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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

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CURSED: CHAPTER NINE

"Don't listen to a word I say"

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: Mack tells Kai what she is

Warnings: smut

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

His lips were sloppy on hers, the connection never breaking as Mack shrugged his jacket off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Kai's shirt was to come off next, joining their discarded clothes in a pile. Mack's knees hit the back of the bed, sending her body tumbling into the sheets and soon joined by Kai's.

His hands were everywhere and nowhere, exploring her body as if they hadn't just fucked in his car. They both froze at the sound of bang from downstairs.

"What was that?" Mack asked, frightened.

"Nothing. Probably just the wind." Kai dismissed, leaning down to leave kisses all over her neck. Another bang.

"Kai." Mack scolded, pushing him off her and sitting up. Bang bang bang. She looked to Kai, who held a finger up to his lips and slowly climbed off the bed, throwing her his shirt which Mack was quick to put on. He crept to the door, but not before quietly pulling something out of his dresser drawer. The small stone confused Mack, even more so when it began to glow orange in his hand and his face contorted with pleasure. He opened his eyes again, discarding the stone.

Kai wandered down the hall, the stairs letting off creaks as he walked down them. The shadow in the kitchen was illuminated by the pale moon light, outlined in silver. It raised a hand, walking forward so it's face was in the light.

"Malachai. I was hoping to find you." A deep, almost familiar voice spoke. "You're father - our leader - still chooses to let you live, an abomination. Someone like you should have never been born, let alone allowed a life." Kai's hand was raised too now. "Phasmatos Morsinus Pyrox Allum Phasmatos Morsinus Pyrox Allum Phasmatos Morsinus Pyrox Allum" the figure began to chant.

Kai doubled over, clutching his head in pain and screaming loudly.

"If Joshua won't kill you, I will." His voice was menacing, Kai was on so much pain he couldn't muster the words for a simple 'ves matas'

Then the pain stopped. Kai slowly looked up from where he was hunched down on the floor. What he saw shocked him, Mack was wrestling with the witch, trying to get him away from Kai. But she was overpowered, and the witch soon had her slammed against the wall with a hand around her neck. She kicks and scratched but he didn't let up. Kai raised his hand, anger seeping into his expression.

"Motus." The witch flew back and one of the cupboards, causing a loud crash when some pans fell from the shelf above. Mack's head smacked against the wall as she fell, her vision soon fleeting and the last thing she remembered were the shouts of Kai and the stranger.

...

Confused. That's how Mack felt when she woke up. Confused at why she was in a bed. Confused as to whose bed and whose room. Confused about what happened. But worst of all, confused about what the fuck Kai did. Mack's attention was captured by the door handle slowly turning, revealing a sympathetic looking Kai holding a damp washcloth when it opened.

He slowly walked to the bed, sitting on the edge carefully. The pieces were suddenly together in her mind and Mack began to remember what happened.

The attack. The strange man chanting. Kai crumpled on the floor screaming. Being shoved against the wall. The man flying off Mack without being touched. Smacking her head on the stone. Mack sat up, sitting against the headboard and looking at Kai, who was yet to say a word. Before he could, Mack spoke up.

"How did he do that? How did you do that?" The look in her eyes was frantic, confused, and it only made Kai pity her more. He was dragging an innocent girl into his life. His crazy, fucked up life. He let out a sigh, raising the damp cloth to her fore head and started to clean the blood away. Mack clinched as it made contact with the wound lining her temple, but let him continue.

"I'm a witch. So was he." Kai blurted, not really expecting her to believe him. But she did.

"So it was magic?" Mack pressed, almost unfazed at the fact witches were real. Being told she was a werewolf yet to trigger some painful curse one hundred percent trumped finding out her best friend was a witch. Kai nodded, not looking the girl in the eye and instead focusing on her wound. "And Jo?"

"Yes. My whole family are." Kai confirmed. Mack slowly nodded, processing the information. Then a new question dawned on her as her mind wandered to what she has heard from the top on the stairs.

"That man, the witch, he called you an abomination, he said that your dad should have killed you. W-why?" Kai let out another sigh, lowering his hand and looking at his lap, unable to meet her eyes.

"I'm different. I don't have my own magic, I can only absorb it - siphon it - from others." He looked up at Mack, relief spilling over him when he realised her eyes weren't full of disgust or fear like everyone else's always are.

"So the rock?"

"Had magic in it. It's my emergency supply that I convinced Jo to give me."

"Why did you have to convince her?" Mack was genuinely curious. It didn't seem like a bad thing.

"M-my dad, he thinks that siphons are wrong, unnatural. He doesn't like my siphoning, let alone from my siblings. They get in trouble too if they give me magic." He confessed, looking back at his lap again. Mack frowned, cupping his face in her hands and bringing his head up so she could look in his eyes.

"Your not an abomination. Not to me." Mack whispered, rubbing her thumbs soothingly over his cheekbones. Kai closed his eyes, letting out a prolonged sigh before curling his fingers around her wrists before pulling her hand away from his face. He dropped them into her lap, standing from the bed and walking into his bathroom and discarding the cloth into the sink. He walked back into the room, looking at Mack with tears forming in his eyes now.

"Tell that to my dad." He said, turning around and pulling his shirt over his head. Mack gasped, shocked at how she hadn't noticed the criss-cross of scars littering his back, some paler than others, some smaller and some bigger. Some looked newer, some looked older. She stood tentatively, her hand hovering over his back before she brushed her fingers over the raised skin, tracing the lines. Kai's eyes clenched shut as he tried to hold back tears, before he turned back around to tower over Mack.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" The question sloped from his lips in a low voice, one that could only be described as menacing to anyone else. But not Mack. She shook her head, looking down to their feet before looking back up again.

"I have secrets too, you know." She laughed, resting her hands on his chest. Kai's hands slipped to her waist, pulling Mack closer to him and resting his forehead against hers.

"Really? The innocent nerd has a deep, dark secret that's as bad as being a witch? Do tell." Kai smile was back, but it was small and genuine, not his usual cocky smirk. Mack's lips dropped slightly, closing her yes she took a deep breath before opening them again and looking straight into Kai's.

"I-I'm a werewolf." She stuttered, moving to walk away when Kai didn't immediately respond. He tugged her back to him, tightening his grip on her hips. When he started laughing she felt embarrassed, pink flushing her cheeks. Mack couldn't look at him, avoiding his eyes until Kai grabbed her chin, tilting her head to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I just- those are real?" Kai asked, bewildered. He knew there were probably other things than witches, but he never guessed it was werewolves lurking out there. Mack nodded, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

"I haven't triggered it yet, so I don't have to turn. But I will. One day."

"When?"

"When I kill someone." She whispered.

"You make that sound like it's going to be inevitable." Kai's brown knitted together. Mack sighed.

"I get angry easily. It's like when someone annoys me, my body wants me to kill them."

"You never seemed the angry type." Kai confessed.

"There's a reason I have no friends. A reason I don't talk. The less people I interact with, the smaller chance I have at getting angry enough to do something stupid."

Kai nudged Mack's nose with his, brushing his lips over hers as his lips flicked between them and her eyes.

"I guess we're both cursed, in a way." He breathed, before kissing her with a passion she had never felt before. His hands slipped down, cupping her ass and lifting Mack. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping as he squeezed her ass. Kai took the opportunity to snake his tongue into her mouth, running it over her teeth and finally settling with languid strokes over hers.

Kai moaned into the kiss when Mack tugged at his hair. He backed them to the bed, dropping Mack into the covers and climbing over her. His kisses turned to her neck, trailing down her body until he reached the neckline of her shirt. Mack sat up to pull the fabric over her head, before Kai continued kissing down her body. Her breasts, naval, just below her belly button until he reached the place she needed him most.

He hooked his fingers into her panties, dragging the lace down Mack's legs and throwing them to the floor. Mack pulled him up for another kiss, her hands desperately pushing his jeans and boxers down his legs far enough for him to kick them off. He lined himself up with her entrance and pushed in, both of them letting out a moan.

"So fucking tight." Kai moaned, starting to thrust into Mack at a fast pace. She clutched his biceps, digging her nails into his skin. He welcomed this sting, thrusting even faster. The hand not supporting him trailed down to Mack's clit, rubbing rough figure of eights and trying to push her over the edge.

Kai felt her walls tightening around him and dipped his head down to suck at her neck, leaving a purple spot near her collar bone and one in the spot behind her ear that makes her gasp and squeal. Mack came screaming his name, and Kai quickened his pace still, chasing his own release.

"Kenz, fucking hell." Kai groaned, burying himself inside her to the hilt and collapsing on top of her. Mack's fingers ran through his hair, their breathing heavy and a thin layer of sweat coating them. After coming down from their highs, Kai rolled off of Mack onto the bed next to her, a grin on his face. He looked to the side, to see Mack starring at him with dropping eye lids and a lazy smile. Kai pulled her into his chest, Mack's head leaning on her shoulder and her leg needing over his waist. He played with her hair while she slowly drifted off, the heat from Kai's body giving her comfort.

#smut #elena gilbert #image #images #stefan salvatore #the vampire diaries #tvd #chris wood #damon salvatore #kol mikaelson #kai parker fanfic #kai parker image #kai parker x reader #kai parker smut #Kai Parker #tvd fanfic

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lihikainanea · 4 years

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Could you write about BFF!Bill finding out about Tiger being insecure about her stretch marks and/or scars? This may be a bit of a self-insert but holy fuCK I'm in love with BFF!Bill and I need more of him 🥺 I just recently started getting into the fandom and I honestly??? Could not have fallen harder for him than I did reading about BFF!Bill, so thank you, amazing author, thank you

Baby thank you so much for the kind words

Look man, tiger is like all of us and she definitely gets insecure about her body. But I feel like there’s this whole other layer here too, because she’d be a little insecure regardless, but she’s literally hooking up with a dude who makes a living off of his looks. Yes, Bill is talented. But there’s no way he’d be a Hollywood actor if he wasn’t ridiculously attractive. And his costars are ridiculously attractive--women who literally just look perfect in every way--and he has to do all these lovey, sexy scenes with them and seriously sometimes it just gives tiger such a complex.

And maybe she always had stretch marks on her thighs or her breasts or her stomach, maybe she’s always been a little uneasy about them. Or maybe it’s after that wonderful sun-filled vacation they took (check the extensive blurbs in my Masterlist :-P) and it was full of rum cocktails and too much food. And I don’t know about you guys, but I always gain a shit ton of weight on vacation. I don’t work out as much or as intensely (or uh, even at all) when I’m away and I literally just eat whatever I want so like, when I came back from New Orleans I legit am still carrying around a little buddha belly filled with crawfish boils, beignets, and hurricane dranks.

But like, look. Tiger’s got some extra cushion for the pushin’ that really only she’s noticing, but she’s poking around a lot and kind of cringing whenever she gets a glimpse in the mirror before a shower or something. And it’s a little easier to ignore on vacation because as soon as she starts to get a little down about it, somebody (Bill) is shoving another rum cocktail in her hands. But it’s a bit of a different story when thy get back home and all the magic of vacation is just...gone.

And it doesn’t take long for Bill to be shootin’ his shot. It never takes long. But the plane ride back was torture because she was cold so he bundled her in his sweater, but there she was looking all cute and cuddly in his gigantic pullover and she curled up into him and put her head on his shoulder but they were on a plane surrounded by their friends, and all he wanted to do was snuggle her and kiss her but he couldn’t do shit. So they get home and haul their suitcases up, and tiger’s probably all bloated from the plane and not really feeling her best self. It’s stupid, right, but it happens--hell something so insignificant as just my yoga pants rolling down a tad and giving me a muffin top is enough to really put me in a bad mood.

Anyway, Bill asks her if she’s hungry and it’s an immediate, pretty grumpy no. And that’s fine, but when she mentions she’s going to take a shower he smirks, hugs her from behind, starts walking with her to the bathroom--she tries to smile and shove him away playfully, but there’s an ounce of worry and seriousness to it. She was around a shit ton of people today, she says, and kinda just wants to be alone for a few minutes. Bill’s not hurt by it, he knows she likes her space so with a final peck to her lips, he pats her butt as she closes the door behind her.

And he’s not worried until she emerges from the bathroom in a towel, and when he playfully goes to grab it and pull it from her, she legitimately panics a little--he doesn’t like the fear he saw on her face, the way she desperately grabbed it and held it to her. He offers her food again because she really didn’t each much today but she quietly refuses, so he fixes a snack and plops it on his lap, pulling her to the couch to cuddle. She doesn’t nibble on it despite him handing it over to her every now and then. When he’s done he puts the plate on the floor, pulling her over and plunking her in his lap, her back to his chest. He loops his arms around her and lifts her shirt a tad to rub her tummy, but she immediately grabs his hand and loops hers through it, keeping it to the side instead. Bill frowns.

“Everything okay, kid?” he murmurs in her ear. She nods, turns her head a bit to kiss him.

“Just tired bud,” she says, “Tired and a little grumpy.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asks, and she nods. And listen, Bill really wants that closeness with her, just wants it to be all soft and slow and needy because god he’s feeling a little possessive and protective over her, but it’s not going anywhere tonight and he knows it. So instead when he lies down he just tucks around her, and he frowns when she keeps her (his) shirt on.

“Off with it tiger,” he mumbles, tugging at it, “Skin, please.”

But tiger is feeling way too self-conscious to be topless.

“I’m cold,” she says as an excuse. He tugs at her shirt again.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he says.

“Bill...” she growls in warning, and he sighs.

“Fine, grumpypants,” he mutters. And he curls around her more, but when he lifts the shirt just a tad to trail his fingers along her bare stomach, she grabs his hand again and moves it away. He doesn’t like it, but trying to talk to her about it when she’s grumpy and snappy will likely get him dead--so he lets it go.

But listen, the next morning? We all have those few seconds--moments, if we’re lucky--of sleepy bliss. The first 2 minutes when you wake up are the most glorious of the day because you literally can’t remember a single thing that would make you stressed. So maybe when Bill hugs her a little closer, nibbles on her neck, maybe tiger stirs awake and pushes back a little into him. He groans softly, rolling his hips into hers and when she whimpers a little, reaches her hand back to run through his hair, he turns her over onto her back and eases on top of her. She pulls him down for a kiss and tilts her hips up into his again, so he reaches for her shirt--this stupid fucking shirt that stopped him from feeling her soft skin pressed to his last night--and pulls it up over her breasts.

But it’s like the alarm button, and suddenly she remembered all the stupid issues she’s having lately. So she grabs it and pulls it down, sitting up and pushing him away. And that’s quite enough, for Bill. He’ll let her stew all she wants if that’s what she needs, but she got herself into a bad place and she’s just staying there...which is a no-go in his books.

“Tiger, what’s going on?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” she tries, “I just don’t want to.”

“You wanted to a second ago,” he says, as he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes go hard.

“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?” she challenges. Bill’s jaw ticks, because he knows what she’s trying to do. But her eyes flit down to her lap and she pulls her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself.

“Tiger, look at me,” he commands, but she just keeps her gaze averted and she bites her lip.

“Now, tiger,” he says more sternly and she sighs, closing her eyes for a brief second before she looks up at him. He puts his hands on her knees, pushing them down so she’s cross-legged and he can lean in closer.

“You can change your mind at any time and you know that,” he says softly, “But that’s not what this is.”

She goes to look down again but he tucks a knuckle under her chin, keeping it up.

“What’s going on?” he tries again. She huffs, but he keeps a hold of her chin.

“It’s stupid,” she mutters.

“If it’s bugging you, it’s not stupid,” he murmurs, “Please, kid. Is it...us? This? Do you not want to anymore?”

And you know, tiger has her faults, but Bill does too. And whenever she pulls away a tad or shirks his affections, his mind immediately goes to the fact that maybe she doesn’t want him anymore. And it breaks her heart. So she closes her eyes, cups his face gently in her hands and kisses him.

“No bud, it’s not this. I still want...us. It’s just that I..” she trails off, swallowing hard, “I gained a lot of weight vacation.”

“Tiger, it--” but she puts two fingers gently on his lips, silencing him.

“No. Don’t do that thing where you say it doesn’t matter, or that you didn’t notice, or that you don’t care,” she says but it’s not unkind, it’s just honest, “Because I notice, and I care, and I’m really uncomfortable about it.”

She lowers her fingers from his lips but he’s just watching her, taking it all in and trying to read her.

“I want...you. I want--shit, I need--that closeness with you. But I’m just really, really self-conscious right now and I don’t want to be naked,” she says, “I just have all these new soft bits and these marks that weren’t there before and--”

Tiger still has a lot of issues she needs to work out for sure, but sometimes her honesty and candidness still completely fucking flattens him and god he loves her for it. There’s a fine line, though, between honesty and self-deprecation, and she’s crossed to the other side when she starts listing off what she hates. So he gently puts a hand over her mouth, silencing her.

“Can I say something now?” he asks, raising his brows. She kisses his hand, pulling it from her mouth to thread with hers as she nods.

“As long as it’s not--”

“It’s not,” he cuts her off. He goes silent for a minute, waiting for her to meet his gaze and when she does and holds it, he speaks.

“I’m only going to say one thing,” he murmurs lowly but sternly, “I love you, tiger. You. Got it?”

She bites her lip, doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, am I talking to myself kid?” he flicks her nose,”Got it?”

“Yeah bud,” she says, “I got it.”

“Good,” he says and pecks her lips, “Do you want to continue?”

And she does, god she does, but shit she’s overthinking it all.

“Yes,” she admits, “But Bill I--”

“Hush,” he cups her cheeks with his hands, “Are you more comfortable with your shirt on?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, and he could tell there’s more but she goes quiet again.

“And?” he prompts.

“And,” she sighs, “Can you just....keep your hands up here? Hold mine or something. I’m not ready for you to be grabbing...stuff.”

“Sure, kid,” he says. And he wants to tell her that he hates it, that it’s the worst idea ever, that all he wants to do is run his hands all over her body and make her feel good. Wants to shake her and tell her that he doesn’t give a shit if she’s skinnier or thicker or softer or harder or any of that. But he knows it’s not the time, and that it won’t help. So instead he weaves his hands through her hair, pulls her head up for a kiss.

“And if you change your mind? At any point?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you,” she promises.

“Good,” he pushes her back down on the bed and juts his chin at her waist, “Take your panties off for me, kid. My hands will stay right here.”

“Oh,” she mumbles and blushes a little, “Uh, you can do that.”

He quirks a questioning brow at her, and she blushes deeper.

“I like it when you do that,” she admits, embarrassed. And she squeals when he grabs the waistband in one hand and all but RIPS them off her in one fluid motion.

And you know what? I’ll bet there’s no immediate fix to this, because it’s so deep in her head. And Bill hates it, hates that she’s so self conscious, but the only thing he can do that will help is to just...not push her limits. To give her all the affection she needs and wants but in the way that she wants it. If that means sex with a shirt on for like a month, then that’s what he’ll give her. If it means no soothing tummy pats or rubs, no hands running over her glorious body--it’s fucking torture for him, but that’s what he’ll give her. And he’ll go heavy on the praise, he’ll be really loud and enthusiastic about how good she makes him feel whenever she does want him a little closer, and it’s a slow process but eventually it’ll just help get her feeling a little more comfortable and safe again.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #soft bill #BFF!Bill

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rhnuzlocke · 5 years

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Chapter Three: All Down the Line

“Renko! Kai desu!”

Ren scrambled up and slung her bag over one shoulder as Tāraki jumped to the other. Kai and Jay were standing in the doorway chatting with her mother when they came barreling down the stairs.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s go!” she answered, pulling him out the door behind her. “Itte kimasu!”

“Bye, Mrs. Kosugi!”

“Ki o tsukete!” she called after them.

Ren only released Kai once they were on Route 101, and he took the lead as they plunged off it into the dense woodland. Tāraki skittered, climbed and jumped his way along in the most inefficient way possible while Jay trotted easily at Kai’s heels, tilting her head this way and that to carefully observe their surroundings. Tāraki wanted to challenge nearly every wild pokemon they stumbled across, but for once, Ren remained firm in her refusals, intent on reaching their destination without unnecessary delay.

Ren didn’t notice anything unusual, but Kai stopped and gestured for her to look. Quite suddenly, her mind picked up the pattern, and she murmured softly to herself in awe. What had at first seemed to be a mossy and fern-covered hillside was actually squared blocks of stone grown over by the surrounding forest, each nearly as tall as she was.

Tāraki scurried up them easily and shrilled back down at Jay to join him. The Torchic ran along its length to where the blocks marched into the turf and scaled the embankment that way.

“It’s called Maioro Rahi.”

“It does look like a big wall,” said Ren, marveling at the great tree that grew at the top, its roots snaking through and framing the stones below.

“Stories say no one built it, that it’s always been, so it’s probably the result of volcanic activity.”

“It’s awesome either way. Thanks for bringing me out here, dude,” she said and nudged his arm to break the slack look on his face.

They walked around for a while to explore it from different angles and climbed the tree with Tāraki. This time, it was Kai’s turn pull Ren up, and she laughed at how embarrassed he got when she remarked on his strength. She cajoled him into an arm wrestling match and won handily, though he was probably still too flustered and afraid of falling out of the tree to do as well as he could have.

They wound up tucked against the base of the wall for lunch and chatted easily while Kai scratched in his notebook, and Ren lay back in the leaf litter, tracing circles across the canopy with the toe of her shoe. Jay flitted in and out of view, bringing back seeds and other small items for Ren to examine and Kai to explain while he sketched them. Meanwhile, Tāraki busied himself chasing Taillow and Wurmple from the branches as he swung around.

Jay trilled, crest raised to full attention, and Kai squinted off into the trees where she was looking.

“Hmm. You’re right. Hey Ren, seems like a Poochyena has been watching us.” He pointed out a tree at a ways off which only partially obscured the wild pokemon.

“It looks different,” Ren observed. The base color was the familiar cool gray, but it had a black stripe down its spine and many more scattered across its sides, legs, and tail. It still had the black mask and throat, but its paws were gray. From the stiffening of its posture, Ren concluded that it noticed them looking, but it didn’t move.

“It’s a Striped variant. Almost all the ones around here are Cloaked. That’s because Stripers are usually the result of a Manectric or Arcanine cross. You see them sometimes along the inner coast or from breeders. So either this one has traveled a long way or some asshole is releasing the pups they don’t want.”

Ren blinked at the unfamiliar anger in his tone and sat up. “Jay, would you see if it will talk to us? I’ve got some food left.”

That let off some of the tension, and Kai flipped to a fresh page in his notebook while Jay and the Poochyena conferred across the distance.

“She asked that we not approach and just toss the food to her, but she’ll stay for a while.” Kai repeated for Ren’s benefit. Jay grumbled beside him, and he hummed in amusement. “Jay also adds that she is ‘kind of rude.’”

Ren chuckled. “Understood.”

The Poochyena slunk closer but stopped well out of range, and Ren tossed her the promised berry and a stick of jerky to sweeten the deal. The Poochyena sat and accepted the food, but her hackles remained stiff. From this distance, Ren could see a notch in her ear, pale scars on her muzzle, and a break in her fur that must have been a long slash across her shoulder.

“She came from north of here,” Kai reported as he made notes for himself. “The only Stripers she’s seen were her siblings. Now there’s only her.”

Tāraki clicked and squeaked. The Poochyena’s hackles stood all the way up, making her look far larger.

“Don’t scare her off, Tāraki,” Ren admonished. “I know she looks like a great opponent, but you’re only allowed to battle pokemon who want to battle you, too.”

The Treecko harrumphed and flopped to the ground, flashing his pale belly. The Poochhyena ignored this probable insult and relaxed a little, fixing her red eyes on Ren.

“Did she get those scars from battles?”

The Poochyena continued to look at Ren as she answered, even though she was speaking to Jay.

“She says that’s how to survive. Pokemon draw strength from battling, but it’s risky… Wow, that’s a pretty good summary of the current research. It never occurred to me to ask a pokemon if they thought about it that way.”

“Would you like to train with us?”

What made you ask her?

“She’d been through a lot, and she seemed… lonely. I thought maybe I could give her a family again. And there was something in her eyes too. I knew right then that she’d never give up, that she’d always be herself and live the way she chose. I guess I admired her even then.”

That’s how you decided her name?

“Yes, that’s why I chose it.”

Kai looked at her in surprise, and the Poochyena cocked her head.

“Tāraki could use a battle partner,” Ren explained.

So, not the answer you gave at the time?

“No, not the answer I gave.”

Tāraki had stepped up to make the offer while they were distracted, and Jay stepped between them when he became incensed at whatever she said back.

“She wants to battle you and Tāraki first, because no matter how tough it is out here, she’s better off on her own than with a bad trainer.” Kai explained, then muttered to Jay: “I see what you mean about her being rude.”

“Sounds fair to me.” Ren stood. “Ready, Tāraki?

Tāraki nodded, muscles coiling. The Poochyena crouched.

“It’s over when I say it is,” Ren warned. “Pound her left shoulder!”

The Poochyena tried to dodge, but Tāraki was faster and sent her tumbling. But to Ren’s surprise, she rolled right back to her feet and came straight at him.

“Aim low!”

Tāraki hit her front legs, and she flipped from the momentum. Tāraki slammed her belly while it was exposed, but she grabbed his tail, and sparks flew from her jaws. Tāraki fell to one knee, trembling.

“Paralysis!” Ren murmured under her breath, then aloud: “Watch out!”

The Poochyena took immediate advantage of Tāraki’s immobility and barreled into him. He was knocked back but landed on his feet.

“You’re not going to be able to outspeed her anymore. Absorb!”

The Poochyena slowed as her energy drained, and Tāraki managed to roll to the side in time.

“Let her come to you.”

Tāraki seized up as the Poochyena came at him, and the Tackle sent him sliding back.

“Backflip!” Ren yelled.

This time Tāraki backflipped just as the Poochyena closed, hitting her jaws shut with his tail. She went reeling back and collapsed. Tāraki stood to his full height, readying an attack.

“Enough!” The force of it stilled him immediately, and he looked back at Ren. “Good job, Shima.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a paralyze heal. He hummed with satisfaction as the sparking stiffness left his limbs. “You’re an amazing battler.”

Tāraki let out a gurgle that ended with “Ren.”

Ren smiled at him and then blinked as it dawned on her. “Did I just understand you?”

Tāraki gurgled.

“You said my name! I heard you say my name!”

“Ren!” This time it was as clear as day.

Ren squealed and swept Tāraki up in her arms, hugging him tight.

“Ren! Ren! Ren!” he chanted, and she spun them around and around, tossing him higher and higher until he grabbed onto a low branch and stayed there.

“Tāraki!” she whined. “Come back down here!”

He snickered at her and stuck out his tongue, and Ren hopped around under the branch for a minute, full of energy but unable to reach him. She eventually calmed and turned back to the others.

Thankfully, the Poochyena had stayed through their antics, and Ren reached into her bag for a potion. She kneeled down, and the Poochyena eyed her cautiously.

“Let me heal you up, okay?”

She didn’t look away but did lower her head slightly and let Ren spray her down. Ren pulled out a pokeball and held it up.

“What do you say?”

The Poochyena’s red eyes bored into Ren’s for a moment longer, then she stepped forward and pressed her nose to the pokeball’s button. She was swept up in a flash of red light before disappearing inside. The pokeball’s indicator flashed green, and her nav played a little tune.

“Was it just me, or did she use Thunder Fang?” Kai asked as Ren looked down at the pokeball, a soft smile on her face.

“Guess you were right about the Manectric heritage.” Tāraki dropped back down to her shoulder. “Think you two can get along?”

Tāraki made a show of considering it but gave her a thumbs up.

Ren released the Poochyena from her ball. “I’d like to call you Akahana, if that’s alright?”

She nodded once, and Ren’s smile broadened.

“Welcome to the family.”

...

Ren and her pokemon wandered through wild woods with Tāraki hopping through the canopy while Akahana trailed by Ren’s side. She lifted her head in Tāraki’s direction and let out a muffled woof. He replied with a smug negative. Soon enough, the trees began to thin, and sunlight thicken ahead of them. Balmy air swaddled them as they emerged onto open fields of grass. Kai sat on the bank of a large pond beside tall bullrushes and squat sedges that looked like tiny Nassy. Jay lay napping at his side but lifted her head as they approached.

“Hey Kai! How’s it going?”

“Good! Jay and I did some battling this morning. How about you?”

“We did some drills.”

“I feel great!” Tāraki piped, bouncing to and fro while Jay eyed him wearily.

“He’s still pretty hyped up.” Ren explained and sat down next to Kai, close enough that she bumped his shoulder as she settled. “Whatcha working on?”

Kai reddened and pulled his white beanie down a bit but tilted his notebook towards her. “I’ve been counting and sketching the different Masquerain variants on this pond. See, Masquerain sort of mimic their predators—mostly birds or other bug-types in the area. So, unlike most variants, they tend to overlap, and you often see several on a single pond.” He pointed them out to her. “So far I’ve seen Ninja, Kite, and Pale.”

“These are great,” said Ren, leaning in to see better. “You draw so well.”

He reddened even further. “Not really…”

Ren elbowed him. “Just take the compliment!”

“Okay,” he murmured quietly. “Thanks.”

“So many!” Tāraki exclaimed. He grabbed at Ren’s shirt. “Can I battle a few? Can I? Please!”

Akahana’s brow lowered, and her tail gave a derisive twitch.

“Aka’s right. Those things have a double type advantage on you. It’s one thing to battle Wurmples, but those mons have evolved. Maybe when we’ve trained a bit more.”

Tāraki groaned and danced from foot to foot before suddenly perking up again. “What about a Surskit? I could totally take a Surskit!”

“That’s a better match up. Do you mind, Kai? I don’t want to mess up your work.”

“Nah, I’m done here.”

Ren surveyed the Surskits skimming across the surface of the pond, and a gleam caught her eye. It came off a Surskit’s cap that looked more like brass than the pale yellow of the others and framed a bright red spot on its forehead.

“What kind is that one?”

Kai squinted at it, then whipped out his pokedex. “I’m not sure. It looks kind of like a Ninja, but that doesn’t explain the red spot.” He went back to looking through the identification photos. “That’s funny, there’s a different Ninja variant in Kalos that it resembles a bit too… See, the problem is that it’s hard to tell when they’re Surskits. The mimicry hasn’t fully developed. When they evolve—”

Ren threw out a hand to cover his mouth, and he went red again. The Surskit in question had noticed them staring at it and looked very nervous.

“Tāraki,” she said quietly, “why don’t you ask it nicely for a battle?”

Tāraki took a step towards the water and called out to the Surskit. “Want to battle with me? My trainer will heal you and give you some food!”

It glanced around in confusion and skittered back a bit, politely declining.

“Aw, come on! You have a type advantage.”

It stopped backing away and considered. Jay trilled and buffeted Tāraki with her wing, but he just snickered. Akahana sighed and rolled her eyes. The Surskit took a half step out and chittered.

“My trainer wouldn’t let me kill you,” Tāraki responded. “Right, Akahana?”

She gave a nod, and the Surskit skimmed up slowly, pausing near the bank.

“Took a little convincing, huh? Let her make the first move.”

Tāraki readied himself, and the Surskit crouched. The stinger atop her head glowed lime-green, and she launched herself at Tāraki. He dodged but she kept jabbing until she hit his tail. He fell on his side.

“Spin!”

Tāraki spun, righting himself and knocking the Surskit off her feet. She responded by spinning on her stinger like a top and slashing him with her feet.

“Get out of range and use Absorb!”

Tāraki backflipped away and fired off a green orb. The Surskit slowed and rolled back onto her feet.

“Nice! Now Pound!”

Tāraki leapt forward, but the Surskit countered with another Fell Stinger. Tāraki shuddered again.

“Her side!”

This time Tāraki was fast enough, and the Surskit went rolling away. She slumped, and Tāraki jumped over to her, placing a hand on her head. She looked at the ground, clearly defeated.

“Nice job!”

Tāraki let her up, looking pleased with himself, and the Surskit began to shuffle back towards the water.

“Hey wait! Don’t you want some food or something?” Ren called. “Tāraki got you pretty good. Come sit by us for a bit at least so you can recover.”

The Surskit turned back, and Ren fished a berry out of her bag, placing it on the ground a few feet away from her. Tāraki sat down beside her and gestured encouragingly to the Surskit. She looked cautiously up at them, and Ren smiled. Akahana grumbled lowly, and Jay nodded in agreement, causing the Surskit to hide her face.

Ren worried for a moment about what they might be saying, but when the Surskit uncovered her face, she seemed happier and settled down to eat.

“She really is between the two,” said Kai now that he had a closer view. “She could be a mutt. It’s rare, especially in species like Masquerain, but it can happen.” He continued to explain variant mechanics, and Ren only half listened while she watched the pokemon socialize.

And what made you ask her?

“For a pokemon so skittish and fearful, she seemed almost desperately glad to have company to talk to. And that felt odd to me, with how many Surskit were around. I realized her looks must have made her stick out sorely, and I know how tough that can be.”

“Would you like to train with us?” Ren asked out of nowhere, startling everyone. “You seem a little shy, so maybe it isn’t your game, but I think you could be a battler.”

Tāraki passed this on, and the Surskit stood up, clearly disbelieving, and looked to Akahana for confirmation. The Poochyena seemed quite surprised as well but nodded. A tremble went through the Surskit but she stilled herself and marched up to Ren. She nodded fiercely and met Ren’s eyes for the first time.

“Awesome! Welcome to the team!” Ren held out a ball, and the Surskit tapped the button and flowed inside.

“Are you building a team now?” Kai asked.

Surprise and confusion passed over Ren’s face before her eyes narrowed and her jaw set. “Maybe I am!”

...

Ren walked up an embankment through the gently swaying reeds surrounding the estuary, carrying Tāraki in her arms. Iki the Surskit perched on her head, and Akahana trailed in her wake. Her eyes scanned the open space along the edge of the treeline. There was a Wingull with a pink underside sitting alone on a low branch about a field-length distant, and Ren stopped in her tracks to focus on it.

“Is that the Wingull variant Kai has been on about since I met him?”

“Well, um, did he say they were pink?” Iki piped, trying to be helpful.

“Rosy!” Ren confirmed and started tromping towards it. She felt Iki’s feet dig into her hair. Ren paused again at a respectful distance away to snap for Kai. “Could you ask it to talk to us for a bit?”

Iki hunkered further down on Ren’s head, though there was little chance it would make her metallic cap any less conspicuous.

“Relax, little bug, you’re with us now,” Ren reassured her, glancing up with amusement. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Iki fidgeted but called out a greeting to the Wingull.

“She says sure.”

“Great! I just hope Kai hasn’t turned off his nav… again.”

“It was quite a conversation. She told us all about the places she’s been and the things she’d seen. She told us about her colony and the chicks she’d raised, about her partner that fell prey to a Sneasel…”

And then she asked you.

“Yeah, and it surprised me, but I suppose she wanted to start a new chapter.”

An orange sunset settled in over the trees behind them, casting its warm glow on the water below, by the time Kai came running with Jay in tow.

“I came as soon as I got your message!” he called across the shrinking distance. “Is it still there? Did you—”

Ren gestured to the Wingull on her shoulder. “No worries, dude. I got you.”

Kai squealed in delight, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment until his exertion caught up with him and he had to take a minute to catch his breath, hands on his knees.

“Kai, meet Panahi,”

“You caught her?”

“Yep! So let’s hold off on the interview until tomorrow. Or you could just read through my notes,” she said with a wink.

Kai sighed, melting on the spot. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she said with a toss of her hair and then slipped her hand under his arm to pull him home.

“OH. Oh, wow. I’m such a bakayarou.”

Yes, I noticed some time ago.

“Shut up.”

...

Akahana snarled, white teeth bared and black hackles raised. The big Zigzagoon opposite her shrank back ever so slightly before rushing her. The rest of the team watched Ren direct her from a nearby branch. Tāraki sat in the middle, allowing Iki to keep her distance from the new flying-type. Kai and Jay approached as Akahana lunged, sparks flying from her jaws, and grabbed the Zigzagoon by the shoulder. She tossed it, and it landed heavily on its side, legs too clumsy to catch it as the paralysis set in. It wisely stayed down.

“That’s my girl.” Ren stroked Akahana’s head. She offered a pair of berries to the Zigzagoon, who took them gladly and shuffled off into the underbrush.

Kai was still slack-jawed when she turned to greet him but stiffened when she met his eyes. The silence dragged as she looked him over, and her eyebrows met in puzzlement when he started to fidget.

“You alright?” she finally prompted.

“Yeah! Of course!” It was way too eager, not his brand of eager. “You’re all just improving so much! It’s kind of amazing. Not that—I mean you obviously know what you’re doing, and you’re really good at it, so I totally expected it. It’s just something else to see it, haha.”

It almost sounded like he was jealous, but she didn’t quite believe that. He’d won at least half their matches, and she was more than happy to teach him.

“We should train together some time. I’m sure Jay has a few moves she could show these gals.”

Jay puffed up a with pride, but Kai only looked more nervous if anything. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure we’ll have time. Jay and I should really start packing and stuff.”

She blinked, and her brows set even lower. “You’re going away?”

“Yes, well, yeah…” He cleared his throat and tried to force his tone into something more nonchalant. “We’ve got plenty of data on the area now, and there are a lot of other locations we’d really like to check out. We were actually planning to leave earlier, but then we were waiting to see if we could confirm the Rosy Wingull sighting and we already did that a while ago, so, um, yeah.”

“When are you leaving?”

“As soon as we can get everything in order. So, like, the day after tomorrow probably.”

For a moment, Ren couldn’t control her face but then she wrestled it into her best attempt at a smile. “Aww, I’m gonna miss you, dude!”

“Wha?” he blubbered. He swallowed before trying again. “Uh, yeah?”

“Of course I am, you dork,” she said softly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He started fidgeting again and stared at the ground. “Yeah.”

Ren spread her arms. “Come here.” He didn’t move at first, but he had said it was okay before, and she chose to believe he had meant it, so she didn’t wait. He went rigid for a second but hugged her back. She straightened up and took hold of his shoulders, unable to let go as fast as he did. “Give me a call every once and awhile, alright?”

He tried to smile. “Sure.” She released him, and he edged away. “Ah, we should get going. Good luck with your training!” he called over his shoulder as he fled.

Jay nudged Ren’s leg, which wrenched her eyes down. The Torchic offered her a comforting rub and quiet little coo. Ren smiled back to reassure her, and Jay left, following in Kai’s wake.

...

Ren dried her hands after finishing the dishes while her mother continued to prep food for the next day. Ren sat back down at the table with her chin propped up by a hand her hand and groaned. Her father was sitting around the corner in the living room, reading a newspaper with his legs resting across his Ursaring’s back.

“I’m sorry to hear that Kai is leaving so soon,” said Asuka. “He’s such a nice boy.”

“He talks too much, but I’ll miss him anyway.” Ren muttered back in Nihongo.

“You know, you keep saying things like that, but I’m not sure I see it. He’s always perfectly charming when I speak with him.”

“I know. It drives me a little crazy actually. He’s so different when it’s just the two of us. He’ll be blabbing non-stop and all the sudden go painfully quiet. It seems like he’s having fun and then… I don’t know. Maybe my Anglic isn’t good enough.”

“Your Anglic is perfect,” said her father without looking up.

Ren rubbed at a spot on the table and said nothing.

“Did you know he was taught at home?” her mother asked. “His parents took care of his schooling, and he may not have had many friends his age before. Maybe he is not sure how to act around you.”

“He doesn’t have to act any different! I’m not—” She groaned and slumped over the table. “You’re right, Okāsan. I’m just annoyed he didn’t tell me sooner.”

“That’s fair. But for what it’s worth, I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you. I think he’s very fond of you.”

“She knew. Of course she did. Okāsan knows everything.”

“Arigato, Okāsan.” Ren threw her mother a little smile and headed upstairs.

She could hear her parents’ muffled voices talking quietly as she and her pokemon spilled into her room and prepared to sleep. Ren changed into her pajamas while Akahana turned circles on the mini futon in the corner, and Iki climbed the dresser to her cushion. Panahi fluttered up to a padded basket hanging from one of the beams, and Tāraki hopped up on the bed. Ren leaned back against the edge of it, not quite sitting.

“So, I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time for us to travel too.”

“We going after your boyfriend?” Panahi cawed wryly from the rafters.

“Okay, Ahi doesn’t count because she would have said that no matter what.”

That may actually be true.

“And here I was getting all hyped because I could understand you already.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. I was just getting used to my new nest. But if that’s how it has to be, then that’s fine, I suppose.”

“Aw, you old fuss-pot. We can bring your bed with us. I’ll get a vapor box. But anyway, the actual reason is we can only get so strong if we stay. We’ve had, what? Two—three trainer battles that weren’t with Kai? With him leaving, we can’t have regular matches.”

“What about your father’s gym?”

“I thought we could do the Rustboro Gym first. That’s where Kai is going for his first badge, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“I didn’t mean for the badge—” Panahi started but Ren was already trudging onward.

“I think we’re good enough to support ourselves, and I’d like a little income of my own. Besides, there’s a whole region out there. That is, if you’re all okay with it?”

They were all quiet for a moment, and Panahi regarded her carefully with one golden eye.

“Didn’t think a trainer would ask,” said Akahana.

“It’s nice of you!” Iki jumped in. “If you think we’re ready, then we are.”

“Let’s do it!” crowed Tāraki, hopping around the mattress. “Back on my island, there was nowhere to go and now there’s a whole continent to see! It’ll be so awesome!”

“I already said I’m down for whatever,” Panahi offered.

“What do you think, Aka?”

“You’re right. We won’t get much stronger here.”

“Thanks, gals.”

“So when are we leaving?” asked Tāraki.

“It won’t take long to get everything together and do a bit of research, but we’re not going anywhere for at least a week. I don’t want to spring this on Okāsan. I’ll tell them tomorrow, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Everyone took that in stride, even Tāraki, and Ren left to brush her teeth before climbing into bed. Tāraki curled up next to her, and she finally drifted off to the sounds of her team’s snoring.

#ORAS #nuzlocke #storylocke #Ren #Kai #Taraki #Jay #Akahana #Iki #Panahi #lgbtq #chapter

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 6 years

Text

More than This: Chapter 1 - Just Don’t Say It

Title: More than This

Chapter Title: Just Don’t Say It

Rating: EXPLICIT

Word Count: 4k+

Summary:

The thought that comes crashing to the front of his mind momentarily stills his heart.

He watches Hizashi’s shoulders move with each slow, steady breath.

If they weren’t doing the friend part of this situation anymore, how long before this became sex between strangers?

How long before the only thing he knew about his friend was the appearances he put up at U.A. and the feeling of his sweaty skin slipping between Shouta’s thighs?

Notes:

I got this idea after thinking about how I could specifically wreck my friend @aizawashovta and now the rest of you get to suffer too. I hope you love this, Shiva. ❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

I promise this will have a happy ending, but we have to get through a whole lot of hurt first.

Read it on ao3 here

Chapter 1: Just Don’t Say It

Hizashi’s heavy breathing slowly trickles into Shouta’s ears, pulling him out of the momentary fog that always overtook him right after an orgasm. As his surroundings start to shift back into focus, the other man’s weight atop his chest comes with them. Shouta gives a weak grunt and a soft squeeze to Hizashi’s bare hip and the other man gets the hint, whining a bit as he pulls out of Shouta’s spent hole, and rolling off to flop on the bed beside him. One of Hizashi’s arms stays thrown across Shouta’s sweaty chest, along with the bottom half of one of Hizashi’s long legs, not quite having made it off him with the blond’s feeble attempt to remove himself from Shouta’s body.

Shouta knows he should make an effort to remove the remaining limbs, but when he turns his head, Hizashi looks like he’s well on his way to passing out, and Shouta can’t really bring himself to do it.

What damage could one night allowing Hizashi to cuddle close to him really do?

Shouta bites his inner cheek.

Not much, but the many other nights he’d allowed it to happen are probably stacking up.

His chest feels uncomfortably tight as he moves his leg, shaking off the foot Hizashi has hooked around his calf. The sleepy blond grumbles unhappily next to him. When Shouta does the same with his arm, picking it up more carefully by Hizashi’s wrist and setting it down next to where the blond’s face rests against his pillow, where Hizashi always seemed to tuck his hands close like a baby, the other man’s mumble is a little more annoyed.

When Hizashi is making these grumpy noises, it’s hard for Shouta to remember this is nothing more than sex. It’s a little too easy to pretend Hizashi doesn’t just crash in Shouta’s bed because he’s exhausted, that he’s not reaching out for Shouta because on some level, Shouta knows Hizashi always needs something to hold.

It doesn’t matter that it’s Shouta.

Anyone would do.

He’s just convenient.

Hizashi grumbles out something in his sleepy state and tucks his face further into the pillow and Shouta resigns himself to the fact that the blond is definitely spending the night. He sighs as Hizashi’s arm slides toward him again, probably attracted to the heat his body is giving off, still flushed from sex, and Shouta rolls over. He feels Hizashi’s hand bump into his back and then retreat.

Good, that was what he’d wanted.

Right?

Shouta finds himself biting his lip anyway. His stomach tightens as he curls around himself and starts to wonder why he does this at all. What was the point of the momentary thrill he felt while they were fucking if this heavy, exhausting weight settled over him immediately afterward every time? He brings his hands up to rub across his face, getting a whiff of Hizashi’s strong scent as he does so, regretting the action. This train of thought never got him anywhere. He’d tried to cut himself off a number of times already, but whenever Hizashi sent him a text asking to come over, ending the message with the little blue flower emoji they’d decided would be their own secret signal, so they could differentiate between actual plans to socialize, he always said yes.

Tonight, no flowers had been used, though, which was becoming alarmingly more common. They’d been supposed to just watch a movie and eat dinner, maybe work on some grading, but Hizashi’s hand had snuck onto his thigh in a far more than friendly manner before the movie had barely made it past the opening credits.

The signal was becoming unnecessary, every interaction almost assumed to end with them covered in each other’s limbs and cum.

Hizashi had called them friends with benefits, but they hadn’t done much of the “friend” part in quite some time.

Which meant...what?

That this was just sex now?

Shouta rolls back onto his other side, staring at Hizashi’s face. He studies all the little lines and freckles, sees a new tiny pink scar near his temple. It’s fading, will probably vanish completely soon enough with all the creams and moisturizers he knows Hizashi must be using, but the sight of it makes Shouta’s mouth taste sour. How long had it been there? When had he gotten hurt? How had Shouta not noticed before now?

The thought that comes crashing to the front of his mind momentarily stills his heart.

He watches Hizashi’s shoulders move with each slow, steady breath.

If they weren’t doing the friend part of this situation anymore, how long before this became sex between strangers?

How long before the only thing he knew about his friend was the appearances he put up at U.A. and the feeling of his sweaty skin slipping between Shouta’s thighs?

Hizashi’s eyebrows twitch, dipping down a bit as if he’s bothered by something, and Shouta’s heart picks up again, his stomach twisting the way it always does when he feels like the other man is suffering. As the corners of Hizashi’s mouth shift into a slight frown, Shouta closes his eyes tightly, breathing deeply through his nose, counting the seconds between his inhales and exhales to try and settle his stomach.

Had Hizashi ever been a friend?

This had always been more than just sex for him.

No, Shouta didn’t have to worry about them becoming strangers.

He had to worry about wanting more than this.

---

Hizashi groans as he shifts onto his back, letting his arm flop over his side and across the bed. His hand connects with something smooth and hard, and a soft slapping noise reaches his ears. The sound brings him back to reality, familiar to a similar, louder, faster paced smacking of flesh that had filled his head the night before. He opens his eyes slowly and turns his head. Some of his long hair obstructs his vision, having fallen in front of his face, but he can still make out Shouta sleeping next to him. His hand is resting against the dozing man’s bare hip and Hizashi’s immediate, jerk reaction is to remove it, but the second the contact is lifted, he feels a deep sense of loss.

He wanted to let his hand linger. He wanted to turn it over and run his palm across that deep V, over Shouta’s ridged abs, but he brings it back to rest against his own, smoother, softer stomach. He looks down at where his fingers absently play with his belly button piercing, twirling his pointer finger among the thin metal chains adorned with small crystals. He’d worn a fancier, hanging piercing specifically for the night. He hadn’t told Shouta his intentions, hoping their hang out session would progress in this direction naturally.

In a way, he got what he wanted, but as he slides his hand away from the jewelry, he feels empty.

He’d thought moving away from codes and symbols, coaxing Shouta into sex in a more spontaneous way, would help with the feeling of unfulfillment that had been lingering with him for months now.

If anything, it had only made it worse.

Hizashi knew he was being foolish, dressing nicer, wearing different colognes, using sweeter smelling shampoos, adorning himself with more sparkly piercings, and even going so far as to purchase a few leather chokers. Shouta never noticed those things on anyone else, so why would he care that they were on Hizashi?

If he knew anything, it was that Shouta didn’t care about appearances.

Still, it was something Hizashi was used to doing from trying to woo other partners in his past. Maybe he was going about this wrong.

In reality, he knew he should just act like himself, be relaxed, be silly, and be supportive. He wanted to make Shouta laugh and smile, make him want to curl up with Hizashi after sex, rather than build some invisible wall between their bodies when they collapse on the bed, but somehow that all felt too intimate.

Hizashi was a confident man, but when it came to Shouta, he felt horribly vulnerable.

So he defaulted to what he was comfortable with, what he knew would work. He touched Shouta in all the places he knew without fail would turn the other man on and never broke from that routine. It got him what he wanted, right? It got him close to Shouta.

Hizashi kind of wants to rip the stupid piece of expensive jewelry out of his skin.

This wasn’t what he wanted.

This wasn’t the kind of “close” he was looking for.

Hizashi sits up and scoots off the bed, feet settling on the cold wooden floor. He’d tried to convince Shouta to get a rug when the other man had first moved into this apartment, but Shouta had said the sharp temperature change would be a good way to wake him up.

Hizashi sighs and walks over to Shouta’s dresser, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and heading toward the bathroom.

It was a weekend.

When Hizashi had first concocted this plan in his head, he’d thought this would be perfect. Lately, Shouta and his friendship had been reduced to a mostly physical relationship aside from the brief conversations they’d have at work. He’d thought dinner and a movie would lead to sex, would lead to cuddles, would lead to breakfast, and a day spent together. It would be sweet and soft and everything he’d wanted.

Except he’d fucked it up and they’d never gotten to the movie part, let alone the rest, and as usual, the unspoken “no touching” rule had remained.

Now, his lingering presence felt awkward. Now, breakfast was something he definitely didn’t want to partake in. As he turns on the water and tests the temperature, he begins thinking of ways to get out of it.

Would it be rude for him to leave before Shouta woke up?

Sighing, Hizashi steps in under the spray of water, lets the smell of sex begin to wash off of him.

Was anything rude at this point?

Hadn’t they established rules in the beginning of all of this? How long ago was that, now? Why couldn’t he remember?

They hadn’t necessarily made a hard restriction on sleeping over, but Hizashi had always gotten the impression it was frowned upon in Shouta’s book. He wasn’t an idiot, he saw the way Shouta’s blissed out expression shifted to disappointment when Hizashi laid down beside him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He’s surprised Shouta hadn’t caught onto him yet, hadn’t noticed he was faking the sleepy act.

He wasn’t one to pass out right after sex, but if it meant he could spend more time near Shouta, he’d pretend.

He could fake it.

He could fake a lot of things.

---

When he wakes up, the bed is empty, the sheets pulled up to meet the edge of the pillow and smoothed flat. Shouta runs his fingers along the fabric. If Hizashi had taken the time to make his side of the bed, he wasn’t in a rush to get out at least.

The air smells clean, maybe a little damp, and is a touch warmer than usual. Hizashi must have taken a shower.

Shouta pulls himself out of bed and stumbles over to his dresser, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He grabs the first pair of sweatpants and slips them on over his hips, yanking the drawstring and tying it in a loose bow as he walks out of the bedroom.

As he approaches the kitchen, he can smell coffee, and hears the little gurgle of the machine dripping into the pot. He rounds the corner and walks inside.

He yawns, pulling out one of the stools tucked beneath the small island, sitting down and immediately hunching over the counter top. Hizashi jumps a bit at the noise, turning away from whatever he’s cooking on the stove. Shouta can’t quite see what’s in the pan from where he’s sitting.

“Good morning!” Hizashi says cheerily, but keeps his volume blessedly low, somewhere between a whisper and normal speaking.

“Mmm…” Shouta grumbles out, propping his chin on his hand and blinking blearily at the other man. Hizashi’s smile seems to falter a bit and Shouta narrows his eyes, but the blinding white teeth come back in full force as the blond twists around to grab a bowl off the counter and place it abruptly in front of Shouta.

“Ta-da! Fruit!” he says, holding both hands out around the bowl of cut up produce, fingers spread wide. Shouta eyes the food.

“Indeed,” he says.

Hizashi’s cheek twitches a bit.

“I’m making eggs too. You don’t have much here, as usual,” he says, his tone shifting back into normal speech, losing its pizzazz.

“Yeah, I need to head to the store,” Shouta says, looking away from Hizashi’s face.

They didn’t usually do things like make breakfast for one another, not since before they’d started their arrangement anyway.

It seemed a little backwards, losing the pleasantries after their friendship got physical.

“Are you going today?” Hizashi asks, tapping his chin. “I need to get some stuff too. We could go together!”

Shouta knows the face he’s just made can’t look good if Hizashi is watching him the way Shouta knows he must be. He felt the way his eyebrows pulled together, how his grumpy morning face got a little more disgruntled around the corners of his mouth. How could the other man blame him, though?

Hizashi was making this harder.

“No,” Shouta says, gaze shifting to watch Hizashi’s face, judge his reaction. “I’m not going today. I have a lot of work to get caught up on since we didn’t really get to that yesterday…”

Hizashi’s eyes flicker to the side and he bites his lip. Shouta can’t be sure if it’s embarrassment, thinking about the way they’d touched each other not too many hours ago, or something else.

Either way, he gets the desired effect, as Hizashi turns around and picks up the spatula he’d let rest against the side of the pan. He busies himself with moving the eggs around.

“Ah, okay,” he says. “Another day, then.”

Another day, Shouta thinks, reaching out to grab a piece of fruit from the bowl. He closes his eyes as he bites into it.

He feels a little guilty, as Hizashi’s shoulders seem to slouch down a couple inches as he tends to their breakfast, but he knows grocery shopping with Hizashi won’t end with them going their separate ways, arms full of bags. As much as he’d wanted to spend time with the blond somewhere besides either of their mattresses, he couldn’t take being so close the morning after.

He needed time to reset his foundation, rebuild the wall that kept his feelings safely hidden.

Another day would have to be enough.

It was for him, at least, he’d been living by the hour for a while now.

---

Hizashi slices and chops the scrambled eggs perhaps a little more violently than necessary. He’s definitely flipping them around the pan more frequently than needed. They’re starting to get a little brown, a little crunchy. He should take them off the stove, remove them from the heat, but he needs a few more seconds to paint on a new, passive face.

Shouta was being rational, that’s all.

He was just being Shouta.

He had work to do.

They’d made plans to grade papers yesterday and Hizashi had interrupted it and now Shouta had to finish it.

That was perfectly normal, perfectly okay.

Steam lifts off the eggs. They crackle against the hot bottom of the pan.

It was fine.

This was fine.

Hizashi presses the spatula down onto the eggs, covers his frustrated sigh with the sound of the harsh sizzle, before reaching to turn off the burner. He plasters on his smile and turns around, holding the pan.

“Food is done!” he says.

“I’ll get the plates,” Shouta responds, sliding off the stool and moving over to the cabinet.

Hizashi watches the way the muscles in the other man’s back ripple as he lifts his arm and stretches for the dishes. He quickly averts his eyes, not wanting to follow that train of thought. This is what had gotten him into this mess.

Shouta comes back over with two plates, setting them down in front of each stool. Hizashi pushes a serving of eggs onto each, shooting Shouta a sheepish smile when the other man raises an eyebrow at the obvious burn marks.

“I...uh...might have overdone them.”

“It’s fine,” Shouta says, sitting back down. He reaches out for the bowl of fruit and uses his chopsticks to usher some onto his dish. Hizashi sets the pan in the sink and when he turns around, there’s a small pile on his plate as well. He almost smiles, his heart giving a tiny, painful flutter, but he knows it means nothing.

It’s just Shouta being Shouta.

This is normal.

There’s nothing special about sharing fruit.

Hizashi sits down beside him and his bare arm briefly bumps into Shouta’s. He finds himself wishing he’d thought to steal a shirt, feeling awfully exposed despite Shouta’s similar dress choice. This was the other man’s apartment. He could walk around topless if he wanted to.

Hizashi was the one out of place.

They eat in silence, just the sound of food being pushed around their plates.

With each quiet second, Hizashi feels himself growing less hungry, despite barely eating anything at all.

Shouta, of course, cleans his dish effortlessly.

When Hizashi decides to give up the fight, he sets his chopsticks down on their rest and slides his plate further back, allowing himself room to fold his arms on the counter. Shouta gets out of his seat beside him, picking up his empty dish and turning toward Hizashi.

“You done?” he asks. Hizashi nods. “You barely ate anything.”

“Ah, yeah,” Hizashi says, laughing a bit. “I didn’t like how the eggs tasted…”

“Whose fault is that?” Shouta teases, picking up Hizashi’s mostly full plate and heading toward the sink to clean up.

It’s lighthearted. It’s a joke. He knows Shouta’s rolling eyes don’t mean anything, that his words aren’t a jab at the thing Hizashi can’t stand the most, but they shoot straight to his core anyway.

Mine, he thinks. It’s my fault.

This is all my fault.

---

Shouta pushes the remainder of Hizashi’s breakfast into the trash can, using the way his hair falls in front of his face as a way to sneak a peek at the blond without being noticed. Hizashi leans into the counter, bringing his hands up to scrub across his face. It’s hard to see around his wrists, but Shouta thinks he sees the normally vibrant, energetic man frowning.

He closes the trash can lid and turns to the sink, pushing the handle and starting the flow of water. He scrubs at the plates, thinking over Hizashi’s mood. This, combined with his lack of appetite, and the way his lips had trembled last night in his sleep, makes Shouta feel a little like he might be sick too.

What was eating at him?

Shouta shuts off the water and grips the edge of sink.

Maybe turning down Hizashi’s offer to shop together had been a mistake. Maybe something was really wrong with the blond, maybe he really needed Shouta for more than sex this time.

Maybe he needed a friend.

Could he still do that? Could he still support Hizashi through his mood swings the way he used to?

Who had the blond been going to these past few months, anyway? Hizashi was usually a fairly happy person, always friendly, always concerned with how others felt, but it wasn’t unusual for his own happiness to get shoved to the side in his pursuit of pleasing everyone around him. Shouta had rubbed his hand up and down Hizashi’s back, holding the other man’s sobbing body against his chest, numerous times in the past when it all got to be too much, when Hizashi needed someone to finally care about him the way he seemed to care so inexplicably much about everyone else.

Shit, if he only knew how much Shouta cared, if Shouta could only share it so freely the way the blond did.

But he cared too much.

He couldn’t.

Sighing, Shouta turns around from the sink to face Hizashi. He could do this, though, couldn’t he?

He could go shopping with his best friend.

He could help. He was capable of this.

“Hizashi,” he says, and the blond’s hands fly away from his face, quickly landing in his lap. Shouta’s eyes narrow at the quick smile that resurfaces. “I changed my mind. Let’s go to the store.”

“What? Are you sure? Your grading…”

“It’s fine. It’s not urgent.”

“Okay,” Hizashi agrees, perking up a bit. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Shouta says softly. “Go get dressed. I think there are some clothes of yours that you left here last…” Shouta’s eyes dart away from Hizashi briefly, trying to shoo away the blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Uh, the last time you were here. I washed them.”

“Oh, sorry. Thanks!” Hizashi says quickly, shoving off the stool and practically running out of the kitchen. Shouta doesn’t miss the way the blond’s eyes looked a little panicked.

What was wrong with him?

---

Hizashi rounds the corner and forces his feet to keep moving down the hall.

The last time he’d been here he’d sat in Shouta’s lap, fully clothed, rubbing his erection against the other man’s groin until he’d came in his pants. He can’t shake the image of Shouta scrubbing his dried cum off of his clothes out of his head. His face feels hot, and not in a good way.

He pushes open Shouta’s bedroom door and shuts it immediately behind himself, flipping the little lock, hoping Shouta will think he just wants some privacy to change.

As if privacy was a thing he could ever claim he wanted after the things they did here.

The first little hiccup that pushes past his lips takes him by surprise. The way his vision starts to blur, though, doesn’t.

The tears start falling one after another and he quickly moves away from the thin barrier of the door. He darts to the bathroom, shutting and locking it behind him as well, and then steps into the tub, pulling the curtain shut, as if this will somehow also silence the sobs he’s trying to hold inside his chest.

He sinks down to his knees, curls in on himself, and lets the feeling overtake him.

He wraps his arms around his stomach, as if the grip on his sides will somehow hold it all in, as if somehow he could ever contain all of this.

Hizashi goes lower, rests his forehead against the tub floor. It’s hard to breathe like this, it makes his choked back whines hurt a little worse, but it feels better.

It feels safer than standing out there, in that bedroom, where he’d been lying naked and empty not so long ago.

#erasermic #maizawa #erasermic fanfiction #maizawa fanfiction #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta/yamada hizashi #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #more than this

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walviemort · 6 years

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paternal instincts, part 2

Emma’s fear of pregnancy leads Killian to find—and use—a spell that allows him to carry their child instead. A canon-divergent CS pregnancy fic, just with the roles flipped a bit. (mpreg; rated T for implied sexy times) | AO3

A/N: dedicated to @sherlockianwhovian and @cocohook38 for their inspiration

Part 1

Chapter 2—Let’s Make A Baby

Summary: The spell is cast—but how long will they have to wait to find out if it worked?

“Ugh, I’m supposed to drink that?” Emma’s nose crinkled in disgust as she sniffed the potion brewing in Regina’s vault. “That smells terrible and looks worse.”

A few days after making the decision to give male pregnancy a go, they got together with Regina to get started on the spell. Truly, the number of foreign objects it required did make Killian give it a sidelong glance, and the egg it contained smelled as though it was long past its prime. But they trusted Regina.

“The most effective potions are usually the most disgusting, but the last ingredient should help,” the queen assured them.

“What’s left?” Emma asked, and Regina answered by plucking a hair off Emma’s head, drawing a yelp. (Killian was consequently more prepared when Regina grabbed a few of his.)

After twisting the hairs together, Regina dropped them into the brew and conjured a fireball, which she then used to ignite the burner below the cauldron. The gray, sludgy draught began to glow as Regina stirred it, until it illuminated the entire room with white light. Killian shielded his eyes from it, but a few moments later, it stopped, leaving behind a much more pleasant-looking purple liquid.

“That’s it?” Emma asked, peering in. “Where did all the gross go?”

“It’s saving itself for when your future child spits up on you,” Regina quipped with a smirk.

“I’m suddenly remembering all the crap that goes along with birth, too,” Emma added. She cast an apologetic glance toward Killian. “Sorry in advance.”

He had to chuckle a bit. “I was a pirate for well over a century, love; I’ve seen more than my fair share of gore.” He waved his hook for emphasis. “I’m sure I can handle whatever’s to come.”

“I’m gonna remind you of that,” she teased back, smiling.

Regina made quick work of bottling the potion, making sure the right amount got into the vial, and handing it to Emma. “Well, there you go. Do you want to drink it now, or later?”

Emma took it gingerly, holding it in her fingers like it might break. For a moment, she studied it intently, but then turned to Killian. “Do you have your flask?”

He reached into his inner coat pocket to pull it out. “Of course.”

“Cheers?” she offered, a bit uncertainly, and held up the vial towards him.

With his thumb, he flicked the cork off his flask, suddenly aware that this would be one of the last times he could do so for a while, assuming all went well. “Cheers, love,” he replied, lightly tapping her drink with his.

Simultaneously, they brought their phials to their lips; he only took a small sip of his as he watched Emma drain the small bottle. It seemed to go down without issue, and she actually licked her lips when she was done. “That was actually...kind of sweet,” she observed, setting the empty glass on the table.

He stepped forward and took one of her hands. “How do you feel, love?” His worst fear was that it would somehow go on to hurt her.

“Fine,” she said right away, but then pressed her free hand low on her abdomen. “It tingles a little, but it’s not uncomfortable. What about you?”

“Nothing.”

“And he probably won’t for a while,” Regina added, reading over the spell. “Just like normal conception, once it happens, you probably won’t notice for a bit.”

They nodded at her, and then stared at each other. A slight heaviness hung over them, realizing what might come next. But he knew a good way to diffuse the tension.

He gave Emma and wink and said, “So, love, what say we get started?”

She stepped a bit closer to him with a flirtatious smirk. “Sounds good to me.”

“Not in my vault, you won’t!” Regina exclaimed. “You have a room; go use it.”

“Okay, bye, Regina,” Emma said, not unlike a teenager might. “And thank you,” she added, more genuine.

The queen gave them a soft smile. “Good luck.”

The gray smoke of Emma’s magic then surrounded them, and they were back home, in their bedroom.

“You ready for this?” Emma was looking up at him with a tiny smile, slightly trepidatious, but he could also see the excitement in her eyes.

“Aye, love. With you, always.”

The next few weeks were some of the more pleasurable in Killian’s memory. How could he complain at the chance to make love to his amazing wife almost every night? Unless they had to work a late shift or were sick, they came together as often as possible in hopes of conceiving.

One night after their first couple attempts, falling sated into their bed after a rather pleasurable shower, Killian held Emma close to him with his hand over her midsection, as if he was trying to sense a change.

“Do you feel any different, love?” he asked quietly as her hand joined his.

“I mean, I’ve been pretty sore all over with how much we’ve been going at it, but I don’t feel any different than I normally do after sex.” She squeezed his hand. “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Aye,” he agreed, but he was finding he was more impatient than he thought he’d be.

About three weeks after taking the potion, Killian awoke one morning with a queasy stomach. Remembering that as being one of the early signs of pregnancy, he got excited, even if all he could manage for breakfast was some dry toast. But Emma’s complaints of cramps and menses later on put those thoughts to rest for a bit, and his stomach bug disappeared after a day.

After that, he tried to tamp down his own expectations, reminding himself what Emma said—it would happen when it was meant to. They certainly enjoyed their continued copulation as they tried, and managed not scar Henry in the process, which was an added bonus.

It was some weeks later when Emma joined Killian in the kitchen for breakfast, placed her awful tart pastries in the toaster, then leaned against the counter to look at him while he ate his cereal (a marvelous invention, really). “Hey, Killian,” she started.

“Yes, my love?” He looked up from his bowl at her. Her hands were crossed over her chest and she was studying him with a warm gaze. “What is it?”

“I think you might be pregnant.”

He swallowed; he truly didn’t want to get his hopes up again. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for starters, my boobs kind of hurt, and it has nothing to do with what we did last night.” He involuntarily licked his lips at the memory, making her chuckle. “And second...I’m late.”

“How late?”

“A couple weeks.”

He hazarded a glance down at his stomach. Could there really be a new life growing in there, and he hadn’t noticed? He had been a bit more fatigued as of late, but he figured that was more to do with their evening activities than anything. And he was glad he hadn’t overindulged on alcohol anytime recently. Glancing back up, he asked, “How do we know for sure?”

“Well, I guess we should take a test.”

He’d seen the bits of plastic here that could tell a woman if she was with child, though he still wasn’t sure how they worked; it seemed to be time he found out. “Alright then. Shall you or I take it?”

Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe we both should, to be safe?”

They swung through the pharmacy on the way to work that morning, unable to wait any longer. And, over the course of the morning, they both took one (though he was quite shocked that his urine held the answer).

And both came up positive.

For a good, long moment, Killian just stared at the little plus sign on his, letting it wash over him: they were going to be parents. Unconsciously, his hand settled on his stomach where the product of their love now resided. There was still a long journey ahead of them, but knowing that they’d finally started it was an incredible feeling.

Blessedly, Leroy did not show up to the station unannounced as they celebrated the news in the back room.

To make sure, they scheduled an appointment with Dr. Whale, who confirmed it via a blood test: Killian was indeed pregnant. A further scan of his abdomen showed the image of a tiny, bean-shaped being deep inside him, and the doctor said the child was approximately 6 weeks along and would be due in late October, around Emma’s birthday.

As Killian cleaned the weird, cool gel off his stomach, he did have to ask, “Whale, how do you not find this odd?” Not once had the doctor questioned the fact that Killian was expecting rather than Emma.

Whale just shrugged. “Anything is possible with magic. I learned ages ago not to question it.”

Given the long list of odd things he’d born witness to as well, Killian accepted his answer. “Fair enough.”

The doctor printed off images of their child for them to take home and vowed not to say a word until they made it public knowledge. (The threat of Killian’s hook probably helped.)

Back home that night, they lay in bed as the sweat cooled on their bare skin, and Emma’s hand drifted down to rest just above his belly button. “I still can’t believe it worked,” she murmured in awe.

He placed his hand over hers. “Did you truly doubt it would?”

“Honestly, I’d kind of started to lose hope; and when I was late, I did panic for a second that the bean was in me.”

“Oh, love,” he said, pulling her tight with his blunted arm. He wished she’d told him her fears sooner. Though—hold on—“Did you say ‘the bean’?”

She smiled up at him sheepishly. “Yeah; I mean, we don’t know if the kid is a he or a she, and the picture looked a lot like a magic bean; so, given our history with those…”

He couldn’t help the grin that split his face at her explanation, though the tears that started brimming at his eyes were likely due to hormones. Memories of their trip up and down the beanstalk, and so many adventures in between, flooded his mind; it was honestly kind of amazing that they’d come this far from all of that.

“It’s perfect, Emma.” He squeezed her hand. “We’re having our very own magic bean,” he added, voice thick with emotion.

She placed a kiss on his shoulder. “And this one is going to take us on the greatest adventure of all.”

thanks for reading!

#cs ff #cs baby #mpreg

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find-a-way-2-my-heart · 6 years

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Part 7: It’s complicated

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my overactive imagination.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

A/N: First of all, sorry it took so long to get this out, it was much harder than I thought. On that note, I want to thank @of-badges-and-guns from the bottom of my heart for the inspiration (even though you have no idea!), your smut writing skills are out of this world and your stories did help me a bit (although this is nowhere near your talents, I admit!) So, thank you (and I hope it’s okay to tag you!)

English is not my first language. Feedback is appreciated. (gifs are mine)

Pairing: Friend!Pride x Reader, Gibbs x Reader

Word count: 1720

Warnings: Smut and, did I mention smut? Definitely NSFW.

It took forever for you to reach the second floor. At least it felt like that to you, but you suspected that Gibbs felt the same way, since as soon you both were inside, he closed the door and pressed you against it.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, lips against yours and his experienced hands moving freely up and down your body, knowing just where to touch.

“Me too,” you mumbled a response, since all coherent thoughts seemed to have left your brain at that precise moment. You grabbed the front of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, anxious to feel his skin.

He reached for the clasp of your jumpsuit, releasing it, making the top part fall to your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra, so he quickly captured one hard nipple between his lips as his hand reached for the other. Teeth grazing, lips sucking, and hands massaging was a bit too much for you and you felt your legs start to buckle.

“Jethro…” you pleaded.

“Hmm?” He replied, not moving his lips from your breast.

“Bed, please,” you moaned and saw him smiling against your skin.

In a swift movement, he grabbed your ass and laced your legs around his waist, carrying you to bed, laying you down carefully. He took a moment to just look at you, savoring every inch of your body that he knew so well. Undoing his belt and pants, letting them fall to the floor, he quickly joined you in bed, peppering your face with light kisses before going down on your body, no inch going unnoticed.

As he reached your waist, he fought a little with the tiny button that kept the garment in place before finally opening it and sliding it off your legs together with your panties. Again, he stopped for a moment just to look at you, his eyes darkened by lust, lips slightly parted and breathing uneven.

Looking up at him, you smiled sheepishly, motioning with one finger for him to come close. As he did, you managed to lie him on his back on the bed and straddled him. The look of sheer surprise in his face was nothing short of satisfying.

“So, this is how we’re gonna play, huh?” He chuckled, amused.

“Oh yeah,” you grinned as your hands roamed his bare chest and feeling his breathing halt under your touch. Gibbs almost never allowed you to take control like this, so you were planning on taking full advantage of that.

You lowered your head just slightly, allowing your hair to brush his skin together with your hands, you smiled noticing his eyes were closed and his breathing was heavy. You took your time exploring every nook and cranny o his chest. Every scrap and scar. Everything that had made Leroy Jethro Gibbs the man he was today. The man that you loved.

You lowered your head some more, your lips reaching his neck, you lightly nibbled on his lobe before brushing your nose all around his face. He opened his eyes and looked at you, those beautiful blue orbs completely darkened by lust.

One of his hands reached the back of your neck and, grabbing a handful of your hair, he led your lips to his. The kiss was frantic, teeth clashing. You reached for his hair, as you knew how sensitive he was in that area.

Of course, that Gibbs being Gibbs, he wouldn’t stay under for long, putting his other hand in your back, he flipped you to the original position, his lips immediately landing on your neck, kissing and nibbling, and probably leaving marks, but you most certainly wouldn’t bother.

Your hands traveled down his back finding the hem of his boxers, and you tugged them down just enough so you could reach between the two of you and touch him. You lightly held him in your palm and felt him gasp. One of his thighs went immediately between yours and your hips immediately bucked forward.

“Be patient, [Y/N],” he whispered in your ear, before expertly moving down your body again leaving a trail of feathery kisses on your breasts and stomach. This time it was your turn to halt your breath. Eyes closed in delight as you waited for him to reach that particular region of your body that ached for him.

But he was in the mood for teasing. He continued kissing you until he reached your feet, taking one of your legs up as his hand went up and down expertly avoiding the main target.

“Jethro…” You panted, the wait agonizing.

He just smiled as he allowed his hand to brush past your inner thigh, sending shockwaves through your body and making your hips instinctively buckle forward again.

“I’m getting there, baby, it’s just that there’s so much beauty to explore still…” He said in a hoarse whisper before allowing two of his fingers to enter you unannounced. A loud gasp was all the response he needed to increase his pace at the same time his thumb worked on your clit.

You grabbed the sheets for support, squirming under his touch, moaning loudly and calling his name. You were close to your climax, but Gibbs didn’t give any indication that he would stop, enthralled as he were observing you abandon yourself completely to him.

Your climax was fast approaching and Gibbs continued his ministrations relentlessly, his other hand reaching under your ass to keep you in place. You felt the familiar pull in your lower belly, your toes curling, your body tensing up and relaxing all of a sudden as all you could see were stars as you come and screamed his name loudly.

But he didn’t give you much time to come down, as in one firm thrust he was inside you, you didn’t even know how he had managed to get rid of his boxers, you just felt him inside of you, your muscles clenching him as you felt his warm breath against your ear. “You can’t have fun all on your own now, can you?” He asked as he adjusted himself before thrusting again, and again, until you felt you were about to pass out.

Your hands grabbed his hair, bringing his lips to yours, thirsty and eager. He responded in tune, as he increased the pace, your hips clashing as he went in and out of you. You reached for his back, scratching his tensing muscles eliciting a low grunt from him.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the pull again, and you knew that he was close too, his eyes were closed and his brows furrowed. You screamed his name again as the climax washed over you. He moved a couple more times before reaching his release, letting himself go on top of you.

You both just stayed there, unable to move for a few minutes, a thin layer of sweat covered your skin and both of your breathings were evening out. Gibbs was still inside of you and that was comfortable, it made you feel whole.

After both of your heart rates came back to normal, he rolled to the side bringing you to him. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the lulling of his heartbeat as he lightly caressed your back. You were almost dozing off when you heard him whisper. “I love you, [Y/N].”

“I love you too, Jethro,” you replied before allowing sleep to take over you.

Pride stepped carefully into the building. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, but curiosity had taken the best of him and hey, it was his home after all. He heard laughter coming from the kitchen and smelled the fresh coffee.

“Everyone decent?” He asked a few steps short from the threshold, Gibbs face appeared before him and, with a grin, his friend motioned him to go into the room.

You were standing by the sink rinsing off the dishes. You and Gibbs had just had lunch and had been chatting and cracking jokes at each other. His mood was light and you were enjoying it.

“I take all is well, Little bit?” Pride asked moments before he enveloped you in a bear hug.

You grinned. “Yes, King, everything is peachy! Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask!” King said, grabbing a mug and filling it with the hot liquid.

“I raided Laurel’s stash of clothes, hope you don’t mind,” you said, apologetically, motioning to the tank top and leggings you were wearing. “All of my stuff is at Percy and Gregorio’s.”

“Nah, mi casa, su casa, Little bit, you know that,” Pride smiled taking a sip of the coffee.

You spent time catching up and chatting idly, Pride on an armchair chair and you comfortably snuggled on Gibbs lap on the couch. After a while, silence fell amongst you for a moment, until Gibbs cleared his throat. “King, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you call [Y/N] Little bit?” The silver haired agent asked and both you and Pride laughed.

“Tell him, King,” you said with a chuckle.

“Well, when Little bit, I mean, [Y/N] first arrived here as a probie, every time I’d offer her some food, she’d reply ‘I’ll take just a little bit’. Every single time,” Pride emphasized. “So it kind of stuck,” he shrugged.

Gibbs looked a tad bit disappointed. “That’s it?!”

You looked at him puzzled. “What were you expecting?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, a dramatic story of you bonding in the field, perhaps?”

“Ah, brother, we have plenty of those!” Prides face illuminated with a grin as if he were a child that he gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas. “Let me just tell you about the time Little bit here decided she could take four heavily armed men on her own…” He started and you felt like the girl that had taken a boyfriend to meet your parents, just to be embarrassed by childhood stories.

But you honestly didn’t mind, there you were, with the two most important men in your life and you were happy to be in your little bubble of peace, even though you knew Monday was just around the corner. You’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

(The End)

Tags: @aryapsnape

#NCIS #NCIS x Reader #NCIS Fic #NCIS Fanfiction #NCIS NOLA x Reader #NCIS New Orleans x Reader #NCIS New Orleans Fic #NCIS New Orleans Fanfiction #Dwayne Pride x Reader #Dwayne Pride #Pride x Reader #Leroy Jethro Gibbs #Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader #Gibbs x Reader

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saessenach · 7 years

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in the dark of the night

HERE’S TO @propshophannah my trash-mate when it comes to shipping. I did tell you I would finish this. Like, 3 months ago. WELL HERE IT IS. (shameless pwp, yes.)

Brandy, near-death experiences and witches are by no means things Fenrys should ever mix in good conscience.

The reality of it is slightly different though, as he finds himself sitting on the stairway of a full inn, the warriors downstairs just as battle-worn as him, just as aching for relief, for safety, for certainty, either in each other’s arms, or at the bottom of a brandy glass.

Still, emptying bottles with an Ironteeth witch in the wee hours of the night after a bloody battle is not the smartest thing he has ever done.

Not that the grin plastered on Asterin Blackbeak’s flushed face would make him struggle to act smartly.

In fact, the heat gathering in his belly is the exact opposite of “smart”.

But what do smarts mean when the witch snorts warmly, her breath fanning against his cheek as he speaks and drinks.

“What is it with you and wanting, fae?” she croons, her voice deep with drink and warm with something that sears his insides, “you’d say you were born starving.”

He chuckles, finding her gaze and holding it, before reaching for the brandy bottle in her hand.

“Pots and kettles, Blackbeak, that’s pots and kettles coming from you,” he dares.

“Oh?” she challenges, her smile turning feral. Man-eater.

Later, he would like to tell himself it had been a calculated risk he was taking, but really, it was no such thing, no. It was rather akin to plunging blindly into a sea and hoping to heaven and hell the sharks won’t bite.

Rather the sharks than those gleaming iron teeth of hers, enticing as they may be.

Fenrys is not calculated, not now, not in the way that should count. He is calculated in the faint touch up her hand, tracing a blue vein, calculated in the gaze he drops to her mouth and the hoarse whisper of his voice

“You want nothing more than I do,” a secret sort of smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Freedom to roam and fight and fuck your way through immortality.”

His voice is rough and almost silent in comparison to the rowdy hollering in the tavern below.

“How can you know what I want?” she says breathlessly, and yet it sounds less like a question, and more like an invitation. “You don’t know me.”

“True, I don’t.” he allows, answering her grin with one of his own, “I’d like to, though.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she whispers wickedly. May it be him, may it be the brandy, but is she closer, yes, she seems to be closer, gods, he could count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, a tiny scar on the side of her face, a splatter of blood on her ear from the day’s battle, and it all makes her a dozen times more tempting.

“Keep telling that to yourself at night, witch.”

She is closer, gods damn him, she comes closer and whispers

“Is there anything else I should whisper in my pillow in the wee hours of the morning, pup?”

“My name,” he answers, bumping his nose to hers playfully, “and mayhaps a sweet plea or two.”

A snarl curls her nose and bares her teeth as she looks up at him. Sharp iron and soft flesh all make up a mouth Fenrys doesn’t even try looking away from.

“Oh, I like you,” he breathes against her lips, the tip of her pink tongue wetting her raw lower lip. His eyes come up to hers, black and black and black, with specks of gold here and there, like little shards of stars in a moonless night.

A smirk tugs at his lips when he notices that a sort of darkness engulfs the gold in her eyes, her warm breath close enough to smell, sweet like cinnamon and honey, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from hers as he ducks his head and pulls that raw lip between his teeth.

Asterin Blackbeak hisses in return, her hands fisting in his doublet, pointed nails scratching against his abdomen. She angles her neck, raising her face to his and deepens their kiss, her tongue sliding past his teeth and meeting his.

The corridor on the first level of their little inn is narrow and cozy, so it’s not much strength Asterin needs to push him off her so that his back slams in the opposite wall. Fenrys opens his eyes in confusion. Gods. His chest is heaving, and his pants are suddenly feeling tight. His mouth opens and closes like a fish’s, but the witch doesn’t fare much better, hair wild in its braided coils and eyes bright.

He has little time to wonder about them before she pounces him, the force she puts into it enough to make the wooden wall creek painfully at his back.

Her hands are around his throat, then up, scratching the shadow of scruff on his jaw, or tangled in his hair. The witch’s hips pin his and instinctively, Fenrys glides his palms down her torso, feeling full curves and hard flesh through her shirts, around her waist and to the small of her back.

She arches when his tongue enters her mouth and his hands finally find purchase, sprawled against the generous slope of her arse. His chuckles are swallowed up by her mouth, they maybe turn into a moan. Particularly loud laughter makes the inn nearly tremble in its hinges and the collective tremour downstairs only makes the hushed sounds escaping the witch’s round mouth that much sweeter.

Fenrys reaches down, grabbing the backs of the thighs and pulls her flush to him, her padded flying leathers smooth against the scratchy wool of his coat. Daggers clang and he nearly cuts his fingers on one strapped to her inner thigh in a hidden pocket. Nevertheless, he lifts her up and her legs come instinctively around his hips, their grip like a vice, and he turns them around, smashing her against the nearest door, the wood groaning.

Her fingers find purchase on the open neck of his coat, pulling, ripping at it, with no care whatsoever to buttons or strings.

“Inside,” she whispers hoarsely to his lips, and Fenrys takes the advantage to press warm, open kisses to the fine line of her jaw until he reaches the shell of her ear and nibbles on it.

“We’re getting there alright, pet,” he says in her ear, hands dancing merrily on her torso, untangling the laces holding her jacket, open at the neck, much like his.

“No, you fool,” she throws her head back when he finds a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, “the door. Open the door. It’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” he teases, fumbling for the door knob while simultaneously grinding against her heat, the witch’s legs wide open around him, enveloping him tightly.

She moans when he pushes against her once more, and he snakes a hand underneath her coat, finding a warm breast and palming it.

Gods, they’re rutting against each other like a pair of hares, he can’t help but think when he does indeed manage to open the damn door. Of course they are, and there’s not much to complain about, in Fenrys’s humble opinion, especially not when the witch breathes a particularly low moan, which goes straight to his cock.

Once they go past the door, Fenrys presses her flat against it, keeping her in place with his body. Not relenting his assault on her mouth -gods, that mouth should be illegal, the grins and smiles and sounds she makes are all so not good for his brain - he reaches behind him, where her ankles cross at the small of his back, and mindlessly tugs on the laces of her boots, intent on properly undressing her. This is probably the fault of the ample amount of brandy he’s consumed tonight, and now that he thinks of it, her hair does look a bit like brandy in the fire light. A tiny bit.

He’s nipping the tendons of her neck, drunk on the feeling of her nails scraping against his scalp, groaning in her ear and goading a response from her. The motion of her hips is divine, and he rolls his hips into her as an answer when he finally succeeds in divesting her of her boots. Her feet are cold, but her toes curl and her heels dig into his backside as he drags his hands along the length of her legs: the curve of her calves and the sinful flesh of her thighs, and of course, the heat between them.

He finds the buckle of her belt at the same time she pushes his doublet off his shoulders, one of her nails ripping his shirt in the haste.

Fenrys tugs with mindless abandon at her pants, a voice in the back of his mind urging him to be careful of whatever weapons she has hidden there. Nonetheless, he is painfully hard and her moans as he bites on the soft shell of her ear do not help at all, and why the everloving fuck is he still dressed- and finally, the damned pants are off and he slides a hand between her legs, feeling for the heat and wetness of her and she arches off the door when he curls his fingers inside her.

By the time he kicks off his own boots as well, the nifty witch has already stripped him of his shirt and the hunting knife strapped under it, and she is raking her nails, blessedly not the iron ones, but still sharp enough by normal standards, down his abdomen, definitely not helping relieving the tension inside him.

Locking her feet around him, Asterin bounces off the door, and Fenrys struggles to keep his balance in front of her assault.

A groan tears off his lips when the backs of his legs hit the bed and he falls in the sheets and the furs on it, basking in her intoxicating scent.

He tugs her shirt over her head and she is exquisite, golden skin and golden hair, curling around her ears and falling in her eyes as she bends to take his mouth. His hands play on her ribs and spine, taut flesh and strong bone, until they reach her arse and hips, wide and becoming and soft.

He shimmies his hips enough for her to pull his breeches off, and she brushes against his length, and gods, the moan he lets out is positively wanton.

The effect it has on the witch is painfully obvious, the flush spreads beyond her cheeks, down her neck and to her full breasts, and Fenrys can’t help but rise up and press his mouth to one of them, all teeth and tongue, while he cups the other, and the witch lets her head fall back, her dark eyes rolling into the back of it.

The scars on her abdomen are large and broad, the cursed mark a reminder of the cruelty she has faced, the cruelty she has braved, the cruelty she has survived, and there is something in Fenrys’s chest that swells at the thought of her strength. It’s some sort of admiration, a kinship and a tether between them, which comes with knowing they’ve both fucked the odds and survived, and that is maybe why Fenrys hasn’t been able to take this witch out of his mind for the past weeks, it’s this understanding between them that has prompted him to want her so, so badly, and his heart beats faster and louder because of that.

He slides against her slick warmth, poised at her entrance and when he is finally inside, it feels glorious and unending and painful all at the same time and the witch twists her hips above him sinuously. Fenrys is quite certain his heart will burst and really, buried deep in Asterin Blackbeak, pressing kisses to her freckled breast and drinking in her moans does not seem like the worst way to go.

He lifts his hips, slamming in her and she nearly screams, hand fisting in his braid and mouth a delicious snarl against his.

She looks into his eyes, a pool of liquid darkness seeing through to the very bottom of his soul and

“Say my name, pup.” she whispers softly, so softly he almost misses it. Almost.

He finds himself smirking, kissing her lips softly, quickly as they move against each other.

“Witches first, m'dear,” he goads her for his own entertainment, and, judging by the way the tightens around him, it works for her as well

“I asked you first.”

She keeps his hands above his head, tangling their fingers, a blissful smile on her face, and her movement becomes uncoordinated, feral, her breathing uneven as he slides into her, again and again, and he can tell she’s nearing completion.

“I asked you second,” she laughs at this, good, it’s good that she can laugh, and it turns into a moan as he bites the nook where her shoulder meets her neck, rolling his tongue over the sore flesh afterwards.

What he doesn’t expect is her bearing down on him with new strength, pressing her breasts to his chest, and paying him back in kind

“Ahhhh,” he closes his eyes against the bliss and the pain of her mouth on his collarbone, the flesh turning angry red and royal purple under her ministrations.

“Now that’s the start,” she pants, right in his ear.

“Ohhh, it is,” he moans, turning his head to the side, facing her, their faces touching and he struggles to focus his eyes enough to meet hers, just as hazy and black as the deepest night, and he holds her gaze as he whispers, “Asterin”

She laughs, the wretched witch, and it is a victory for the both of them, “Ah-” a broken sound which nearly makes him come, “now- was - that -so” - a challenge as he raises himself into a sitting position, slamming into her, and gods, gods, he feels her starting to come undone,“ ah! -hard?”

It’s heaven, it’s merciful heaven and he moves through her climax, and he is close, so very close, drowning in her glorious sounds, and she pushed him back into the mattress, riding him madly, and he can’t tell what’s louder, the creaking of the bed or his own moans as she takes his open mouth with hers, tongue sinfully gliding against his and he wants to goad her, wants to make her giggle and groan and roll her eyes and he winks conspiratorially,

“There’s only one hard thing in this room, hon,” when-

Crraaaaaackkk

They both look up at the same time, and they both yelp at the same time as the mattress falls to the floor under them, and the canopy collapses above their heads, plunging them into darkness.

“Well,” she says, devoid of tone, “it’s definitely not the bed post.”

Hysterical laughter is all Fenrys is capable of at the moment. Asterin, too, it would seem.

#my stuff #tog #eos #fenrys #asterin blackbeak #asterys #trash #fanfiction #i'll edit it later #now i'm sleep #i'm sorry elle

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