#thank u wisp for letting me post this

[luxurychristmaspudding]

wip game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

thank you for the tag bby @swiftispunk !!!!! <3

there's a lot here and it's moving SLOWLY. i fall in and then out of love with ideas very fast (and a few of them are literal wisps of thoughts), but if there's anything you really want to see please lmk and i'll maybe bump it up! &lt;3

tommy's party part ii (frankie x reader) coming tomorrow!

shampoo bottles - a tommy's party drabble (frankie x reader)

one of your girls (dieter x reader) for @iamasaddie's wee writing challenge

Rattlin' the Cage - part i of Fire, Walk With Me (javier p x reader)

After Hours (ceo!joel x sex worker!reader)

watch - sequel to listen (reader x joel x santi x frankie)

Closer/Crawl (Jackson!Joel x reader)

This Place Will Be Your Tomb - prequel to Closer/Crawl (mean and horny QZ!joel x reader)

Love Will Abide (Jackson!Joel x OFC)

being frankie's date to one of the tf boys' wedding

dbf!joel pining after a very charming reader

molly's chambers (stalker!joel x reader)

and some np tags (bc i'm obsessed w u even if i've been too shy to say) for @marisferasiop @eupheme @punkshort @cowgurrrl @gracieheartspedro @thelightsandtheroses (sorry if you've already been tagged!!)

#tag game #wips

[fionajames]

*deep inhale*

Hey hey hey!

Sorry that sounded way better in my head. Good morning, since it’s midnight where I am, and I hope you don’t have writers block because that’s the worst thing that could possibly happen!

Anyway, requesting tiiiiiiime! May i pleeeeease have Dhole, your OC, helping out the 501st in a deadly battle with Ahsoka, Rex, Anakin, and any other clone/Jedi you’d want? And May I have angst and maybe a minor injury (no preference who)?

Sorry, I have a thing for the Injury ones since to me it brings out emotions and tension and draws the reader in to make sure they’re okay, you know?

I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH <3 thank you! Sincerely, your grateful follower, Sha. (That’s my name)

OKAY THIS IS MY 2ND TIME TRYNNA POST THIS CAUSE THE FIRST TIME MY COMPUTER KEYBOARD STOPPED WORKING AND SO I SPENT 15 MINS PANICKING ONLY FOR IT TO MAGICALLY START WORKING AGAIN

LET ME START THIS OFF BY SAYING SHA YOU'RE AMAZING AWESOME COOL FANTASTIC SPLENDID SPECTACULAR AND AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! TYSM FOR THE REQEUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111

SEE PEOPLE?! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN UR REQUEST! U GET SHOWERED WITH MY LOVE! DONT U WANT THAT LOVE?! THEN REQUEST!!!!!!!!!!! SRSLY!!!!!!

I RLLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS AND THIS IS BY FAR MY LONGEST YET SO AYYAYAYAYA

ALSO THE LAST LINE IS SO EPIC AND EMOTIONAL BUT AS SOON AS I PRESSED FULL STOP - PERIOD FOR THE AMERICANS (I THINK) ITS THIS THING . THAT ONE - THE ORDER 66 EPIC THEME VERSION BY SAMUEL KIM CAME ON AND I HAD TO STOP MYSELF FROM CYRING IN FRONT OF MY ENTIRE ZOOM WRITING CLASS

ANYWAYS ENJOY

Dhole glanced at Dice again, who was staring straight ahead at the doors of the gunship. The boy readjusted his hold on his blasters, glancing to his side where Ahsoka was grinning. He and Dice had been sent alongside the 501st and 212th to safely escort a Senator back to Coruscant after his planet had been invaded by the Separatists. Once they’d freed the Senator, the two Corrie’s and a small squad would head home whilst the others and the Jedi continued the fight until the Republic had regained control over the tropical planet.

“Dhole, are you alright?” A voice asked and the red-armoured boy turned to Xi, who was clutching his helmet under his arm, running a hand through his black hair. Dhole went to do the same, entangling his fingers in his mess of curls, tugging wisps down to his eye level to see the red colour he’d dyed the ends. “Brother, are you alright?”

“Ah yes, sorry Xi!” He chirped back, pushing down his nerves and attempting to reconstruct the sunny facade he was slowly slipping out of. Sure, Dhole was a sunny boy, but the longer the war continued on for, the less sunny he was. “Sorry, Xi, just zoned out.”

The older trooper gave him a doubtful glance but nodded. The small Togrutan girl next to Dhole poked his side.

“Dhole, why are you so nervous?” Ahsoka asked quietly, and Dhole inwardly cursed the stupid Force giving her the ability to sense his emotions. 

“I just don’t want anything to go wrong, kid,” he told her with a forced smile. It then melted to a frown as the gunship swayed in the air. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Ahsoka laughed and that helped to at least make Dhole’s shoulders relax a little. “My Master says that all the time!”

“Says what, Vod’ika?” Dhole asked, a smile growing on his face but this one wasn’t fake. 

“‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’” she explained. “He says it so much!”

“Really?” Dhole chuckled, before muttering as he put his helmet on. “Maybe he’s right then.”

                                                -

The plan was simple enough to follow and Dhole shouldn’t’ve felt as scared and nervous as he did - nerves swirling around his stomach and making it lurch with every step he took. He watched as the Clones around him started blasting at the enemy, and his heart lurched when Ahsoka ran away from his side - towards the enemy with her green lightsabers blocking blasts.

Dhole moved as his body commanded - away from the heat of the blasts and to cover, where he breathed deeply and blinked away his panicked tears. Why was he so worked up?

“Dhole, focus!” Rex called to him, noticing the robotic movements his brother had adopted and the way his hands were shaking. “Vod’ika, are you alright?” The blonde Clone shuffled closer to the younger, placing an armoured hand on his shoulder. Even though they were both wearing helmets, Dhole could hear Rex’s concern.

“Yes sir!” He chirped back, steadying his voice and accidentally slipping back into the soldier-voice the Kaminoans expected off them. “Sorry sir!”

Rex flinched, frowning at the boy’s language. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

Dhole watched the Captain turn away as he leapt to his feet, expecting his natural battle instincts to kick in. He fired at the enemy - his brothers by his side - but his instincts hadn’t kicked in properly.

A grenade exploded to his side - a white armoured Clone flew past him from the impact of the explosion - as he was thrown to the side. Dhole cried out when a piece of sharp, metal shrapnel cut into his arm - straight through his armour. Someone beside him shouted something, but his vision had tinted with a red haze.

“Fox!” Dhole screamed out instinctively, reaching his good armour up. His instincts howled for his older brother, but he was not there. 

“Dhole!” A voice called, a feminine voice. Ahsoka, his mind gently explained, and he barely heard it over the sound of his own thoughts screaming for his brother. “Rex, medic!”

Dhole felt several tears fall from his eyes - tears of pain that he couldn’t stop - as he reached his hand to Ahsoka, desperate for any feeling of comfort. A hand slipped into his and he squeezed it gently, trying to stop himself from gripping her hand like the lifeline it was.

“Dhole!” A voice screamed and suddenly he felt his body shift unwillingly as someone grabbed him. He screeched in pain and wreathed in the person’s hands. Two hands moved to pull his helmet off. And even though it was red-tinted, Dhole could recognise the familiar - yet unfamiliar in the immense worry that adorned it - face of Dice, the burn scar crinkled with worry. 

The person holding his helmet was his General, whose face was swirling with worry and he was biting his lip in concentration. “Kix is on his way,” the brunette told him, glancing to his Padawan. “Cover him, I’ll continue the fight with Obi-Wan.”

Ahsoka didn’t have time to protest - not that she would have anyway - as her Master leapt to his feet and rejoined the battle. 

Dhole barely noticed anything after that - his vision was too blurry and his limbs were white hot with pain. Kix arrived shortly after and tended to him, but midway through the medical attention, he blacked out. 

                                              -

“Kix!” A voice called and Dhole flinched at the loud, unfamiliar sound. “I believe your trooper is awake!” Is that, Dhole thought. General Kenobi? He opened one eye hesitantly, recoiling from the bright light but getting confirmation about his thoughts from the ginger Jedi hovering above him.

A face appeared in his vision, but it was not a Clone.

“Oh good, you're awake!” General Skywalker told him with a grin. Dhole internally frowned. Since when did the Jetti care so much about me? He thought.

“Dhole!” A voice cried out and the boy flinched as Dice threw his arms around him, encasing him in a hug. Dice was shaking. “You scared me Vod’ika!”

Dhole sunk into his arms numbly, too tired to speak. 

“We were worried you were dead,” General Skywalker explained, and Dhole had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, sir, but why were you worried? I’m just another clone,” Dhole told him and Dice promptly smacked him on the back of the head. Dhole chose to ignore it. 

“You are not just another clone to us,” the General replied, sitting down beside the Clone. “You’ve done some amazing work, Dhole - that’s why you're an ARC Trooper - and your kind as well. You’ve saved our lives many times before, and that's why we chose to get to know you.”

Dhole’s face fell and then was replaced by one of utter shock. His stomach swirled with warmth and a grin broke out over his face, his vision blurring with tears. He lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around the brunette General. 

General Skywalker’s face contorted with shock before he wrapped his arms around the crying Trooper, soothing him by running a hand through his curls gently and playing with the stray wisps. “Shh, it’s alright.” 

“Thank you so so so much, General,” Dhole spluttered out relaxing into the comforting arms of the Jedi. His heart ached with joy as a tear fell from his eye, getting caught in his eyelashes like raindrops do. 

“He’s right, you know,” General Kenobi spoke up as Dhole watched Dice leave the room, seconds later Ahsoka entered. The Togruta waved to him frantically, beaming all the while. “You're not just Clones to us. Your soldiers, men, and you deserve a lot better than what you're getting.”

“You really believe that?” Dhole asked, pulling away from General Skywalker, who gave his back an affectionate pat. 

“Of course!” Ahsoka chipped in, moving to sit beside her friend and drape her arm over his shoulders. “Your our family too, Vod!”

Dhole bit his lip, but he couldn’t stop the tears as they began spilling uncontrollably from his eyes, burying his face in the teenager’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,”  General Kenobi chided softly, hand on the Trooper’s back. He was smiling sympathetically, blue eyes shining with truth.

“Yeah, we’re all one great big family!” Anakin laughed, grinning and Dhole couldn’t stop himself from grinning back.

“The Jedi and the Clones,” Dhole chucked. “A formidable family!”

But everyone knows family doesn’t last forever.

I HOPE U GUYS LIKED THAT!!!!!!!

HAVE A GREAT DAY OR NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LY!!!!!

#clone wars #star wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #501st legion #captain rex #tcw #ahsoka #anakin skywalker #clones #ahsoka tano #obi-wan kenobi #corrie guard #corouscant guard #oc #my ocs #ocs #jedi #ka’ra writes ❤️

[aanoia]

Welcome to my drafts

This is something my brain came up with and I didn't wanna forget it so I wrote down. I usually don't post the idea part but I figured this would turn out to be a really long fic so I wanted to know if anyone would actually want to read this. Tell me in the comments if you do and if you'd like to be tagged in it when and if it eventually gets posted!!

Note: this is very VERY sloppy and disorganized as i wrote it down as quickly as possible to just get the idea out. There will not be proper spelling or grammar and use of shorter versions of sayings such as idk and ofc, etc. This is not how my actual fics are, I'd suggest viewing some of my other marauders fics, or just fics in general, to see if you like my writing style (gotta sprinkle in a little self promo ofc). I encourage you to share any other ideas as this is just a rough draft and open to change. Thank you and enjoy whatever this is.

Marauders Era y/n black goes into the future, comes across future Remus (love interest) who's like "who tf are you and why do you look y/n black when we were younger" and she's js like... what and then it clicks in his head bc he remembers when she time traveled and he takes her into his office and she makes fun of him for being a teacher then Harry walks into Lupins office and she's shocked at how much he looks like James and he recognizes her from an old picture he saw of his dad and his friends and is like "u look like one of my dads old bsfs, are you her daughter" and Remus is like "Yeah her name is y/n Jr., y/n is her mother blah blah blah blah" then Harry's like "maybe ur mom could tell me stories of my dad" and Remus is like "her mom disappeared when your parents died" and it shocks y/n bc James is dead and she's missing so she stumbles out of the office and is like "I'll let you guys talk privately" and she passes by students who are whispering and they mention Sirius blaxk and she's like, what abt him? And they hand her the news paper that says he escaped Azkaban and she like wtf so after she sees Harry walk out she storms in and is like "tell me everything that happened." And he's like "I'm assuming you know almost everything already" and she's like "what abt wormtail? Is Peter okay" and he tells her and then she asks abt regulus which breaks her heart and then she asks abt herself and he talks abt how she went missing after James and lily died. And then before she leaves she asks if he and her ever had something with each other and he raises his left hand where a wedding ring sits with a smile and she's like "we got married?" And he's like "Yeah it was a double wedding with James and lily" and she smiles and then leaves blah blah blah then she comes back with tears in her eyes and for the young marauders it had only been a second and they're like "You're back already! What happened, why are you crying?" And she just looks at them then starts walking to her dorm then Sirius grabs her arm and is like "y/n are you okay" and all she can imagine is his picture on the news paper and his crazed face and then she looks back to see James and she can't help but imagine him dead so she shakes off his arm and walks away.

Time skip to the present, y/n is with Bellatrix when Sirius died bc she "joined" the dark side but kept it super secret, not even Peter knew. When Sirius died she broke down to her knees and Bellatrix just left her and she sobbed and apologized to Sirius before he wisped away and he was like "ik ur intentions were pure" bc twin telepathy shit he knew why she joined and then Remus was kinda mad at her and was like "you knew, you knew everything that was gonna happen and yet you still join his side and now your brother is dead bc of u!" And she yells back "u think I wanted this !? You think i wanted my brother's to die?! My best friends? You think I wanted to leave you, my husband? No ofc i didn't but I spent years thinking of any possibility to stop the inevitable future and ik i told me not to but i couldnt help it and I figured the only way to stop it was from the inside, so when Peter got James killed and Sirius sent to Azkaban I knew I was too far in and had to disappear so you wouldn't get hurt too. Yk me better than ik myself y rly thought I would be cruel enough to join that bastard!??!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!???!?!?!?!?!!!!?!??!" Briefly ofc. Anyway they kiss and blah blah blah idk what else that's as far as I thought

#marauders era #aanoia #romance #james & peter & remus & sirius #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #james potter #sirius orion black #sirius black #peter pettigrew #sirius black sister

[draiochtoaksacademyrp]

Post MoonFall

Thunder bunny Amber reporting in…

Under the Hunter's Moon Eerie orange glow the final attack of Moonfall was held. 12 Students: Verity, Steve,Otha,Celsa,Honey,Sen,Nisa,Kylona,Azel,Vanie,Ryker and Rowan were all taken in the middle of the night. Last seen walking into the forest under a daze.

Not for a lack of trying, Every adult that attempted to follow were placed under a nightmarish illusion of madness. What could they do but watch as a group of their students play hero and follow them through the barrier. The "Hero" Party consisted of 8 students that were desperate enough to go after their loved ones and friends. Myself, Gora,Aurora,Sara,Karenos,Lorelay,Krul and Ryo set our sights for our friends only to be met with a ghastly sight.

Not so soon after we entered the forest were we hit with the atrocious scent and the full view of the previously missing and pressumed dead students strung up on a tree and completely charred. Urgrad, Sylvana, Dagormith, Theo, Cerana, Nar Hadia and Sleazius. But with everyone focused on the mission, only Karenos could look in horror and pain. I couldn't leave them up there like halloween decor so i had my Familiars Ginger and Rouge take them down and cover them til the mission was over. But since that sight… Karenos looked lost.

After traveling deeper into the forest we finally saw them! But they were all in a trance, markings binding them to a circle, so even if we wanted to we couldn't grab and dip. According to the others there were four figures ready to fight them. But thanks to the fact illusions never affected me. I could see the villain for who they truly were… Sienna Graves. Once she revealed herself to the others i couldn't help but noticed the newest student, Gora, seemed shocked and out of sorts. Even Ryo who was normally always ready seemed a mess. He really just wanted my sister Honey safe.

Seeing that i could see her clear as day i struck her with a lightning bolt, as it hit Sienna yelled to me that it was a cheap shot. Ill admit it. It was. Gora stood aimlessly as she looked at the wisp. Dammit why wasnt she moving?? Aurora tried but seemed to see something unknown and hit that instead. Fuck. Sienna then turned to the captives and hurt that star kid. Why??? But shortly after she tried to hit sara but it only grazed her. What was strange was that blood slowly trickled down her nose… then Sienna started to cough… what was going on? Sara, while Sienna was coughing attacked her with her axe. Making a good amount of damage. Karenos, still shaken from the sight previously tried to attack sienna but made no contact. It was ….pitiful. Upperclassman Lorelay also let her emotions get the best of her, not that i can really blame her, but slipping on a pebble was…. damn. Krul finally arrived and threw his prefects door at her and missed…. was … was he taking this seriously??? Sienna then tried to attack me, it made sense but again… i could see so i just. Moved to the side. She on the other hand started to cough blood. Was she dying? Ryo kept clawing at the illusions, i could feel his rage, and desperation to save my sister, granted he tried to wake Gora from her daze soon after. During this…. Bunny Houses Prefect Vanie died…. apparently Sienna poisoned her to keep her weakened. It just followed due course… Saras cries must've been heard, because kylonas controlled body began to cry. After being attacked i tried to hit back but she was a wisp and remembered she could poof out of the way. Gora seemed to fall apart and did nothing as she fell into darkness. Did sienna feel for her? Seeing Kylona cry set something off in Aurora, she ended up slugging Sienna in the throat. Ouch. Krul ended up going super saiyan when he realized Vanie died… she must've been well liked. Irritated, Sienna tried murdering Steve but Lorelay said no and shielded him with her body. I don't think she will make it. In fact, i don't know how much longer sienna will last either, She looked like shit. Good for us, bad for her. After hitting Loreley Sienna aimed at the Naga. Fuck is he okay??? Seeing Sienna aim for Steve set Sara off as she literally bashed Sienna's skull. The wisps blood was everywhere. Damn. Karenos still attacked at nothingness. Why cant he snap out of this?? I can see Lorelay laying down. She's not getting up any time soon. Despite that head reeling from the recent bashing, her illusions saved her from Krul's wrath it seemed. Lore spoke to the concerned sara. But i cant focus too much there. My ears were filled with Ryo trying to knock some sense into Gora. We need help. We were dumb to come with just 8 people. Sara spoke through tears while sienna attempted to attack Aurora which failed. Ryo finally got up to fight but he missed because of her swaying. Dammit.

Soon i could see that the phoenix gave out. Like Vanie she succumb to death. I tried to attack sienna but she poofed away. HOW?!?! Gora just stared into the nothing. There's no way she fell that hard in like….24 hours!! I can hear Sara screaming out for the phoenix. Lore was dead. Aurora, her anger was palpable. She …hugged? Sienna and engulfed her in the flames of hell til sienna finally died. I think we all know she's with sun now… I felt her magic spells break as we were all freed. But at the cost of two of our own…. Lorelay Polly and Vanessa …well i don't really know her so i'm not sure. Hearing My sisters voice was sweet music. But she wanted Ryo… so i stayed back. Only the gods know what will happen now… Now that the Moon finally fell…..

Art belongs to @monstermarquis of their character Sienna Graves

#MoonFall #DOARP #draiochtoaksacademy #oc art #art

[themanwhomadeamonster]

Warframe: 7, 8, 9, 10

TF2: 6

thank u for letting me be an annoying cunt 😌

WARFRAME ASKS

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them?

the closest i can say is wisp. i technically don't hate wisp, i love her both as a warframe to play as well as aesthetically but also she is so obviously tryhard sexybait, and with the amount of porn i've seen it just goes around to becoming a complete turnoff. i automatically hate any porn fanart of wisp but i love love love fanart of wisp that shows off her beauty in other ways. u can show erotic beauty without being straight up pornographic

i do recognise the hypocrisy in this with the shit i've drawn of other warframes but i like to think it's just me balancing everything out

8. Common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

again, not everyone but a BIG FUCKING CHUNK of the fandom: margulis isn't a bad choice and is just as much of an identity of "her" as the other facets of her identity (though i am aware of how many ppl chose margulis solely bc boobs and face, rip). they're parts of a whole, just that post-new war she has to prioritise different values. i'm someone who very much appreciates compassionate characters and i think the margulis identity encapsulates that very well and in some cases would be helpful especially for the drifter/operator. but i personally believed that natah was a clean slate for "her" to start over, and that post-new war needed a driving force to protect in the grand scheme of things - compassion wouldn't be enough

somehow it's only lotus-pickers who seem to have a superiority complex over this - i've never seen a natah or margulis picker who had beef over what other ppl chose 🙃

9. worst part of canon

all of the early quests especially alad v's questline have bloody awful storytelling. alad v's quests are a complete mess and even i still don't know the proper order of what happened to him (i'm pretty sure i did all his quests save for the amalgam arc in reverse). almost all of the early quests are based on retired events/operations and new players aren't even given background summaries explaining them. vor's prize as a tutorial and story quest is HORRIBLE. so much pre-sacrifice stuff has been retconned, even lore from tsd/coh/tww

10. worst part of fanon

any ppl who thought natah/lotus deserved to die for 'betraying' the operator and were even hoping we'd have the option to kill her LMFAOOOOO y'all stupid to think they'd include that

runner up contender: THAT artist who made not-explicit-but-is-most-definitely-horny fanart of nef anyo cannibalising solaris united workers

TF2 ASKS

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

scout/sniper - i fucking hate that ship i see it everywhere and is the only tf2 ship tag i have blocked on tumblr. most basic bitch shit ever

heavy/medic - i love this ship with all my heart but its shippers need to calm the fuck down bc they think this ship is canon just bc the voice actors ship it as well. at best it's heavily implied in game but is ultimately still not canon, and shippers get so mad when you tell them that. very a much a "stop making the rest of us look bad" moment

ask game here!

#not tagging for obv reasons #my hate will simmer in silence on my cursed blog

[mandolovian]

hi BESTIE can i get a uhhhh "let me take care of you for once" with my wife ms fennec,,, please and thank u

lee i love u with all four chambers of my heart

prompt from this post, feel free to send me requests if you'd like! fennec x gn!reader, a few injuries / blood but otherwise soft

Fennec was hardly ever accessible to anyone but you. She was the tendrils that wrapped around your wrists, tugging them closer to her mouth so she could kiss the skin overlying your pulse, and then the apples of your cheeks, before leaving at first light. In the dregs of the morning, she would sit at the edge of your mattress, weaving a brush through her hair, detangling it gently. When she would reach back to begin her braid, her shirt would rise up against her stomach, and who were you to resist pressing your lips against the soft skin there?

And then she’d leave.

This evening, Fennec had come home with her arm held at an odd angle, her hair loose of its braid and crusted with blood at her temples. Injuries were routine, and it wasn’t uncommon for Fennec to come home with various scrapes, but most were dealt with outside of your home. She would fall into your arms with fresh bandages from a medcenter downtown, a little sedated by a bacta shot.

Not today. She hadn’t bothered with the medcenter.

She avoided your gaze, trying to bypass you for the refresher, but you stood stoically in front of her. You held her back with a hand on her hip, your other hand cupping her jaw. She turned her head into your palm, and you thumbed at the dirt on her skin.

‘You have to let me take care of you,’ you whispered, your voice a wisp of air in the dark room. ‘Let me take care of you for once.’

You stripped Fennec of her layers, cutting the fabric of her left sleeve when you realised that she couldn’t extend her elbow without biting her lip so hard that you worried for her skin. With some difficulty, she sat cross legged in your bath, and you scrubbed away at the grime and blood with a small washcloth. There was bruising around her neck and a cut on her temple, and while you washed and dressed them, Fennec explained that her helmet was knocked off in the confrontation. You helped her gingerly rise from the bath, dried and dressed the rest of her wounds in small patches of gauze.

Once you had systematically switched off all the lights in your house, all that was left was Fennec, who sitting on the edge of your bed, looking a little ashen and a little forlorn. You had wrapped her injured arm in a sling and an old shirt of yours was buttoned around the sling. She beckoned you over and tilted her face to yours, and you pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, her cheek, and then her lips.

‘Do you want me to brush your hair?’

‘Yes please.’

You climbed up to sit against the headboard, and nudged Fennec to sit between your legs. You reached for a bottle of hair oil from your bedside table, and raked it through Fennec's hair, gently, quietly. You held this moment in the palm of your hand, the tenderness curling through the air like clouds of sugar, and Fennec’s weight grew heavy against your chest. Slowly, you twisted together her hair to a neat braid, pulled away from the nape of her neck and down her side.

After a while you leaned onto your pillows and Fennec came down with you, and you rearranged yourself under the covers to avoid jostling her injured arm.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed, and the words hung in the air between you.

‘Anytime,’ you said, kissing her brow. ‘Anytime.’

#fjofireoksdjklfl i love h e r #fennec #fennec shand #fennec x reader #fennec shand x reader #fennec shand fanfic #star wars fic #star wars #the book of boba fett #the mandalorian #my writing #request #the mandalorian x reader #dev talks #mando #din djarin #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian blurb #din djarin blurb #fluff #mywriting #blurb

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on Tomura’s dick #and his trauma #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #reader insert

[bakugohoex]

bakugou !! with a reader that beats him in the sports festival and takes first place and all his friends laugh at him for losing to a girl and he's all like "i let her win!!>:((" but then she confronts him bc she's annoyed he Still hasn't acknowledged her as a potentially amazing future pro hero and u can make up thereee

“how am i supposed to protect everybody if i can’t even protect you.”

pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader

cw: fluff, langauge, kissing

word count: 1500+

a/n: hii, sorry this might have taken a while been busy per usual, hope you liked this and per usual i always make them get together in the end because i’m sap with no boyfriend

summary: in which you and bakugo are the ones to go against each other in the final of the sports festival and after you win, he makes it seem like he let you win, after confronting him he finally gives you what you wanted.

↞ back to my hero academia masterlist

The good old UA sports festival, an easy win for the boy who had told the entire arena he would win.

He had such high expectations for himself.

That’s until you came around.

He hated your quirk with a burning passion.

He hated how you could easily get past him and find his faults.

Worst of all he hated the smug look you had every time you won against him.

He was supposed to be the strongest.

Not you.

So when the final fight occurs between you and the spiky blond.

He was pissed.

He saw how you won against Todoroki with ease and the smirk you had then would never amount to the smirk that you would have crushing him.

“You ready to lose, Bakugo.” He hated the way you had such malice in your voice.

He wanted to punch it right from your pretty little mouth.

Maybe he did admire your quirk and the hatred was a mask.

But that smug look you gave him angered him to the boiling point.

With ease you used your quirk to move past him dodging his hits, he knew you weren’t trying, weren’t bothering.

He even swore he saw you checking your nails and then he saw it.

The yellow bright wisps tangling between your fingers, it almost matched his own explosions that you dodged.

And then you hit him, punching him in the gut.

He didn’t even realise how far you’d gotten to him, a close proximity.

And now that you were using your quirk properly, he resented it.

That one punch made him lose the air in his lungs, one touch was all you needed, and you could control his muscular body.

He always tried to not get close to you, tried to keep a distance.

But you’d evaded his attacks by slicking back side to side past his aim.

He was slow, no. He wasn’t you were just too perceptive, having a quirk that made you touch anything and control it had other perks.

Your ability to control your surroundings just with one gaze up and down.

You knew where his explosions would go.

“I think you’ve lost.” You were smirking as you hummed.

He felt disgraced at how easily you controlled his limbs to move out of the area.

He hated how you had won and there was destruction around you, but you weren’t scratched.

Most of all he hated that you were better than him, that you’d protect them all and that was his job.

You defiantly gloated a bit but once you got the medal and an angry Bakugo stood beside you, you felt bad.

Being the sweetie you are you followed him out to tell him he did good.

But that’s when you heard it.

“I can’t believe you lost to a girl again.” Denki laughed out, Kirishima tried to not say anything sympathising with Bakugo.

Hell, he had fought against you and lost himself due to needing contact as well. Denki the only one scared of you had never dared to partner up with you, but it hit a nerve for Bakugo.

He was angry, pissed even, how could he be a hero if he had lost. How could he protect yo...everybody if he lost against your quirk. The acknowledgement that you had a better quirk, were more perceptive, kinder to civilians. How could he ever beat that, and how could he stop thinking about you and that damn quirk.

“I let her win.” Your eyes widened at the comment and anger boiled over you.

“Bako...” Kirishima was about to speak but you stormed out from your hiding spot.

“You let me what?” You shouted it, he noticed the yellow wisps surround your fingers and Denki and Kirishima were scared to say the least.

Kirishima grabbed Denki’s sleeve, “that’s our cue to leave.”

They walked away and with your brows furrowed and a sneer on your lip you were pissed. “Didn’t you hear me?” He mocked. “I. Let. You. Win.”

You were ready to punch him, make his bones break under your command. But you saw after how he looked down not meeting your gaze.

“Bakugo, i came here to say how you did good, just fucking accept i won and stop acting like a dick.” You had started calm, the yellow disappearing but by the end you became pissed once again.

He didn’t meet your gaze, staring at how your fingers looked rough and calloused, he knew you’d go straight into your bag and get the hand cream that smelled of cherries. He always noticed the smell, cherries or mangos, whatever it was it made him shudder.

Looking up at how your UA jacket was unzipped the black tank top encasing your chest, he noticed your heavy breath at hoe your breasts fell up and down with your breathing. Your neck had a scratch across it, maybe one of his hits did get you.

He finally looked up to your face, the scowl on your face waiting for him to speak. He was ready to say something, but he noticed how plump your lips were. How even thought they were dry they looked ever so delectable

“Bakugo.” You repeated his name, but he was in a daze thinking of you.

He often did this around you, just stared and dazed out thinking about each of your features. It wasn’t because he liked you or anything, he just wanted to get a feel for your weaknesses of course. That’s what he would tell himself every night even though it was a blatant lie.

Hell, even the class had caught on. He would sometimes just stop talking when you walked into a room, and when Sero or Kirishima would ask about it. He would say you was scoping out the enemy, it was a lie, and they all knew it.

You were oblivious and whilst tapping your foot you waited crossed arm for an answer. “I...i...” He was stuck taking in a sharp breath he tried to speak.

The only thing that came into your head was to do something that you never wanted to do. You moved your calloused hand to his face; you felt his want cheek cup against your palm, and you activated your quirk.

“Tell me the truth Bakugo, why did you lie?” He hated how you used your quirk on him but even then, it was a relief that whatever he would say would be what he believed to be the truth and that was that it was a blow to his ego.

That’s all he had wanted to say but the real truth had come out, “how am i supposed to protect everybody if i can’t even protect you.”

Your eyes widened at the comment, letting go of his face. His eyes turned wide, and ears reddened, “w...what?”

This time you were breathless, and you waited for an answer, you turned your quirk off scared to hear anymore.

“I didn’t mean that i don’t care about protecting you, you...you mean fucking nothing to me.” It was all a lie, and you knew it was, his scarlet eyes told no truths.

“That’s not what you said before.” You tried to surprise a snicker to not make the situation worse, but his eyes looked full of regret now.

He took another sharp breathe before finally deciding to confess, “i meant what i said, if i can’t protect you and you’re always protecting me how can i save everybody, how can i be the one who will save you?”

“Bakugo, I don’t need saving or protecting, I want us to be equal and protect each other.” He shakes his head folding his arms.

“You don’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then show me what you’re trying to say.” He thought about your words.

You wanted him to show you, so that was what he’d do. “I’ll fucking show you then.” He grabbed your face, his lips on yours, the long-awaited kiss that had been brewing between you two. It felt real, more real than both your dreams of this moment.

You always acknowledged your feelings, you weren’t an ass just to anybody, only him. You gave the same energy back to make him fall for you, but he saw past your comments and saw your kindness to others. A stark contrast, how you adored wanting to be a hero and most of all how you stuck by your aims through to the end.

His hands caressed your cheek, even with the teeth on teeth, lips on lips, it felt softer but in reality, a mess. You both had craved each other too much, all the pent-up anger from losing against you and the comment Bakugo had made, had made the kiss become lustful and full of sin.

He didn’t care who saw, he didn’t care anymore, you would become an amazing hero and he would as well. But you both would stay by each other’s side till the very end. You would protect him, and he would always protect you. 

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @ukaisgratefulwhore @answer-the-sirens

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo headcanons #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou headcanons #bakugo x reader #mha bakugo x reader #mha katsuki #mha katsuki bakugo #mha katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero headcanons #bakugo headcanons #bnha bakugou #bnha headcanons #bnha #bnha katsuki #bnha katsuki bakugo #bnha katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugohoex #headcanon

[blossom-hwa]

hello~ this is random but i personally associate minho with the colour white. So could u write a minho + white drabble? happy 4 year anniversary to u btw ^^

of course I can! thank you for the request <3 I hope you enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

Reminder: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

~

Title: Under the Snow, I'll Say Goodbye

Pairing: Minho x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 615

Triggers: implied death

~

Snow falls soft, gentle on the ground as Minho trudges across the dirt, head bowed under the cold sun. It sparkles like a gem in the sky, but the rays offer no heat to soothe the chill.

It seems that with you gone, all of the warmth in the world has faded away, too.

The procession follows quietly behind him, only the soft sound of footfalls on the snow and the occasional sniffle filling the silence. Minho leads them all, the widower of the body held in the coffin that he supports, along with three servants with whom you were close.

It's easy, almost too easy to lift the wooden box that holds the shell of who you used to be. The box itself must weigh more than your body does - Minho remembers those last few horrible weeks when you couldn't eat, couldn't drink for fear of it coming back up, when your body was wasting away and there was nothing he could do about it.

When you married, your vows spoke of love, of support, of protection. Minho swore to them.

Yet in your time of need, he was powerless in the face of your pain. A failure of a husband. A failure.

Only when the servant in front of him stops does Minho realize it's time to halt his steps. Snow swirls in the air, drifting into the hole already dug in the ground. He helped dig it, thrust the shovel into the cold dirt over and over until blisters burst all over his fingers, but even that pain couldn't compare to the tears in his eyes as he watched the grave grow deeper, deeper, under the pounding of his shovel.

At the time, digging your grave, Minho didn't think he could've felt worse. But now, staring at the hole with his blistered hands covered in bandages, he realizes he was naive.

Letting you go hurts more than anything he's ever done.

His white robes flutter in the air, bleak, colorless, fading into the falling snow. In the coffin, you're dressed in white, too - but for purity, for innocence, for devotion. Minho wears white for mourning. You wear white for passage.

With all his heart, Minho prays that wherever the white of your robes takes you, you will find more happiness than you did on this plane.

Slowly, slowly, Minho lowers the coffin into the ground. He mechanically takes the shovel and spreads dirt back over the box. Someone appears with a makeshift tombstone - the true one will replace it in two weeks, when the official mourning period is over - and Minho allows them to place it at the head of your grave, to mark the death of someone who should never have passed so early or so young.

Snow swirls from the sky. Minho looks up at it, barely flinching as flakes fall on his face, and once again asks the heavens, the pure white heavens, why did you have to be the one to go?

And once again, the pure white heavens do not answer for him. Perhaps because they realize the injustice of their crime.

Minho doesn't care that the mourners watch as he steps forward and kneels on the cold dirt of your grave. He doesn't care that they watch his fingers reach out to touch the white tombstone. He doesn't care that they watch, that the trees watch, that the heavens watch as he closes his eyes and bows his head forward to mourn you once more, a life taken too early by the white winter and the ivory heavens.

"Goodbye," he whispers.

His farewell fades into the snow, wisping away on the wind.

#districtninewriters #destinyversenet #kpopscape #stray kids #skz #lee minho #lee know #stray kids minho #stray kids lee know #stray kids minho scenarios #stray kids lee know scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #drabble #angst #tw death #historical!au #under the snow I'll say goodbye #4 year anniversary drabble game #lina answers #anon #scriptura delirus

[ink-the-artist]

Ohhhh how is all of your art so beautiful!!!😻 I saw your very posable borzoi and wondered how you did the wire frame? I want to try out needle felting something very posable too :o thanks for sharing your art with us ❤

aw thank u! I keep forgetting to make a post where I show the step-by-step progress of making my needle felt yarn creatures with pics of each step 😅however I do already have some pics f showing the process for the borzoi I made for @laura-c-gee as I sent her occasional update pics! 

the wire frame is not very complex lol, it’s just a base for me to wrap yarn around and happens to let the borzoi be positioned as well, I've started using thicker wire more recently so that the animals can hold their pose better especially if they’re bigger

I wrap it with cheaper white yarn that i buy in bulk to create the shape I’ll be basing everything else on and THEN wrap that with the same yarn I’ll be felting onto the base, so that if I miss any spots they won’t stand out the way the white yarn would (I could use the outer yarn for the whole thing it’s just more wasteful since I have less of it than the plain white yarn and it’s more expensive)

First thing I felt is the legs, face, and ears, because they are going to be layered beneath the yarn fur. I felted just white wool here (no yarn) because the fur on those parts is short and because I need to give the face a more detailed shape

(closeup of the face, also showing what I mean by the wool letting me go more into detail than the yarn would)

then I start felting on the yarn fur! I go by layers, so I’m starting with the bottom-most layer of the belly and underside of the tail. For the first layer of the tail I just tied the yarn in knots without actually felting it

The rest of the layers on the tail were felted on over the knots, I also start to felt on the hind legs and sides, layering outward. I also add the wisps of fur around the ears and face at the end of the process.

one side is done. I only started felting fur on the front leg after the fur on the side and back was done because the feathering effect meant the fur on the front legs would layer over the fur on the sides rather than under it, like on the hind legs.

flip to the other side, repeat

and done! I trim the fur to the right length and shape after finishing each side to give the zoi form and trim off any fuzz sticking out, especially on the areas of felted wool like the face and legs.

hope that makes sense lol, it varies depending on the creature but it mostly comes down to creating a base shape with wire and wool and layering yarn according to however the animal’s fur should look

#you can see my skinned furby in the background also as a bonus #salbeitraeume

[giorno-plays-piano]

Impersonator

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, death of minor character.

Words: 1953.

Summary: Meeting a cosplayer in Berlin isn’t a big deal, really. You don’t actually know why you are drawn to this guy in his stunning horned helmet, standing on the train with a seidr in his hand.

P.S. I own the plot of this story to amazing @caffiend-queen​ and my determination to write it to lovely @kinathewolf​ <3 Although I changed the story a little (this post made us discuss the idea), I hope you will like it!

_____________________

Waking up when it was barely six, you kept yawning and rubbing your eyes while sitting on the train. You worked for one of the thousands of start-ups in Berlin, and your boss always liked to start pretty early. Well, despite waking up when it was still dark, you didn’t mind, really – the U-Bahn was much less busy now than thirty minutes later, and you didn’t have to stand the whole way to your station.

Today was a bit different, though. Not that there were too many people, but that one guy with his horned helmet looked so fantastic you simply couldn’t take your eyes off him. He had entered on the Bismarckstraße station, and since then you had been staring at him shamelessly. He was the spitting image of Loki, that god from Asgard, the one who had been released by Avengers not so long ago for his aid in protection of Earth from an invading alien force. Now Loki had his own fan club, and this guy was probably one of the squad. Seeing him in a full suit wasn’t surprising either – tomorrow was the first day of Comic Con, so he was probably going for a cosplay catwalk rehearsal before the event.

No one was really paying attention to him as he stood silently near the door with his seidr, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Come on, he was probably the most handsome guy you had seen in years, not even mentioning his gorgeous costume. Although you had never been Loki’s fan – for God’s sake, you still remembered that day in Stuttgart – this guy’s passion for cosplay was admirable.

When you reached Wittenbergplatz, a group of cheerful tourists entered the train, and the guy had to move further, taking a place close to yours. Of course, you still stared at him in awe, and he quickly noticed you. His piercing gaze finally made you realize it was unacceptable to gawk at someone like this, and you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks growing hot. The cosplayer chuckled at your reaction.

“I’m so sorry!” You muttered, clenching the fabric of your jacket. “I just- ugh, I mean, your cosplay is stunning!” Now that you said it, you were just too humiliated to add anything. Why couldn’t you be like all other people who didn’t harass the poor guy with them staring? Of course, no one would be comfortable with some creepy girl watching over them.

But the guy didn’t look worried or embarrassed even the slightest bit. When you saw his face, you realized he was amused as he looked at you with a grin on his face. Now you even felt a little scared because there was something animalistic in his gaze.

“Thank you. I was spending day and night crafting this costume.” He was smiling, and you realized he was probably playing the role of Loki now.

Oh damn, of course. Being a cosplayer meant not only wearing a costume of your character but being this character, behaving like them, speaking like them, sometimes even moving like them. This guy was doing exactly this, and, to be honest, he was really good at acting since for a minute you believed he wasn’t just a mere human.

“I’m sure you will be the winner of the contest this year.” You smiled shyly at him, still embarrassed at your behaviour earlier, and the guy laughed at you a little. God, you felt so terribly awkward.

“Thank you. If my brother won’t show up, I’m sure I’ll have a chance.” For a second you thought there was something bittersweet in his eyes, but then it was gone, and the cosplay rose to his feet, shining in the electric light of the subway. “This is my stop. Have a good day, my lady.”

Of course, you barely nodded at him, felling like you’re gonna explode from the way he called you and how the guy bowed his head a bit at you as if you truly were some Asgardian goddess. Minutes later you would curse yourself for being so stupid to not even ask his cosplayer’s nickname – how on Earth were you going to find his profile on Facebook now? Since you were in the middle of a new marketing campaign, your boss would never let you leave tomorrow to visit Comic Con, and that was your only chance to ever see that amazing guy again.

Ugh, living with that useless brain of yours was quite a challenge.

You had already bid farewell to the cosplayer since you knew meeting him by chance again in a city as big as Berlin was impossible – especially if without his costume and wig and makeup the guy would be unrecognizable. The next evening you were sitting in the train just like all other evenings when you were coming late from work, a bag with a chicken sub in your hands along with an already cold cup of tea. You sighed, thinking of Comic Con and all the fun people were having there. Damn, next year you would definitely take a short vacation to finally visit the convention. Maybe you would have a chance to meet that mysterious guy again.

“It smells nice.”

You immediately raised your head, staring at the cold blue eyes of the guy you met yesterday’s morning. He was still wearing his horned helmet and shining golden armor, the Scepter in his hand. He sat close to you again, and you suddenly found the courage to smile at him widely. God, it was happening. He was really here, with you.

Was he coming back from Comic Con? You thought they finished way later, but maybe he was just tired to spend the whole day in this outfit – you could imagine how heavy it was – and left earlier. You couldn’t blame him, thinking of how many people probably wanted to take a photo of him during the day, too, and it was definitely tiresome as hell to pose in front of tons of people for hours.

“Would you like some?” You handed him your paper bag. “It’s a sub with chicken. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Ah, it’s a very generous offer. It would be rude of me to decline it.” His smile sent chills down your spine, but you reminded yourself he was still playing his role. Anyway, what could he do? Follow you to your apartment in this outfit? Seriously? He would be stuck in the hallway with those horns of his.

You watched like the Loki-guy took a half of your sub and returned the other half to you, then taking a bite and chewing slowly. To your delight, he nodded, telling you he liked it without words, and you chuckled at him. Now he looked almost cute with his puffed cheeks as he kept biting more and more. Apparently, the sub wasn’t bad, and you dug in it enthusiastically, caring little for a few other passengers. No one was looking at you two, anyway.

Halfway through finishing his part, the guy stared questioningly at your paper cup of tea, and you smiled at him with confusion.

“You can have it, too, but it’s already cold, sorry.”

Now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Did he think it was funny? Was it because he thought real Loki would find it funny? You were too confused but decided not to ask. You looked silly enough yesterday when you were gaping at him with wide eyes. No more of this today! You couldn’t blow it if you wanted to ever see the guy again.

“It’s quite alright. Let me help you.” He carefully lowered his seidr so it touched your cup, and in the next moment you saw a soft blue glowing surrounding it. It was coming directly from the Scepter, and you literally opened your mouth while staring at it wide-eyed. Wait, did this guy put something inside the seidr? Like, a light bulb or something? God, it was beyond your imagination!

But before you started throwing questions at him, you suddenly saw a wisp of steam coming from your tea and felt how the cup grew hot in your hand. Oh shoot, it definitely wasn’t just some light bulb! His Scepter was a real machine!

You probably looked like a little kid, your eyes shining and jaw dropped at the sight of something that looked like a miracle to you, and Loki-guy chuckled softly. He was seemingly content with your reaction as you even sniffed your tea a little bit to feel it really was hot again. But when you brought the cup to him, thinking he wanted to drink, he gently refused it.

“Thank you, but you have already given me enough.” His smile was much softer, and your cheeks grew hot again at his kindness, though it was you who shared your food with him. Strangely, it was like this stranger had some effect on you, and you smiled back at him, lowering your head to have a sip of tea.

However, the next moment the guy furrowed his brows, looking somewhere behind you, and you saw him lifting his seidr again, pointing at something behind your back. You missed his concerned gaze, but not noticing the blinding light coming from the Scepter was absolutely impossible – for a second you almost lost your eyesight, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching the paper cup in your hand. What was that?! But before you got truly scared, the light had disappeared, and all you saw was that Loki-guy sitting close to you with a piece of chicken sub wrapped in a napkin in his hand. His Scepter looked the same as before, no blue glowing coming from it. Wait, you didn’t imagine this blinding light, did you? It was here just a second ago!

As you tried to turn back to see what was happening, the stranger suddenly stopped you, his warm hand on your shoulder as he leaned closer to you, smiling, “Your tea is going to be cold again.”

“Yes, b-but-“ You gawked at him and then stared at his seidr, unsure what to say. “I-I mean, have you seen that light? Did it come from this thing?”

You heard someone behind you letting out a sudden scream and smelled metal and plastic melting. It was disturbing enough as it was, but then you realized you smelled the burning flesh searing from someone’s bones.

The Scepter. The guy’s resemblance to the Asgardian God of mischief. Shit.

Before you tried turning again to see what was left of the seats behind you, Loki’s grip on your shoulder became painfully strong. You watched him leaning even closer to you in slow motion, the world around you slowing down as the man whispered to you in a dangerously low voice, “Don’t look back. You don’t want to see what is left of that creepy man who was staring at you all the time, do you, dear?”

Frozen on the spot, you barely nodded, your eyes not leaving Loki’s pale face as he smiled, letting go of your shoulder and touching your arm surprisingly gently instead. You heard the sounds of crying and whining, people around you scattering to the different part of the car to be as far as possible from a man in the horned helmet. But you just couldn’t move from your place, glued to your seat, an Asgardian God looming over you.

“I am grateful for you sharing your meal with me. I’d like to thank you properly,” he said softly, and you swallowed your tongue instead of letting out a loud scream. “Let’s leave on the next station. I know a few nice places in Mitte.”

___________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint​ @heeeyitskay​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #dark loki #dark loki x reader #yandere #loki of asgard

[thatoneao3writer]

We are a group of beings that, while (mostly) powerless individually, have the collective power to warp reality with our words, so long as our ideas are approved by our leader, the mighty Timb.

Also, headcanon for how we look; non-anons have a fully solid, though sometimes strange or constantly shifting, appearance. Anons that have identified themselves with an emoji or nickname (like me!) have a humanoid ghost-like appearance (think like that one doctor who episode where everyone thinks the ghosts of the dead have come back, but actually it’s the cybermen pushing through from another dimension) with a few defining features related to the identifying nickname/emoji. Anons w/o an identifying nickname/emoji are little will ‘o the wisp looking sprite things that float around and occasionally say something b4 vanishing again.

-🤺

PS, you accidentally tagged the post w/ my ask abt how the Crimson might manipulate Bad “teen titan au” instead of “teen titans au,” so now it doesn’t show up when I search “teen titans au” on ur blog. Just thought I’d let u know so it doesn’t get lost.

hwisbjsis canon!! I love it Fencer ><

Also, thanks fpr telling me! :D

#askers hq #ask #fencer anon #ttau

[kkoalaworld]

a/n 🐨: @akasgisrightsactivist i wanted to wait for u to reply to my stupid ask before posting this but guess who got impatient 🤧 happy birthday to you! thank you so damn much for your life advices and countless encouragement, like I seriously would not have made it so far without your pep talks and help! love you lots, and I hope you enjoy this story plot I thought of and has been a wip ever since after my birthday 😎🤞

This fic is inspired by Shaun Gibson’s ‘If I Stay’ on YouTube!! (Ele i love you, i really do, but the song is too good not to write angst)

Akaashi art on the right is by @corpsentry​!! do check them out! :)

word count: 1333

warnings: angst + happy ending!

But if I stay, would you kiss me in the summer rain?

Vibrant cherry blossoms graced the sky like falling snowflakes. A lone figure sat on the rosewood bench watching spring’s gift unfold before as blue, alert eyes darted around the sea of pink.

“Hey!”

The raven boy’s thick brows furrowed ever so slightly on his forehead as he looked at the person before him. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“I’m your significant other five years later.” You announced, taking a seat beside him.

Akaashi nodded as he looked on the polished stone floor beneath him, the slim ray of light was playing hide-and-seek with it as the trees’ elongated hands danced in the wind.

“You aren’t very surprised, are you?”

Akaashi looked up at you and shrugged, “It’s just time traveling.”

A peaceful silence filled both of you as you folded your arms and placed it at the back of your head.

The sky, the air around, everything was the same, peaceful shade of pink when you first saw him. The pink was so sweet that it almost seemed reachable.

And suddenly, he was the same boy with the white turtleneck sweater who had offered you a piece of tissue after witnessing the comical sight of your choked tears.

That simple act had unknowingly tangled himself to you, like the cherry vines that twirled around its thick bark.

“So why are you here?” You turned over to see those familiar blue orbs staring back at you, the same, calm and almost peaceful serenity that seemed to tame any burning wrath.

A small smile etched onto your face as you took in the features of the boy before you. His dark curls, sharp nose, and thin lips.

“I want to take a good look at you.”

Akaashi’s nose scrunched a little as he shifted away. The glowing sun in the azure sky silently presented itself, intimately carving out both of your shadows.

“Can’t you look at me in the future?”

“No,” you let out a long, woeful sigh, trying your best to brush away the pang in your heart. “You left.”

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as the scene flashed before your eyes. His love for you was packed away with his belongings in a big black suitcase. It was gone, out of the house in minutes, and away into the quiet night.

“I just-” You hesitated with your words. “I just feel a little resigned… you know?”

Akaashi nodded ruefully. A wisp of cool air brushed across his cheeks as he lay his head low in pensive thought.

Familiar silence filled the air as strikes of orange began to litter the sky. Many pairs of couples who were enjoying the scenery had left amid your solemn thoughts, leaving only both of you left in the crisp spring evening.

"Is it my fault?" He questioned quietly, every word rolling out of his tongue elegantly into the echoey surroundings.

"It's our fault."

Akaashi nodded slowly, as something intangible seemed to bother him. "How long will we be together?"

"Four years, three months, and twelve days." Your lips moved on its own even before your brain could process his question. "You picked me up when I was feeling my lowest in life.”

Akaashi’s enchanting eyes were now void of tranquility and poise, but instead, filled with gentle turbulence of some sort. "Were we happy together?"

“We shared an apartment and had a fair share of happy moments. Preparing meals in the kitchen together, watching movies, and more. I don’t remember all the nitty-gritty details but we made many amazing memories.” You paused, “at least I did.”

I’ve loved you without regret since the day we met.

It almost seemed as if nothing changed. He was still him and you were still you.

But deep down in your very own subconscious, you knew it will never be the same again.

In the blink of an eye, you would go back to where it was supposed to be and looked ever so fondly at the framed prints with your blurred vision.

Then there would be the sound of breaking glass, and the warm scent of him lingering around, refusing to leave.

Then, the sight greeting you the next day would be pieces of torn photos and cans of alcohol strewn across the cold marble floor. Everything happened so many times you remember the number of days before he would disappear before you again.

Four years, three months, and twelve days.

“How did we…”

“We would fight over the most trivial of things, and then reconcile. It repeats until we burn out.” You met Akaashi’s orbs as your nose turned sour involuntarily. “And then you left.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“Me either,” Akaashi watched you as your shoulders slumped slightly, that same forlorn smile on your lips. “But some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t worry, I will stay. ” The determined look in Akaashi’s eyes almost tricked you into believing that there was a slim chance, a faint one that made itself visible in front of you.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t trust me?” He shifted his gaze from the falling petals, looking at you from his peripheral vision.

“It’s not a matter of trust.”

Akaashi turned over and grabbed your shoulders, making you witness the ardent determination in his eyes. “I can prove it.”

“You won’t,” brushing off his hands on your shoulders, you shifted again as your gaze landed on the crushed petals of cherry blossom on the floor. “Because I’m still here.”

“And so?” He challenged, ready to prove you wrong.

Standing up from your seat, you felt emotions surge through every cell of your body. “Don’t you understand? If you did stay, I wouldn’t be here!”

And suddenly, everything around you seemed irrelevant and all that’s on your mind was the fact that things would never change.

He would still leave you.

“Really?” Akaashi rose from his seat, his voice an octave lower than usual. He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his shorts as he hovered over you.

You swallowed hard at his sudden question. “Have you ever wondered why I left?”

Silence crept in once again like how oxygen would flow into an air-tight room. It almost left you breathless at the tip of your throat as you struggled to breathe.

The reason he left you was that both of you had enough, right?

“Here.”

A soft soothing voice entered your ears like the melody of a music piece made you feel at ease. It was fluent, gentle, and reassuring.

“That’s me five years ago.” Akaashi pointed behind you.

There stood the boy with the white turtleneck; he had a piece of tissue in his hand as he extended out his arms to offer it.

A strong gust of wind rustled the branches and tinted the flowers with drips of orange and gold. Akaashi glanced at your figure, as a lone petal found its way onto your head.

He lifted his arm and reached out to brush it off.

The sudden contact and fondness had caught you off guard. His long slender fingers gently brushing against the roots of your hair left you craving for more.

Akaashi stood beside you as he traced your gaze back to the boy in a white turtleneck and the sobbing mess beside him.

His left hand snaked its way down your right arm and intertwined your fingers with his.

With a soft tug, Akaashi began to pull you away gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s go home.”

Everything happened in a blur, it seemed like a dream.

A wonderful dream.

The only thing keeping you in check with reality was the soothing warmth radiating from his calloused palm and the gentle rubs on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“We don’t need to change the past if I stay.”

If I stay, would you let me hold you in my arms and later take a walk beneath the stars?

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi angst #hq #haikyuu: to the top #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack #haikyuu angst #haikyū!! #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi haikyuu #poor akaashi #akaashi hcs #akaashi oneshot #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #keiji akaashi #akaashi keiji x gn reader #x reader #koala’s games 🕹

[clickbait-official]

appreciation post <3

for my followers <3 love y'all (no romo)

@bookindlysblog

- i like your headcanons.,., like so much?

- (what's your secret babe how do you do it?)

- your profile pic is really cute wtf

@nerd-lord-ultra

- first of all

- your url is amazing

- i love your banner pic!

- also ur profile pic is exquisite

- <3

@krxss01

- i reblog so much shit from you wtf

- so thank you for free content

- (also i love ur content ily babe <3)

-(no romo tho)

@variouswing35

- there's-there's nothing there

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- love your banner btw

@hmmmlurkacc

- i follow you!!!1

- the yellow on ur blog is actually such a. nice color??

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@miraalbutt

- your!! banner!!!

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- i love it

-thank you for blessing me

@greek-mythographer

- you write!!! like me!!!

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@white--girl

- oh!!! everything on ur blog just matches?!!

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- (explain, stranger.)

@starslover

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-love ur banner tho ! :)

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@draco-malfoys-significant-other

- ur the one that liked my draco headcanon!!

- i remember that!!

- when people leave notes, it makes me happy :D

@ravenclaw-hamilfan

- hi!!!

- ur pretty close to my age!!

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@frys-the-cat

- unlike you, i do not have corporeal form!!!

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- also your banner pic is amazing :D

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- ily so much!!!!

- <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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@that1fanficwriter

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@animegirl435

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@kurootaku06

- i still can't tag you :(

@letskidnapsenpai

- i too, am a multifandom blog

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@tea-withdraco

- ah, harry potter

- one of my favorite books

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@haveiturnedintoaflowerfairy

- omg an aesthetic blog??

- that follows me????

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- good luck with your studies babe!!!

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- i also have no idea what i'm doing with my life

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[bluupxels]

Check In Tag ✔️

thanks for tagging me kit @simmancy !! and i tag anyone who wants to do this that hasn't gotten tagged yet!

Why did you choose your URL?

my favorite color is blue and i like the word pixels, i spelled it like that bc im quirky 🤪

Any side blogs? If you have them name them and why you have them?

@bluupxels2ccfinds, @bluupxels3ccfinds, @bluupxelsccfinds are all my cc finds blogs, i have them for me really just so i can keep track of things. i also have a “secret” blog @s4towniemakeovers, that i made bc i just really love townie makeovers and wanted a place to be able to look at them all, its not super active as of now but its fun. @dbdccrecs​ is kinda my baby i love setting up themes and pages so i did all of that for it. its just a cc finds for our server DBD but im so behind on reblogging stuff rip

How long have you been on tumblr?

since 2011...... on simblr since 2012... [ben affleck smoking.jpg]

Do you have a queue tag?

i think i used to? i never really found having a tag for queues specifically to be very useful for me so i dont anymore. but i have always enjoyed when other people have fun queue tags hehe they make me smile

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

blogger’s glory days were coming to an end and i saw people there migrating to tumblr so i was like hey let me try! and im still here almost 10 years later... 😰

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

i love rats irl but also ts3′s small animals are still one of my favorite features(?) in any sims game ever. atm it’s wearing a cowboy hat in preparation for cottage living which i refer to in my mind as country living bc farm = country

Why did you choose your header?

i guess its kinda like a cast list for my blog? the 2 saves i have that i consider active are the eclairs and wisps so i have the heirs of the current gen im on in each. i dont remember why i started putting my animal crossing simself in the header but i did so there’s also my island rep skdjskd i used to have the founders/heirs from my old saves too but some of those saves might never come back (or start) so i took them out but now it looks empty :/ 

What’s your post with the most notes?

this stupid fucking thank u next meme

How many mutuals do you have?

is there a way to check that? idk

How many followers do you have?

i actually hit 2.1k somewhat recently! 

How many people do you follow?

324 but my dash has been a little slow for a bit so ive been trying to follow more

Have you ever made a shitpost?

im litrally the human embodiment of a shitpost

How often do you use tumblr each day?

it really depends on how im feeling bc ill go through periods of spending the majority of my free time on tumblr in some way (this is kinda how ive been lately) but then i could go days without checking it at all

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) i win every argument i get into, im an aries sun/cancer moon its who i am

How do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

i have all those phrases blacklisted actually 😀 1 bc i hate being told what to do, 2 it always seems performative

Do you like tag games?

yes!! i love talking about myself and the challenge ones are always fun even if i never end up doing them rip minor sim challenge

Do you like ask games?

see: above; but also i love talking about my sims bc i think about them a lot and all their lore ig doesnt always make it on here. i have a bad habit of “i’ll save this for later” and then i never get back to it 😅

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

babes i screamed when these happened....

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

bestie vibes only!!

#tag game #text post #nonsims

[spaceoperajay]

I Bet on Losing Dogs

Maxwell dies of old age.

Read below the cut or on ao3.

A/N: this takes place in an AU (its not really alternate? it doesnt conflict with canon at time of writing) where wilson does magicscience and figures out a way to free charlie, bonding w/ her in the process's many trials and errors listening recs: I Bet on Losing Dogs (thank u inky for the rec!) The Never Ending Why and thank you to to all my pals who helped give me the confidence to post the damn thing

This was by far the weirdest death he had ever had.

He'd gone out in blazes of glory, striking his dark sword into the heart of the Bearger. Most of his violent deaths had been considerably less distinguished however, having all his organs tumble out after he tripped and let his tallbird egg prize crack open. Even more deaths had been caused by poor planning, his or others. He still resented Willow for the time the arsonist asked him to get honey without mentioning the dozens of homeless furious bees awaiting nearby.

He'd never died surrounded by loved ones before, well by loved ones who weren't furiously scrambling for their own lives. Someone, usually Wilson, would just patch him up with the magically quick healing they had at their disposal. Now, all Wilson could do was inject morphine in him to numb the pain and to hold his hand. Charlie sat right beside him on their bed, slowly petting the last wisps of hair he had left.

"You always liked my hair," he croaked to her, leaning his head into her hand.

"I still like it," she said smiling, her chubby face making even more wrinkles. It gave him joy over the years every time he noticed a new one on her face. He had grown old with her.

"You're a fool."

"I'll decide that. Now rest Maxy," she told him, putting a bit more pressure in her strokes.

"Seriously Max," chided Wilson. He put on a brave face, but Maxwell knew internally he was broken at how he couldn't out-science old age. Maxwell was glad that Wilson and Charlie were much closer in age, he wouldn't leave either alone and cold. Like he'd left them both on the throne. He was the one to bring them all home, They’d told him they forgave him. But as he felt his mind fading being wrapped in oily darkness he felt just felt some primal fear that they didn't.

"Bah, I'm resting, I'm resting," he said bringing his hand back down.

On the opposite side sat his daughters. "Papa," said his daughter Eunice. Well, being biologically his was unlikely, but that conversation had been had with his children long ago. "Can't believe you're actually listening to someone for once," she joked with tears in her eyes.

"That's one miracle, now another would be for you to actually do the same."

She snorted, tears cascading down her face, "With that many miracles we'd get your stupid ticker working again."

"Appreciate the little miracles. They're far enough and few in between in this cruel world," he said sincerely.

"Yes, I will," she told him grasping his boney arm, it was nice. He couldn't feel it very well though.

"You're going to continue working at the university?"

"Yes Papa."

"Good. Invent something that puts Dad to shame."

She chuckled harshly, "I'll try my best Papa."

"Oh, you know she will," reassured Wilson.

"And Christine," his younger daughter looked up nervous, "You're doing a much better at being a parent than I ever did."

"Papa, don't say that," she almost squeaked.

"Benefit of dying, I can say what I like."

As he said that Maxwell heard a child's voice announce, "He's awake, he's awake!" and the door opened to his son Oliver and nieces entering, with the grandchildren following.

"Uncle!" shouted Abigail, she knelt beside Christine with a flourish. Oliver sat beside Wilson, with a calm brave face on.

"If you had died without me here, I would have wept Maxwell," spoke Wendy, standing at his feet, her long blond hair greying.

"Oh? How come?" he asked with a dry smile that she returned.

"So many cursed souls having prayed for it, it would be shame to miss such an exodus."

If Maxwell had the ability to chuckle, he would have, it was only made funnier by Christine's harsh admonition of Wendy. Maxwell spoke, "I hope I will not disappoint you."

"You won't, Uncle," she said, with that barely noticeable touch of sadness to her voice. But he knew it well.

It felt so easy to close his eyes and sleep and imagine a world far away. He knew this feeling, but he had some things to say before he gave in. "Oliver, you've done me proud. A man of the community and industry."

Oliver nodded, crying.

"I wish I had been half the person any three of you grew to be," he looked at Oliver saying this, it took energy to turn his head. He was so weak.

His eyes moved to his sweethearts. "Charlie...Wilson...I could not have asked for better partners in life, but I still have something to ask-"

"Max if you would just rest," Wilson started nervously, "you could get better."

Keeping her gaze on Maxwell and hand in his hair, Charlie wrapped an arm around Wilson tightly, "Maxy, I forgave you, that night behind Pete's. And I haven't regretted it yet.

"Even though I made it hard?"

"Yes, even though you did," Charlie replied softly.

Wilson spoke sadly, “Max, do you really think we haven’t forgiven you?” and then almost a whisper he said more calmly, "I forgave you a long time ago, before you even realized."

And he found himself fading before he even finished his sentence, his last recollection was him sensing Wilson squeeze his hand tighter.

---

He looked up to see a high sun, yet his bones felt frozen to the ground. He stood; driven by a fighting instinct he hadn't felt in quite some time. He examined the snowy landscape around him. Uniform pines, irregularly spread-out high tufts of grass, and a carefully-made but primitive firepit with a chest next it.

He wasn't surprised to be in hell. He just didn't think it was going to be so personalized.

He bent down to open the chest, and saw he was wearing that old pinstripe suit. He'd thrown it out years ago. But here it was. And his joints didn't ache. Inside the chest was the basic resources to start a fire and he robotically set to it. He felt no grief for being here. In a way, it was comforting.

So cold. Starting a fire from scratch took time and the gloves had on were cheaper than he was used to. He took them off for the added dexterity, he had no reason to hide his claws here. He shivered; he knew the Buddhist hell was cold. Christianity got demons right, perhaps the Buddhists had gotten hell, right? He tried to recall the variances of the different frozen hells. But his mind wandered to their travels to Siam. Charlie with her keen skill at communication had picked up some Thai and regaled them from the knowledge she'd learned from the locals. Wilson had compared with her what he'd seen in the temples he'd studied. He smiled thinking about the warm conversations by the fireside. Well, he almost had fire at least, he felt sparks on his hands as he worked.

They'd traveled the world on Higgsbury money. Wilson showed them his pretty "fiancé" Charlie to his parents who were delighted to see normalcy in Wilson, and Maxwell had been a "friend" who had just happened to tag along. Truthfully not long after Wilson regained his memories of The Constant the already married couple had a private ceremony with Wilson. Not knowing that, the Higgsbury patriarch was happy to give them money to travel the world before settling down. The scheme had worked wonderfully, he had to say. Better than most of the ones Maxwell had had in life. Wilson had many anxieties about the plan, but he forgot about all of them when they first set out on that boat, adventure and new knowledge awaiting them. Charlie had been hesitant too, but her worries fell away earlier when she saw firsthand how every awful thing Wilson had said about his family was true. Then she took part in the plan with glee. Beautiful woman had even manipulated Madame Higgsbury into arranging their stay in Japan as well.

Maxwell startled and fell to his side as a flare went off beside him. Blinking and recovering, the string leading to a flare hook on the back of the was quite obvious now that he focused. It was equally obvious that someone else was here and they wanted to know about newcomers. He should have been more aware of his surroundings. He'd gone soft. He would need backup, someone ready to help him fight, someone to keep an eye on this spot as he hid.

He reached in his pocket and felt the cold slick oil he had expected. It felt both like yesterday and a lifetime ago he'd used the stuff. Maybe it was yesterday. Had he hallucinated growing old with two people he held closest in his heart? Hallucinated his children, Wendy, and Abigail growing up? Similar cruel jokes had been tried by Them before, though it hadn't been as nearly detailed. He'd disobeyed Them, used his knowledge to free Their pawns and Their Queen. It was a possibility. But could They really imitate human emotions so well? Imitate the tender way morning light fell on Wilson's face as his eyes slowly flickered awake. Imitate the way they traded sleepy insults in their code language that meant love. Imitate how Charlie would wake up giggling at them before rolling onto Wilson and pulling Maxwell close, even when he resisted out of some need to prove she'd keep pulling him.

He had to survive to figure it out. He took the fuel into his hands and molded it like Taffy, a Taffy that stretched and grew. The oil soon saturated his talons and perhaps instantaneously, he couldn't quite tell, he felt the fuel coat his mind. He promised Charlie he wouldn't use this again, hadn't he? He put it back in his pockets. Whoever left that flare couldn't torture him anymore than he had been already. And if they could kill him?

Maxwell laughed.

He might as well wait.

---

Some hours later deep into the night, as Maxwell roasted the rabbit he had trapped, Wickerbottom and Woodie had found him. The two other survivors who had died before him.

Wickerbottom greeted him with maternal hug and a gentle smile, and he returned the warmth.

"It's about time you got here," Woodie simply said.

"A kingdom is nothing without its king, now," Maxwell replied, amazed at how young his voice sounded. And arrogant, but he was having fun being his old pinstripe suit with his old voice and his old mobility.

"Haven't changed at all, not surprised," Woodie said gruffly.

"Can't fix what is already perfect," Maxwell shrugged with flair.

Woody just grunted in response, "Well him showing up coincides with your theory."

"It seems so," Wickerbottom replied, "Maxwell, have you died on Earth?"

"Yes, and to my knowledge only we three have." He didn't have to guess what Wickerbottom's theory was.

"Were you brought straight here?"

"Yes, where else would I have gone? The-" 'devil can't have competition and God is jealous' is what he would have said had the librarian not interrupted him.

"That does put hole in my theory."

"How?" he demanded.

"I hypothesized you would be put back on the throne, from the writings Woodie found." That did beg a certain question.

"Who is on the throne? What writings?" Maxwell asked, Someone had to be on the throne, else the entire Constant would never regenerate.

"No one," answered the Canadian. "I think uhm, They wrote it." Writing from Them?

"Impossible. They are unintelligent without a sentient being to channel Their will through." Maxwell replied.

"I saw it too Max," spoke up Lucy, "dunno what to tell ya."

"What did this writing look like?" he nearly barked.

"I have it in here," Wickerbottom said unperturbed, pulling a book out of her sack.

As she searched Maxwell asked, "Do you have notes on the magical field to keep Charlie safe?" He had lost all recollection how to build it, as one did.

"No. It is impossible to build without Moonstone, so there is no point in spending resources."

"What?"

The librarian looked up, looking pained. "I am sorry, but we do not have access to any of the resources from Charlie's reign as they never were created here."

"What?" Maxwell shouted. "Why haven't you started looking at substitutes? The thulecite is made of nearly the same material, it's just attuned differently!"

"Calm it hoser, we're just trying to survive. Maybe you can use some of that dark magic to 'fix' everything again, eh?"

Maxwell had no response but a huff. He'd spent the last few hours processing his failure. He had thought himself some big damn hero. They would all get some happy years but end up right back here ultimately.

Wickerbottom handed him the open book. Glued in was a rough sketch of the nightmare language. He felt that oily darkness of Them circling his mind as he read it, immediately recognizing what it meant. He created the symbols, and he created the thing. It was how he filled this world. He'd also needed to create glyphs to represent a soul bond to this world. This was Wilson's symbol. Right under it was a collection of symbols that roughly translated to 'second king of the humans'. Just some redundancy to be safe, huh?

With this knowledge in hand, he knew They were very intentional in not giving them the resources to free Charlie. Perhaps some residual intelligence in the Grue before it and Charlie had truly separated? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

This was Their payback. Let him have his few kind decades, let him think Charlie safe from the Grue and warm in his arms, let him fall in love with Wilson and be one of the few people the scientist could look in the eyes. Then take it away. He knew he was an idiot for hoping things could be changed.

"Maxwell," Wickerbottom spoke, "We should be getting back to camp." Maxwell said few words as they headed there.

---

He dropped his pack before the throne. He took a moment to catch his breath, the journey from the ruins to the throne room was a steep slog. Although, he was getting quite used to it with all his trips down here.

He pulled out drapes he'd sewn from Beefalo fur and dyed. He'd done his best to imitate the ones they'd had at home. They were ugly, garish, and the height of pretentious modern aesthetic, but Charlie adored them. He had let her put them up with limited snark. Their guests, either fellow artists or friends of artists, adored them as well. Charlie was better at actually relating to others than him, that was for certain. They were both better than Wilson, Maxwell snickered at the memory. Guests had come over early and Charlie had gone up to Wilson's lab in her red little flapper dress, only to rush down and whisper to Maxwell she couldn't find him anywhere. Maxwell's suspicion had gone to strange movement of the drapes, and hilariously confirmed. By some strange rationalization, Wilson had ended up hiding behind the drapes, too awkward to interact with the others. There were too many trembles in the scientist's voice as he explained for Maxwell to reveal Wilson callously. So, Maxwell distracted the guests with charm and slights of hand as Charlie slyly handed Wilson glasses of liquid courage, until Wilson found the confidence to reveal himself.

They laughed about the 'drapes debacle' for a long time after Wilson got over that depressive episode. There weren't windows for a drape here. Maybe one of the boulders would work.

Wilson wasn't going to get over depressive episodes anymore. The throne didn't let you. It only let you slide from one end from the other. The exhilaration of your dreams coming true, even though some part of you knows those aren't your dreams but you don't care, to crawling in the dirtiest pits a soul can reach.

He didn't know what to do for Wilson, who would be able to have any whim he wanted but freedom. His best idea was to keep Wilson company as king. But all it would be is honey for a sore throat when the real issue was that nightmare shadows would be suffocating him to every little alveoli (that's what Wilson said they were called right? he didn't want to forget a single thing from the world before). What to do for Charlie was a little more obvious, painful as it was to recall what she told him it was like. As the Grue she spent the day in the darkness surrounding the throne room. The rituals of civilization, from holidays, to decor, to clothes, let her remember what it was to be human as the Grue. She had little splotches of lucidity from seeing the twins celebrate their birthday or when Wolfgang celebrated Yom Kippur. So, he figured he would decorate there. For what it’s worth.

His hands trembled. He knew none of this would fix things. The mistake he'd made of trusting the Codex was a permanent one. Failure after failure. Every time Maxwell thought he a great achievement, he always reverted to failure. His natural state of being. Equilibrium, as Wilson would say. Every time he'd put his heart and soul into something, it didn't matter at all. Every time, every time. He was just damned; he had long known. He'd just let himself think he wasn't. He did wonder why despite knowing that the game was already lost, why he did this? Some baubles weren't going to be any sort of real alleviation for the pain of being tied to the darkness like Wilson and Charlie would be. Wilson's relentlessness had rubbed off on him, it seemed. He didn't deserve for it to. To be influenced by such a man to pick up a positive trait was an undeserved miracle.

If only, if only, he hadn't been so desperate and used that forsaken book. In all likelihood he would have never met Wilson or Charlie, but that didn't matter if they were happy. They taught him what love meant and for that'd he would give everything.

At first, he thought the crowd was love. The praise of the claps gave his heart warmth. When it didn't work out, his heart was as cold as the empty seats. But, when he started getting more popular, he thought he understood love, he thought he was known. Then once he got to know his beautiful assistant a little better, he was convinced he really really knew love. It was love to a degree, but infatuation to a bigger one, truthfully. Finally, when the shadows enraptured his mind, he had been surer than ever that that was true love. To be held tenderly for every thought, every impulse, and be so completed. What he knew They knew, he was known, they were known. He was on top of the universe, controlling it hand and hand with Them. What more could love be, he'd thought then. Truthfully, part of him still loved Them.

He hadn't ever real known love, the kind you give and return fully, until he had lived long past the age most people had. He mused that if it had taken him long enough to turn to dust, it must be a fact in the cruelty of the world, that some people do not ever know love. But he was lucky. When Wilson stood in front of him and said, quite plainly, "I'm going to free you." It wasn't a romantic love then, that didn't come until much later, but a love for humanity that Maxwell had never seen exist genuinely. Later was when he and Wilson had been sitting on a small cliff, feeling the light sprays of salt from the waves and Maxwell put his head on Wilson's shoulder. Wilson had loved him for a long time, he realized then. And it was in that moment that the ocean had eroded enough of his walls and pain for Maxwell to love him back.

The next time he experienced true love was back home. He'd been leaving through the back door of a sleazy bar. After performing, for chump change most likely, he'd sauntered out drunk. Then, in that dingy alley, with the full moon like a halo he saw Charlie for the first time in seven months and thirteen days. They'd stayed together after they returned, first to just try and cope with the earthquake's aftermath. But neither of them really knew what to do. Until one day he'd found a note saying "I'm leaving. I can't stay. I'm sorry. I don't know what I regret and don't." He didn't think he would see her again. But then in that alleyway she said, "I'm back Maxy. I'll stay for now. I'm going to try and forgive you Maxy, don't make me regret it." He'd sobbed to that beautiful clever charming and supremely dramatic woman that he would do whatever he could.

The last love he'd been taught was perhaps the silver lining in it all. His children would have happy lives free of the Constant.  When he held Eunice in his arms for the first time, he had been overjoyed. He had been afraid, afraid to be in charge of the care of such a pure creature. Right before her birth he'd almost messed things up again, but seeing her, made him promise to never touch Their magic again.  The midwives had locked out Maxwell and Wilson (although thankfully let in Winona and his nieces), so the two men were left to their own imagination. Wilson had that, the medical knowledge of everything that could go wrong, and his neuroticism, all in spades. Had it not been for all of that, Maxwell would have been perfectly calm. But it was enough for him to get out the Codex again. He'd almost used it to burst down those walls, but Wilson stopped him. And later that night, sitting with the people he loved, he tossed it into their bedroom hearth.

But now the Codex was in his jacket pocket.

He could burn it.

But he'd die.

And it would just come back. With him.

Maxwell lit a torch. He walked with the drapes to two gold boulders close to each other. Yes, that would be the perfect place to put the drapes.

#ds #don't starve #dont starve #macharlson #macharwil? #there is no good word for my ot3 #don't starve together #my work