#not even enough to literally dump their bare body in the ground'

[banannabethchase]

MoxClaudio. Claudio stronk.

Put Your Filthy Hands All Over Me - also on AO3

~

Claudio keeps…moving Mox around. Bodily. Often, before important events. It's becoming unfairly hot.

~

This is Sarah's fault for the prompt, "MoxClaudio. Claudio STRONK." Title from Filthy by Justin Timberlake.

~

Mox has got to tell Claudio to quit it.

The first time he realizes it’s getting out of hand is when he’s in the middle of a pump before his match against Orange Cassidy at All Out, burpees kicking his ass as he tries to look his best.

“Oh, excuse me, Jon.” He puts his hands on Mox’s waist where he’s bent over and picks him up like Mox weighs nothing and moves him a few feet over. His smile betrays none of his intentions as he leans in and kisses Mox’s cheek. “Good luck, tonight, darling.”

Mox has to wrestle for a belt with a hardon that only gets worse, but he wins. He wins and Claudio kicks Yuta and Bryan out of the locker room before bending Mox over and calling him Champion while he fucks him.

Mox means to ask Claudio if he did it on purpose, if he picked Mox up like a rag doll and shoved him around like he’s nothing more than a gym bag to him, just to rile him up. He’s busy when Bryan and Yuta knock on the door and thinks they should have expected him to swear at them when they walk in.

“Hey!” Yuta says. “No invite? You two are dicks.”

~

At Claudio’s for a visit, he gets his hands on Mox’s waist to move him to the other side of the kitchen. “Sorry, dear,” he says, light and annoying as hell. “Had to get to the pickles. You understand.”

Mox blinks at him. “What?”

Claudio’s shirtless as he leans over and grabs the pickle jar from the fridge, smiling. “I’m craving something salty.”

The motherfucker winks.

Mox is forced to crawl under the desk while Claudio is playing Mario Kart with his friends and suck him off. The satisfaction as Claudio flies off of Rainbow Road multiple times almost makes everything worth it.

~

“Okay,” Mox croaks, bent in half, “that’s enough. I get it.”

“Do you?” Claudio asks, eyebrow raised. He pushes harder and Mox feels his body squish in ways it shouldn’t. “I worry you do not yet understand the consequences of your actions. And,” he chuckles, “you haven’t tapped.”

“God, fine,” Mox wheezes. “I tap. Let me go.”

Claudio releases him from the weird fucking hold he’d gotten Mox shoved into. Mox’s legs flop to the ground and arms to the side. He gets the first full breath in what feels like years. “Can you breathe?”

“Barely, you giant douchebag.” Mox rolls to his feet. “I don’t even get how you got me in that position.”

“You were staring at his ass,” Yuta offers, in the corner where he’s doing burpees. Asshole doesn’t even have the good grace to sound out of breath. “When he called on it, you called him narcissistic. And then he grabbed you by one leg, lifted you up, and slammed you to the mat.” He looks pensive. “You looked sort of like a Thanksgiving turkey with your legs all up and weird like that.”

Mox glares at him. “That wasn’t an invitation to be a douchebag, Wheeler.”

Yuta’s expression stays calm, just the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips. “You literally asked the question, Jonathan.”

Mox dives at Yuta and pins him to the mattress. It doesn’t help his boner situation.

~

He was simply trying to nap on the bench between a matchand a promo. That’s it. He can’t even nap in private.

“You’re on top of my bag, darling.”

“Am not,” Mox grumbles, adjusting. His eyes are closed when somebody grabs him by the legs and yanks, sending him flying down the end of the bench. It’s on instinct that he leans up and wraps his arms around the waist of the other person.

“You were,” Claudio says, and Mox realizes with mild fury that Claudio is holding him up with one arm. “Next time ask for a pillow.” Claudio walks him to the other side of the room and essentially dumps him down on a chair. Mox’s ass hurts, and it’s not even in the way he wants.

“How did you even pick me up?” Mox asks. He blinks the sleep away as best he can. “I was dead weight.”

“I could bench twice what you weigh,” Claudio says. He looks a little offended. “You’re like a feather to me.”

Mox is hard in a second. “Uh. I am?”

“Certainly,” Claudio says. “Shall I pick you up again and throw you into the showers to prove it?”

Mox opens his mouth to say yes, please, actually, but Bryan bursts in and starts yelling about statistics.

“You two need to start winning tag matches,” he finishes, shaking his head. “Yuta’s got a belt, and the three of us can’t be upstaged by that little shit.”

“Are we talking about me again?” Yuta asks, popping his head in. Mox is really annoyed that his belt still looks so good over his shoulder. “What’d I do this time?”

“Bryan is jealous of your belt,” Claudio offers.

Mox sighs as Bryan and Yuta start bitching at each other. There goes his nap and chances of getting laid in the next hour.

~

“We are at your house,” Mox grumbles. “We have three days before we are contractually forced to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. Why the fuck do you have an alarm set?”

“We are scheduled to make an appearance at my gym,” Claudio says. “Come now. Up you get.” He grabs Mox’s legs and yanks him down off the bed, gigantic hands on his thighs, pressing just a hint. Mox is embarrassed by how hard he already is, but he thinks, if he lies hard enough, he can blame it all on morning wood. “Oh,” Claudio says, “and we’re running a wrestling clinic, by the way.”

“We’re what?” Mox sits up, avoiding the realization that Claudio is between his legs but not immediately fucking him. “I don’t wanna teach a bunch of newbies at eight in the morning!”

“It’s at seven, actually,” and it can’t be a mistake with the way his hand brushes against Mox’s hard dick tenting his pants. But Claudio’s face is blank as he gets dressed. “We have to be there at 6:30.”

“What ungodly fucking hour did you wake me up at?” Mox whines.

“Five ten,” Claudio says, and he’s still smiling. Mox wants to kill him, a little. “I let you sleep in.”

Mox grouches and pouts the entire clinic, but his boner never completely goes away.

~

Mox whines as Claudio presses up behind him before he can stop himself. They are literally getting ready to make their entrance, and Claudio ruined it by manhandling Mox to their entrance spot.

Claudio chuckles.

“I hate you,” Mox grumbles. “You know that?”

“You hate me, do you?” he reaches around and palms Mox’s cock. Mox arches into it. “This suggests differently, my love.”

“Fuck off with that my love shit,” Mox says. If it’s more of a moan, well, that’s between him and God. “This is a dick move, and you don’t even seem to get it.”

And then Claudio laughs, and Mox thinks he might have to commit murder. “Do you really think,” Claudio murmurs, condescending and knowing in Mox’s ear, “that I’m unaware of what it does to you?”

Mox groans. “Fuck. You prick. You’re sending me out to matches and shit with hardons, on purpose, and then I’m stuck horny wrestling in front of thousands.”

Claudio raises an eyebrow as his hands go to Mox’s belt. “Does this imply you aren’t always horny wrestling?”

Mox opens his mouth and closes it. “You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not?” Claudio slides his hand into Mox’s jeans and palms as Mox’s cock with a giant hand. It’s enough to fuck up Mox’s head for the next few months, but he can’t let it happen. “What a shame you’ll have to go out there hard and unsatisfied.” He squeezes once then pulls his hand away. Mox thinks the kiss to the forehead is unnecessarily bitchy. “Until later, darling.”

Mox wrestles the tag match, technically. Lee and Shane are too good for him to fuck around with – as much as he hates to admit it, he needs to be on his game.

When they win, he looks over at Claudio. And the smile, at least, promises him something good.

“If you can be good until we get back to the locker room,” Claudio says, leaning over Mox’s shoulder to whisper into his ear, “I will make up for being mean earlier.”

“Promise?” Mox asks, and he tries not to get too excited.

He skitters backstage, giddy, and takes his hoodie from Jenna, his favorite PA.

“Thanks, Jen,” he says.

She nods to him and continues her work, and Claudio steps up close behind him. “You’re being so nice,” he murmurs into Mox’s ear. “You do want it, don’t you.”

“I’m always nice to Jen,” Mox snaps, and then he relaxes. “Shut up. You’re doing this on purpose. Dick.”

“That’s not very nice of you.”

“You’re not very – shut up,” Mox says. “Let’s get back to the locker room. Like, now.”

They’re halfway back, Mox’s skin crawling with the need to be out of his clothes, when a cameraman stops them. He stumbles through the promo, sure his eyes betray his end game. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets, into his sleeves, to keep from grabbing at Claudio. He doesn’t know if the camera catches his desperation, and doesn’t care. It feels like it’s been eight hours before they’re able to leave. Mox grabs Claudio’s hand.

“Impatient,” and Claudio’s tone is so calm and collected Mox wants to kill him.

“It’s your fault,” Mox snaps. “You’ve been doing this shit for weeks now and it gets worse every time.”

“Does it.” Claudio sounds entertained. “I would never have known.”

“Don’t – don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” Mox glares at him over his shoulder. “You already told me you know what you’ve been doing.”

“Have I?” Claudio’s laughter is audible, somewhere in the back of his words. “I’m not certain that is something I would do.”

“I hate you, you know that?” Mox grumbles. He finally, finally, gets to their locker room and throws open the door. He’s stripping before Claudio’s even taken a step inside. “Fuck me now.”

“No romance?” Claudio asks, and it’s unfair that he looks so good. “What a shame.”

“Shame my ass,” Mox says, bending over. “Come on. You’ve been a dick for ages. Just give it to me.”

Claudio plants his hands on his hips and sighs. It takes every ounce of focus in Mox’s body not to look over his shoulder and stare at what he knows is a perfect, sculpted, douchebag of a man. “Not even a please?”

“I swear to god,” Mox grumbles through gritted teeth.

“Darling, you know as well as I that the only person you’ll be swearing to is me.”

He pulls down Mox’s gear without fanfare and walks away, grabbing his gym bag right in front of Mox. “Jon,” he says, “did you put a new bottle in without telling me?”

“I didn’t,” Mox says. “Probably was Yuta. He and Bryan keep fake hate fucking or whatever every time either of them wins a match.”

“You keep mentioning Yuta,” Claudio says, twirling the bottle of lube in his fingers. Somehow, Mox gets harder. “Would you like me to invite him?”

“No,” Mox says, automatically. “I mean. Sure. Later. Not right now.”

Claudio’s smile finally betrays his glee. “Because you want me, don’t you.” He walks up to Mox and tilts his head up, kissing him deeply, almost possessive. Mox bites into it, demanding something as mean as Claudio’s been the last few weeks.

“Getting a bit feral now, aren’t we, angel,” Claudio murmurs against his lips. “We can’t possibly have that.”

He grabs Mox around the waist, one armed, and hauls him to standing. “Back to the wall, now.”

Mox, shuffling like a dumbass because his gear pants are still held up by his kick pads, does as he’s told. “I got no idea what your plan is here,” he bitches. “I’m still partly dressed.”

“Not for long.”

Claudio shoves him against the wall, propping him under his ass with one hand. With the other, he pulls off Mox’s boots, kickpads, pants, leaving him exposed. Claudio’s barely managed to shove his gear down his hips, hard dick springing out.

“There you go,” Claudio murmurs. Mox had missed him slicking up his fingers, but suddenly he’s getting what he’s been aching for since before the match and his brain is electrified.

“Don’t be cute with it,” Mox demands. His eyes roll as Claudio maneuvers him so his legs are around Claudio’s waist.

“Rude,” Claudio muses. He pumps his finger with precision, blazing gaze on Mox, and then adds a second without warning.

“Jesus,” Mox hisses. “More.”

“I wonder,” Claudio says, “if you’d ever be satisfied. Maybe I should call in Yuta and Bryan.” His grin goes sharklike, and Mox wonders if this is how fish feel in the eyeline of a hammerhead. “Maybe you would be satisfied then.”

“Sure, yeah, but not right now,” Mox shuffles, trying to get Claudio’s fingers deeper. “If you leave right now, I’ll fucking lose it.”

“Not even to get my phone?”

“Not even,” Mox says. “Get in me already.”

“I thought,” Claudio says, and he twists his fingers so good that Mox almost melts, “I already was.”

“You know what I mean.”

The time between losing Claudio’s fingers and gaining his cock is too long, but Mox gets what he’s wanted all goddamned day before the emptiness registers.

“Yes,” he hisses, dropping his head back against the wall. “Jesus. You’re only using one hand. How do you even do this?”

“Years of training,” Claudio says, thrusting so Mox is practically bouncing on his dick. “And the knowledge that one day I’d have a brat who needed to get thrown around.” He wraps a hand around Mox’s cock, stroking roughly. “And now I do, don’t I?”

Mox nods. “Get me off,” he demands. “C’mon. Harder.”

Claudio rolls his eyes. “So demanding,” he sighs.

“What?” Mox asks, and he’s finally got his back in the right place to give as much back to Claudio as he rolls his hips. “You expecting something different from me?”

“Never,” Claudio says, and he crushes his lips to Mox.

Mox should be embarrassed by how fast he comes, just from a few moments. He should be. He isn’t. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he moans. “God – come on. Come in me, Claudio. Let’s get messy with it, too.”

“You love to be dirty,” Claudio says, almost an admonition, “don’t you?”

“So do it.”

Claudio’s got both of Mox’s ass cheeks in his hands and his eyes burn into Mox’s. “You’re impossible,” he grunts, and Mox knows what that means, grins at it, “you know that?”

Mox laughs, throwing his head back as he digs his nails into one of Claudio’s biceps, and he feels it. It’s damned near a growl what comes out of Claudio’s mouth as he comes, and Mox relishes it.

“Jesus,” Mox pants. “Forgot how good you look when you’re fucking me up.”

“You didn’t forget.” Claudio’s so damned gentle with how he sets Mox to the floor, hands on his waist to steady him. “But thank you.” He leans in and kisses Mox’s forehead. “To the shower with you, now.”

Claudio’s reaching for the knob to turn on the water when there’s pounding on the door.

“How does he always know?” Claudio mutters.

“Can we come in yet?” Yuta yells. “Or are you two still being horny weirdos?”

The door pushes open and Bryan walks in, dragging Yuta behind him in a headlock. “I told him to walk in, but he insisted on waiting.” He pulls Yuta’s hair back to get Yuta’s mega-watt shit eating grin directed at him. “I think he just wanted to listen.”

Yuta shrugs. “For the record, I didn’t see you plugging your ears.”

~

Mini Playlist:

Beg for It - Iggy Azalea feat. Mo

Motivate - Little Mix

Inside of You - Hoobastank

FIlthy - Justin Timberlake

#ClaudioMox #wtf i like wrestling now??? #in which sara writes #madly in love with leather daddy jon moxley

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.

A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'

A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅

Chapter 10 - Darkfall

I kick the covers off with an irate growl.

Un-fuckin'-believable...

After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.

And I am.

Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.

Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.

So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.

02:18

I run a heavy hand through my hair.

The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?

My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.

I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.

Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.

I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...

Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.

No excuses.

And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.

Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.

Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...

...and catch sight of the shirt again.

Motherfucker.

Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.

Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.

I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...

Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.

So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.

I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.

Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.

Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.

Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...

I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.

Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.

So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.

But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.

Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...

...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.

Dead and buried.

Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.

Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.

Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.

The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.

I’n here to burn rubber.

The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.

Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...

Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.

The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.

I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.

In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...

The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...

...which remains stubbornly out of reach.

Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.

And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.

Not when there’s so much on the line.

Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.

And that’s inexcusable.

Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.

And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.

Nor should I expect to.

Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.

And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.

I can’t.

So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.

I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.

And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.

I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.

And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.

Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.

10 miles. 56 minutes.

I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?

Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.

Oh, shit...!

Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.

Christ, I feel awful...

My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.

Apparently I do hate myself.

Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.

But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.

Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.

Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...

I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.

But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.

And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.

And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.

Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.

Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.

Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.

Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.

The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.

I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.

I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.

Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.

From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.

And then Chris introduced me to sailing.

At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.

Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.

And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.

Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.

And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.

And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.

Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.

Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.

But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.

So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.

I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.

Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.

Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...

...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.

Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.

Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.

I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.

So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.

I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.

Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.

Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.

A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.

But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.

And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...

...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.

Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.

Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.

Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.

Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...

...but I find my mind wandering.

And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.

Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...

Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...

Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...

I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...

...and realise that I've already lost the battle.

Shit.

My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.

I huff out a tight exhale.

If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...

Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.

Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.

Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.

Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.

Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...

...'cept now I don’t have a choice.

Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...

Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.

Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.

So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.

Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.

As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.

Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.

I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...

But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.

The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.

And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.

Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...

...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.

Goddamn...

I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.

As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.

Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.

Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...

But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.

I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.

And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...

...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.

I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...

...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.

Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.

Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.

And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.

Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.

Not yet anyway.

Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.

Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.

Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.

"Drake...!"

The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:

To make her mine.

And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.

But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.

Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.

Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.

Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.

Christ, she feels amazing!

And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.

"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.

A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.

And I could've lost it then and there.

But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.

Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.

Even if it kills me.

Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."

She wraps her legs around me expectantly...

...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.

She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.

But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.

And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.

Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.

Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.

I see complete faith.

And it undoes me.

I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.

"Holy... fuck!"

The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.

A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.

I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.

Sweet Jesus, that w—

Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...

I move to lean into her. "Harp—"

...but she's already gone.

The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

Permatags

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits

Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #world whiskey day #drake walker appreciation #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #drake x mc #harper gale #the royal romance #trr au fanfic

[signofthestriking]

Lore dump of Three Musketeers cause I'm bored, part one of whatever lol

Aka I'm about to ramble incoherently about a dbz fanfic for a little while.

TLDR: Universe Seven got reset. Everything starts over on Earth, with a pair of friends trying to find the Dragon Balls. Their wish? To learn more about the Saiyans.

Just completely scrub your mind of canon storylines I'm kinda doing my own little thing lol

The setting: Universe Seven has been erased and remade, in the cycle of creation and destruction. Many of the places remain familiar, but the people and the events have changed. And in usual fashion, the story starts on a relatively peaceful Earth, where most Earthlings live oblivious of the supernatural.

The OCs: Konnie Sai, Maize, and Prism Lockwood. They don't call themselves the Three Musketeers but that's who they are lol

Konnie Sai: A Saiyan-Earthling hybrid living in Central City with her parents, Serenity and Okkoro. Cheerful, sweet, and notoriously bad-mouthed. Everyone's surprised when someone as sweet as her turns out to be so short-fused. Stubbornly defiant. Lover of cardigans and knit sweaters.

Maize: A teenage hermit Saiyan that lives alone on an island not far from Penguin Village. Has barely interacted with people aside from her mentor, who left her 3 years ago and hasn't come back yet. Training to avenge her dead dad. Would spend all her tournament money on fantasy books if she could.

Little bit of background about Earth in this AU:

Prism Lockwood: The sole student of a disgraced warrior. Due to a condition they inherited from their mother, they have split their body into six separate "facets" of themself. Not a man, not a woman, but a secret third option.

There's a Guardian known as Zither. He's been there for nearly 450 years, and although his active presence on Earth has diminished, he still patiently awaits any warrior that might find him.

There used to be different martial art schools on Earth, but they were all wiped out by someone. More on that another day.

The background between Maize and Konnie:

Konnie and Maize met over a chance encounter on the Internet, that Maize stumbled upon by sheer accident. Konnie wrote an angry vent post and forgot to remove a part where she talked about her Saiyan blood by name, and it was the only thing that popped up when Maize typed the word "saiyan" into a library computer in Penguin Village. They got to talking, and despite initial distrust from Konnie, they became friends.

This was quite literally the only working computer there. Maize later used winnings from a World Martial Arts Tournament championship to buy her own laptop, with Konnie's help.

Konnie's father Okkoro refuses to train her. He taught her a few basic ways to defend herself, but nothing more. This is a sore spot between them. He also refuses to tell her anything about the Saiyans, and Konnie stubbornly doubles down. After finding a Dragon Ball buried in the ground behind her school, she decides to hunt down the other six.

Oddly enough, her mother Serenity approves of her doing this behind Okkoro's back, even going so far as to design a prototype Dragon Radar for Konnie to use. There's a reason why Serenity does this, but Konnie doesn't learn about it for another few years.

Maize, who is also a Saiyan, doesn't know a whole lot about them either. Her mentor, a Namekian named Limax, never told her much about her people. In fact, she recalls that he "didn't really like Saiyans and never wanted to talk about them much". She speaks nothing but praise for her mentor, at first.

When Konnie first got the Dragon Ball, she initially didn't connect the dots between the five-starred ball and the old myth. Since I figure the normal Earthlings would at least have a few stories about things like Dragon Balls. After a bit of searching, they realize that the Dragon Balls are real, and Konnie has the idea of finding the rest.

They decide to use the wish in order to learn more about the Saiyans. After all, they also want a chance to meet each other in person. Konnie decides to consult her mother, who surprisingly agrees to help. There's something Serenity knows that Konnie doesn't, but we don't have time to unpack all that.

Konnie has to wait until the school year is up, and Maize wants to go after the tournament. It's June, Age 718, when they finally hit the road. But as it turns out, they aren't the only ones after them.

Tune in next time, maybe I'll try to explain Prism's side of things ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#this has gotten out of my control atp I’m just here for the ride #[au] spectrum verse #[story] three musketeers #[oc] konnie sai #[oc] maize onigiri #dbz #dbz fanfiction #dragon ball z #dragon ball #dragon ball z fanfiction #dbz oc #dbz ocs #dragon ball z oc #dragon ball oc #dragon ball fanfic #dragon ball fanfiction #dragon ball z fanfic #dragonballz fanfic #dbz fanfic #db fanfic #db fanfiction #dbz au #fanfic writing #fanficiton #fanfic #oc fanfiction #fanfiction

[lichtel-archive]

communist gang needs to address the fact that funerals are really expensive and usually not at all funded by the govt. like, you have to pay thousands of dollars JUST FOR BURIAL of your loved ones, esp if you don't permanently own any property (and owning property is becoming less and less common nowadays), even though humans have been burying our dead since before we got into agriculture... really fucked up

#these tags are so depressing. don't read them if you're in a shitty place rn. stay safe #[keith] #sorree I was just thinking abt the fact that fat ppl's families need to pay hundreds to thousands of dollars more for their funerals #I know it's more work but like. whyyyy isn't basic burial government funded!! even going straight into the ground no casket no service #can cost like 3000 dollars. and thats for thin ppl. why do you have to pay to die #hang on I think my favorite anticapitalism video game fan song has a quote about this #'if youd rather drop dead thats fine but you know that dropping down dead bears a fine' #LITERALLY. if you're so poor in this country that you see killing yourself as the only way out‚ your family will have to #go into debt if they want your body treated with an ounce of respect. #'you may waste your days but at least you were able / to pay off your grave since we leased you your cradle' #jesus fuck I hate capitalism #federal govt will be like 'yeah I can give you $255 <3 hope that pays your $3000 bill off!!' #'and if your loved one died from injuries they got while playing the role of our puppets in our wars? we can give you $2000!! #not even enough to literally dump their bare body in the ground' #some states will pay for basic burial or cremation if they have literally no way to pay. but even that isn't required at the federal level

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“Corn Syrup, Like in Carrie” | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey my lovelies this is my fic for @hellotvshowtrash​ ‘s March Prompt Challenge— I hope you all enjoy and especially you, Ash! I literally wrote this in a few hours so I hope it isn’t terrible; I wanted to make sure I actually submitted this month though because you put a lot of hard work into making fun things for us. I haven’t written for these boys in a while so this was nice :)

Description: Y/n drags Kol into a plan that is more dumb luck than actual planning— is it even a question that he would be willing to help?

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death but in a casual, funny way (sadistic but funny), this might be the grungiest thing I’ve written to date

Word count: 1.99k (it’s literally 1999k, I pushed this as far as possible)

Tags: Fluff, a lil angst if you squint (squint is used loosely here)

Prompt: “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in.”

Kudos if you get the picture easter egg!

“You want to do what now?”

She huffs but the wicked smile on her face carves through the annoyance— of course she isn’t actually exasperated with him.

“You heard me Kol— I want to scare him!”

The brown eyed vamp rolls his eyes but his own grin is just as cunning. She can see the spark in his eyes, that little glint that lets her know everything she needs to know— lets her know that he’s in.

All in.

“You know that’s impossible darling,” he toys, his smirk too coy for a man over a thousand years old. “Klaus doesn’t get scared.”

She laughs— that’s what he thinks.

Kol’s brows push together, the glint growing alongside his smile, his sharp teeth poking into his lip. “I know that look— that look is never good.”

She meets him where he leans against the countertop, hopping up beside him and wrapping her arms around his cool shoulders. “Oh it’s good alright, Kol-y. I think you’ll like it very much.”

He turns towards her, running his nose across her jaw, peppering a few kisses against her skin before tilting his face up. “Well out with it then, darling— what’s the plan?”

She giggles, pressing her lips against his quickly before pulling back, pecking the vampire’s nose when he scrunches it. She shakes her head at his puppy dog eyes— easily distracted, that one is.

She leans down, whispering her idea into his ear, her chest blossoming with warmth when he shivers against her lips. She can’t tell if it’s because of how close she is or because he likes her plan— both, most likely. When she finishes speaking she nips his ear, tugging gently before releasing him. He groans when his ear meets the cool kitchen air, twisting to push between her legs.

He leans down, pressing his lips against her again. She can taste the mischief on his lips, tangy and sharp— someone has been eating blackberries again.

“You’re a menace darling.”

“Hmm—” she hums her agreement against his berry lips— “I learned from the best.”

He chuckles and this time she shivers, his lips trailing down her neck. “Is that so?”

She pushes against his chest, trying to regain some of his attention. This is important. She slips her fingers into his soft hair, knitting them between the strands and tugging until his baby browns meet her gaze. He sighs, his smile less menacing and more longing than moments ago. He raises his brow, his eyes flitting to her neck before going back to her eyes— are you going to speak or can I go back to what I was doing?

She huffs.

“Are you in or not, Mikaelson?” She grinds out as he tugs against her hand, just barely nipping at her sensitive skin.

He groans when she pulls her throat away from his ministrations, finally standing straight again. His hands slide up the sides of her neck, smoothing against her jaw, fingers hooking behind her ears.

“This plan of yours is going to get us killed, darling.” His soft grin sharpens as he speaks, the glint resurfacing in his eyes. To her it makes him look beautiful. It makes him look dangerous. “Of course I’m in.”

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

“Alright,” Kol announces, his cheerful voice drifting from the entrance to the compound to where she lays in a heap next to the couch. “He’s coming down the street now— I can hear him on the phone. I think he’s talking to Elijah.”

She can’t see the vamp but she knows that the mirth in his voice is much too extensive considering what they are about to do. Oh well. She raises a hand— she can’t speak with the blonde who’s now on their street hearing— signalling for him to get into place—

—and for him to dump the bucket of corn syrup, red dye number five, and just enough of her blood to make it smell real all over her body.

It goes on warm and sticky, scarily similar to actual blood, drenching the t-shirt she has decided to sacrifice. It’s for a good cause, she has to remind herself. Her skin itches where the mixture clings to her and she has to keep from giggling, her shoulders shaking. This had better work.

Kol’s boot nudges against her butt, tsking as she swallows another giggle. “Get with it darling— he’s almost here.”

She nods, splaying her limbs out in a way she imagines a dead— or almost dead— body would look. She doesn’t have to imagine too hard.

“Good job,” Kol whispers. “Billy Loomis would be proud.”

She smiles quickly at the reference— part of her plan was making him watch Scream with her.

“He’s here— let’s do this—“

The end of his sentence is cut off by a yell— his yell. They have to cover the sound of her heartbeat somehow. She can only keep her heart so steady and she’s not trying to give herself away before the fun has really begun. Thank heaven Kol has a good pair of lungs— and that he doesn’t need to breathe.

“Yeah I just go ba— Kol?” Like with Kol, she can’t see Klaus but she can hear him and the way his voice falters in confusion.

“Brother—” the way Kol’s voice hitches at the end of the word makes her almost break character. Someone sign this man up for an Oscar immediately— “I don’t know what happened. I left to get some of that ice cream she’s always talking about and— and—”

Klaus doesn’t speak but over Kol’s scarily astute acting she can hear commotion on the other end of his cellphone. Elijah— jackpot.

A double prank.

“Elijah give me a minute— Kol, what happened?”

Klaus’ heavy boots thunk against the concrete, the vibrations radiating through her cheek where it presses against the ground. His steps are almost as thundering as his voice, both echoing through the open space.

Kol plays along with his brother’s anger, matching it with his own. “I just said I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know! Look at her and tell me what you see—” his words stop, the air punctuated by a loud crack, no doubt the sound of his Iphone shattering into a hundred pieces.

Oops.

Suddenly there are hands on her back, nudging her softly, pulling at the sticky fabric of her t-shirt. You’re going to have to do better than that to wake the dead, babe. His hands get steadily more frantic— and more slimy— dragging the blood concoction into her hair as he checks her scalp and neck for injury. She holds her breath as his hand wraps around her jaw, lifting her face gently.

“Fuck, Kol, why is she bleeding so much?”

Kol only screeches in answer— again, she almost loses it. Klaus must not like that answer very much because he curses under his breath. Well, under his breath is a relative term. She is sure the entirety of Bourbon street hears the F-bomb he drops. The word is accompanied by the sound of her shirt being ripped in two. Here we go.

She feels a whoosh of air against her now revealed skin, steeling against the shiver that creeps up her spine at the cold air. Soon there is another pair of hands on her, sliding down her slick arms. She can picture the dyed corn syrup staining Elijah's dress shirt and the glare in his dark eyes when he realizes she has teamed up with his brother to wreak mayhem.

“What’s going on? What happened?” His sultry voice is worse than the cold air— and much harder to stave off.

“I don’t know—” both Klaus and Kol speak in unison, Klaus taking over for the both of them— “but there isn’t time to find out right now.”

Before she has time to process his words her body is being flipped over, her back pressing into the icy, sticky concrete. It takes all of her strength not to squeal at the contact. She hears a noise much too juicy for her liking before a warm artery is pressed against the seam of her lips. Perfect!

“C’mon love, please—”

When her mouth fills with a thick, metallic substance she breaks, springing forward and coughing wildly, making sure to swallow a good amount before hacking the rest up. She runs an arm across her eyelids, trying to unstick them but only managing to coat her eyelashes even more.

When she finally manages to peel her eyes open, spitting the last of Klaus’ blood out of her mouth, she is met with the faces of two shocked vampires and one vampire who is laughing his ass off. Kol’s laughter is infectious— especially because she’s been holding back giggles since the start of their ruse— and soon she is joining him, laughing so hard she falls backwards again into the goo.

For a moment there is silence— only the sound of her and Kol’s laughter— before it gives way to Klaus’ deathly calm voice. “What the hell is going on here?”

She pushes herself up on an elbow, flashing him a scarlet drenched smile— she would give anything to see her crimson teeth right now. She runs her tongue over them to enhance the point.

“Did I scare you?”

His eyes flash with black. “Did you scare me—”

“Yes, you scared us!” Elijah’s red hands wrap around her forearms, hauling her into his chest without a care for his white shirt. “May I ask why?”

Elijah’s chest shudders, his arms curling around her waist. He wasn’t lying— he’s terrified. He smells like cooking oil and metal but she doesn’t care— he’s too warm for her to mind. His lips press against her forehead and she almost feels bad.

Almost.

A hand wraps around her hair from behind, yanking her back from his brother’s chest. “What Elijah means to say is can we demand why? Why you would try something like that?”

She dips her head further back, squinting up at the furious blonde. “Oh you already know why, love.”

He rolls his eyes, his jaw clenched but leaning down to brush his cheek against hers regardless. “Indulge me anyway.”

She tilts her head, skimming her tacky lips against his stubble. “To make a point.”

“Oh yeah? And what point might that be?”

“That I am fragile—” she pulls upright, turning in Elijah’s arms and dropping the cheshire grin— “that you can’t protect me all the time—” she pushes forward, crawling onto Klaus’ drenched lap— “that I need to be like you.”

He sighs, his forehead dropping against hers, his hands curling around her jaw. “This again?”

Her arms hook around his neck, fingers tangling in his blonde hair. “You know I’m right.”

Klaus’ shoulders slump, his golden eyebrows knitting together. “Does it have to be right now?”

“Your blood is already in my system.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

She smiles back at him, leaning in for what she hopes is one last human kiss. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

He only sighs, shaking his head as Kol laces his fingers with hers. She turns to the brown eyed vamp just in time to see him pass her a mischievous wink.

It is the last thing she sees before the world around her goes dark.

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

She wakes feeling significantly less sticky than she had when she blacked out— and significantly more hungry. She can’t remember the last time her throat was dry like this. Is she catching a cold? She shifts slightly, her elbow piling into a pillow underneath her. The pillow grunts.

Not a pillow.

Kol rises beside her, pressing a hand to her chest until she falls back against the mattress and then rolling on top of her, sinking his face against her neck. The words he mumbles into her skin make her dead heart stop in the best way.

“I told you that plan would get you killed.”

#March2021PromptChallenge #the mikaelson boys #the mikaelson brothers #the mikaelson boys x reader #the mikaelson brothers x reader #the mikaelsons x reader #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x y/n #the originals #the originals imagine #to imagine #to #elijah mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this' #and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

[ranhaitanisgf]

;; 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍𝖊

otherwise read as: scaramouche is stupidly soft for you

--

❧ masterlist

As it would seem, being acquainted with Harbingers from the Fatui always brought about interesting events, and more times than naught, these events would come about to ruin whatever plans you had for the rest of the day, not that you exactly minded most of the time.

"What a bold subordinate you are, I wonder what exactly your intentions are..." You pondered thoughtfully.

"Just shut up and be quiet, your constant mumbling is givin' me a damn headache!" Typical Fatui Skirmishers, and especially typical of those gifted Cryo suits by the Tsaritsa. They all looked and acted exactly the same; you found it quite interesting how they seemed all be so similar.

"Oh~? And eating an entire Sweet Madame in two bites doesn't give a headache or at least a stomachache?" You answered back. (If you guys don't know one of the Cryo skirmishers idle's is literally eating like an entire sweet madame or something like pls sir what are you doing-)

He grumbled something under his breath and tightened the rope around your arms and neck, trying to constrict your breath.

"Wow, kinky~ I didn't know the Fatui were like- oh fuck..." A sharp pain to the side of your head promptly shut you up, and you clenched your eye as blood started to drip down from where the Skirmisher had hit you with his heavy armor.

"God, your mouth almost makes this not worth it, your stupid friend better show up so I can become a Harbinger already!" You rolled your eyes at his words, instead quite pissed off now that you had a pounding headache.

"And your stupidity almost makes up for the headache you've given me. You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?" Before he could respond, you froze the rope on your hands and easily broke it off, along with the rope around your neck. In a flash, the Skirmisher was pinned on the ground, your foot on his neck.

"One would think that you would research somebody and study them before kidnapping them, wouldn't you think? Research is one of the most important things when studying a target, but you wouldn't know anything about that." The terrified look on his face made you think twice; while you did enjoy researching and studying people, this man would serve no use to you, although it would be a little enjoyable to scare him.

A deadly aura suddenly surrounded you, malice in your eyes as you stared at him.

"̸̡̹̻͉͕̈́͂̆ͅĮ̷̠̺̥̠͎̦̭̿̉́̄l̴͓̮̲͈͔̻̜͉̙̠̋͘͠l̶̛͍͙̍͗̍̿̏̒͋̑̕ ̴̈́̋̓̅̋͊l̶̥̳͓͔̣̪͆͆͌̚ë̷͒̽̍̍̃͝t̶͈͇̫̘̮̀̽̎ ̷̙̺̺͎̮̳͉̅̅ͅy̶̢̧̹͓̺̬̹͔̤̽̉̋̊͗ͅo̷̧̭̞͑̈́u̴͈̜̻̯̦̓͆̈͗̉̏̈́̂̊̚ ̵̝̟͕̬̟̍̎̚ǵ̶̫͚̮̣̭̥̣̯̎͆̎̀ô̵͓͎̓͊̈́̈́͗̽͘͝ ̶̛͚̼̤̲̙̑͑̔̀͑t̵̙̦̻̔̽ḩ̸̪̟̽̑̋͝i̵͖̗̠̭̓̃̃̇̐s̷̨̮̞͓͕̦̭͓̘̓̏̉͑̈́̚ ̵̧̛̤̮̭̫͖̹͖̖̗̃̓̓̉̅̏̌̕͝ẗ̷̡͈̜̯̗͙̘͕̐̈́͗̑̔̀̾̀̄ͅḯ̵̱̝̰̽ͅm̷̢̮͉͔̞͖͕̦̅́̃͐͘ẽ̴̼̣̄̓̔͒͑̾͜,̴͈̲͎͍̹̏̇̀̀̔͌̍́͑͝ ̶̨̛͔̞̳̞̝̞̈́͗́͗̄ͅb̷̼̤͍̖͎̗̭̎́û̴̦͚̹̞͎̜̰̿̅͌t̸̼̪̍̀͆͌̿̏̇̀̚ ̶̡̨͚͙̞͓̯̞̰̌̾̏́͐͑̓͛̄̕n̴̡͖͎̐̈́e̸̖̹̯͂x̴͈̀̄̊̓̽̉̆̚͘t̶̝̺̠̺̲̗̽̃͂̅̉͑̆͘ ̶̥̮̝̿͘͜ͅt̷̤̯͎͚̍i̵̩̬͇̱͓̫̇̽̃́͐͂͊́͜͜͝ͅm̷̩͕̦͒ę̸̧̡̺̤̥̯̗͈͌͆͝ ̷̧̼̜͈̭̂̏̋ý̷̨͎̪͙͚̫̘̳̳͌̃͌̾͝ͅȏ̴̫̟͍́͐̉͘͝u̴̡͔̳̿͋ͅ ̵͔̥̮̤͗̾ͅm̵̪̟̳̞̯̭͖̿͗̀́ę̷̢̛͇̫͈̦́̇̌̕s̷̨̬̘͈͓͓̫̺͔̀͗̽̍̕s̷͓̤̦̮̗͊̚ ̷̢̡͇͓̙̞̪̟͗̌̃̌̍̅̓̐͑͠w̶̡͈͚̺̩̘̬̲̼̙̐͛͋̚i̷̫͐̉͋̿̐̈͒͐̉̚ẗ̴͓͛̔̓̌̽̀̓͆͝h̸̢̡͍̝͈͉̝͂̈́̍ ̵̰̲̰̞͕͚̿̊͌͗͐͑̿̓̕̚m̸̛̺͔͕̣̰͐̈́̄̑̚ͅë̴͇̀̍͝͝͠ ̶̺͚̹̳̈̃̑̑͑͐́̆͘ͅi̸̫̤̤͓͖̹͐̇̿̾̆̅͛̔̕͝ͅš̷̺̠̟̭̹͋̚ ̵̣̊̀͐͊t̷̛̬͚͊̿͆́̑͆̒̚h̷͍͎̜̖̗̫̉̓̈́̈͐͊̈̔͘ͅe̸̠̔͆̇͌̐̾̿͊̓͝ ̶̛̪̣̠̬̹͈̉͌̆͝͝ͅl̸̖͉̩͉̤̰̞̗̋̀̏̊̑̄a̴̛͍̫̎͂̊̈́̒͗̇͠s̵̛̛̜͉̰̼̼̦̙̈́̑̍͌͐͝ͅţ̸͙̩́̍̑̾̍͋͊͘͝ ̶̡͕̯̙̬͗̈͛̔̕͝t̴̬͍͚̦͍͈͇͇̂̆̓̕i̸͍̥̫̝͔̘̅̿̉͜m̴̥͕̗̗̼͔͇̒́͒̃ĕ̷̘͛̚͝.̶̢̖̩͚͍̈́̆̔̍̾̕͝ ̵͙͓̣̝̔̌̏͘̕L̴̡̛̹̼̜̰̝͚̳͛̿͊̆̈̈́͜ë̶̪̋̉́̋̓̄̆͜͝a̵̟̙̎́̍̃̓̋͐̃̈́͠v̸̡̬̻̪̺͂̄̊̏͛͒̕͝͝ę̶̟̈́̽̃̈́̈́̂̾̄͝.̶̧̧̜̦̻͖̯̫̈́̿̐͒͊̇̐͋͗͜"̴̺̳͓̱̞̅̔͒͆̀̐̃

("I'll let you go this time, but next time you mess with me is the last time. Leave.")

A strangled scream left the man's throat as you lifted your foot off of him. He immediately started running as fast he could, and you watched until he had run off into the distance.

Sighing, you wiped off some of the blood on your head with your sleeve, wincing from the pounding that was a lot more prominent now.

"Goodness gracious, I'm so fuckin tired...haven't slept in six goddamn days, 'Can you do my commission for me?' 'Can you do this for me?' Holy fuck..." You walked over to a nearby tree and slumped against it, fatigue taking over your body. The sky was a nice blue, so at least there wasn't going to rain anytime soon.

"Blegh...still have to go meet up with Childe...go all the way to Liyue..."

"Didn't think I would find you in the middle of this dump of a camp."

"Huh? Oh..." As you looked up, you saw Scaramouche looking around the camp with a disgusted look on his face, before rolling his eyes and looking back at you.

"Is that really all you have to say to me?"

"Yes."

"..."

"..."

"Wait, why are you here? Thought you were supposed to be doing the fandango somewhe-"

"Do not finish that sentence." You looked up at Scaramouche, who had an extremely irritated face.

"Meh, you deserve it. After all, it was one of your subordinates who slowed down my day." Scaramouche scoffed at you, taking another glance at the now-abandoned Fatui camp.

You closed your eyes, determined to get some sleep before your meetup with Childe.

"What happened here? I thought my subordinates were cleaner than this,"

"Say that to your Cryo guys who eat an entire Sweet Madame in one bite, and also like to randomly knock out people when they're doing important things." You huffed, getting up and stretching your arms over your head, wincing again from the pounding in your head.

"Anyways, I better get going now, I have to go all the way to Liyue and meet up with Childe and whatnot, and also-"

"What happened to your head?" You glanced at Scaramouche, whose eyebrows were furrowed as he locked his eyes onto the slight bleeding on your temple.

"Huh? Oh, just a thing that happened when I was here, no biggie." Scaramouche didn't say anything in return, but instead walked over and turned your head to the side so he could get a better look. Your heart skipped a beat as you felt his fingers on your chin; it felt like electro was triggered when his skin touched yours.

"Er, Scara-"

"Shut up." His hand gently moved your hair, trying to get a better look at the wound.

"Seriously, I need to-"

"Didn't I say to shut up?" You bit your lip, nervous about his next moves, yet also slightly excited. After a moment of looking at the wound, he took a small square of gauze and taped it to your temple.

The alcohol burned, making you wince a bit, but what was more interesting was Scaramouche's sudden behavior, but you were too tired to look into it further.

The feeling of his fingers slightly in your hair caused you to close your eyes for a brief moment from your fatigue, though you quickly opened them once you realized what you were doing.

"Are you tired?" You moved your head back to look at him, not realizing he was so close; close enough in fact that you were just under his hat, the brim bumping the crown of your head. His purple eyes pierced yours, telling you to answer the question. A slight flush filled your cheeks, but he didn't seem to be moving anytime soon.

"I guess so, I've been really busy for the past week, but I still need to get to Liyue by tonight because I'm meeting up with Childe and Zhongli for dinner to discuss some stuff about the Rite of Parting and the Qixing, and apart of the whole Qixing talk I bet the adepti will be brought up, as well as some research about starconches and cor lapis, oh and also- ah, nevermind, I'm rambling." You awkwardly smiled at him as he stared at you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"You really are an idiot. I can tell you haven't slept for a couple of days, have you been doing other people's commissions, or perhaps it's more research? You're too nice sometimes." He stepped back, his hand pressing to his forehead in a frustrated manner before looking back at you with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"You even let that scum go, even though he betrayed direct orders from me. Archons...you're so dumb," He sighed, looking at you with a softer look.

"Okay cool, is that all? I kind of need to leave now." You stared blankly at him, struggling to keep your eyes open, and barely managing to keep them half-open, although your other struggle was trying to get away so you could relax and not have your heart beating so quickly.

"(Y/N), you're so fatigued you can't even keep your eyes open, I can see it from here. Just- ugh, just stop doing so many things for other people at the cost of your own health."

"Mhm..." You leaned back against the tree, your eyes closed as you tried to listen to the rest of his words.

He suddenly stopped talking, which made you curious, but not curious enough to open your eyes; the relief from closing them felt amazing.

Yet all of a sudden, you felt a presence in front of you, and a hand behind your head, which suddenly pushed your head forward onto something warm.

"You're such an idiot." You felt a bright blush fill your cheeks, and your heart started beating extremely fast, though when you listened closely, you could hear another heart beating just as fast. His chin rested on the top of your head, holding you close to him as his other arm slid around your waist.

"Stop calling me an idiot."

"Whatever, just...sleep. You don't have to go and meet with Childe." You raised your head slightly to look at him, but he pushed your head back down into his chest, (possibly because he didn't want you to see him blushing 0///0)

"Why not?"

"I told him you couldn't make it,"

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter why,"

"Yes, it does-"

"Stop asking questions, I'm taking you back,"

"Back where?"

"Goth Grand Hotel,"

"Mm..." After a moment or two, Scaramouche pulled away, and you huffed from the sunlight that was now in your eyes.

"Scaramouche..." Before you knew it, his hands slid under your legs and under your back, and he was carrying you.

"Huh-!?"

"Shut up! Just sleep!" He scoffed, turning his head to the side. An idea popped into your head, and before you could really think it over...

"Scaramouche,"

"What." He slightly turned his head to look at you, a furious blush all over his face.

Your hand went behind his neck, just under where his hat started to cover the back of his head and pushed him towards you, but stopped right before your lips touched.

"Your turn~" You sleepily said, a lazy smile on your face. Without hesitating, Scaramouche pushed his lips onto yours, locking your lips in a firm kiss.

The electro between your lips was dazzling, and your heart was on overdrive at this point, although it sadly ended after a few moments when you pulled away.

You immediately passed out, your fatigue winning you over.

"What an idiot."

~~

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #readerinsert #reader #genshinimpactxreader #reader insert #scaramouchexreader #;; hana writes genshin

[h0rnyshakespeare]

could you do a fantasy au with bakugou as a kitsune? you’ve just recently moved into a cottage in the woods to get away from your previous life, when you stubble across baku in a trap surrounded by hunters! you of course aren’t going to let some assholes hurt an innocent creature, so you devise a plan to get him free. you draw the hunter’s attention away from the caged baku, causing them to run off. you then get to baku, and are able to free him. though a slight problem, the hunters are coming back, and they see you messing with their ‘find.’ while you’re frozen in place, baku literally picks you up, and jumps into the trees, evading gunshots. he keeps you there until the hunters go away.

after all this drama, you start hanging out with the kitsune more and more. you two get closer as time goes on, and bakugou becomes more and more infatuated and protective of you. he’s touchier, softer, and overall more gentle with you. he even lets you touch his ears and tail. everything is all well and good when oh no, the hunters are back, and they’re out for revenge. while you’re at the cottage, they ransack your home, chasing you out into the woods. you’re sprinting, calling for bakugou as the hunters are gaining. just then, none other than the fox himself jumps in and beats the absolute shit outta the hunters. he then turns to you, worry as well as rage in his eyes. he sees they’ve hurt you, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for what he’s about to do. “Stay with me.” he pleads. “you don’t have a safe home anymore, and even if you did, i can’t promise your safety. i NEED you to be safe, okay. stay with me as my mate. i’ll hunt for you. i’ll protect you. anything, and you’ve got it.” you’re stunned. eyes wide, you ask him why. why does he care so much? nobody else ever did, so why does he, as powerful and as beautiful as he is. the answer isn’t as hard as you would think “it’s because i fucking love you...”

OKAY this is definitely long and more of a vent than anything but i think it’s so cute! just imagine cuddling with him as soft and as cute as he would be, hanging over you like a jungle cat. very nice, very nice indeed

kitsune!Bakugou x gn!reader (I couldn't think of a title, sorry)

Genre: Fantasy

Warnings: Swearing caz Bakugou, brief mentions of gunshots (that’s it I think?? But if there’s anything I missed please let me know)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Tysm for requesting, this was such a cute idea! I’m sorry this took some time, exams are coming so my writing’s a little slow haha. I wrote this to be gn!reader but if anywhere implies otherwise please let me know :) And to everyone else who requested, I’m working on them!

Y/N: Your name

L/N: Last name

You had recently moved into a little cottage in the woods, not too far away from the main city, but enough to be away from the busy, commercial life you once lived. Others might disagree, but you felt more at peace among nature, like you were truly satisfied. You had never enjoyed living among many people, so you were excited to start your new life, out here in the woods. As you walked back to your cottage after taking a walk to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings, you heard a few voices up ahead. You groaned, not wanting to socialize with anyone, but before you could turn to take a different route to avoid whoever was there, you overheard one of the voices say, “We’re gonna get a fine amount of money for this creature’s fur, ya hear me? So make sure the trap is secure.” A couple of other voices mumbled in agreement. You frowned. Although you could not really make out what animal they had caught, you did know that whatever they were doing, it sounded illegal. You sighed. You did not want to confront anyone, but you made your way towards the voices. You saw three men surrounding a cage, holding… guns? “What have I gotten myself into?” you internally groaned, but it was too late to turn back now. “Um, excuse me?” you called out hesitantly. They turned at the sound of your voice, looking displeased. You smiled nervously. “Hi, um, it’s actually illegal to hunt in this area…” you trailed off, seeing their annoyance. “How would you know, you little punk? Go braid daisy crowns or whatever you do in this dump,” one of them sneered at you. You were slowly growing irritated, but you kept the smile on your face, determining to help whatever animal they had imprisoned. “Ok, well, I was going to let you know that if you walk a few miles from here, there is a hunting area. You guys aren’t the first hunters I’ve seen around here,” you lied through your teeth, trying to distract them to give you enough time to release the trapped creature. “If you check it out, I’ll forget I even saw you guys here, and no one will know that y’all were hunting illegally, ok? Plus, I’ve seen a lot of finer animals in that area.” “Maybe we should listen to her, boss,” one of the hunters said to the one who had spoken to you first. “I mean, it is just a fox, and if we’re caught…” he whispered the rest of his sentence to their leader, who in turn frowned. “Fuck, whatever. How far is the hunting area, kid?” he asked, the question directed to you. “Oh, um, about… 10 miles from here? In that direction,” you said, pointing. “You better not be lying to us,” the hunter glared at you, making you gulp. You tried to act nonchalant until they were out of sight, then immediately rushed to the trap. You gasped when you saw a beautiful fox with… tan, almost golden fur. You had never even heard of foxes that colour. The hunters were idiotic to listen to you and leave this amazing creature, but you were glad they did. The fox made a low, growling noise, snapping you out of your trance. “Ah, right, I’m sorry, I’ll let you out now, don’t worry,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid that you were conversing with an animal. You quickly set your attention onto setting it free. The trap looked complicated to deactivate, but you realized it was actually quite simple, and you managed to free the fox in no time. “There you go,” you smiled, “You’re free now.” Surprisingly, the fox lingered, studying you with beautiful carmine eyes. First tan fur, now red eyes? “You’re like something outta a fairy tale, huh? So pretty,” you said softly, gazing at it at wonder, when you heard distant voices shouting.

Crap. The hunters.

“You really thought you could fool us! There were no animals in that area!” “Ahaha fuck, I’m in trouble,” you murmured, thinking of a way to escape, when you remembered the fox was still here! “Hey uh, you really should get outta here-” you said, turning to find not a fox, but a man with fox ears and a- no wait, nine tails. Your eyes widened, freezing as you tried to process what just happened.

“Oi, dumbass, if you’re not gonna run they’re gonna get you, you know.”

“I- uhhh… well this is a weird dream,” you chuckled nervously. “Tch, idiot,” was all he said before picking you up bridal-style and running faster than the hunters could catch up. You felt something whizz past your ear. “HOLY FU- THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US!” you yelled, grabbing at the man’s collar. “Thanks for stating the obvious, dumbass!” he yelled back. “Now would you shut up so I can focus on not dying?” You quickly turned silent after that statement. Without warning the… man? fox? man fox?? suddenly took a huge leap into the trees, landing on a branch that somehow held his weight. You yelped, then quickly covered your mouth in order to keep quiet as you saw the hunters running past from underneath. “They’re gone now,” you heard the man speak as he set you down on the branch. The tree you both were on was sturdy, giving you a secure foothold. You turned to face him. “Uh, thanks for saving me back there, but I’m pretty sure you were a fox when I first saw you…?” “Tch. Humans really have gotten dumber over the past few years haven’t they. I’m a kitsune. Ya know what that is?” Your eyes widened. “A-a kitsune as in the ones in the fairy tales? The foxes who can shapeshift to humans, and have many tails…” you trailed off, feeling stupid that you had not noticed earlier. The kitsune smirked in response. “Yeah, and I have nine, meaning I’m the most powerful. You’re lucky I was there to save you.” “You saved me? Who was trapped in a cage, huh? If anything, you should be thanking me,” you huffed, annoyed. Who did he think he was? He said nothing, simply gazing at you with interest written all over the flaming pools of scarlet that were his eyes. You tried not to feel intimidated by them, not knowing what powers this creature possessed. You could not deny that he was beautiful as a human, alluring even, with blonde hair similar to his fox fur, and his body looked as if it were sculpted by gods. You gulped, forcing yourself to stop staring at all the scars scattering his bare chest. He smirked as if he knew exactly what you were thinking of, causing your face to heat up. “Where do you live, dumbass? I’m sure you can’t climb down trees.” You rolled your eyes, embarrassed that he was right. “Not far from here, I’ll manage.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” was all he said before he lifted you in his arms again, leaping to the ground and taking you home in no time. “I didn’t even give you directions,” you said, confused. He sighed. “I could smell your scent from here. Why do you live in the middle of the forest?” “Caz I want to??” you said. “That’s weird,” he responded. “Don’t you live here too though?” you retorted. You saw a smirk flicker briefly on his face before being replaced again with his bored expression. “I’ll see you around then, dumbass.” He said, turning to leave. “Wait!” you called out, immediately regretting it. Why’d I do that? But there was no time to question your actions as he looked at you, eyebrow raised. “Uh, I-I just wanted to know your name,” you said a little breathlessly. “Katsuki Bakugou,” he said, never breaking eye contact. “Bakugou, huh? Well, I’m Y/N L/N,” you replied. Bakugou shrugged. “I’ll be leaving then dumbass.” You huffed. “I literally just told you my name!” “And?” was all he said, before vanishing through the foliage of trees. You exhaled slowly, feeling a little disoriented. You had so many questions but decided not to think too much of the day’s events, instead opting for relaxing in your new home.

The next day, you decided to just hang out at home, yet you could not get the kitsune out of your mind, making you frustrated. “Ah, fuck it,” you mumbled, before heading out. You were not sure where you were going, but you walked in the same direction you did yesterday. “What are you doing this you idiot? What if the hunters find you again?” you thought, yet your body did not listen, continuing to walk in the same path. You did not run into anyone on the way. Unfortunately, that included Bakugou. You decided to just sit down under a tree and read the book you had brought with you. You had been peacefully reading for a while, the sounds of the forest soothing to you ears.

“Well fancy seeing you here.” You whipped your head at the sound of his voice. You saw the fox with tan fur you rescued yesterday. “Bakugou?” He transformed into his human form, grinning as he did so. “So, what’re you doing here, dumbass? Missed me?” You rolled your eyes. “You wish. I came here to relax for a bit.” “Whatever you say, dumbass. What’re you reading?” You showed him your book, causing him to snort. “What?” you asked, slightly irritated. What was his deal? “Your taste is so bland, I’m not surprised.” “Fuck off,” you responded. “As if you’ve ever even touched a book before.” “I have,” Bakugou said, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t peg you as the type to read,” you said, getting back to your book. “Is that all modern-day kitsunes do these days?” Bakugou shrugged. “I’ve never met any others here.” You looked back at him, surprised. “So… you’re alone?” “Tch. I just prefer to be by myself.” You nodded. “Me too.” “Pfft, you? You look like someone who would love being around people, with how much you talk and all.” You glared at him. “And this is exactly why I like being on my own.” He raised his arms. “I guess I’ll leave then. Since you seem to really hate company, right dumbass?” “My name is not dumbass, it’s Y/N. Why’re you so rude?” you hissed. You were met with silence when you realized he had left. You could not believe you actually came out all this way just to talk to him, only for him to randomly leave mid-conversation. You huffed, shifting your position to get more comfortable. “I’m still here you know.” You jumped, hearing his voice from above you. “What the hell?” He snorted in amusement. “You really think you could get rid of me that easily, dumbass?” You rolled your eyes, but inside you felt secretly happy that he had stayed, and you hated it. “You’re so annoying,” you retorted, turning a page in your book, yet somehow not really seeing the words. It was quiet for a while, before Bakugou jumped back down to the ground, sitting next to you. “Read that for me,” he said in a tone unlike his usual one. “What?” “You seem to like this trash so much, so read it,” he said, making himself comfortable. You sighed. “Fine.”

And so began the afternoons you would spend with him. Every day, you would meet him under the same tree and read. Sometimes he would fall asleep next to you, exposing a more soft and vulnerable side of him, contrasting to his normally brash and rough personality. It was pretty sweet, and over time, your feelings for him only grew. You were not sure, but you felt that he too had become softer and gentler around you as time went on. He even let you pet his ears, blushing whenever you did so, trying to hide his flusteredness behind his colourful words. He even went as far as falling asleep on your lap in wolf-form, making you happy he could trust you with the more vulnerable side of him.

You were at home, about to leave to meet Bakugou, when you heard some commotion outside. You were about to check when you heard the door break open. “Find them!” you heard a loud voice say. Your blood ran cold. The hunters? Why were they so set on revenge? You heard something break as they stormed through your house. Before you could grab something to defend yourself, one of them burst into your room, causing you to freeze. “There you fucking are,” he said moving towards you, blocking the exit. Thinking fast, you opened the window next to you and jumped out. Thankfully, it was close to the ground, so you easily picked yourself up and you ran, not daring to look back, but you heard them shouting and running after you. You sprinted down the familiar path, calling for Bakugou as you did. “Goddammit, where are you Bakugou?” you yelled as the hunters gained on you, when-

“The HELL you fuckers think you’re doing, HAH?”

You had never felt so relieved to hear his voice. “Bakugou!” “Stay behind me,” was all he said before going absolutely feral. He beat them up in no time, then watched as they ran away in terror. When he made sure they were gone, he turned to you, anger dissipating, his eyes filled with worry. “You ok?” You nodded weakly, then raised your arm, showing him the wound you had gotten when one of the hunters had shot at you. “It’s not bad, don’t worry. The bullet didn’t hit me, just grazed my skin.” “Shit,” Bakugou cursed as he took your arm in his hand, examining it. “That’s definitely more than a fucking graze.” “It’ll heal, I’m good at first aid,” you said. Bakugou looked at you, incredulous. “Dumbass, this needs more than first aid, are you really that stupid? Don’t move,” he said as his hands began to glow. He positioned them above your wound, using his power to heal you. “Thanks, Bakugou,” you said when he was done. “Really, I appreciate everything.” “Katsuki,” he said, not looking at you. “Huh?” you said, confused. “Call me Katsuki, dumbass.” A playful smile made its way on your lips. “Sure, when you call me Y/N.” He chuckled, then looked at you with a serious gaze. “I want you to stay with me.” You looked at him, dumbfounded. “W-What? What do you mean?” “Your home isn’t safe anymore. Those hunters could come back anytime, I went easy on them. I need you to be safe, Y/N, I-” he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What would’ve happened to you if I wasn’t there? Just… please, become my mate Y/N. I’ll do anything for you, I’ll hunt for you, protect you, anything you want.” You were stunned, trying to process what he had just asked. “Y-You want me to be your… your mate? Why? And why would someone like you care so much about someone like me when no one really ever has?” He blushed, looking away to glare at the grass. “Fuck, I don’t know, maybe it’s caz I fucking love you, dumbass.”

#kitsune!bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #anime #bnha oneshots #mha oneshots #mha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha fics #mha fics #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha fantasy au

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Alec and Raina part 13

Tw for needles, noncon body mod (piercings), and diet control. Reference for the names of types of piercings!

Masterlist here.

The muzzle unfortunately stayed on for almost an hour. Alec was untied, helped into a plunging crop top that showed much more skin than it covered, then carried off to Hadley’s car. They hadn’t bothered to make him test out the cane, he was drunk enough that he’d topple from instability regardless of whether or not he had an aid. So he instead was curled up in Raina’s arms, leaning against her chest and trembling furiously. He didn’t want to leave. Raina was terrible, there was no doubt about it, but she was familiar. Hadley wasn’t.

But it wasn’t like he had any semblance of choice in the matter. He was dumped roughly into the backseat, Hadley’s crutches and his cane occupying the passenger side. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, deceptively sweet. “Goodbye, love, be good for Hadley,” she cooed,  running a hand through his long hair before pulling away and shutting the door.

“Have fun with him, take lots of pictures!” She called at Hadley through the open window as they drove off.

“I will,” her friend remarked, flashing a grin at Alec.

Hadley pulled up to a house as isolated as Raina’s, although not as massive in size, and grabbed their crutches beside them to get out and open the door for Alec. “I can’t exactly help you get inside but the cane in the front is yours if you want it. Good luck.”

With that, they headed to the front door and waited on the porch steps for him. Alec managed to lean over and grab the cane, his head spinning, and he lowered his feet to the ground slowly. His world tilted, he leaned heavily on the polished piece of wood, but he managed to stay upright. His leg pulsed with fresh pain, protesting the notion of walking. He gritted his teeth around the bit of the muzzle and limped towards the front door, stumbling up the ramp entrance and grabbing a handrail to support himself on the other side. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain.

“Good boy,” Hadley praised mockingly, swinging the door open and beckoning their captive to follow. The house was nice, although less extreme than Raina’s. The foyer was expansive and an elaborate light fixture hung from the ceiling, but it was less outrageous than Raina’s mahogany-paneled walls and crystal chandelier.

They led him down a long hallway to a room that looked almost medical in its design— a short padded table on one side, neatly organized cabinets, a white tile floor. “Sit on the table, pretty thing,” they directed casually as they sat on a wheeled stool and propped their crutches against a wall. Once he’d sat down, they reached behind his head and unbuckled the straps of the muzzle, pulling it from his mouth and setting it on a table. He flexed his sore jaw, murmuring a barely-audible “Thank you.”

Despite it’s softness, Hadley heard his thanks and gave him an amused smile. “She’s done such a good job on you,” they said, pleased. He was shockingly compliant and wonderfully adorable— they had half a mind to ask to buy him from Raina, and they would if they didn’t know just how possessive their friend was.

“So,” they continued. “Raina mentioned she wanted you to have some piercings done soon, and I decided we could get that done while I have you here.”

Alec flinched, scuttling to the back of the table against the wall. “I— can— would she possibly reconsider?” He stammered. He’d avoided piercings mostly because he didn’t want to make an artist uncomfortable if he failed to conceal his masochism, and certainly didn’t want his first experience to be with a torturer.

Hadley smirked, scooting their stool over to the cabinets and beginning to retrieve the supplies they needed. “It’s like you don’t even know her,” they snorted. “Since when has she gone back on literally any decision? Besides, even if she had, I’m choosing to do it now. And I have ownership of you for the next 24 hours, so she wouldn't be able to stop me anyway. Now remove your shirt.”

The command was clinical, nothing more, but Alec reluctantly obeyed. Although it wasn’t like Hadley hadn’t already seen him nearly naked. He slid the lacy shirt over his head and folded it neatly beside him, his hands shaking the tiniest bit.

“Why would you need me to—“

“Just trust me and lie down, cutie,” Hadley interrupted condescendingly. “I’m licensed to do this, before you get too worried. And Raina mentioned wanting to give you some piercings so I’m just killing two birds with one stone. She told me to give you two regular ear piercings on each side, one upper earlobe piercing, a helix on one side and an industrial on another, left eyebrow piercing, and some corset piercings on your chest just for a picture. Those are nearly impossible to be healed permanently, so I’ll just take a few pictures and leave them in until Raina comes back.”

Alec grew paler and paler as they continued their spiel, he would have gotten up and made a run for it if not for his throbbing leg and the cameras he’d noticed in the house’s hallways. He kept track on his fingers as they listed off what they’d give him, and was horrified to realize he would be stabbed with their needles on at least him separate occasions— although they’d said corset piercings, so it would likely be more.

“The fuck are those?” He asked instead of running or curling into a pathetic ball on the table, forcing anger into his voice to conceal the fear.

“Which ones?” Hadley asked as they sorted their needles— horribly thick, wickedly sharp, and hollow—  on a tray. “Or I guess I can just show you.”

They approached him and leaned down from their perch, looming over him due to the low positioning of the table. They pinched the near-top of his right ear between two fingernails. “That’s where the helix is going,” they announced, following the sharp pressure with the cold dot of a sharpie. Two marks were also made on his earlobe and another on the sensitive cartilage closest to his head. “If Raina doesn’t like the tragus, she can take it out,” they mused before moving to his other ear. Dots were made on either side of his upper left ear. “A bar’s gonna go through either side of those, that’s the industrial,” they narrated calmly as Alec winced at the mere idea of the pain he was about to go through. They made another two marks on the bottom of his earlobe, and one on his upper earlobe. “That’s it for the ear piercings, and then we’ve got the eyebrow—“ a dot was added near the edge of his left eyebrow.

“I’ll give you a break before the corset piercings, so that’s all for now,” they concluded, exchanging the marker for a hollow needle and a titanium stud earring. “If you struggle, there are restraints under the table that I can and will use,” they added. “The lobe piercings won’t be that bad so I’ll get the worst ones out of the way.”

They knelt over him on the table— Alec would have cringed at the closeness if he wasn’t used to Raina’s constant presence in his personal space— and lined the needle up with the marked dot. “Deep breath, pretty boy,” they said sardonically.

A sharp, hot pain stabbed itself through the top of his ear and he gasped softly out of both pleasure and shock. “Fuck—“ he hissed, gritting his teeth as the needle was slid through and the agony intensified past any threshold of enhoyment. They felt cold metal shoving itself through the hole— the earring, he supposed— and then Hadley set the needle on a separate tray for the used ones.

“Aw, too much for the slutty little masochist?” They teased. “It’s all over now, though, only a few more to go. I’ll show you when it’s all done.”

Alec whimpered at the prospect of another, his arms flying up to cover his face on instinct.

Instantly, Hadley’s hands were around his wrists, forcing his arms back down to his sides. “Remember what I said about the restraints?” They remarked. “If you’re gonna be bad and can’t stay still, you leave me no choice.” They reached under the table to produce a strip of leather, looping it around his arm and buckling it in place before repeating the process on the other side. “If you fight again, I have plenty of the anectine Raina’s gotten you well acquainted with, alright?”

They pressed a kiss to his cheek, sweet and mocking, before moving to pick up an even thicker needle. “Alright, this’ll be like that last one but twice in a row,” they informed him. “Stay nice and still for me—“

The same furious, hot pain repeated itself through his other ear, he let out a sharp whimper as it pierced through yet again  and was followed by a titanium post that slid through the hole before the needle was removed.

He barely even realized that his face was streaked with tears until Hadley brushed a finger under his eyes to wipe them away. “Oh, you poor little thing,” they mocked. “Just a few more, alright? I know you can do it.”

By the time Hadley was done with his ears, they felt to be a throbbing mass of pain and nothing else. The weight on the post in his left ear was unnatural, as was the feeling of the studs scattered around. At least I can check getting my ears pierced off my bucket list, he thought dismally.

He could relax now, at least. Or so he thought.

As Hadley approached him with an ominous looking pair of clamps and the last needle, he realized he’d forgotten the eyebrow piercing. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Hadley leaned over him to pinch part of his eyebrow in the clamps, a blunt and surprisingly fierce pain, and then the needle slid through. It was nothing compared to his first few, a stabbing pain mild enough for him to shudder in delight. It was over before he knew it, and Hadley held a mirror up to his face to show him their work.

“Aw, you look so grown up,” they cooed. “No longer a soft little boy, hm? Raina’s gonna love it. What do you think?”

The sites of the piercings were angry and swollen, they still throbbed, the studs looked out of place, but Alec had to admit he looked badass. If he’d actually chosen to get the piercings, he’d be thrilled with them— but as it was, he mostly felt violated that all of this had been done to him without his consent. Although he was at least relieved he looked good. If nothing else, Hadley knew what they were doing.

“Uh, it’s nice,” he mumbled, tilting his head back and forth to get a better look at the piercings on the tops of his ears. “I’m glad she didn’t do it herself, at least…”

Hadley nodded. “Alright then. You can have a break for a bit and then it’ll be time for the corset piercings.” They pulled their phone out of a jacket pocket and snapped a quick picture of Alec to send to Raina. “She’s gonna love it,” they said as they peeled a latex glove off to run their fingers through his hair.

They stood, plucked their crutches from where they leaned against the wall, then grabbed Alec’s cane, holding it out to him.  He followed them to an expansive kitchen, his leg stabbing with pain just from walking down the corridor. The cane helped, but it wasn’t nearly enough, he felt like he might topple over with every step— as it was likely intended. It made sense that his captors would want him weakened.

He sunk into the nearest chair, his ears and face and leg all throbbing with pain, and Hadley snorted. “What, you think I’m gonna wait on you?” They said incredulously. “If you want to eat, get something for yourself.”

So Alec dragged himself to his feet once more, trembling from the effort. It wasn’t hard to see that he looked ready to collapse on the spot. He almost did, even while leaning heavily on the cane— he fell sideways against the granite countertop, and would  have plummeted to the ground if not for its placement.

Hadley gave an annoyed sigh. “Sit back down, I’m not helping you up when you fall the fuck over,” they relented.

They propped their crutches against a wall and gathered tortillas, chicken, tomatoes, onions, and cilantro from the fridge, setting them in a heap on the counter. “Any allergies? Raina’d kill me if I killed you.”

He shook his head, fidgeting with the bar that ran through the top of his ear. It hurt more when he touched it, but it was just so odd that it even existed.

“Don’t touch those, your hands aren’t cleaned,” Hadley snapped. Alec had thought their back had been turned— maybe they just had killer instincts.

As they began cooking the chicken in a pan and walking back and forth from the cabinets to retrieve spices, Alec grew more and more puzzled. Their crutches laid unused in a corner. “Wait, why aren’t you— nevermind,” he cut himself off quickly, averting his gaze sheepishly.

Hadley gave them a pointed glare, perfected with years of practice. “Sometimes the pain is worth the hassle, sometimes they’re annoying enough that I deal with the pain,” they said shortly.

“Sorry,” Alec mumbled.

“I’m not mad. I mean, maybe I would be if you were some rando, but I know you’ll understand soon enough once that leg of yours heals up a bit more and Raina takes you somewhere you need use of both hands,” they replied with a shrug.

Alec nodded his understanding, yet his heart ached. Was his leg really going to hurt forever? And he couldn’t help but notice how they’d said when Raina took him somewhere, not when he just went somewhere. The constant reminder that he was nothing but someone’s property ached more than the pulsing pain of his fresh piercings.

He slumped on the table and buried his face in his arms at some point, lulled to sleep by his exhaustion and the sounds of sizzling vegetables in the background.

He awoke to a playful flick to his eyebrow piercing and moaned at the wave of throbbing pain the touch sent through him, too disoriented to hide the instinctive response. Hadley laughed in his face, and he remembered once again just where he was. “Sorry,” he said quickly, his face reddening.

But the apology only earned him a slap to the face, one that he couldn’t help lean into.

“It’s cute that you’re such a whore for what most people would desperately avoid,” Hadley said simply. “Don’t apologize for that unless you want me to make you sorry.”

Alec nodded weakly. “Raina’s already done that,” he muttered, shivering. He wished he could have his shirt back, as skimpy as it was.

A pair of neatly rolled tacos was placed before him, and his stomach twisted in hunger. “Thank you,” he added cautiously. Was he supposed to wait for permission to eat or some shit like that? From the way they were staring him down, he might have already done something wrong.

“Can I, uh, is it okay if…”

His face burned a brilliant shade of red.

Hadley shrugged. “What does Raina make you do?”

“Depends on her mood,” he managed through gritted teeth. She didn’t usually make him beg for food unless she was in a bad mood, in which case she’d also skip some of his mealtimes just for kicks. But normally he just had to wait for permission, which was usually received via a subtle nod or a concealed command along the lines of ‘go ahead and get started, dear.’

“Alright, then,” they replied. “What do you think my mood is? Considering I had to go to all this work for you just because you’re too weak to get something for yourself.” Nevermind that it’d been for them too— they’d eaten while Alec was asleep.

The tantalizing smell of the tacos was tempting enough without Hadley’s goading. With a long-suffering sigh, he lowered himself to his knees, biting back a groan as he tried to shift his weight off his bad leg.

Hadley let out a low whistle and took out their phone to snap a picture. “Damn, that’s a little overboard for some tacos. You have my permission,” they sneered.

Alec clambered to his feet, his skin prickling with the heat of embarrassment, and began eating.

It was going to be a long day.

~~~~

Tagging: @hopepetal @painsandconfusion @warm-my-whumpee-heart @dont-touch-my-soup @yesthisiswhump

#hdhsjfjdnsnshdjdjdj I hope y’all like this one #blue writes #alec and raina #alec is a twink #hadley is an icon #no editing we die honorably

[jimlingss]

It's B from @bang-tan-bitches and I would like to request a yandere fic. It can be BTS OT7 x reader or BTS member of your choice x reader. Similar to your amazing isekai story i would like something similar(a long one shot or a multi-chapter, your choice). Whether YN transmigrates to a game or a novel (not as a villain but maybe as a cannon fodder side character that has little importance to the story and just wants to lay low) but YN captures the attention of the love interest(s) and shit starts getting weird, intense, uncomfortable. Maybe it causes the supposed female lead to turn into the villain, maybe it causes the love interest(s) to turn into the villain(s). Maybe YN realizes that something is wrong with the story/game but can't figure it out. Idk. Time period doesn't matter. Modern. Ancient. Fairytale. Fantasy. Whatever.

If you can do this great! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay too. You're an amazing writer with so much talent and I'm really appreciative of all your work. Thank you for taking requests from your fans, I'm sure you've received a lot.

Take care! 😘💜💜💜

at the start of the pandemic, I was getting back into manga and manhwa and then after a few months, I dawdled off but recently, I’ve been getting back into it again haha so this request came at a pretty good time. Hopefully you won’t mind that I’ve taken some creative liberties with this request lol I think it’s more fun if I keep readers on their toes, including the requester.

On another note, I really shouldn’t be writing all my isekai’s with Taehyung as the main lead but he’s just so fitting asdfghjkl

↳ The Fox Bride

2.6k || 99% Light Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Isekai!AU, Slight Yandere!AU, Nine-Tailed Fox!Taehyung

You are a tutorial character.

But you weren’t always. You still remember being a career woman in the twenty-first century, struggling with overtime and paying bills while trying to keep yourself fed. The success of that ranged from month to month. But more importantly, you still remember that night too.

It was rainy. Your car blew a flat tire. You pulled to the side of the highway and got out.

The last thing that registered was the deafening honk of the semi-truck. 

Then you felt yourself flying upwards.

But when you landed, instead of colliding with the concrete and dying upon impact, you fell back onto your ass in the middle of a market on a dirt road. Transported back a thousand years ago.

Your purpose was fulfilled in the next two minutes. 

“Are you alright?”

The male protagonist had stretched out his hand and helped you up. The hero. The main character. It was obvious with his bright red hair, shining eyes and bronze armour. He was so starkly different from the rest who were gray and drab, including you who was suddenly in a brown shapeless dress. He was practically a neon billboard in the middle of a graveyard.

“Are you Y/N?”

You looked at him, befuddled that he knew your name. But before you could even respond or provide a line of dialogue, he said, “This is a delivery from Baker Jeon. He gives you his thanks.”

The protagonists handed you a loaf of bread. Undoubtedly his first ever quest. 

You looked down, not sure what to do with it.

“Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

You had absolutely no clue. But there was the deafening noise of hammering steel literally ten steps away. You would have to be blind not to see the gruff man shaping a sword at an anvil right on the road and deaf not to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the literal sign of the shop read: ‘the blacksmith’.

So you pointed.

“Thanks.” And he trudged off.

You were utterly confused until a background character who said they knew you waved you over. You shared your bread with her, brushed aside when she asked you what was wrong, and you followed her as she walked up to your supposed cottage.

All the while, you saw yourself in the background of the hero’s main quest as he ran through the town.

And that was that.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out where you were or what the hell this was when you put your mind to it. Without much of a job or a family, and no technology but the candle that you had to conserve when night fell, there was ample time.

So you spent it thinking and you eventually solved the mystery.

You were in Beast Boys Harem: A Forbidden Embrace. AKA. a dumb yaoi otome game app that you downloaded on your phone when you were sixteen and bored. You remember because you were too cheap to buy the routes, so you played the tutorial, prologue and read the summaries of the routes online. Now you regret that you didn’t just fork over the goddamn five dollars. 

Even more than that, you regret that you even downloaded the game in the first place.

But at least you’re just a tutorial character. You’re free from the storyline and the plot—

That’s what you thought.

Turns out living a thousand years in the past in a fantasy realm as a woman didn’t bode well. It was probably no different from how it would’ve been like in the medieval ages. You had no trade skills. No one was willing to accept you as an apprentice when you were a woman. You found that you were essentially illiterate with a reading level of a preschooler, no one was willing to teach you, and you had no power or wealth when you were without a father or a husband.

And you’re certain what the landlord and tax-collectors are doing is illegal.

But in this world, in this unjust realm, there is no such thing as the law.

“We know you’re in there!”

You jolt from the heavy pounding on the frail wooden door.

“It’s time to pay up!”

Your hands tremble as you set the candle down that’s still billowing of smoke, the flame smothered out mere seconds ago. As much as you want to hide and pull the blanket over your head, you know that door won’t last. They’ll find you if you’re trapped in here.

“If you can’t, spread those legs of yours!” a low voice spits and there’s chortling from the men.

Someone adds, “Sell your body already!” 

“Open up! Damn whore!”

Without a single possession but the white nightgown clad on your body, you open the latch of the back window. You cringe at the squeak, trying to keep your movements quiet before the door gives way.

You hoist yourself up onto the window ledge. The door bends with the strength of multiple clenched fists against it. Your feet touch the soft grass outside your cottage. The men shout.

And the door finally slams against the wall, hinges broken. 

But by then, you’ve slipped into the shadows.

“Where is she?!”

The blanket is ripped off the bed, curtains are whipped back, every drawer dumped onto the ground and cupboards yanked open. The floor shakes with the weight of their boots and you press your palm to your mouth to silence your panting breaths, slowly stepping away.

“That damn whore slipped through us—!”

But as your shitty luck would have it, a sudden crack has the whole world coming to a standstill.

Shit. You look down at your feet, realizing that the snapping noise came from you stepping on a twig. And it’s exposed your hiding place.

“There she is!” — “Out the back window!”

You grab fistfuls of your dress and bolt. 

“Get her!”

With your cottage on the edge of town, there’s nowhere to run but through the dense woods. It’s shrouded in the darkness, no doubt filled with wild beasts creeping through the thicket. The rustling canopy of the trees doesn’t allow the dim, waning moonlight to illuminate your path.

So you’re left blind. Struggling up the high incline of the forest, feet slipping on dirt and mud. But you keep sprinting with all your might, even when the pointed, coiling branches scrape at your calves until blood sheds and the hem of your dress tears in the underbrush.

“Run, little rabbit!” one of them mocks, “Run!”

The four men continue to give chase, gripping onto their roaring torches, shrieking and howling after you. One of them is manically laughing as if your efforts to flee only adds to the thrill. Their greased hands reach out to snatch you, but the tips of their fingers graze the ends of your hair.

Your teeth are sunk into the bottom of your lip, sobs breaking through your aching chest. Your lungs burn, dying for a break or moment of relief. But you don’t relent and luckily, you manage to build distance between you and the men. Only, that luck comes crashing down by a fucking hole.

A hole in the forest floor that you don’t see. That has your footing all wrong. That makes you scream and fall.

You twist your ankle in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to be in and cry from pain. 

A second later, you force yourself to get up and keep running with tears flooding your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. But it’s more like limping than running, akin to hobbling on one leg and every movement has pain shooting from your swelling ankle.

The effort becomes futile. They surround you within minutes.

“All finished?” The tax-collector’s head cocks with a spreading grin. “You’re not going to keep running?”

Why couldn’t you just fucking die the first time?! Even if it was an awful death where you didn’t have time to prepare yourself or say goodbye to anyone, at least it would’ve been the end. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer.

But there’s no time to grieve. Or hate the new life you’ve been given. This is it. You have to keep going. You have to survive. By any means. You’re about to pick up a branch and uselessly wave it around at them, shout at them to stand back. Anything that you could do to save yourself—

“Who dares come onto my mountain?!”

There’s a deep timbre behind you. A husky voice that quivers the very core of the forest.

As if the wind has swept through, the trees and thicket rustle and it goes silent.

The men fall back onto their asses, some torches clattering to the ground. Their eyes have grown double in size, nearly falling from their sockets and their jaws have dropped to the dirt.

“I-It’s the nine-tailed fox!”

The man scrambles back.

“Demon!” 

Another barely manages to get onto his feet. He turns around and lurches away while shrieking.

They all run. Scattering away as frantically as cockroaches when the light is flickered on.

From your spot on the ground, you turn around with wide eyes. 

Amber irises meet your gawking and they practically glow in the darkness of the forest. He is dressed in a loose, white robe that’s draped over his frame, open to the middle of his chest. And over his honey hair, on the top of his head, his pointed golden ears twitch. By the torch fire still yet to die out, he is illuminated and his shadow is casted on the ground. The blazing flame warms his cold, sharp features. 

He is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. In both worlds you’ve lived in.

And you know who he is.

Taehyung. One of the love interests of the hero. A seductive, sly creature that eventually coaxes the hero into selling him his soul to grant one of his wishes. But Taehyung grows to become an obsessed character that wants to do nothing but monopolize and possess the hero for himself.

That same Taehyung approaches you with his lip curled as you teeter to your feet.

“Run away, girl.” He leans close. “Before I eat you.”

“Stop!” 

On sheer instinct and adrenaline, you push him back. Your palm shoves against his firm chest.

Taehyung stumbles back with his eyes becoming rounded. He looks down to where you had made contact against his body. “Did...you just touch me?”

“What?”

Taehyung’s head darts upwards and he captures your wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly. He tugs you in and on your swollen ankle, you stumble into him. Bodies flush against one another. Your face pressed to his warm chest. His arm coming around your waist to break your fall.

He is aghast. 

“You’re not from this world.” Taehyung’s yellow eyes swirl as they gaze into you. “Where did you come from?”

…

It’s been three days.

“Wed me,” he begs for the seventy sixth time. 

You don’t know why you’re keeping a count.

“No.”

You’re hugging your knees for warmth. The rice paper-paneled doors are slid open and letting in the chilly air. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold, but you don’t look at him for long. 

You turn into the corner of his home while sitting on the tatami floors as if you’re putting yourself into time out. But you’d like to say it’s your privacy corner. It’s as private as this abode, which was basically one room, could get. 

Taehyung sighs in frustration, placing his hand on his forehead. His teeth grit. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Your silence angers him more. “You can never leave.”

You turn over your shoulder to glare. “Even if I married you, you’d never let me leave anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes on you and then smirks. “You’re right. Wed or unwed, I won’t let you out of my sight. You should feel grateful, girl. You’re the best human I’ve ever treated.”

You quietly scoff.

Maybe you should feel scared. Maybe you should tread more lightly. After all, he’s not a character to be trifled with.

But you know he needs you. That alone gives you power. 

As a beast, Taehyung’s been trapped on this mountain by priests for centuries. The only way he can be free is by feeding off of sexual energy and breaking the barrier. But of course, they also cursed him to be unable to touch any woman in this universe. 

You aren’t from this universe.

You jolt when you realize that while you were lost in thought, Taehyung’s crawled closer. He has a foxy smile, amber eyes searching your expression. “Maybe….maybe I’ll grant you a bit of freedom if you would just give into the temptation and let me have a taste of you.”

As cold as he looks, he is beautiful. He is mischievous when he smirks and sly when he speaks. You are utterly spellbound as you look into his irises. And the temptation he speaks of flickers in the warmth of your belly.

But you turn away.

“I already said we only do that kind of thing after marriage. And I will only marry someone I love.”

Taehyung draws back with an unamused scoff. “What a prudish world you’re from.”

He wanted you the moment you were brought to this house. With the intensity of his stare and your captivated state, you had let him pin you to his floor and you liked it. But then clarity came and you blurted that such an act only happens after marriage. A lie just to buy time.

You didn’t expect for the hero to arrive at Taehyung’s house the next day. With his red hair and bronze armour, he had gotten lost in the forest and knocked on the door. Before you could limp over and answer it, Taehyung jumped off the roof and confronted him.

The guy was thrown off the mountain within five minutes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have a steamy rendezvous. Taehyung was supposed to get the sexual energy from him! 

The story was going off the rails. And you’re not sure what you’re even buying time for anymore.

The both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you break and succumb to his mesmerizing seduction.

Taehyung is cruel, ruthless, obsessive.

But what’s the most bewitching thing about him is the jarring contrast of when he’s clumsy and nurturing. It’s what he regards as his own weakness. What he hides from others. But you felt your heart waver two nights ago when you were shaken awake in the middle of twilight. When you peeked open your eye to see him gingerly wrapping your swollen ankle with bandages.

He looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, ears, tails, sharp features softened—

“Ow!” You wince as he squeezes your ankle, right on your injury.

“You think too much in your head,” he says and looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

A sadistic smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. He lets go, but only to lift your chin with his fingers. His plush lips are inches away, his breath warm on your skin and he gazes deep into you. “I won’t let you return to your world. I won’t let you run away. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“You’re mine now.” Taehyung swears, “You’ll fall in love with me eventually.”

You gulp and he smirks.

The two of you know it’s only a matter of time.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #taehyung reader insert #taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfiction #LET'S GOOOO

[qitwrites]

breaking ground

Fandom: boku no hero academia 

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou / Bakugou Katsuki 

(AO3) 

The thing about your best friend/roommate/long-time crush/probably the love of your life being in a coma is that it sucks. Like, a lot.

‘Kats, if you don’t wake up, I will hide a dirty sock somewhere in your room. Somewhere you’ll never find it. And you’ll just have to live with that.’

The machines beep in the back, like a ghastly metronome.

‘I will move your desk 3 inches to the left.’

The soft rise and fall of the blonde’s chest is uniform, lungs contracting and expanding and contracting over and over.

‘I will literally stop watering the orchid Kats, I swear to god.’

Bakugou’s hands are by his side, nails longer than he’d ever keep. Kirishima makes a mental note to trim and file them later.

‘Ok, that’s going too far. I’d never kill Lucy, at least not on purpose.’

Bakugou continues to breathe with the help of a machine too complicated for Kirishima to understand, and the redhead just wants his best friend back. Because it’s been 16 days of Bakugou being fed and kept alive by a machine, it’s been 16 days since he heard his voice, saw his feral smile, looked into his bright, bright, bright eyes. And Kirishima is so ready for this nightmare to be over.

‘Come on Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles, laying his head down on the hospital bed and gently lacing his fingers with Bakugou’s, ‘you gotta wake up man. Our kitchen misses you. Our plants miss you. The neighbour’s cat misses you. Your mom misses you. I- fuck, I miss you.’

The machines continue to beep, his chest rises and falls uniformly, and Kirishima really just wants his best friend back.

    The Bakusquad (the official immortalized name of the gang) lets Kirishima stay in the hospital in 3 days bursts, following which they bodily throw him out. For fresh air and some sunlight, they say, like he’s a dying plant.

‘You need to shower in your own home,’ Kaminari grumbles, stuffing his dirty clothes in a bag.

Sero pulls a beanie over his head. ‘And also water the plants in the balcony.’

Ashido stuffs his wallet into his pant pocket and slips his phone into his hand. ‘Also, don’t forget to dust the bookshelves! And leave some fresh water for Queens.’ She pulls him down for a soft kiss on the cheek.

Jirou pulls the phone from his hand, fiddles with it for a moment before slipping it back into his palm. She places a pair of wireless Beats headphones over his beanie, and he hears the first notes of a piano piece, calm and really lovely.

‘Playlist is on there,’ Jirou says, pointing at his hand.

And so Kirishima goes home, the home he shares with Bakugou, and he waters their plants, and dusts the bookshelves, and does some laundry and cooks easy fried rice the blonde had drilled into his brain.

He doesn’t look at Bakugou’s room door, doesn’t venture inside, doesn’t touch his space. He sticks to the common areas and his own room, and he keeps it clean and tidy, the way Bakugou likes it.

He’ll get to the blonde’s room eventually, just not yet.

    Red Riot and Ground Zero are a hero pair. What this means is that they work individually when they want, and they pair up for bigger, more difficult missions.

And what a pair they make.

Riot is a wall, a shield, an unbreakable defence, always the last man standing. And Ground Zero is an explosion, a burst of light, an offence so quick and forceful the villains never stand a chance. They’re one of the best pairs out there, and they’ve done some amazing work.

It's almost stupidly ironic that Bakugou gets hurt during one of their paired missions.

The case involved several strong villains that attacked schools, and between rescue and evacuation and dealing with villains, Red Riot and Ground Zero had their hands full. Riot was mostly with the civilians and Ground Zero was keeping the damage to a minimum, but before Kirishima could go to Bakugou’s side and assist him, the damage had been done.

Because the last villain Bakugou had to deal with had decided to implode, killing himself and taking Bakugou out with him.

The damage had been immense.

Several concussions and broken ribs, bruises and internal bleeding that could only be controlled with a mix of surgeries and healing quirks. And finally, a waiting game. Bakugou had to wake up, his body had to heal itself and decide when and if he was going to wake up again.

And so Kirishima waits with him, silently supporting him from the side, ever patient, brimming with love.

    25 days after the attack, Kirishima finally walks into Bakugou’s room.

The air smells faintly like sugar, like his quirk. The walls are bare but for the few polaroids Kirishima tacks on the wall above his desk. The laptop and file folders are sitting atop his table, a thin layer of dust coating them, and the only messy thing is his unmade bed.

Kirishima crawls under his sheets, breaths in his scent, and for the first time since Bakugou had decided to be an ass and slip into a coma, the redhead cries. Giant sobs that seem to come from his core, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, snot dripping out his nose.

Kirishima cries with the force of a thousand suns, and falls asleep right there, twisted in Bakugou’s sheets, in his unmade bed, in the middle of a room covered in a thin, fine layer of dust, smelling only slightly like burnt, warm sugar.

    A month after the attack, Kirishima finally cleans Bakugou’s room.

Mina had made a good point. ‘If you don’t clean his room, it’s like you’re saying he’s not coming back so there’s no point. So, clean his room Eijirou.’

He appreciates that they don’t offer to do it. It’s usually impossible to keep them out of their apartment, impossible to keep them from getting belligerently drunk and playing monopoly on the living room floor while blasting 2000’s hits and throwing pieces of pepperoni at each other. Impossible to not love them.

But right now, the apartment is off-limits, and they seem to understand this. And respect it. And they understand that he needs a push here, a nudge there, and a gentle shove here to get his ass moving, to do the things he’s scared of doing, the things that just need to be done anyway

Kirishima loves them, so so much.

And so, he cleans. He dusts everything, puts Bakugou’s sheets in the wash and hangs his comforter out to dry. He fluffs up the All Might plushie and makes the bed, vacuums the floor, and puts his folded laundry back where it belongs in the closet.

He finds the box when he’s reorganizing Bakugou’s hero gear drawer. It’s a black box, smooth to the touch, no bigger than Kirishima’s palm, with just 2 words printed on top.

Death Box.

Its existence isn’t shocking to Kirishima. After all, he has one of his own, tucked neatly under his hanging jackets, pushed to the very back.

A Death Box is a pro-hero thing. It’s no secret that the life of a hero is riddled with danger and that one bad day could be the end. Every pro knows this. And most pro-heroes have a Death Box.

The contents of the box vary from person to person. Some leave behind letters addressed to friends and family. Others leave wills and assets and final testaments. Some leave behind cryptic messages or dramatic last words.

Kirishima never wondered about Bakugou’s box, and Bakugou had never asked about his own. But today, 31 days after the attack, 31 days of no Bakugou, 31 days of waking up with an ache in his chest because Kirishima’s heart is literally breaking, he finds himself gently pulling the box out and sitting on Bakugou’s bed, turning it over in his hands.

It’s really simple- no patterns or designs or anything. It's black as midnight, the lettering orange. Kirishima gently pops the box open and inside lays a single pen-drive. Nothing else.

Kirishima stares at it for a long, long time. He almost puts the box back in the drawer with the pen drive safely nestled inside, he almost forgets what he ever saw, he almost acts like he’s fine.

But he’s not fine. He’s so far from fine he can’t even spell the word. And he misses his friend with a pain so sharp he feels it in his bones. So Kirishima picks the pen drive up and takes it to the laptop. He switches the system on, plugs the drive in and waits for the program to load up.

Surprisingly, it isn’t password protected. He skims over the contents briefly. There’s a folder named Will and Final Testaments that he ignores completely. There’s another folder named Personal Project that he also leaves alone. The third folder is titled for everyone, and Kirishima clicks on that.

The folder is filled with video files of varying lengths. Each video is named after a specific person, and Kirishima smiles when he sees one for Bakugou’s mom, his dad, each of the Bakusquad, one for All Might, and one for Midoriya. The Deku video is easily bigger than all the others, all except one.

Because the one titled Shitty Hair is close to 45 minutes long.

Kirishima inhales shakily, and for once, he hesitates. Because once he watches this, he knows Bakugou will well and truly kill him. These videos, this content, it’s meant to be consumed after he dies. Not when he’s in a coma, not when he’s alive and fighting for his life. Not when he’s doing his best to come back.

But here’s the thing- Kirishima isn’t watching this because he thinks Bakugou’s as good as gone. He doesn’t believe that one bit. No, Kirishima is watching this because he misses Bakugou so much, so much that his insides feel like they're shredding up into little bits and pieces, and Kirishima just wants to hear him bark out his ugly laugh, he wants to see his eyes dance with mirth, he wants to watch Bakugou dump too much chilli into the curry and wrap himself into a blanket burrito on their couch in the dead of winter, cursing the weather viciously. He never thought he’d miss the way someone said fuck so much in his life, yet here he is.

So Kirishima inhales shakily, breathes out in a whoosh and hits play.

    2 years ago

Bakugou had put off recording Kirishima’s message for years.

The one to his parents was simple enough. Dad, thank you for being some kinda balance in the house, and for loving me ridiculously unconditionally. Hag, ma, we’ve always had our own issues and we love so violently, but I do love you. I always have. Thank you for making me the devil spawn I am, couldn’t have been so great if it weren’t for you.

The Bakusquad (ugh, what a dumb name) had a video each. They weren’t super long, but he loved them all, more than they’d ever know when he’s alive, and he thought they deserved to know if he ever died before getting around to drunkenly confessing it or something.

Sero, your stupid fucking jokes have made some shitty days so much better.

Jirou, you’re insanely strong and you’ve had my back on more occasions than I can count.

Mina, my girl, you’re the OG. Thank you for never giving up on me, for always pushing me to be part of the gang, for becoming my friend.

Kaminari, you’re always gonna be hella fucking stupid, but you’re my stupid friend, one of my closest buddies, and it was a pleasure knowing you.

He might actually die if they find this when he's alive, but that’s the whole point of Death Box- it's to say the things you can't when you're alive or to remind people of the things you felt after you’re gone.

Midoriya’s had been hard. Midoriya’s had been really hard.

Unpacking so many emotions, talking about the past, UA, the present; it made his blood boil but also made him immeasurably sad. After their first year, Midoriya and he had grown close. They still found it difficult to communicate like normal human beings, but they always had each other’s backs, no matter where or what. And even as pro-heroes, they worked together wonderfully, competed for #1 fiercely, pushed each other to incredible heights, and picked each other up after terrible missions.

Deku, I know so much of our past is water under the bridge for you, and that’s been great for us because it lets us have a sort of friendship. But I haven’t forgotten. I will never forgive myself and all I could do is be better.

For all the fucked up shit that we’ve been through, for how much I still get angry when I see you and how much I want to be better than you all the time, you are the brother I never had, the comrade that never left, the friend that I’ve never deserved.

Izuku, thank you. I’m sorry.

Admitting to most of these things isn’t difficultly because it’s all true. And honesty has always come easily to Bakugou. As an adult hero, he’s learned things about himself, his own feelings, his own version of love for the people around him. And he can’t bring himself to say those exact words to Izuku, but he hopes his actions (Bentos pressed into Midoriya’s hands after long patrols, sharing beers on rooftops, patching each other up after shitty missions) are message enough.

But Kirishima? How is he supposed to find the words to tell Kirishima how he feels? How much the redhead means to him? Where does he even begin?

Bakugou huffs and slaps himself on both cheeks. Kirishima is out for the day, taking Mina shopping at the mall and catching a movie with the gang, a plan Bakugou had gotten himself out of just so he could sit here, in the apartment he shares with the only person he has ever had the good fortune of being in love with, to record a final message. What a happy thought.

Bakugou thinks Fuck it, takes a seat in front of the camera, ruffles his hair, and hits record.

‘Hey Shitty Hair.’

    Hey Shitty Hair.

There are handprints on Bakugou’s face. His hair is a ruffled mess, his bed is unmade behind him, and his face looks almost nervous.

Kirishima doesn’t think about any of that.

Because seeing Bakugou on-screen with his red eyes boring into Kirishima, and hearing his voice, rough and loud and well-worn feels like the first breath of fresh air the redhead has gulped down in a month. It feels like a well-placed punch to the gut, and Kirishima almost bowls over, overwhelmed beyond comprehension.

He misses him so much.

Fuck, making this video is fucking hard, I’m not even sure where to start. Also, you better not be crying like a baby Ei, I sweat to God, I might be dead, but you still need to go out there and kick ass cause someone needs to take care of all those shitty villains.

Kirishima makes an aborted sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because this is his best friend in the entire universe, the man he knows better than he knows himself. This is his person.

Anyway, I made a bunch of other videos for all the other losers, but yours has been the biggest pain in my ass. I guess the closer you are to someone, the harder it is right?

First off, I need to say thank you. For like, so much shit. Thank you for taking those first few steps in our friendship. For constantly pestering me and inserting yourself into my life. For training with me, including me in all kinds of stupid activities, and getting me into the gang. My time at UA would never have been so fun, so memorable, so amazing without you. You made it great, despite all the shit that went wrong.

The blonde sucks in a deep breath and his eyes pierce straight through Kirishima, peering right into his soul.

We don’t talk about Kamino because there’s never been the words. Ei, I was so scared. Fuck, I was so scared I couldn’t stop shaking. And then there you were, flying above me, hand outstretched and yelling at the top of your goddamn lungs ‘Come!’ And that’s it. I knew I’d be ok. I knew I’d be just fine.

And yeah, I mean, the pros were there and maybe we could’ve figured something else out and maybe things would’ve worked out a different way. But you guys coming for me, YOU reaching out to me? It was the first time I felt like I had friends. I had comrades. I had people. Of course, my emotionally stunted ass refused to accept these feelings, but they took root then. And continued to grow.

Bakugou sighs deeply and sits back in his chair. He looks at the ceiling and continues.

I’m not sure I know what love is. As a feeling, I don’t know how to categorize when I’m feeling love and when I’m not. At least, I didn’t for the longest time.

Bakugou looks back at the camera, and Kirishima’s vision is starting to blur dangerously.

I know I love my parents, but it feels different than the love I feel for the idiot brigade. It’s different from what I feel for Izuku. And it sure as hell feels different from the love I feel for you.

Bakugou sighs again, and his face breaks into the softest smile Kirishima has ever seen and everything hurts.

A few years ago, I think weeks after we’d moved into this place, we were making breakfast and you looked me dead in the eye and said ‘I think the morning glories are trying to kill me.’ And I laughed out loud and you looked so proud of yourself and I thought, ‘Shit, Ei is such an idiot.’ That’s when it hit me.

Bakugou’s smile grows fonder.

I don’t call people by their names even in my head Ei. You were Shitty Hair for most of our first year at UA. Then you became Kirishima, and then somehow it became Kiri, and then Eijirou and then Ei. Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody else, is the same. Not a single fucking person.

The first time I called you Ei in my head, that’s when I realized I was in love with you.

Kirishima hits pause immediately. He closes the window, safely ejects the pen drive, puts it back in the box and returns it to its spot. He shuts the laptop down, walks out of Bakugou’s room and sits on the couch in the living area, the same one they’ve passed out on countless times, the same one they bought together with their first paychecks, the same one that’s stained with coffee rings and spaghetti sauce and pepperoni grease.

He picks his phone up on autopilot and dials a familiar number.

‘Kiri?’ Mina sounds like a hot cup of coffee on a chilly Tuesday morning.

‘Please come home.’

He hears some rustling and yelling in the background before Mina says, ‘Stay right there, we’ll be over as soon as Midoriya gets here ok?’

Kirishima hums out an affirmative and hangs up. It’s time they come home.

    67 days after the fight, Kirishima gets a call.

‘He’s awake.’

Red Riot is back on the streets, patrolling during the day, staying with Bakugou in the hospital at night and barely keeping his shit together. But it’s ok, it kinda works. Works well enough that he can do his job and do it well, and his friends are always there, picking up his pieces, keeping him sane.

Before Kirishima can say anything, Midoriya continues, ‘Chargebolt is almost at your location to relieve you, so go.’

He takes off running. His lungs burn and he can barely see where he’s going but he’s made this walk so many times he can do it in his sleep. He runs as fast as his legs can take him and makes them go faster.

Kirishima bursts into the hospital and takes the stairs 3 at a time. He finally gets to Bakugou’s floor and sprints to the door, and he can barely pull in enough air. He’s lightheaded, his heart is palpitating, and his vision is blurry but he slides the door open anyway.

Carmine eyes snap over to his and time just comes to a complete standstill. There are no doctors, no nurses. There’s no Bakugou Mitsuki, no beeping machines that breathe for him, no beeping machines that feed him, no white sterile walls and ugly hospital gowns. There is only Bakugou Katsuki, his bright, bright, bright eyes and a hand outstretched at Kirishima.

‘Ei-‘

And that’s it. One moment he’s standing in the doorway, the next he has Bakugou gathered in his arms, and he’s so warm and alive and it’s absolutely everything.

‘Kats,’ Kirishima mumbles. ‘Kats.’

‘Ei, if you start crying, I will smack the shit out of you.’

Kirishima’s laugh is watery. He pulls away and cups Bakugou’s face, smooshing his cheeks a little.

‘Kats, for once, shut the fuck up and let me feel my feelings. Do you have any idea how much the plants missed you?’

Bakugou’s mouth twists in a grimace but his eyes soften till they’re just liquid ruby and Kirishima falls a little more in love.

‘Just the plants?’

‘Shut the fuck up Kats.’ And Kirishima hugs him again, presses Bakugou’s face firmly into the crook of his neck. The blonde’s arms tighten around his middle, and the world feels whole again.

    A week after they return from the hospital, Bakugou finds a white envelope in the morning glories, the very same ones that Kirishima had insisted were trying to kill him.

To Kats it says in Kirishima’s untidy scrawl. Bakugou puts the watering can down and picks the letter up gently, opening it with trembling hands.

Dear Katsuki,

My Death Box has a bunch of letters in them. I wrote one for mom, one for mama, one for all our friends, I wrote letters to all of them.

Yours was the hardest because even after writing and rewriting it 5 times, it was always the same- all I can write to you is a love letter.

Bakugou doesn’t read the rest, just snaps his head up and looks around wildly.

‘EIJIROU, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YO-‘

‘I love you Kats.’ Kirishima is right there, standing by the balcony door, eyes wide and hopeful. He’s wearing sweatpants low on his hips, and in each hand, he holds a mug of steaming hot chocolate spiked with chilli. Mexican cocoa. Bakugou’s favourite.

He puts the mugs down on the balcony ledge. ‘I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember what it’s like to not be in love with you.’

‘Eijirou-‘

‘I love you.’ Kirishima steps forward and frames Bakugou’s face with his warm, calloused hands, and smiles big. ‘What about you?’

Bakugou scoffs. ‘What do you think, Shitty Hair?’

‘Gotta hear you say it, Kats.’  

‘You’re a pain in my ass.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re so annoying.’

‘I agree.’

‘Your hair still sucks.’

‘Your nose twitches when you lie.’

‘And I love you so much anyway.’ Bakugou finishes and places his hands over Kirishima’s and squeezes.

‘Don’t start crying Ei.’

‘Let me feel my feelings, Kats.’

‘I’m not kissing you if you’re covered in fucking snot.’

Kirishima laughs at that, pulling Bakugou close. ‘Your nose still twitches when you lie.’

Bakugou doesn’t deign that with a response, just smirks his trademark smirk, looks at Kirishima with those bright, bright, bright eyes and kisses him stupid.

‘Again,’ Kirishima mumbles.

Bakugou does just that.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #my hero fanfic #kiribaku #bakushima #bnha kirishima #bakugou katsuki #bakusquad #ashido mina #sero hanta #kaminari denki #THANKS TO MY BEST FRIEND FOR NAMING THE FIC AND READING IT ONE BILLION TIMES #so this story is hurt/comfort and so much fluff #I LOVE KIRIBAKU SO MUCH ITS ABSURD #hope you enjoy :D

[angelguk]

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / blowjob / we talk about dicks for a bit / oc is strange / jaykay is confused / cum swallowing / first times / not really edited / mingyu the meddling best fwend

soundtrack: on the way, jhene aiko + hold on (slowed and reverb), the internet

Jeongguk doesn’t hate Mingyu. He truly doesn’t. He is one of his closest friends after all; he’d held him up after Jeongguk had dumped half a keg down his throat and his legs had promptly collapsed.  He’d also been a successful wingman for when Jeongguk was aiming to add Seolhyun to the list of girls he’d bagged, sent pictures of his organic chemistry notes when Jeongguk had missed more than half of the classes in high school and didn’t laugh at him when he was heart-broken over Sua and borderline depressed. He was a true friend; someone Jeongguk could rely on. It was a simple brother-like relationship that Jeongguk deeply treasured. So no, he could never hate Mingyu – but he could absolutely long to punch that insufferable asshole in the face.

He should have known this was going to go downhill exceptionally fast the moment you stumbled into his room, wide-eyed and nervous in your unsure steps. When his pants had hit the ground, the shock in your eyes was a dead giveaway to how messy this whole arrangement was going to be. The second clear sign was when you jumped out his window because the sight of his bare dick terrified you.

And this was all the result of Mingyu being a meddling shit who didn’t know when to mind his business.

He remembers it with a clarity that makes his shoulders tense, how Mingyu had snuck you into the conversation while twisting a soju bottle in his hands.

“Yo… JK…. You mind if I ask you a question?” He’d said. Jeongguk shrugged, focused on flipping the meat on the grill because he was starving and the prospect of cooked meat was a lot more appealing than feigning interest in a conversation. “Alright…," Mingyu took his silence as a cue to speak. “Have you ever fucked a virgin?”

He should have known then. He really should have known.

“I don’t know. I don’t ask any questions when I’m hard,” Jeongguk had replied, unknowing of the dangerous path this conversation was guiding him down.

“Yeah and most of the time you don’t fuck on an actual bed. I’m not even surprised you don’t ask questions.”

“Hey!” Jeongguk had swung the tongs around. “I ask important ones, like consent and making sure we’ve got a condom around. But virginity? Not my concern.”

“Seems a bit…. Whorish to me.”

“Not whorish. I just have my priorities elsewhere… Like cumming for example.”

Mingyu had sighed as he poured him a shot, the air leaving his lips heavy. “I shouldn’t even be asking you to be honest. You’re a decent guy but your kind of a dickhead when it comes to sex.”

“How does not pondering on virginity make me dickhead? Again, as I said, priorities are elsewhere.”

“Dude you’ve never even tried to have meaningful sex at least once in your life. When was the last time you were actually emotionally invested in the person you were sleeping with? Hmm?”

The answer was Sua and he knew that but Mingyu was decent enough to keep her name out of his mouth, the judging look in his eyes saying enough.

“You know… I don’t do well with the whole emotional thing. I prefer it physical. It’s less messy. But what does this even have to do with virginity?” Jeongguk hated to admit it but he was somewhat interested in where this conversation was going. If only he knew it was leading to a massive train wreck of the one thing, he steered clear from – emotions.

Mingyu had just sighed again, tipping the soju bottle into his shot glass once more. “There’s a girl who I’d like you to meet.”

He’d scoffed, mouth stuffed with a perilla leaf wrap. “You know I don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date,” Mingyu had retorted, the glance he threw at his friend’s direction precarious. “She wants you to take her virginity.”

Jeongguk had choked. Of course, he had. Even if sex didn’t mean much to him, taking someone’s first time like that felt very transactional. And Jeongguk wasn’t that big of a dickhead. But then Mingyu had opened his mouth, spewing various details about your life to him that he would rather have not heard over a KBBQ lunch. You were a friend from one of his business lectures, rather eccentric but sweet and funny. You were also a virgin and terrified of approaching men on your own, one of the reasons Mingyu had sprung up this arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t one to fall into things like this but it was too late. Mingyu was a marketing major for a reason, he knew how to spin words in his favour, convince people into agreeing to things that they normally would not. And that’s how Jeongguk found himself staring at your retreating figure after you’d thrown your body right out his window, landing hard on the lawn of the house he rented with Namjoon and Seokjin. The crazy thing was that you’d gotten up immediately, not showing any sign of a broken bone or injuries, before promptly sprinting down the road to the bus stop. He should have known then. He really should have known. And yet, here he is, pants discarded on the floor of his room and his dick aching from being unrelieved for longer than it’s ever been, while you crouch over him, squinting at his penis like it’s a foreign object that could kill you.

“Could you please stop staring at my penis like that.” He says it out of frustration, but also the way you’re examining his length makes him feel self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt like in a long time.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not breaking eye contact with his dick. “I’m just… fascinated. It’s rather….” The sentence tapers out and you swallow hard as if it pains you to admit it, “...Ugly.”

Jeongguk decides then and there he hates you.

“I mean... It’s not that it’s ugly!” you swiftly attempt to amend, catching the glare he directs at you. “It’s also big!”

“I know. And you just said it was ugly,” Jeongguk retorts, weighing the options in his head. Either get a poor blowjob from a girl he’s terrified of (but also bizarrely attracted too) or kick you out of his room and finish himself off. The situation sucks either way but it’s better than the last time when you’d leapt out of the window like a gazelle.

“I misspoke,” you say, gently falling onto your knees. You flash him a shy smile, a soft delicate little thing that makes your eyes glitter and Jeongguk instantly picks the first option. “It’s just different to what I expected it to look like.”

He scoffs, swallowing hard on the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s no way you haven’t seen a dick before. You don’t watch porn?”

The grimace you make is enough of an answer. “I have… Not all the time though, it’s too much for me sometimes. Also, it’s weird seeing it in real life and not, like, through a screen.”

“Noted. But still, it’s not that ugly,” Jeongguk murmurs, trying not to compare his penis to the visuals he has in his head. His pride is wounded from that comment he won’t deny it.

“It kinda is,” you reply. Jeongguk flicks your forehead in retaliation. “Ow! Why’d you do that.” There’s that stupid pout in your lips as you glower at him. He despises how his dick twitches at the sudden thought of your pretty mouth wrapped around his length. Despises it even more when you gasp at the slight motion trembling through him. “It moves?!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, wondering how on Earth you’re over the age of twenty and still like this. “It does. Also, don’t insult my dick. It’s rude.”

“Sorry again,” you pause as if you’re considering whether what you might utter next is offensive. You open your mouth anyway, unable to comprehend the fact that your words are slowly chipping away at his ego. “It’s kinda scary that it moves.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal worst.” Jeongguk thinks his boner might evaporate. It’s a miracle it’s lasted this long. You’d sauntered into his room around half an hour again and he’d been hard from the get-go. Truly amazing his balls hadn’t shrivelled up yet. “You know you’re about to blow me off right?”

“I know… I’m stupid,” you counter, eyebrows furrowing together like you’re attempting to figure out exactly how Jeongguk’s dick works. It’d be very simple if you just asked him. It’s essentially an up and down motion, some swirls, a lot of wetness. Nothing too difficult. But when you glance up at him, the innocent glaze over your eyes almost hopeless, he can tell it feels the same as defusing a bomb. “I just… Don’t know what to do. Show me?”

And there it is - the foolish little thing that landed Jeongguk here half-naked on the edge of his bed in the first place. Even though you were mildly repulsed by the male autonomy you were still so eager to learn. Something Jeongguk didn’t know he would be into until you posed that question and his balls tightened in a way they have never done before.

“Okay,” he mumbles, hoping you don’t suspect the twitch that runs through his length when you say that. Not like you would, to be fair.

But then you sweep your hair back, lean in fast, no preparation or anything before your breath is brushing against his crotch and Jeongguk nearly screams.

“Woah, woah, woah! I thought you just asked me to show you? What are you doing?” Maybe he scuttles further down the bed, terrified of the rush of heat you send straight to his gut.  

Your eyes flicker upward, bright and ingenuous. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re not -,” Jeongguk sighs breath weighing through the air. “You’re not doing it wrong. I just think... We should go slow right? It’s your first time? Maybe don’t rush into it?”

“I watched a YouTube video and they said to do it like that,” you reply. Jeongguk can’t help but blink at you, brain reeling from attempting to understand your being.

“You watched a - never mind. You’re giving me a headache. And I thought you knew nothing. Porn would have been a better research alternative but to each their own.”

“I did it for preparation! I didn't know it’d be this nerve-wracking in real life. And, I told you, real dicks are gross. She used a dildo.”

“How is a dildo any different to a real dick?” Jeongguk fingers dig into the mattress a little harder when you lean it once more, gingerly resting your head against his knee.

“It’s just different. Less grotesque. And they come in various colours.”

He might just actually scream. “It’s literally made to replicate a penis.”

You sigh, your breath skipping against his skin. The room is suddenly tight, closing in on him and you’re not even really touching him. And then you catch your lip between your teeth, pressing down with a quick thoughtful bite. “I think you’re deflecting right now.”

“I’m not,” he splutters. “Why would I even be deflecting right now?”

“I mean, we’re having a conversation about dildos when your dick is hard and I’m meant to be blowing you. Sounds like deflection doesn’t it?” He hates the way your eyes glitter, bright and captivating as your gaze locks into his.

“Like I said,” Jeongguk retorts, “We should take it slow.”

“Okay then. I’m done talking about dildos unless you have anything else to add?”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, “Okay then, onto giving a blowjob.”

“Onto giving a blowjob,” you reiterate. And then, like a psychopath, you smile. “Where should I start?”

He hates that body is on edge right now, hands trembling even though he hides them by squeezing his bed-sheets tight. “Try giving it a lick first? You can put your hand around the base too - if you want to.”

“Here?” His knees nearly buckle when you wrap your warm palm around his length, grip firm around the base of his cock. But that’s nothing to the gentle lap of your tongue against the side of his cock, a quick little thing and nearly launches him off the bed.

“Oh - uh - yeah, there.” His voice sounds far off and without warning your mouth is against him once more, tongue a sinful little thing that slips along his length, wet and warm and so sneaky he’s unsure of what to respond with apart from an instinctual buck of his hips. It’s easy like this, your tongue pressed against his cock and your hands slowly dragging upwards, placing a perfect pressure along his length that leaves him sighing into the air of his bedroom. Your movements grow more direct, reading the increasing desperation in Jeongguk’s body as he moves closer and closer to you, waiting until you feel sure enough. And then, finally, your mouth sinks onto him.

He nearly whimpers. Nearly. There’s a heat pooling in his gut and ebbs through every muscle and nerve, the coil of his desire springing tighter with each inch that slips down your throat. You take him so well, Jeongguk can’t help but watch in awe, the wideness in your eyes making him harder than he’s ever been in his life. Even with your inexperience, the way you swallow his cock is obscene. It’s an imagery Jeongguk engraves in his memory, purposefully stored because he knows he’ll think about it whenever his desires override his logical thoughts again. You lap him up like you want this, a soft moan echoing from your throat and along his length as you move deeper, mouth plaint to his dick. He forces himself to sit still, give you the time to adjust, lick and taste to your leisure, forcing the impending wave of heat back down into his gut. He holds it there even when you move away, the sound of your wet mouth popping off his dick permeating the air.

And of course, you lick your lips afterwards, a swift swipe of your pink tongue against them, your eyes trained on his.

“Like that?” you ask.

Jeongguk’s going to die. He is. And you’ll be the reason why listed on his death certificate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, chest tight with want. “Like that.”

You lean back in without question, mouth taking his length like you were made for it and your hand works against the parts of him you can’t reach just yet. His mind wanders as his eyes take in this sight of you, on your knees and mouth open wide just for him. Someday he’d like to see if you could truly take his length, all of it. Down your throat. Hard and fast like his hips wanted to go. But this is more than perfect. How you concentrate on blowing him like you want to see him spill himself down your throat. It’s almost adorable, the earnestness in your gaze every time your eyes flicker upwards as your mouth moves along his cock. He likes this more than he’s willing to admit, the slowness in your pace, how your tongue is shy sometimes when it laves against his tip. It’s a change from what he usually gets - and a welcome one too. A tiny part of him feels like it would be fitting to hold your hand. You’re so pretty too, especially when your lips are on him. He’d like to take care of you, see what your face looked like when his tongue was deep inside of you, know what your taste like as you moan out his name. He doesn’t even register the words as they leave his mouth, head lost in the images colouring his thoughts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he can’t help the grunt, the pet name natural to him, “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

And you hum like you like it - like you like pleasing him, sinking further down until his tip bumps against the back of your throat. The zip down his spine nearly sends him spiralling.

“Baby,” he feels it then, when your eyes shift to meet his, the snap in his gut. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum. You need to stop right now if you don’t want to down your throat.”

But you don’t, moving faster like the twitch of his dick in your mouth spurs him on, your lips firm as they wrap around him. He doesn’t hold in his moves this time, hips gently moving up to meet your mouth, the tremor running through his bulky thighs nothing but a warning before it hits him hard. A wave of heat, melting through his muscles as his eyes flutter shut, your tongue lapping him right up, no protest as he unravels down your throat. It’s over in an instant but Jeongguk feels like mush, head floating and his bones soft with how hard his back hits the mattress. You pull off his length a second later, letting him feel you swallow all of him first.

“Holy shit.” His mouth is still disconnected from his brain.

There’s a beat of silence, so awkward that Jeongguk shuffles himself back onto his elbows even though his bones feel like giving way. And then your laugh tinkles through the air, a soft gentle thing that makes his heart seize in his chest.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” you say, staring at him with an ease that spikes an urge to press his lips against yours in his heart.

“Oh,” he replies, like an idiot. “You liked it?”

“Well, it didn’t suck… pun intended. Your moans are really loud.”

Jeongguk blushes - he blushes - even after the stupid joke you made.

“Um, yeah. I do, I guess. Sorry, I kind of forgot to show you what to do. But you’re a bit of a natural, to be honest.” He abhors the diffidence in his voice.

“I guessed that,” you retort, the smile on your face hypnotic, “From your really loud moaning.”

“Can you - fuck how do you ruin any intimate moment when it happens?”

“Guess I’m a natural at that too,” you say it with a laugh, and Jeongguk can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips.

“Um,” he tries, fully aware of the front view seat you were getting of his soft dick. He sits up to try and shield it, feeling awfully exposed. “If you’d like… I could return the favour?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s zero hesitation in your voice and you’re up before Jeongguk can think of a decent excuse to keep you in his room. “Maybe another time? I’ll text you. Bye Jeongguk.”

It’s then he regrets not encouraging you to undress earlier, his assumption that this would be the worst blowjob of his life incredibly incorrect. Perhaps if your clothes were scattered around his bedroom he could have found a way to convince you into his sheets while you searched for them. But you’re fully dressed, already bounding out of his door like his dick wasn’t down your throat moments ago. He watches you go with forlornness, mouth dry with words he’s incapable of expressing at this very instance and his heart oddly warm at the sight of your skipping away with a carefreeness he admires. He still hates that you’re leaving, perhaps the only positive of this situation is that you’re using his bedroom door instead of his window.

“Bye,” Jeongguk mumbles into the vacant air. You don’t even catch it, shooting him a quick grin before you’re bounding down the stairs as if this doesn’t even matter to you. A stumble on a stepping stone to something greater. He plucks up his phone, pants still lost somewhere on the floor. Blocking Mingyu for twenty-four hours should be enough of a punishment, right?

mingyu the man [10:21pm]

bro..

you alive?

jaykay [10:26pm]

i focking hate u

u know that right?

mingyu the man [10:31pm]

you dont my g

how was it?

did she jump out the window this time?

jaykay [10:34pm]

worse

mingyu the man [10:37pm]

bro wtf wot she do??

jaykay [10:40pm]

she actually gave me head

mingyu the man [10:45pm]

????

how is that worse dude you’re just as weird as her

jaykay [10:46pm]

ITS WORSE CAUSE I LIKED IT

mingyu the man [10:51pm]

damn....

you like crazy coochie don’t you

jaykay [10:52pm]

WHAT R U EVEN

MAN FUCK

I HATE U

mingyu the man [10:53pm]

lmao u don’t i brought her into your life u lurve me

im best man for the wedding

not jaehyun

u got dat right

jaykay [10:56pm]

i hope you fall into a ditch and die

mingyu the man [10:58pm]

okay big man

you gon see her again tho?

jaykay [10:59pm]

....maybe

idk man im fucked up right now

like???

SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW??

mingyu the man [11:01pm]

and u still invited her over to suck your dick again

crazy coochie got u bad bruh

jaykay [11:06pm]

FUCK U

mingyu the man [11:11pm]

mhmm if thats what u say

i have a class wid her to tomorrow

any messages u want to pass on?

hello?

[mingyu the man is blocked]

hello? jaykayyyyyy

JAYKAY

SEAGULL

damn he got it bad

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hey kristy #shoutout 2 ella kristy and luna 4 beta reading mwah

[jotunn-loki]

my king

FANDOM: marvel, mcu, black panther PAIRING: erik killmonger x female!reader RATING: explicit, NS//FW!!! WARNINGS/KINKS:  throne sex, praise kink, daddy kink, bj, power dynamics, blackmail? ish? a little at the end that’s implied ig

SUMMARY: An ally of the royal family, you were sent on a stealth mission to gather intel on the new Wakandan Empire with Nakia, but when she escapes without you, you are left behind and must...face the consequences.

NOTE: I just re-watched Black Panther last night and I couldn't stop thinking about erik stevens/killmonger, especially an au where he wins and holds power over well, everything??? so then i wrote this at 3am lmao. Reader is female and on the chubbier side:)

You are kneeled in front of your king, weight digging into the solid cold tile of the throne room’s floor, making you grimace in pain. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, even though it’s just a few minutes, and you know that it’s probably because of the way Killmonger’s hand is on the back of your neck, grip squeezing you gently, a wicked smirk on his face. “Looking pretty down there, princess.”

Of course, you are not a princess, but you appreciate the sentiment. And the pet name, which seems to be a favorite of his. You know only too well how Shuri would most likely destroy you on the spot right now for “stealing” her title—or at least get Okoye to do it for her—but right now, that doesn’t matter. Shuri’s fond annoyance can wait...or what would be fond annoyance if you were in anything but this situation. Fond annoyance would be reserved for you butting in to respond to someone addressing her, maybe teasing her in front of the Avengers. That’s what fond annoyance would be for.

Not for anything like this.

Because right now, you’re not sure that if Shuri, much less anyone else in the royal family, knew where you were, she would ever talk to you again. They ordered you on a stealth mission with Nakia to infiltrate Erik Killmonger’s tightly-secured nucleus of the Wakandan Empire, and yet, here you are on your knees before him, staring up at him as he imposes over you with heavily lidded eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

It’s not that your mission has...failed, per se. You managed to get Nakia to the vaults she needed to access in order to re-transmit the old intel from before Wakanda’s takeover, and she slipped by you with practiced ease, giving you a terse yet respectful nod of her head and slight smile. You had both been extremely stressed; you couldn’t blame her.

And now she has escaped. You hope. You were not so lucky, instead dragged to the throne room and unceremoniously dumped before Erik Killmonger like a discarded whore. Maybe that had been the point.

The chamber is empty now, and every harsh pant of your breath can be heard echoing across the tiles. It’s beautiful, and ironic, and you wish that in another life, you could be here under pleasanter circumstances.

“Know why I brought you here? ‘Stead of killing you on the spot?” Killmonger suddenly asks, and his grip on the back of your neck tightens. You groan in pain, but also because this is somehow extremely arousing, and for a third reason, too: you are ashamed of your own bodily reaction.

Gasping out a breath, you say, “No. Why did you, my king?” Another sharp intake of breath as Killmonger draws you in, free hand drifting to your ass and pinching it. You wince, shame flooding through you along with arousal, and you let out a small whine.

Killmonger’s smirk widens. His actions have told you answer enough.

You are practically on his lap now—well,  just your head is, for your knees are still pressed stubbornly into the tile. And this lap… His legs are spread wide, even wider than usual to accommodate your head being pulled between them, chin tilted up to stare at him defiantly.

As if he can sense your thoughts, he shifts his hips, slouching lower in the throne so that his crotch is almost pressed in your face. “Huh, princess? This what you want? My fat cock in your mouth?”

You moan, practically salivating at his words, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “M-My king—”

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mumble.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear.”

“Fuck me, daddy!” you nearly scream, this time unable to stay quiet, as he has quietly slipped his fingers beneath the band of your underwear and is now ghosting over your clit in a tease. Fuck, you want him so badly, despite the ruin he’s brough to Wakanda and the whole world. It only makes you feel more ashamed, and that alone sends another burning spike through you.

With your admission, Killmonger grins. “That’s right, babygirl. Beg for your king.” You moan as his fingers begin to stretch you open, large and thick, preparing the way for his cock, for right now, you are nothing but a vessel for him to empty himself into, a fucktoy, a lost spy whose last chance at survival is to cum on the cock of the most powerful man in the world.

“Use me however you want me,” you beg, nearly a whisper.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aight then, if you say.” His reluctance is not nearly as convincing as he would have it seem, however, for the statement is followed by him pushing your head back to the ground so forcefully that it hurts, and then pulling his fingers out of you with a slick sliding sound, arms coming to rest on either armrest of the throne he sits in.

He looks down at you and spreads his legs just a little further. “How ‘bout if you can get me close to cumming, I’ll fuck you, how’s that, princess?”

Quicky, you nod. You’ll do whatever it takes to please him, even if that means taking him in a whole nother way.

His lips twist to the side as if to say, well get to it, then, and you do, hands flying to undo his pants and push away the sides of the long robe he’s wearing. Soon, his cock finally springs free, and you grasp in eagerly, giving it a few pumps before taking it into your mouth, tongue dancing along it skillfully.

It’s not long before Killmonger takes control, though, and it becomes less of you giving him a blowjob and more of him fucking your face, dick pumping against the back of your throat furiously and without mercy. He is always without mercy. You choke on his length and size, but that only empowers him further, and he grins as he takes your hand and presses it down onto himself, making you bob along at his pace.

That’s new, and you feel like you can’t breathe, but that only serves to make you even wetter, so you let him continue to fuck your mouth, and when a thick pulse courses through his cock, you can tell he’s close, so you tear your head away before he can cum.

“Fuck,” Killmonger curses, breathing heavily. The part in his robes reveals his chest, heaving with his near-orgasm, and cautiously, you run your hand across it, feeling each of the burn scars against the skin of your palm. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever felt, but it only intrigues you.

Finally, with wide, pleading eyes that you can only hope look bratty, you meet his gaze again. “Will you fuck me now, my king?”

“I did promise you, princess,” he admits, dabbing at his own precum and prodding your lips with his wet finger. You open your mouth to lip, cleaning his fingers with a skillful tongue. “But you better take those clothes off.”

Though feeling a little self-conscious, you do, unwrapping the basotho blanket from your neck and the tighter layers underneath. Finally, you slip off your undergarments, leaving you bare in front of him.

Erik Killmonger’s eyes travel slowly when he’s assessing a situation, and this time, it’s no different, his gaze appreciative as it lingers on the curves of your hanging breasts and the swell of your hips and ass. “Come over here, babygirl,” he says to you, nearly a whisper, and you do, about to kneel in front of him when he stops you with a soft kiss to your lips and a hand clenching a cheek of your thick ass. “None ‘a that, now. I didn’t kill you for a reason, right?”

“I, uh—” You break off in confusion, unsure of where he’s headed. Didn’t he just want someone to fuck the shit out of? And you were there, so willing, so eager?

He smirks as he realizes that you have no idea what he’s talking about. “We’ll worry about that later, princess. Right now, I’mma fuck you senseless.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, and he grins at that, grabbing you and pressing you onto his lap so that your legs are folded on either side of him. The throne is large enough that it’s still comfortable, even with his legs spread out as wide as they are.

Slowly, you begin to ride him, moving faster when your body becomes more impatient. Erik hisses, hands settling on either side of your hips and using the padding of flesh there to aide you in bouncing on top of him with ease. “That’s right, princess. You’re doing so good. Fuck yes.”

It’s heaven, right here, and it sends a rush of thrill through you to know that this man fucking your pussy is one who’s killed hundreds of people, who largely rules the entire world with a fist made of vibranium. Not literally—though you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to replace one of his own fleshy limbs with a metal one.

“Oh, my king, I’m so close,” you moan then, feeling your body’s tide reach near its peak. “Please, daddy—”

“Cum on my dick, princess,” he hisses in your ear, allowing you to ride him through your orgasm as obscene sounds emit from your mouth and your hands grip his shoulders, serrated and roughened as they are.

When it’s over, you collapse onto him and the throne, curling onto your side, plushy skin such a contrast to his muscled frame. You almost could fall asleep, if there wasn’t that one pinprick of fear, and of course, the omnipresent hatred festering for him in your heart.

“What were you talking about for a moment?” you finally ask him, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulders. He is absentmindedly running a hand across the bare expanse of your body, tracing lazy circles across the curve of your stomach and down to squeeze your thighs in appreciation.

“You wanna stay?” he asks. It’s an almost answer, and you frown. “Why should I do that? You’ve destroyed everything that’s important to me.”

“Then let me be that new important thing,” he says in reply. “Rule with me. Be my queen.”

“For the sex?”

He shrugs, and the movement is massive. “For everything. Whatever my babygirl wants.”

You suck in a breath. It’s tempting, for sure. But it’s also a betrayal to everything you’ve worked so hard for. “I can’t,” you admit.

“Then I gotta kill you,” he whispers. “And that’d be a shame, yeah?”

You swallow. Look at him. Swallow again.

“Yeah.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

A/N: well, lmk what you think!! (imma just be hiding under a blanket embarrassed that i wrote something this smutty). this fic is also posted by the same name on ao3, but i’m not linking it because then tumblr will hide this post lol.

TAGS: let me know if you want me to make a taglist!

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik kilmonger x reader #erik stevens #marvel #killmonger x reader #erik killmonger smut #erik killmonger/reader #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens smut #marvel smut #reader insert #fanfic by maven #mine #erik killmonger x y/n #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger x you #erik stevens x y/n #erik stevens x you #killmonger x oc

[lynnpaper]

idk if you’re still taking prompts but if you are: can you do “there’s something on your shirt. you—that’s blood!” and/or “let’s get you cleaned up and in bed” with anakin and ahsoka?? 💖💖💖💖 love your hurt/comfort with these two

from these prompts

i can, i hope, do that. 💕

read it on AO3

The gunship jolts and Ahsoka stumbles, her knuckles whitening as she grips the handhold tighter. She is nowhere as tall as the clones or her master—her arm aches where she has to stretch to reach it.

Too long—they’ve been here too long. Haven’t slept for too long. Haven’t eaten for too long.

“Careful,” Anakin says. He places a hand on her shoulder, as if it will steady her at all. If he looks hard enough, he can almost see her adrenaline crashing, see the exhaustion sinking into her bones with every passing second.

Hold on, he thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud, because of course Ahsoka doesn’t want the rest of the 501st to hear the admission that she’s only barely holding it together right now. The last thing she needs is a group of overprotective vod’e fawning over their little commander, or having to witness Anakin literally tear her out of their overprotective arms.

Not that she wouldn’t appreciate it, but—

The gunship jolts again. Ahsoka winces, staggering in place. Before she can lose her grip on the handhold, an arm slides its way around her waist, tugging her against a solid, warm body, still smelling of scored carbon and engine grease and ozone.

Anakin keeps his eyes trained on the wall opposite, but Ahsoka looks at him gratefully, leaning into his side.

Then the brightness of the hangar sparks a new headache behind her eyes, and she’s walking down the ramp on shaky legs, and one of her sabers is bumping against a bruise on her thigh which isn’t as painful as it should be. She stands beside Anakin with her hands clasped behind her back (to hide the way they tremble, of course) as he debriefs his men and gives the final orders for ship maintenance and repairs, but nothing truly sticks.

She counts to four-hundred-and-twenty-seven before Anakin turns to look at her at last.

“Ahsoka?” he presses. He raises a hand and snaps it a couple times in front of her face.

Ahsoka sways a little, blinking dazedly, and Anakin wraps his hands around each of her arms before she can topple.

He slowly leads her back to his quarters, a palm pressed between her shoulder blades. It must be a little uncomfortable; cold durasteel under a glove. But when Anakin takes his hand away in the middle of a crowded corridor, she stops and looks up at him with a puzzled expression, and it is only when he replaces it and gently nudges her forward again that she gathers enough thought to move her legs once more.

The realisation hits him far too slowly—that he overlooked this, that she’s so tired that she’s conserving her strength just to walk, and he’d gone ahead and yelled at her to keep up while blaster bolts rained down on them from all different directions.

Anakin leaves her halfway to unconsciousness on the couch in his quarters. He finds clothes for her in her room, padawan tunics and robes she never wears, in a drawer she never touches. Ahsoka would never ask for him to take the trouble, or to go out of his way to coddle her, except he’s not—it’s not coddling. And it’s no trouble at all.

When he returns, she hasn’t moved at all, save for her head slumped against the armrest.

It must be a violation of multiple galactic laws to wake her.

Anakin taps her shoulder once, twice. Ahsoka scrunches her face in displeasure before turning her head away and sluggishly blinking awake again. Her gaze lands on the bundle of clothes under his arm, and Anakin can almost feel the needle of guilt worming its way into her chest.

Anakin searches her vacant expression for any sign of his words registering at all, and finds none.

He hopes she doesn’t hear him sigh inwardly. “Lets clean you up and get you to bed, okay?”

Ahsoka nods faintly.

Maybe he should be concerned that she does not protest when he all but drags her to his room, retrieves a damp washcloth from the fresher, and sits on the edge of the bed so he’s level with her before wiping the dirt and grime from her face. Ahsoka keeps her eyes trained on the far wall, closing them when the cloth brushes too close to her eyelids, flinching when it rubs against the cut on her brow—which he’d missed previously, because it had been obscured by more dirt.

Anakin sighs.

Ahsoka shies away, pushing at his hand weakly. Force, if he doesn’t want to waste his time doing this then he shouldn’t. She can manage herself—

“Hey,” Anakin says sternly, catching her wrist.

She risks a glance up at him, tracking the bits of dirt staining the cloth in his hand, and a more vibrant spot of almost-dry blood. The last thing she wants is for Anakin to be acting out of a… misguided sense of duty, or something.

“Stop that,” Anakin says.

Ahsoka huffs.

“You’re thinking very loudly.” Anakin gently turns her head with a finger against her jaw, rubbing at a spot on her lek, and she shivers. “Okay?” he asks, gentler this time.

Ahsoka nods. The washcloth touches her face once more.

Anakin loses track of how long his padawan stands there, dead on her feet. At some point her fingers close around his arm as her legs threaten to give out again, and he pulls her forward as gently as he can, trying to remember how they got here in the first place.

The clasp on her belt is easy to undo, but he knows she would probably fumble with it in her state. Anakin debates helping her peel off the rest of her clothes altogether, stained with the red dust from the ground of the planet they’d come from.

But—yes. No. Yes. Her dignity can wait, he thinks. Sleep cannot, and neither can his nerves. It’s not selfish, he tries to convince himself, that he wants her to be clean and comfortable before she sleeps— and she doesn’t have to be clean to be comfortable, but it certainly helps—

Anakin reaches for the fabric bunched at her waist before his mind can go to battle with itself. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen it all already—there is no dignity in war, or in makeshift medbays on desolate planets, or in transparent bacta tanks. Still, he turns her around before pulling her tunic over her shoulders—if he can preserve a little bit of what they will all lose inevitably then he will—and looks away to take a clean tunic from the pile, keeping his hands far from her body as he hands it to her and she slips her arms through the sleeves.

Still, Ahsoka doesn’t complain or even try to cover herself—Anakin wonders if she even cares, and if it should worry him if she doesn’t. She’s a teenager, and teenagers are supposed to care about things like this.

But she will never really have a chance to be a teenager. She does not act like one at all, sometimes—a soldier, perhaps, but not a child.

It’s difficult to tamp down on the dread in his gut when he wraps a hand around her upper arm and his fingers very nearly overlap. Military rations will never be enough.

He turns her around again and she follows without thinking, and then there’s the warm numbness of bacta on the cut on her forehead and the soft familiarity of a palm on her cheek, and the resounding rush of warmth comes with a rush of momentary coherence.

Ahsoka blinks again, almost as if she’s blinking tears away, as if she is only now realising that the firm pressure on her back had been his palm, and the gentle nudges had been his hand, and the fleeting loneliness of Anakin leaving her in his quarters had only been an excuse for him to retrieve her kriffing clothes. “Master. I apologise, I—”

Oh, this again.

“Shh,” Anakin whispers.

“You don’t need to—”

“Quiet, Ahsoka.” I apologise is the first thing she’s said since they returned, and his chest tightens because it is, of course, an apology. Ahsoka only apologises when she has nothing else to say, or when she feels that she’s done something wrong—which she hasn’t—so really he should be the one apologising for taking forever to get to her in the first place—

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and a flicker of surprise flits across her face, as if she cannot believe the betrayal of her own voice against her.

“Boots,” Anakin replies, instead of it’s alright; don’t apologise; you’ve nothing to be sorry for.

Ahsoka tugs them off and dumps them unceremoniously at the foot of the bed. With the realisation of what she’s just done—as well as its implications—comes a confused frown, furrowing its way onto her brow. “Am I—” she glances around the room, like she hasn’t seen it a hundred and one times already. The weariness is back, ebbing from the curl of her fingers beside her aching thighs, slipping from the effort it takes to keep her eyes open.

“Yes,” Anakin says.

Her shoulders slump in relief.

It’s times like this that Anakin wishes he’d never lost his hand—pulling the blanket over her thighs, where he knows she very cleverly managed to hide a couple of bruises, as his palm lingers on her too-small shoulder. He wishes he could feel more than her pulse under the sensors of his durasteel fingers.

“Don’t need to fuss,” Ahsoka says distantly, more to herself than Anakin, who pulls the blanket over her shoulders just as she tucks her chin closer to her chest.

Tired, her mind supplies unhelpfully.

Anakin folds the blanket under her lek. “You did very well today,” he whispers.

It is one thing to understand she has done well. An undeniable claim, if the remnants of those droids littering the ground had anything to prove. But to hear it from him—

“Thank you,” Ahsoka says.

A heavy hand settles on her shoulder, over the blanket. The weight grounds her, the pillow a fraction softer under her mildly spinning head.

Ahsoka hums softly, lashes fluttering. You did very well.

I know, she thinks. I know.

#lynn writes #my writing #post-trauma sentence starters #snips and skyguy #hurt/comfort #writing prompts

[lostinanothersmemories]

the way i'll literally write just for the serotonin of people saying anything about it is insane, anyways. idk what this is. also psst @ofthecosmos how's this?

Starlight and Avior get out of their trap but don't come back the same.

The two were inseparable since the meridian spit them back out. Crash landing on the sidewalk they near immediately were knocked out by the force magic held. It took a week, a full week for either to even open their eyes. DUMP without enough information kept them in differing cages, you don't keep unknown threats together after all. The moment Avior opened his eyes the building went into lock down the highest ranking demon cautiously stepping in. Unfortunately being the one Avior sees first. He's slow to get up, it felt like he was slowly being stitched back together still the shiver up his spine of the memory of his fall doesn't stop him from approaching the stranger. "Where are they?" No other worry overrides the one, his starlight. After being told they weren't awake and in a cell like him no other thought filled his head like the need to be with them, they don't deserve to wake up alone. The containment wards stretch as he steps past ultimately snapping he doesn't feel the tug, only encouraged by their pull. Even with the yelling, the alarms and the masses of enforcement trying to reach him there's only them.

No one stops him from reaching their unconscious body. His pinkie finger slipping into theirs a habit he never realized he had before them. When sometime tries to grab him to pull the two apart he turns to glare only stopped by the tug of their finger against his. "Avior?" He feels them coil around where his heart would be, should be? Is? The thumping of his heart matches the shaking of the ground. It's enough to send others off their feet.

It's thunderous to his ears and the earth moves in matching rhyme. Stabilized not by him when their hand touches his cheek.

It's another week irritatingly awake, a week of Starlight having to convince Avior over and over to just stay put and let DUMP do their tests. After countless blood tests, magic stress tests and just about everything their experts can think of they give no definitive answer. Talks about how there's no research on long term affects of the meridian because it's never happened. How Avior's blood cells are aging, that Starlights aren't as much as they should be. Both are incredible slowed but continuing like the march of a clock. They mention how Avior hasn't needed to feed off emotions at all how Starlight has shown no appetite. How their magic breaks records but most of all how Avior has gained a core gained magical ties, they just don't go to the meridian. Avior and Starlight are wrapped together in-sync entirely, any sort of real distance causes them to physically ache for one another. It's a week until Starlight finally gives up realizes there will be no answers. Another "professional" proposes another test and they stand up leaving no room to deny them when they inform the room that they are exhausted of a pointless fight when they take Aviors hand and without needing to even think of doing it creating a rift back home, back to the apartment they haven't seen in such a long time.

The two sleep for the first time terrified of the lack of information either have. Pinky in pinky beside each other in bed.

There are times when it is harder when Avior wakes up shaking and leaves the room so they don't have to deal with him glaring at his shaking hand how he feels the joints grind against each other. He always leaves when it gets too much when he feels tired after a long day it feels too much like dying. The blood coursing through his veins carrying charon to the end of his life. He twists his ankle and it never feels right again a body so fragile holding him and all he can do is bandage it back together will all the magic in his grasp. Starlight does what they can but he can tell they have the opposite, they can barely talk to other people scared of the power they hold within themself. The memory of a magic stress test where they shattered all the wards around them haunting their actions. They don't get sick haven't sneezed coughed, they fear outliving everyone they've ever known. A portion of immortality granted to a mortal from the immortal and neither knows how to accept the gift.

#redacted asmr #✍️me scribbles✍️ #...avior #...starlight

[chokemeanakin]

Heyyy first wanna say that I love you!! 💜❤️🤎🧡💙🤍💚🖤

Next, I’ve been really sick lately, like haven’t been bail to take down food for a solid week, and in and out of hospital for the last two weeks, so could you please write up an Anakin small fic or head canon or just anything with a really sick reader, but she finds it hard to exsept help? Your fives have been keep me alive I swear haha

Okay LOVE YOU💖💖

YOOO IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS FOR WEEEEEEKKKSSS you literally read my mind !!! 😆😆😆 (also I’m so sorry that you’re terribly sick, I’m sending you all my love and I hope you get better soon. I love you too boo thang ❤️) HERE WE GO:

(Also fun fact whump is my area of expertise so if this gets to be really long I apologize — it’s just hard for me to narrow stuff down, anyway, enjoy)

Anakin x Sick (fem) Reader Headcanons:

Gif from @swprequels

The minute you get sick, you immediately shut yourself into your room and hide from the world.

You hate people seeing you at your worst, most vulnerable state. So weak, and needy, and messy and in pain. You’ve always been the type to push people away, no matter how sick you get, because you just can’t let them see you like that.

But like.... imagine you’re new to the temple or something. You haven’t been there for very long, and you still don’t really know your way around. And you wake up at night with the worst stomach pains, like writhing around in bed and crying and begging higher powers for any kind of relief sort of pain.

And you somehow manage to wrench yourself onto shaking legs and dig through the bathroom cabinet, only to find that you have no medicine that can help you.

The next logical step is you go to the medbay, but you have no idea where that even is. And so you’re left to drag yourself down the halls to the only other person who you can think of to help you, the only other other person you want to see right now.

Anakin opens the door shirtless, rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes. You wish you could feel worse for waking him up when he was obviously sleeping, but your stomach is twisting and turning and a layer of cold sweat is forming over you and you need his help. So you swallow your pride and stand there as he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, baby?”

He doesn’t hesitate as he gently ushers you into his room, holding you up as he leads you to the bed. You’re glad, because you don’t think your legs can hold you up for very much longer. And he’s kneeling in front of you, taking your face in his hands and wiping away your tears as you clutch at your stomach and tremble beneath him.

“I-I don’t feel good,” is all you can manage before wincing at a particularly painful stab, shuttering as the nausea worsens.

He’s so worried, eyes scanning over every inch of you. He’s less soft now, and more action as protecting you and figuring out what’s wrong is his first priority.

“What hurts?”

Everything hurts, but you settle with the most pressing offender. “My stomach.”

His eyes drop to your arms, which are wound around your middle like you could squeeze the pain away. You’re hunched over, shivering violetently, skin pale in the darkness. Very obviously sick, although now he has to decide whether it’s bad enough where it warrants a visit to the medbay. His heart twists painfully.

“When did it start?”

“A couple hours ago.”

“Did you eat something?”

He’s rubbing his thumb along your cheek, capturing each cold tear as they’re occasionally squeezed out of your eye.

“Not that I know of,” you whisper. “I had the same as everyone else.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, then stands. He keeps one hand gently cradling your face as he reaches behind you and pulls the blankets back. “You wanna lie down?”

You want to say yes, but suddenly you’re hit with a particularly excruciating twist of the stomach, and you know it wouldn’t be a good idea. If you move even slightly, you’re pretty certain you’ll be spilling your dinner all over the floor. The thought has you moaning slightly, curled even further into yourself, shaking your head. “Can’t.”

“Alright. That’s okay. Do you think you’re gonna be sick?”

A terrible wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you force yourself to nod.

Anakin doesn’t even have to ask to know that you won’t be able to make it the bathroom. He wouldn’t want to subject that to you anyway, knelt on the cold tile floor before the toilet. No, he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

So he takes his garbage can and makes sure it’s clean before setting it on the floor or in front of you, in case you need it quickly. You’re hanging your head, sweating and shivering and whimpering every so often as the pain builds and builds and washes over you in waves.

“It’s okay,” Anakin sits beside you, hand rubbing your back in grounding circles. “Focus on your breathing. It’ll pass soon.”

You stay there with him like that for a long while. At one point, you’re begging him for some pain meds, or anything that can take the pain away, but he has to refuse because you’re just going to throw them up anyway. He feels awful saying no, because you begin to cry again and lean forward.

He senses it right before it happens. With lightning reflexes, he snatches the bin off the ground and holds it under you just as you begin to get violently sick.

It’s not pretty, and that thought is knocking at the back of your mind as you clutch onto the rim of the bin, emptying your stomach over and over and over, barely able to catch a breath before you’re hit with another round.

Anakin sits right next to you through it all, dragging his fingers along the nape of your neck to gather your hair over one shoulder, rubbing soothing line and circles into your back, hushing you and telling you to let it out, that you’ll feel better once it’s over.

He’s right about that. Throwing up scares you, and you hate it with everything in you, but for the time being you feel a little better. Once your food stops forcing its way back up and you can finally breathe, there’s a moment where the awful stabbing pain in your stomach is quiet and you can open your eyes and lift your head.

“You think you’re done?”

You take a moment to assess your nausea, not wanting to be hit with a surprise attack and make a mess all over the floor. But for the time being, your stomach has settled and now you’re left as a trembling, weak, shell of a human, barely able to sit upright on your own.

You nod and wipe your mouth, disgusted with the contents now on the back of your hand. Your pajamas have been soaked in sweat, and you’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. You’re too weak to care a whole lot, but the shame still bubbles up in your chest.

Somehow he’s got a glass of water, and he’s handing it to you so you can swish and spit. “Small sips, angel.”

Anakin sets the bin down, running his hand over your hair once more before standing. The loss of his warm presence has you shivering violently, teeth clacking together. “You want a bath? Or do you just want to go to bed?”

You don’t think you’d be able to sleep with your clothes stocking to you like this, so you choose the bath. He kisses your forehead once, saying, “I’ll go run it now. Stay here in case you get sick again.”

You nod and he leaves, the sounds of the faucet turning and water splashing into the bath sounding from the bathroom. He comes back to help you up, hands fitting right onto your disgusting sweaty and vomitty body as he half carries you to the bathroom.

And then he helps you get undressed, lowers you carefully into the water, kneels by the side of the tub and holds your hand.

Your eyes are closed and your head is pounding, achey and queasy and tired. You know you have to wash up, but you can’t seem to lift your arms.

So he does it for you 🥺

Squeezing some shampoo into his palm, gently rubbing it into your hair, using his hand to shield your face as he carefully washes it out. Running his hands over your arms and the top of you chest with soap, lathering you up and then rinsing again. And then he’s squeezing water out of a cloth, running the damp material over your face to clean it of sweat and sick.

And when he’s done, he stands and promises to be right back as he takes the bin full of vomit to the communal bathrooms, dumping it out in the toilet and then washing it in the showers. It’s early hours of the morning so no one is there, but he’d do it even if people were looking at him like he was crazy. 🥺

And when he comes back, he helps you out of the bath and bundles you up in a big fluffy towel. Runs it over your skin and dries you up, and helps you stand as you request to brush your teeth.

And then he brings you back into the room and helps you dress in some of his clothes, a pair of his sleep pants that he has to tie the string extra tight so they’ll stay up, and roll the cuffs up to your ankle about 10 times until you can walk without tripping. And he’s also got some sleep shirts that he’s never worn, and you swim in that also so he rolls up the sleeves until you can see your hands.

And now all you want to do is fall back into his pillows and go to sleep, but he asks you to hold on a while longer so that he can get you some meds. And he has you take some pills, encourages you to drink some more water, (“slow, baby”), and then he helps you lie back and get comfortable.

And if you wake up later in the night to get sick again, he’s waking up right along with you, holding you and hushing you and being the sweetest person you could ever ask for.

In instances like this, you can’t help but need and accept his help. And he doesn’t mind giving it, in fact he wants you to come to him. Anything that brings you pain, he’ll destroy.

And he’ll make sure you eat as much as you can, and that you’re drinking water. Constantly asking you how you feel, if there’s anything he can do. Runs a cold cloth over your face to soothe the fever, and massages your aching muscles until you’re all better.

The voice he uses when you’re sick 🥺. He knows that any noise can hurt your head, so he lowers his voice and it’s so smooth and deep and rumbly. So soft and gentle 😭 the sweetest voice bc his baby is in pain and he just wants to take it all away 🥺🥺

In other cases where you’re sick, like you have a cold, you’re more stubborn. You shut yourself away as soon as you get the first symptoms, denying any hint that you might be getting sick, until suddenly he realizes he hasn’t seen you in days and stops by to find you buried under covers, surrounded by tissues, all lights off in your apartment, sleeping fitfully.

And so he’ll sigh a little, clean up your apartment and then sit and watch over you. When you wake up, you’ll groan and burrow deeper into the covers and demand he leave. But he’ll just tell you to be quiet and drink this water.

Demands you tell him the moment you feel sick next time, even though he knows you never will. And then when he gets you some medicine and food, your cheeks are red with embarrassment and fever as you bashfully accept them.

But ofc you’ll get over it soon because Anakin’s here now and you might as well be miserable in his arms. So you push the covers off your overheating body and reach across the bed for him, practically falling into his lap from where he’s sitting on a chair by your bedside.

And he just simply catches you and strokes your hair and hushes you as you bury your wet eyes and flushed cheeks into his chest, sniffling pathetically.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he’ll promise, and hold you in his warm arms and rock you until you fall asleep.

Getting sick on Republic Cruisers is the worst. When that happens, you’re either on your way to or back from war. And so usually people are busy and running around, or exhausted and beat up. The ship is cold and everyone has their own problems to worry about, but you feel like ass and you just want to be alone with Anakin.

He feels awful when he sees you, and will order everyone out of the pilot’s room. And then he’ll clear the passenger seat off, urge you to sit down, wrap you up in as many blankets as he can find, and when he can only find a couple, he’ll sacrifice his Jedi robe. And you’ll nuzzle deep down into the cacoon of blankets and inhale the scent of Anakin’s robe, fall in and out of consciousness as you’re lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the ship.

Anakin wishes there was more he could do for you in these instances, but the food isn’t good and there’s not usually any medicine. So he’ll keep a hand on your knee, or let you hold his hand in your lap as you sleep, and he’ll send a little surge of peace and soothing energy through the force and into you.

Will 100% find an excuse to carry you off the ship when you land, and then spend the rest of the day lying with you and tending to you and trying to make you feel better 🥺

He’s so caring and so protective and sweet. His gentle side really comes out, because his #1 thing is that he needs the people he loves to be safe, so if an illness is hurting you he will do anything he can to take the pain away.

Yes, he can’t take care of himself sometimes. But the minute you’re feeling a little under the weather, suddenly he has a PHD in medical science and he’s nursing you back to health like an expert 🥺

Also he’ll never deny you kisses when you’re sick, even if you warn him he might catch it, he just hushes you and kisses you softly on the lips. Then on the chin, then the nose, then the forehead.

Will always brush off your inability to accept help. If you say “no” or “leave me alone” or “I’m fine go away” he’ll just roll his eyes and plant himself there. Bc no matter how stubborn you can be, he’s even more.

And when you keep apologizing, obviously feeling awful for having him take care of you, he’ll just hush your worries and hold a tissue to your nose and go “blow.”

And then he’ll stay with you and watch over you until you’re all better. And even when you get back into the swing of things, he’ll watch over you like a hawk while you’re recovering 🥺🥺

You might get shy and ashamed and embarrassed when he tries to help you, but he doesn’t mind. You’ll just have to come to accept the fact that he’s always going to be there for you, to help you and hold you and make you all better ❤️

Sweet boy is so good to you 🥺🥺🥰

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