hug, and then they’ve been carefully avoiding any alone time since.

Cas thinks this might be the kindest reaction, might just be Dean trying not to break his best friend’s heart, but the silence is worse.

Cas has accepted his role in all of this, and he knows not to expect more than he can have. Still, if nothing else he wants his best friend back.

Cas has never really been one to take the first step, but considering the leap of faith he took before the Empty came, he figures he can manage a conversation.

He waits until Dean’s the only one left in the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says carefully, and Dean doesn’t look as trapped as he expected. Mostly, he just looks tired.

“I think…” Cas struggles to find a way to begin. “We should talk.”

Dean nods around his beer, taking care not to look at Cas.

Cas stays on the other side of the counter.

“I know that we’re acting like nothing has changed,” Cas begins, “And if that’s what you want, then I understand. But if you have any… concerns, then--”

“Really, Cas? Concerns?”

Cas blinks. “Maybe that’s not exactly the right word, but--”

“Cas, that’s not even the right sentiment,” Dean responds, finally looking at him.

“Then what are you looking for?” Cas asks, and he hates that even now, he doesn’t know.

“What am I looking for?”

If Dean objected to “concerns,” his offense is even greater now. Cas’s brow furrows.

Dean continues, “Cas, you told me you love me!”

Cas almost flinches.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I did.”

Cas can’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he’s not sure he wants to know what they’re saying, anyway.

“There’s-- kind of a lot to unpack there, man,” Dean says, and his voice is marginally calmer.

Cas looks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas knows immediately that wasn’t what Dean was looking for, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what he is.

“You’re sorry, huh?” Dean’s voice is low, and Cas thinks there might be something ragged in it.

Cas blinks. “Yes.”

Dean huffs a bitter laugh.

“Okay, then. Think we’re done talking.”

“What-- Dean,” Cas protests, utterly confused as to how this went so wrong.

Cas steels himself to continue. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable, but Dean, I don’t want-- I can’t lose you.”

Something in Dean’s expression softens, but his shoulders stay tensed.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he offers. “Listen, I get it. You said something on impulse and I misinterpreted it and now you’re sorry, apparently. Yeah, it sucks, but you’re not gonna lose me.”

Cas feels confusion etch onto his face.

“You think that my apology means I regret it?”

Dean looks at him like it’s obvious.

“I mean, it’s understandable,” Dean replies, gesturing widely.

Cas can’t believe how wrong this conversation is going.

“Dean, of course I don’t regret it,” Cas admits, still at a loss for how Dean could have reached that conclusion. “When someone confesses something in their dying moments that they’ve been carrying with them for more than a decade, they’re not generally lying.”

Dean looks at him half in doubt and half in wonder.

“I never said you were lying,” Dean grumbles in protest. Cas thinks the sullenness is more for show than anything else.

He has moved to Cas’s side of the counter.

“Well, I wasn’t,” Cas responds, and he knows it’s not witty or clever or important, but maybe if he keeps reaffirming it, Dean will start to believe it.

“I’m glad,” Dean says, and he puzzles Cas by offering him his beer. Now, they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Cas isn’t sure why, but he takes the beer. Dean’s eyes track the motion as he raises it to his lips, and Cas’s cheeks burn when Dean watches him swallow.

This time, Dean notices.

“You blushing?” Dean asks through a cocky grin, and damn it that just made it worse.

“No,” Cas grumbles.

“Now you’re lying through your teeth,” Dean accuses, taking his beer back and taking a sip.

“Well, I wasn’t lying about the other thing,” Cas responds, trying to regain his composure.

Dean’s joking disposition crumbles, and he glances at Cas’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, looking like he’s milling something over.

He seems to decide to take another sip of beer instead, but as he raises it to his lips, he says, “I love you, too, you know.”

Of all the responses Cas was expecting, this never made the list.

His face is hot again, though, and his heartrate is a little too sporadic, and if Dean keeps drinking beer like it’s a normal friday night, Cas is going to go insane.

His brain finally catches up to the situation.

“You what?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean’s casual dimeanor finally falls away, and this time it’s his turn to blush as he looks at Cas over his beer.

“Love you,” Dean mutters, and it’s barely audible, but it’s more than enough.

Cas gives himself five more seconds of shocked staring before he huffs a laugh.

“I never thought…” Cas doesn’t know where it’s going, just knows that he’s never felt awe like this before.

“Yeah, me either,” Dean admits. “But it’s true.”

Dean sets his bottle on the counter, and Cas watches the movement, heart still beating a little too fast.

There’s still too much to say and also nothing. When Cas turns to face Dean, Dean takes his face in his hands.

Cas looks at him in wonder, eyes tracing the freckles and smile lines on his face.

Dean bites his lip quickly, still considering something, and then Cas doesn’t know who leans in first, but they’re kissing.

It’s honey-sweet and molasses-slow, and Cas thinks that this has to be why freedom exists.

#idk definitively what this is #bc it's part 15x18 coda #and part destiel through the years #but it was nice to write something #spn fanfic #destiel #15x18 coda #first kiss #spn spoilers #mine

[raineeskiesabove]

His Truth | Albedo x Sucrose HC & Oneshot (ish)

Using the hc that Albedo is a homunculus, but the nature of this creature ranges across works of fiction I’ve seen, so the rest is based on my own interpretations;;

These two may be brainy in their respective fields of study, but romance is an entirely new ballpark for both of them

They’re both complete dorks when it comes to “wooing” a special someone, and are too shy to admit their feelings. At least for Sucrose, anyway. Albedo’s feelings are a bit more complicated, as he questions whether or not his feelings are even real.

Albedo isn’t human. His feelings aren’t human. It wouldn’t be fair to let Sucrose grow so close to him. It would only be a matter of time before he would lose control, losing whatever “self” he had managed to develop over the years.

At first, Albedo treated Sucrose like everyone else- slightly distant, but with respect. However, over time, he grew fonder of the other alchemist, of her devotion to alchemy and her sweet personality. Over and over, he’d insist that she could drop the “Mister”, but she never seemed to listen. It was this pressure, of Sucrose respecting him so much, that made him all the more convinced that she shouldn’t grow close to him. The real him wasn’t who she thought he was.

“Sucrose, this is a busy time of research for the both of us. Please keep all conversations short and to the point,” he would begin to say, using a purposefully cold and icy tone.

“Y-yes of course, Mister Albedo!” Sucrose would always comply with his wishes, even if his words stung a little. But she had the tendency to ramble, and simply figured that perhaps he had grown tired of her constant questions, observations, and other such things.

For a while, Sucrose accepted Albedo’s new terms, only asking for his attention when she knew he had a job for her. No more questions about his work. No more asking for guidance. Perhaps, she thought, he was testing how well she could research on her own! She knew she was lying to herself, but Sucrose would do anything to reassure herself that Albedo didn’t truly dislike her.

One day, Sucrose left town alone to collect some samples out in the fields of Monstadt. She hadn’t told anyone where she had gone.

By this point, Albedo was mentally tearing himself apart from the inside out, realizing that he could not bear the burden to live like this. He knew that this hurt her. He could see it every time they passed in the hallway- instead of offering a shy wave, she simply looked away and continued walking. She never visited him in his lab anymore. She never asked questions, told him about the subjects she was most fond of.

But what was more concerning were the changes his body undergone since he had shut Sucrose out. At first it was barely noticeable: a hairline fracture, what seemingly appeared to be a crack, running down from the bottom point of the star on his neck. The crack led to nowhere, and didn’t chip upon his inspection, so he was forced to leave it be. As the days passed, more and more cracks began to appear, now stemming from all sides of the star marking. Soon, the cracks caused the outer layer of his skin to chip off, revealing an unnatural, gold interior beneath. These areas were extremely sensitive, like the star on his neck, making work very difficult to accomplish.

Albedo fell into a state of depression, now without care for whatever happened around him. He could barely sleep at night from how intense the markings felt, but resisted the urge to show anyone. Unlike himself, who eagerly devoured stories of the unknown, the other seeing him would frighten them.

He spent the following days mindlessly doodling Sucrose over and over again. He’d drawn her before, already memorizing each detail down to the strands of hair on her head. Thoughts of her ran through his mind almost obsessively, and he simply couldn’t understand why. He cannot love. It isn’t real. He is hardly real. He needed to let go of her, but any attempt to detach himself proved fruitless.

Only one event, after almost half of his skin had decayed, roused him from bed. A knock at his door.

“Albedo?” It was Jean. “Have you seen Sucrose? No one has seen her since yesterday, and we checked her lab. She isn’t anywhere in town, and I’m getting worried...”

Sucrose? But she never left the city unless it was to accompany him- oh.

He was such a fool.

Pulling up his hood, leaving his hair down, Albedo opened the door swiftly, saying nothing as he passed Jean in a hurry.

The only lead he had to go off of was her elemental traces, which were already fading due to it being a day since her disappearance. Not to mention that he had to move slowly, due to how sensitive every movement felt.

Half a day passed, and Albedo began to fear the worst when the trail led to the Thousand Winds Temple. So many, too many monsters dwelled within this area. It was much too dangerous for one to go alone, especially for Sucrose, who lacked a particularly reactionary element. And by now, a steady stream of rain had begun to fall around him.

Finally, he found her laying lifeless against the cold concrete, surrounded by a Ruin Guard that had seemingly lost interest in her.

If one emotion he never felt was love, the other was anger. Pure, white rage that blinded every other thought telling him to be rational. These feelings were simply overwhelming, his heart feeling like it would burst at any moment.

Defeating the Ruin Guard in a monstrous explosion of geo energy, he rushed to Sucrose’s side quickly, checking for a pulse.

Weak, but alive. Severely injured, but still breathing.

“Sucrose... Sucrose, can you hear me?” Even in a situation as dire as this, Albedo felt his voice come out calmly and even.

At first she thought that she was dreaming. She had convinced herself that she would die out here, that no one would come looking for her. Especially not the one sitting above her now. Her glasses had long been lost, but instantly she knew who it was. Even the act of breathing hurt, but the relief of seeing his face caused a smile to bloom on her lips, a laugh to escape her throat.

“Y-you came,” she whispered.

“Yes,” was all he could say before the tears escaped him, running down his face relentlessly, falling onto the girl below. His sobs were strangled and raw, echoing throughout the plaza they were in. A stream of “sorries” and “forgive mes” were mixed throughout his cries, Albedo’s chest heaving from the sudden burst of emotion. Never in his life had he cried. Never had he experienced the true feelings of sorrow and regret.

She lifted a hand to cup his cheek, perplexed by the gold plating of it, but more concerned with the distress he was in. Never had she seen her cool and collected teacher so vulnerable.

To both of their surprises, her touch did not cause him to recoil, nor did it sting him. But rather, as she held her hand in place, the gold began to fade, again growing encased within his usual skin color.

He held her hand against his cheek tightly, now desperately holding onto it. He had almost lost her, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake a second time. In terms of his condition, he didn’t understand why he had begun to decay, nor did he understand why she could repair it. But she simply could, and that was enough for him to accept that he needed her.

She insisted to now sit up, which he initially declined to endorse, but her insistence was enough to make him back down in his vulnerable state. Sitting in silence, she broke it with a nervous giggle, noting how both of them weren’t having a very good day.

Through his tears, Albedo couldn’t help but let a chuckle escape him, his forehead falling against hers. The movement caused Sucrose to freeze, shocked by his sudden and uncharacteristically bold move. In her trance, she barely noticed that he had guided her hand to the star on his neck, her touch causing a faint glow to emanate from the marking. Through his clothes, the two could see the rest of his gold spots lit up, the glow fading as her touch closed the openings.

“Mi- ah... A-Albedo, I don’t understand. Are you alright? The unusual markings on the surface of your body looked uncomfortable. Why... why was my touch so effective in counteracting them?”

“That is... beyond the realm of my understanding, Sucrose. But, I seek the truth of this world, do I not?”

She nodded, but secretly wondered what that had to do with her question.

“A long time ago, my master gave me one final task: discover the truth of this world. Days grew into months, months into years, and I never found an answer that I could accept. I grew worried that I would never be able to unravel the mystery presented by my master. Logically, this is likely an incorrect answer, but the truth of this world, my truth of this world... For now, I would like to define it as the love that I hold for you. It is... a bit of a foolish answer, isn’t it?”

“...no. No, not at all,” she whispered, closing her golden eyes. A small smile graced her lips, a gentle breath escaping her nose as her shoulders relaxed.

Perhaps it was only seconds, maybe hours, that they stayed rooted in this spot. But there was still one thing they both knew for certain, regardless of the passage of time around them. In the middle of this damp, abandoned site lost to time, Albedo and Sucrose shared their first kiss.

Eww the formatting HAHA;; Ma’am it is 130am wtf am I doing. I am so sorry if the writing and concepts make no sense lmao I fell down this rabbit hole and it became a pseudo oneshot that probably needs a lot of editing I’m too lazy to do rn. Til next time homies <3

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact albedo #genshin albedo #albedo #genshin impact sucrose #genshin sucrose #sucrose x albedo #sucrose #alberose #genshin alberose #albedo x sucrose #genshin impact oneshot #kreideprinz

[dreamingofaizawa]

Hi! Could you do yandere erasermic x depressed broken female reader NSFW and SFW headcanon. But the reader knows they are obsessed over her (she lowkey into that 👌) but she's afraid that they are lying but they found out, and reassure the reader they love her very much and will never leave her.

Well I’ve never done headcannons before, but here we go.

***18+ for the NSFW hcs***

Warnings: I mentioned kinks in here, including breeding and praise kinks, a bit of body worship, among other nastiness. Yandere tendencies, obvi. Kidnapping, kinda? idek

Note: Tbh I’ve never done headcannons before so...sorry if it’s not exactly what you were looking for. I also added a little drabble in there. Also, the very first fic I posted on this blog is a Yandere Erasermic with a similar dynamic for the reader (title: Obedient), so if you wanna take the time to read it (if you haven’t already) it’s got a bit of the same vibes lol.

SFW

-Between the constant doting and them being extremely protective, it’s pretty obvious how obsessed they are, so yeah, you know.

-After a while, though, you’re skeptical. ‘How could these two gorgeous men actually dote over someone like me?’ you think to yourself.

-Honestly that’s why you find yourself pushing them away. You know how much they seem to love you, but it just doesn’t seem logical.

-At first it’s just making excuses to stay in when they ask you to go out, but then you start avoiding them at all costs. Claiming to be busy, or sick, not wanting them to come take care of you because you don’t want to get them sick.

-They have to be lying, nobody has ever cared about you as much as they have. Nobody protects you, hovers over you, obsesses over you like they do. Everyone you cared about always lied to you, so how are they any different?

-Eventually they’ve had enough, and they barge into your apartment asking questions. When you finally let it all spill they’re all over you, kissing you and reassuring you that yes, they do love you more than anything. No, they’d never lie to you, and they’ll never leave you.

-They were concerned at first, but after hearing your reasoning they were actually a bit happy. After all, this just made everything so much easier when they finally got to take you home and keep you.

NSFW

-Once you’re finally home they’d keep snuggling you, and the cuddle session would get hot and heavy quick.

-You’d never been intimate with them, so you just let them take charge.

-Hizashi enjoys using your thighs as earmuffs, loves using his tongue to lap up all your juices and uses his quirk down there to heighten the experience.

-The loud blonde is an ass man, you can fight me on this. He will fuck you in the ass and like it more than pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise.

-Shouta will kiss and lick literally everywhere. Stomach, breasts, thighs, legs, everywhere. He’ll suck marks onto your skin, make sure that anyone who ever sees you knows you’re already taken.

-This one’s definitely got a breeding kink, a compliment to the blonde. So double penetration is a resounding yes with them.

-They’re both sweet in bed for the most part, lots of praise and reassurance.

-The only downside? Their stamina is insane. Specifically Hizashi. You’d be in an overstimulated, exhausted puddle in his arms and he’ll just whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he hardens inside you again.

-Mornings after sex your legs refuse to work properly...

Drabble

The fact that you were crying over this meant you’d already gotten too attached. 

You understood how obsessed they were, how aggressive they were to anyone who got near you. How protective they were of you like you were a newborn pup. Honestly you didn’t mind, because it meant that someone out there actually cared about you. But of course, you suspected they would eventually get bored and leave you like everyone else had. 

Which is why you’re currently curled up in bed in your apartment, crying at the fact that nobody could actually want to be around you. You were convinced Shouta and Hizashi would eventually forget about you and leave you lonely again. Time flew, and with your lack of energy and the fact that you’d called off work and set your phone to ‘do not disturb’, you hadn’t bothered to check it. 

And then there was a knock at the door. You silenced yourself, hoping whoever it was would just leave you alone. That idea leapt out the window when the sound of a lock turning bounced through the apartment. You knew exactly who was at the door. The only people who had keys to your apartment other than the landlord was the duo you really didn’t want to see right now.

As per the usual, the blonde’s voice rang out first, but it was more worried than anything. “Songbird, are you here?” You stayed quiet and bundled yourself tighter in the blankets. Your bedroom door creaked open and you heard two resounding sighs of relief. “There you are baby! Why didn’t you answer?” Hizashi sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at the bundle of blanket that was you. Again, you kept quiet. How could you tell them how childish you were being?

Shouta spoke up when you refused to answer. “Kitty, you need to tell us what’s wrong. Why are you avoiding us? What did we do?” The longer you stayed silent, the more anxious all three of you seemed to get. Shouta was usually a patient man, but today seems to be a day he wasn’t willing to wait. With no warning, he’d scooped you up and unwrapped your blanket burrito, then plopped you in his lap and held your face so you were looking in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He always managed to make you feel small when he was like this. Commanding, not willing to take no for an answer. With a huff you explained your dilemma, letting a few tears fall as you thought about how ridiculous you sounded. When you were done the two wrapped their arms tight around you, holding you tight and showering you with kisses and attention.

They promised they’d never get bored of you, never leave you like those useless people you used to call friends. As they reassured you, you were finally settling down, finally realising that they really did love you and care about you as much as they said they did. You snuggled into Shouta’s chest as he pet your hair. “How about you come home with us, kitty? We’ll take care of you, how does that sound?” 

You nod into his chest and he just scoops you up bridal style and waltzes out with you in his arms, Hizashi trailing close behind. You’ll know how much they really mean it soon enough.

#erasermic #yandere erasermic #yandere eraserhead #yandere present mic #yamada hizashi #hizashi yamada #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi #yandere shouta

[makeste]

As you didn’t think Midnight was going to die, has your perception on who’s going to die changed at all?

Midnight was actually one of the characters I was worried about because she lacked plot armor compared to some of the more prominent adult characters. I actually had a bad feeling Horikoshi might try to pull some bullshit, which is why I kept saying angry capslock things whenever the possibility came up. I was trying to speak it out of existence, and keeping my fingers crossed that Horikoshi wouldn’t do it. sadly however he was apparently deadset on being a BIG OL’ BITCH, so I guess that’s that.

this is my list of Death Predictions that I made at the start of this arc back in January. I was right about Twice dying and about Jeanist, Hawks, and the kids not dying (though on some of those I hedged my bets lol so I can’t really brag about it, I was equally convinced that Jeanist might come back as a Noumu), but missed the mark with Endeavor. so I’d say that he’s the only one I’ve changed my mind about now. I figured Dabi would kill him in some horrible way, but Dabi opted to go for a slower, more agonizing type of revenge instead. at any rate, I’m now thinking that I’d prefer for him to live anyway. I feel like we kind of got cheated out of any meaningful interaction between him and Touya because he was all shell-shocked and half-dead at the time and we barely got any kind of real reaction out of him. and I am curious now to see how he decides to deal with this.

I feel like he will feel... not obligated, exactly, because that word implies that he doesn’t actually want to do it (which I don’t think is the case). but I think he’ll feel like he has to try and save Touya any way that he can. he has a responsibility to him. we already knows he blamed himself for Touya’s “death”, and Touya obviously doesn’t disagree. so he basically has an obligation here on three separate levels -- as a father, as a hero, and as the person who is responsible (whether directly or otherwise) for what Touya has now become. so he has to try and save him. and I imagine the HPSC may feel somewhat differently about the Touya situation -- Touya is probably near the top of their Most Wanted list now -- and so it might actually end up being a convenient time for Endeavor to resign as a hero anyway. might just be that this is a situation more suited for vigilantism. anyway, so that will be intriguing pretty much no matter what, and I now see Endeavor sticking around at least for the rest of the series, though he may end up dying at the very end.

as for everyone else, I maintain that the kids are safe (though I will confess I was worried about Mirio for a little while back there), and I still have grave concerns about All Might in the upcoming arcs, especially now that we seem to be on the verge of a Prison Break arc at last. but there’s no point in speculating about that too much yet until we have a better idea of how this newest twist is going to play out. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already bracing myself, though.

and while I’m still pissed off about Midnight’s death, it wasn’t random or without purpose at least. it makes sense to kill off one of the U.A. teachers at this stage, to make it personal for all of the kids. it makes the battle feel much more impactful than if all of the people they were close to miraculously managed to survive. people aren’t usually that lucky. anyways, so my issue with Midnight’s death isn’t that; my issue is that, as I’ve mentioned in the past, there was only about a 1:4 ratio of female to male heroes as it was (only 12 lady hero characters compared to 41 male). which isn’t even getting into the fact that Midnight was literally the ONLY female character on the U.A. staff (I’m not counting Thirteen in this instance since they’re non-binary, although obviously it would be equally problematic if they’d died as well, especially after what happened to Magne). how are you going to justify killing off the only female teacher character and leaving all the male teachers alone. literally the fuck kind of bullshit is that. kill off Cementoss or Vlad instead then, if you want to have the same type of emotional impact on the kids. but killing off Midnight when we have so few female characters to begin with (and even fewer with actual character development -- and the fuck is up with the fact that she’s literally the only non-background hero character who died) is just a terrible move any way you look at it. it’s not Equality to go killing off your female characters when you only had one for every four male characters to begin with; that’s just being an ass.

anyway, but that aspect of it aside, killing off a teacher makes sense. I just wish it had been a different one. but anyway, this does at least grant a certain level of immunity/plot armor to the other teacher characters at least for a little while, since it would be a lot to go killing off another one so soon after Midnight’s death. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that aside from All Might (and possibly Naomasa), the next couple of arcs will be pretty light as far as character deaths go. -- oh, but Gran I think is still going to die too, though. anyway, so those are my current thoughts.

#bnha 296 #midnight (bnha) #bnha meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #lol I still have to go back and edit my recap #probably will be up early this evening #but I had a lot of thoughts about this in the meantime so there you go #endeavor #how did I forget to tag him lol #I'm pretty distracted right now ngl

[reveriequill-rai]

Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe. 

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults 

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-


I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.  

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

#original story #fiction story #creative writing #dark fantasy #urban fantasy #violence cw #death cw #cult cw #death tw #violence tw #cult tw

[flooffybits]

Hate To Break It

Idol: Dreamcatcher

Anon: A Dreamcatcher 8th member scenario where the 8th member who is the maknae and is still in school is being bullied pretty badly and hiding it from her members please

Warning: bullying, harrassment

A/n: this turned out longer than i expected

☕buy me a coffee☕

Handong yawned as she exited her and Gahyeon’s shared room before padding her way to the living room, blinking when she saw Bora in the kitchen and preparing breakfast.

“Unnie, how much sleep did you get?” The younger woman inquired, knowing that she had woken up in the middle of the night hearing the older woman, along with Minji, giggling and chatting outside their room.

The shorter one of the two looked over and smiled as she waved a hand, gesturing for Handong to come over. “Just a couple hours but don’t worry, I’ll go back to sleep after finishing Y/n’s lunch.” She explained when she gestured to the empty lunch box next to the stacked up pancakes.

“Oh, right. Is she awake already?” Since you were the only one who had yet to graduate, your members knew that you were still having a bit of a hard time juggling your school works and your schedules.

It was only recently that Siyeon had seen a nearly failing mark on one of your test papers. When she brought it up to the others, they had asked you if there was anything you were struggling with in school and you explained to them that you were just having some troubles focusing with the lack of sleep you’ve been getting because it just so happened that your comeback date was scheduled at the same time as your midterms.

“I haven’t checked yet. Would you mind? If she’s still asleep, wake her up so she can have breakfast and wash up.” Bora requested and Handong was already nodding and making her way to your and Yubin’s shared room.

Gently pushing the door open, the Chinese woman took a peek inside and noted that no lights were turned on, so she assumed that you had yet to get up. Taking a step into the room, Handong made her way over to your bed and smiled when she saw you curled up under the covers.

“Y/n? Time to wake up.” She tells you while placing a hand on your shoulder. She was trying not to be too loud because it looked like Yubin fell asleep not too long ago, judging by the percentage of her phone’s battery when she checked on it when she saw it plugged in.

After a few more attempts, you finally began to stir and Handong patted your hair gently so it wasn’t sticking to your face. “Hey, time to get up. Sua unnie said you should get ready for school.” She murmured and you groaned as you rested your head on her lap instead.

“I don’t want to go to school.” You mutter quietly, and if you weren’t so sleepy, Handong wouldn’t have excused it as you wanting to sleep in. “You have to. It’s only one more year and you’ll finally be out of there.” She encourages and you were able to wake up a bit more as she continued to talk to you.

Huffing, you finally sat up with a pout and the older woman giggled before kissing your forehead. “Go wash up. Food is ready outside so you better hurry before Sua unnie starts scolding you.”

By the time you were done and exiting your room, Minji gave you a grin and pulled you in a warm embrace as she nuzzled your head. “Good morning, maknae!” She greeted happily, kissing your cheek and then taking a good look at your uniform.

“Gahyeon said she would drop you off at school, today. We know that you like walking, but she insisted that she wanted to spend some time with you in the morning since she’s heading to her pilates trainer.” Your leader explained as she fixed your tie and flattened the collar of your uniform.

Blinking, you turn to the said person as she grinned at you and handed you your breakfast. “Isn’t it a bit early?” You ask confusedly, but she shook her head with a smile. “I always leave the dorm a little after you. But I wanted to get to spend the morning with you before your schedule gets too cramped.” She explained and you nod in understanding, smiling as you ate your breakfast.

By the time Yoohyeon wakes up, you and Gahyeon were already waving goodbye to everyone and the big puppy started whining with missing breakfast with you. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” She complained as you both giggled at her antics.

“Sorry, unnie, but we have to get going!” You tell her as you adjust your bag on your shoulders. “Bye!” Gahyeon teased as she shut the door and you both giggle when you could still her whining despite the door being closed.

In the car, Gahyeon beams at you when she makes her way to your school campus. “You’ve been really busy lately with all your school works. Are you sure you’re alright with everything? You can always ask us for help if you need it.” She suddenly spoke up and you hum in reply while shaking your head.

“It’s alright. I know you were all worried because of last time, but I swear, I’m managing.” You assure her, though it doesn’t stop the pout that rises to her lips. “I know, but you shouldn’t be pushing yourself too much, okay?” You offer her a smile and lean over to press a quick peck to her cheek.

“I’ll be alright.”

..

“Whoops! Sorry about that!” Flinching at the sudden coldness that was splashed over you, you could only keep your head down as your classmates laughed and walked away from you.

Looking down, you sighed when you saw the juice that they had spilled on you already staining your shirt. Getting up, you exited the room to head for the restroom and freshen up, clean the stain as best as you could. It would be easy to explain how that happened, but you had to wash your hair as well.

Right after getting back to the classroom, you were able to reach your desk without anyone messing with you. You were able to breathe out and pulled out the food Bora prepared for you.

Thinking that you could enjoy your lunch peacefully, you didn’t bother with the students around you and simply focused on your lunch.

That is until you couldn’t.

“You call that food? Where did you buy this trash?” One of your classmates mocked as they took the box from you and looked at its contents. “Give it back. My unnie prepared it for me.” You tell them with a glare fixed on your face, but the admission had only caused them to smirk.

“Oh, one of your failure members?” They snicker and you grit your teeth while clenching your fists tightly. “Don’t call them that.” You growled out, but it only pushed them to further insult you and your group. “I’m not lying though. Your group can’t even win and nobody knows you. Your company isn’t even big like SM or YG. There’s no place for you.” They spat out and it would be a lie if you said it didn’t hurt.

But you were able to mask your anger well. “We don’t have to be from a big company to be popular. Unlike you, people know who we are and you’re just jealous.” You retorted, and that seemed to make their expression falter.

“What was that?”

“You’re so used to being the most popular kids in school, but when you found out I was accepted and debuting in a group, it was so easy to feel threatened. You’re afraid of being dethroned and losing the privilege that you had.” You went on, unaware of where this sudden burst of courage came from.

But your words have only served to further anger your bullies as the one holding the lunchbox smacked it right back at your face before shoving you to the ground. “You think we’re afraid of trash like you?”

You grunted while holding your nose and looked up at them. “Not at all. In fact, I feel sorry for you that you’re so threatened by just one person you consider trash.” You shot back smugly.

“You have to learn to shut that mouth of yours, smartass.” They threatened, hand raised and ready to hit you, but before they could, one of the other students spoke up when they came into the room.

“Leave her alone already. Unless you want a trip to the principal’s office, I suggest you walk away.” You recognize the boy as the class representative and your bullies all scoffed before walking away, sending you another shove before finally leaving you alone, though not before leaving one last threat as they retreated.

You watch them with your eyes squinted before looking down at the mess they left. Frowning at the food Bora made, your mood further dampened as you cleaned it all up and threw it away.

You felt bad that she put such an effort to even wake up early to prepare it for you, only for someone to throw it away instead of letting you enjoy it. And aside from that, the uniform Minji prepared for you the night prior had been ruined, too.

When your classes finally end you let out a sigh of relief while exiting the classroom and then head for the exit so you could head home to change your clothes before heading to the company.

But it looked like your earlier courage had come to bite you in the ass when your bullies appear by your locker, smirks on their arrogant faces before one of them grabbed your arm. “I think you need to be reminded on where you belong.” They tell you, and even when you struggle, they were able to drag you all the way to the back of the school.

..

“What took you so long?” Yubin asked as soon as you entered the practice room, panting and trying to catch your breath. “Did you go to the dorm first?” Siyeon questioned when she took note of your still wet hair.

“I’m sorry! There was a lot to do at school and someone accidentally spilled their drink on me.” You huffed after finally catching your breath and then straightening up the best you could.

Seeing how tired you looked, Bora pursed her lips together when you dropped your bag on one of the chairs and took a seat on the floor to stretch your sore muscles. "Will you be okay?" She asked softly and you flash her an assuring smile. "I'll be okay, nothing I can't handle." You tell them and Minji chuckles while shaking her head.

“If you say so. But if you’re tired, be sure to tell us and you can take a break. How much homework do you have for today?” Yubin tells you while ruffling your hair. “I managed to finish most of it. I only have my math homework and a few essays.” You answer and Yoohyeon smiled while she raised her hands. “I can help!”

“Okay, okay. But for now, let’s get to work.”

And you did just that. While you all went through the choreography, you did your best to pay attention to everything. Falling into routine, you started off with the whole group before breaking into two groups just in case it helped with learning faster.

You managed to put this day’s events in the back of your mind as you listened to the sound of your song, your voices reaching your ears while you mentally counted. You watched your own movements through the mirror, noting every little detail and your members watched happily from the side.

An hour an a half, you were finally able to take a break from dancing and Gahyeon handed you a bottle when you laid down with a huff. Siyeon was laughing at you from the side and took a picture before you rolled to your side.

“No more!” You groan, only for Bora to start tugging at your leg. “Unnie!” The rest of the girls burst out laughing when the dancer started to drag your body on the floor and you could only scream at her to stop while squirming from her hold.

“You’re using me as a mop!” You yelled at her, but she merely cackled as she started to pull you once more, having Gahyeon’s help this time before you were left at the middle of the practice room.

Yubin shook her head at everything that was happening, though there was a smile on her face. Handong just watched with amusement while you laid, almost in defeat, on the floor and the rest of your members were laughing and Siyeon and Yoohyeon were laughing at the video and pictures they’ve taken.

“Okay, I think the floor is clean.” Minji teased as she sat next to you and poked your cheek with a smile. “You did great!” She laughed before Bora piped up. “Yah! What about me? I was the one who did the pulling!” She claimed before you sat up to playfully glare at her. “No one told you to do it!” 

“Is that a way to talk to your mother? Watch yourself, baby.” The older woman tutted and you stick your tongue out while crossing your arms across your chest.

Minji then lightly pushed you in Yoohyeon’s direction. “Go and do your homework.” She ushers and you nod your head before scrambling to your feet and hurrying to Yoohyeon who already had her arms outstretched for you.

The taller woman took you into her arms and nuzzled you before letting you grab your bag to retrieve your homework. As soon as you showed her, her eyes skimmed over the papers before you went to work. Next to you, Yubin and Gahyeon rechecked your already finished homework, especially ones you told them you weren’t sure of your answers.

While resting, the unnie line decided to start up the Vapp just to pass the time and show them what everyone was doing.

“Somnia! We’ve missed you!” They announce happily while setting the phone up. Since they decided to keep some distance just so they wouldn’t disturb any of you as you worked, none of the four of you were seen except through the mirror behind the older girls.

When people saw you in Yoohyeon’s arms while doing your homework, people began asking the four about it.

“Where is maknae line?” Handong read out before Minji adjusted the phone so show all four of you huddled together. “They’re all helping maknae with her homework. Yoohyeonnie volunteered to help Y/n, and then Dami and Gahyeon are checking her answers.” Bora explained while waving her hand. “So we’re not disturbing them because they’re all focused.”

“Y/n has been really busy with school, too. Sometimes I look at her and think ‘please don’t grow up so soon’ but look at her. She’s already taller than Sua unnie.” Siyeon laughed before Bora gave her a disbelieving look. “Yah!”

The pair disappeared from view and Yubin glanced up to look at what the ruckus was about, only to shake her head and continue to put your notebooks back in order.

“Are you almost done?” Minji asked you and Yoohyeon looked up from over your shoulder and then waved her hand. “Almost! Y/n just needs to fix a few things.” She replies as Gahyeon and Yubin head to join the other four.

When they looked at the comments and conversed with the fans while waiting for you, Gahyeon’s expression faltered when she saw a comment about you.

useless spoiled brat

Bora saw it not too long after and she leaned closer to get a good look before reporting the comment. The action had caught your members’ attention and their smiles faded even with the positive comments other fans were trying to send after they had also seen the comment.

“You know, there’s no need to bring other people down with you.” Siyeon said simply before Yoohyeon finally stood up and Handong looked back at you to see you putting your things away. “Y/n said she would finish the rest at the dorm so she can practice more.” The big puppy explained and the latter nodded her head before she reached for your hand when you were near enough.

You allowed her to pull you in for a hug and smiled before looking at the camera. “Hello Somnias! It’s been a while, how are you?” You greet them, oblivious to what happened just minutes ago. “They said they miss you.” Minji beamed as you rested your head on top of Handong’s.

Off to the side, Yubin had whispered to Yoohyeon about the comment aimed at you when you weren’t present and the pout on her face became apparent. “What happened?” She asked quietly so they wouldn’t be heard, but the younger woman shook her head in reply. “Just the usual people who send insults, I guess.” She mutters, displeased, and Yoohyeon huffs before nodding her head.

“I’m doing okay! The unnies have been really strict with me recently because I’ve been sleeping less than I should have.” You had explained when someone asked you about school. “Yoohyeon unnie likes to sneak into my and Dami unnie’s room, so there are times where she’ll make me sleep early.”

“That’s her excuse for when she wants to cuddle.” Yubin piped up and said girl lightly hit her arm in retaliation. “That’s not true!” She retorted, but you were already shaking your head and telling your viewers that it was.

Luckily, no other malicious comment came after that and you soon ended the live to resume with your practice before finally heading home.

..

A week after you had stood up against your bullies, things seemed to only grow worse. And it seemed that those who watched the live with your members found a way of tormenting you even more.

The past week, you had been shoved into lockers and even locked inside the janitor’s closet until a random passerby heard your voice, asking for help and let you out. They did not stop throwing food or drinks at you and you were running out of excuses to tell your members as to why, thus the reason you started to bring extra clothes just to be safe.

The constant bullying along with your practices were taking a toll on your body. The beating was getting worse and worse and no one was able to step in to help you due to the threat of being bullied themselves. The only time you were safe was when your class representative or teachers were around, but every time that happened, they came back ten times harsher.

“Don’t you train? A little push shouldn’t hurt you.” Your bully said after pushing you to the ground. When you tried to get back up, they planted their foot firmly on your back just so you wouldn’t move.

Another leaned down to get a look at your face and you could only grit your teeth while trying to move from under your classmate’s foot. “Not so tough anymore?” They taunted before poking your forehead. “We told you, you don’t get the last laugh here.” They muttered before the back of their hand collided with your cheek.

With a harsh stomp on your leg, pain shot through you before they finally left you on the ground, dirt and garbage surrounding you like they did the first time you were brought to the back of the school.

At the company, your members were all waiting for you to arrive for them to start, though Handong and Siyeon were already reviewing their parts somewhere in the room while Gahyeon was sitting on the ground, phone pressed to her ear as she waited for you to pick up.

“She isn’t answering.” The second maknae mumbled worriedly since this had been her third time calling you and you weren’t answering any of their messages. “Should we call the school?” She suggested, but Minji shook her head. “Maybe she’s at the dorm to freshen up. She has a lot going on, so it’s understandable that she would head there, first.”

“But it’s been an hour. She’s never usually this late.” Yubin reasoned, frowning when another text was left unread. “What if something happened to her?” Gahyeon voiced her worries out, but Bora gave her a look. “Don’t think like that. Y/n is just late. She’ll be here in how many minutes and she’ll be fine.”

Despite her confidence, she had her own doubts because Yubin was right. You were a punctual person and you hated making others wait because of you, so there was worrying gnawing at the back of her mind with the more time that ticked by.

After another half hour passed by, Yoohyeon finally huffed and stood up. “Where are you going?” Siyeon questioned as the younger woman headed for the door. “I’m going to Y/n’s school to check on her.” She announced while yanking the door open, only to catch two of your managers on the phone and heading out.

“Oppa, where are you going?” She asked when she saw the urgency in their eyes. Your manager unnie looked hesitantly at her and then saw the rest of your members behind her before sighing. “We don’t know yet, but Y/n is at the hospital and we need to go with her.”

Hearing that had caused their blood to run cold before Yoohyeon shook her head and followed after the pair. “I’m coming, too.” She informs them, her tone clear that there was no room for argument and the rest snapped out of their shock to quickly collect their things.

Your manager let out another breath before nodding her head. “Okay, but you stay close and wait.” She tells them before they were led to the car and brought to the hospital you had been brought to.

“We’ve been told that the janitor found her passed out behind the school. She can’t walk, but we don’t know just how bad her injuries are as of yet.” Your manager explains, clearly disturbed by what they found out.

“Has Y/n ever mentioned having problems at school?” The other asked and the girls looked at each other before shaking their heads. “She doesn’t talk much about her classmates.” Handong explains and they nod before the car had been parked for them to get out.

While the other manager went to park the car, the girls, along with your manager unnie went inside to look for you, asking the front desk which room you were in before they made their way there.

All throughout the drive and the trip to your room, your members could only think about what could have caused your injuries or who could have done this to you because they just couldn’t imagine someone laying their hand on you.

When they reached the front of the door, your manager looked to each of the girls’ faces and saw the nervous and anxious looks that they wore. She was about to tell them that they didn’t have to enter, but she knows that none of them would be able to rest if they didn’t see you.

So upon entering the room you were in, they were greeted by the doctor and a few nurses that were in charge of looking after you. The doctor looked up from the clipboard she was holding and then offered a sympathetic smile to everyone as she ushered them all inside.

“How is she?” Your manager asked and the doctor turned back to your sleeping form. “She’s alright, nothing too serious. Aside from the bruises, it looks like her leg has been beat really badly. At first we thought she may have either fractured or dislocated it since she couldn’t move it, but luckily it isn’t that severe.” She explains while flipping through the page.

“The area isn’t somewhere for her to hurt during a fall unless there was a rock or bumps on the ground, but from what the man who brought her here stated, there wasn’t anything. Given that she was also behind their school, Y/n’s injuries weren’t caused by an accident.”

“So, you’re telling us that someone did this to her on purpose?” Bora demanded and your doctor sighed softly as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I can’t say that I’m certain, but with the blunt force needed to hurt her leg like this, it would appear so. And the fact that she was left behind their school with no one to find her is questionable, but I don’t have all the answers you’re looking for.”

She nodded to the man that stood at the side of the room, offering them a small nod before introducing himself. “You were the one who found her?” Your manager questions and he nods.

“Can you tell us what happened when you saw her? Was there anyone around?” The man frowned as he glanced at you and then shook his head. “She was all alone when I was cleaning up. The kids should have all left the school and the only people around when I was cleaning were a few members of the faculty, and they were even surprised when I reported Y/n being behind the school.”

Minji pursed her lips, inhaling deeply as she clenched her fists. “Do you see Y/n at school at all? Has anyone been bothering her?” She was dreading the answer, but when the grimace appeared on the man’s face, it was clear to them what was going on.

“Y/n was never one to get mixed into trouble, it just so happened that some kids from her class weren’t too fond of her. I don’t know the whole thing, but I’ve seen them pouring her with drinks and even stealing her food.” He then began to narrate everything he was able to witness and even the whispers of students he’s passed by.

Meanwhile your members all needed to pause and let the information sink in. Siyeon held on to Yubin’s shoulder to keep herself steady while Minji felt her eyes begin to tear up.

“How do none of the teachers know about this?” Yoohyeon demanded, but your manager gestured for them to keep quiet before she faced the male. “Would you mind if I ask a few more questions? This is a serious issue and endangering the health of one of our artists is definitely going to cause problems for the school.”

Your manager told your members to all stay in the room while she dealt with everything and none of them needed to be told twice as they approached the bed. Gahyeon took the seat closest to you and gently took your hand in her own.

The room was quiet, save for the steady beating of your heart through the monitor, but even that didn’t ease their worries as they watched over you.

Handong was lightly rubbing the leader’s back when she saw the concern on her face, the tears that she was trying to keep at bay was making her eyes sting. Yoohyeon held Bora’s hand when she saw the shorter woman already wiping her own tears, but the most prominent emotion she had in her was anger.

Who dared to hurt her baby so badly that she ended in the hospital?

It wasn’t acceptable.

“Don’t do anything brash.” Siyeon was the first to speak up, her expression dark while she kept her arms crossed. “We’re all upset, that’s clear, but we have to make sure maknae is alright before anything else.”

“She’s in the hospital, I think that’s a clear enough sign that she’s not alright.” Yoohyeon shot back with her teeth clenched. “Why would she not tell us she was being bullied? Who the heck would do such a thing?” Bora finally let out and Yubin pursed her lips as Minji sucked in a deep breath.

“Siyeon is right. We need to be calm about this.” But Minji’s words only further angered the pair. “How the hell are we going to be calm? Do you see what’s going on?” Bora gestured to you but Yubin shook her head. “Jiu unnie is right. We can’t be doing things that will only get everyone in trouble.”

“So we’re just going to let these kids go and keep tormenting Y/n?” Yoohyeon shot back. “You know that none of us want that, but we can always handle this in a civil manner.” Handong intervened, but their bickering had only further progressed until Gahyeon looked up.

“Be quiet!”

Surprised, all six of them turned to her as she bit her lip. She didn’t want to have to raise her voice, but they were not helping in making the situation better.

“Y/n is in the hospital, she’s hurt, we know that and we can’t do anything, but do you think arguing with each other is going to make her feel better? You want to do something, so do I but that’s not our call.” She said in between sobs, her grip on your hand growing tighter. “The best we can do is be there for her and make her feel better, not remind her of what happened.”

That seemed to help the girls in calming down. While their emotions clashed with one another, they decided to keep some space between them inside the room as they waited though Gahyeon refused to leave your side, along with Bora.

Your managers came back shortly afterwards to inform them about everything the janitor told them and that they would be having a meeting with the school, along with your director.

“He’ll be stopping by as soon as Y/n is comfortable enough to talk.” The girls nodded in understanding before the pair left to arrange whatever preparations they needed to make, as well as emailing your school.

..

“... wasn’t what I wanted and I shouldn’t have said that.”

Groaning softly, you force your eyes to open as you hear the sound of your members’ voices.

When did you fall asleep and when did you get home? You don’t remember getting to leave the school after-

“What happened?” Was the first thing you were able to croak out, voice hoarse after not using it for so long.

Settling down around the bed, all of the girls seemed relieved to see you awake after how many hours of waiting. Yubin offered you some water to drink before you took a sip, thanking her before finally taking in the scene that you were in.

“How are you feeling?” Gahyeon asked softly as she brushed your hair back. You let out a small huff before shifting in bed. “Like I went through our whole choreography for five days.” You mutter and it was able to draw some chuckles from your members. “Well, at least your sense of humor is fine.” Handong replies before Minji finally placed her hand on your leg.

You turn to her and there’s a look that you recognize from the time she sat you down to have a serious conversation regarding your schedules and how you were coping up. “Would you mind talking to us?” She asks carefully and you know that, by now, there was no hiding anything with how serious things have gotten between you and your classmates.

So with a nod, the girls take that as their cue to ask what they needed. “Why didn’t you tell us that people were picking on you?” Yoohyeon was the first to ask and you play with the sheets while avoiding their gaze. “I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. I assumed they would get bored and stop eventually.”

“But it only got worse.” Yubin said for you, and you grimaced while nodding. “They didn’t like me for being an idol. They didn’t want people to be better than them.” You sigh while leaning back. “... You know they can be charged for assault, right?”

At that, you kept quiet while they continued to explain the call they received from your director.

“We want you to transfer schools, but we don’t think it’s fair for us to be making that decision when it’s you who’s directly involved. So, the director wants to know what actions we’ll be taking from here.”

You were quiet for a while and they understood that this wasn’t an ideal position for someone at your age, but they couldn’t sit by and keep you in a place where it was clearly dangerous for you.

With a sigh,  you shake your head and look up to all of them. “I don’t want to press any charges.” Hearing your answer caused most of them to frown and Siyeon rubbed the back of your hand as she sat down. “Why not?”

“They’re kids my age and, sure, they hurt me, but the difference is that I already have a career. I can handle transferring but if I do press charges, that could potentially ruin their future even though I know there’s a chance of them changing.” You explain quietly, afraid that they wouldn’t agree with your sentiments.

But to your surprise, they don’t protest and, instead, smile before Yubin ruffled your hair whilst Minji placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, being mindful to avoid the bruises on your cheeks. “We’ll talk with the director tomorrow and tell him. For now, get some rest.”

And as you went back to sleep that night, all of your members could only watch over you with fond smiles and admiration swimming in their eyes. Because even when you were at the receiving end of other people’s words and actions, you were always understanding enough to give them another chance.

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