#when the character is sweating fumbling and fidgeting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cohldhands · 1 year

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𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 | 𝘬𝘪𝘣𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘢

pairing: bff!kiba x afab!reader word count: 7.9k warnings: nsfw! 18+! minors DNI! | just two best friends helpin' each other out, virgin!reader wants experience and kiba has it, pussydrunk!kiba, praise kink, oral (f! and m!recieving), primal play (kinda? like a sprinkle?), unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), he's down for you and its bad, other characters mentioned, all characters in their early/mid 20s, not thoroughly proofread, no use of y/n author's note: this is 100% based on some thirsting that @tired-biscuit and i did for this man and... well, here we are. i listened to "nayhoo" by chon while writing the first bit of this. i also didn't anticipate it to be this long... 😅 it's my first time in a long ass time writing second-person as well, so just be gentle. there will absolutely be (at least) a part two where shit devolves at ino's new apt. i hope yall enjoy!

you can also read this on AO3 here.

KIBA’s fingers twitch as he watches you place a piece of strawberry into your mouth, your lips encasing your delicate fingertips in a way he knows should be innocent, should be just friends having lunch together, but it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Dappled sunlight filters in through the full, vibrant trees towering above you, and the incessant hum of cicadas fills the air, mixing with the cadence of rustling leaves in the summer breeze. Loose, thin clothes, skin glazed in a thin layer of humidity and sweat, clammy hands from thrumming heartbeats.

Summer has always been a favorite time for the both of you, ever since the summer you moved to Konoha during your childhood. The summer that changed everything. Sticky sweetness, endless days, sunburnt cheeks. Ever since, you and Kiba have been attached at the hip, having lived in the house just down the street and your mothers working together. Hours of fetch with Akamaru, rock skipping competitions with Shino as referee, hushed conversations with Hinata about Naruto. He accepted you with open arms; they all did.

“Just another one of the pack.”

Kiba hated when you and Hinata would sneak off, however. He’d bribe Shino—or attempt to—just to spy and listen. When Shino would call him out on his reddened ears, his anticipation in finding out the girl talk, his picking at his nails until you would return, he’d tug his hoodie up and change the subject.

“You like her.” Shino would tell him, plainly, a fact of life.

“No!” the brunette would huff. “She’s just a friend.”

Kiba takes a swig from his canteen, a drip of water fumbling from his lip to his chin when he pulls it away. He blinks away the memories of summers, of lifetimes spent under the same blazing sun. Sunburnt chests, laying on Akamaru with bare arms pressed to each other while looking for aliens, small, small clothes.

“That’s what friends are for, Kiba!” You say through the small bite.

“It’s going to be so hot though,” he whines, throwing his head back with his forehead scrunched in irritation. “Who the fuck moves in the middle of July? You know who? Crazy people, that’s who.”

“Whether you like it or not, Ino is moving,” you shake your head at him, a hint of playful irritation on your drawl as you watch his head tilt back, the expanse of his neck exposed. A dare, a first kiss, a summer night. “And we both agreed to help her. Besides, it’ll go by quick with all of us helping. You’ll be okay. ”

“So annoying.” He croaks, but then he lets his head fall forward. His intense, dark eyes settle on yours once more, and he fights the urge to drink you in the way he does when you’re not looking. When you’re fidgeting while you’re trying to beat him at Mario Kart, when your face is scrunched in concentration when you’re aiming a kunai.

He sends a sideways glance at Akamaru—a lifeline, a phone-a-friend— and the white-haired dog lets out the equivalent of a mumble and a shrug.

Kiba throws his hands in the air, exhaling a “Fine! Fine.”

“You’re such a baby.” You laugh, a teasing yet light sound.

A sound that causes a flutter to rampage through his chest, and a restrained tug of a smile spreads across his features in response. But he’s practiced this, practiced suppressing the itch in his hands to reach out, to kiss you, to breathe in that laugh as if it was the air itself he needs.

He already does that with your scent alone.

“Whatever.” He grabs a clump of rice in his chopsticks and eats it.

You can tell there’s a hint of something underneath the surface with Kiba, something that’s hard to pinpoint. Of course, during your girl talks with Hinata, you’d open your heart to her. About how Kiba didn’t scare you, despite his animalistic side, how he just wanted attention, that’s why he acts that way, about how much you had to refrain from squirming when he looked at you as you both got older.

She’d gasp when you would talk that way, but she’d always add her own tidbit of girlish tension in a hushed voice.

“So, uh… w-while we’re talking about favors…” you start, your eyes falling to the bento box in your lap.

“If you’re moving, too, the whole ride-or-die thing goes out of the window.”

“No, fuck no!” Another light laugh, another shake of your head, but this time more at yourself than anything. If only it was just moving...

You’ve been mulling on asking him about this for weeks now. You’d recently met a boy, because you, too, have practiced the art of burying the want to grab him, to feel the ripple of muscles that dance underneath the fishnet material of his shirt, to tangle your fingers in his hair and find out if he likes his hair tugged the way you do, if he doesn’t, moving yourself against him until his desires tumble out of him on their own.

But you’ve met a boy, Jun, who is sweet. Kind. A responsible, gentle Ninja. You’re in no way committed, no title. Your mother adores him, your father respects him. He’s yet to make you uncomfortable, opens doors for you, brings you flowers every time he sees you. You’ve gone on a few dates with him, and you like him—enough to want more than the heavy petting and stale kisses. But then there is a small part of you, small yet persistent enough—

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im,” Ino had told you once during a ‘girl’s night’ at Sakura’s.

“What do you mean?”

“If he truly wants you,” the blonde continued, jabbing her finger in your direction. “He can’t fake that while buried inside.”

“I’m convinced love has its own chakra,” Sakura had added. “It moves between you and the other person. Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Or a burning fire.”

The small part of you that craves to see if he’d do it, and if you’d be able to tell which natural disaster would rage between you—if one at all.

“What’s with the serious-ass face? You’re scaring me…” Kiba continues, his voice pulling you back to the here and now. He leans forward to catch your eyes again, then continues in a whisper. “Do we need to hide a body?”

“Kiba—”

“Oh, wait, it is serious.” He clears his throat and sits up, a different demeanor taking him over. His gaze fixates on you, his position stiffening as he studies you in a fraction of a moment. “‘Kay, sorry. What’s up?”

“It’s about Jun.”

His muscles tighten, and he places his bento box on the blanket you’re both sitting on. The guy who takes you on dates, the guy he can tell you’re not head over heel for. Jun, who fills the time, because Kiba can tell sweet Jun bores you. At least, that’s what Kiba tells himself. “Okay.”

“Uh… I don’t really know how to ask this, so I’m just going to.” You shift in your seat, mustering the gumption to speak clearly, forward, just ask your best friend for a favor. A dare, the childhood magic in special first kisses, adult magic in special first times. Not wanting to look like a dunce to the boy your mother adores, your father respects.

“I want to sleep with Jun, but I’ve never… ya know. And you have, so—”

Ba-dum. A heavy heartbeat, thick in his ears, piercing his palms.

His eyes widen, dark and yet darker, darker still. Heat floods his cheeks, bubbling under his skin and filling his abdomen. The swelling of a storm.

Ba-dum.

“I know it’s weird, a-and you can absolutely say no. You’re my best friend, though, and it’s not like I can just ask anyone. This isn’t like a new development either, I wanted to wait to ask you—n-not that I’ve just been, ya know, thinking about this and you. I just have zero experience, you know that, but I want to be a bit more confident in—”

Ba-dum.

“Do you like him?” Kiba’s voice falls flat, more flat than he anticipates, but the words hang there. Screaming cicadas, colliding tree branches. “Really, truly like him?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re convincing yourself and lying to him all at the same time. But maybe, just maybe trusting Kiba with this moment, with your first time, with breaking the barrier between fantasy and reality—maybe it won’t be so bad. “I do.”

“Then I’ll do it.” He swallows the solid lump in his throat, convincing himself and lying to you all at the same time. “Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

—

Kiba told you he’d come over later that evening, to do whatever it is that made you most comfortable. Shower, don’t shower. Shave, don’t shave. Wear whatever it is you wanted, to pretend like he was just coming over like he always did, to hang out like you always did.

You couldn’t sit still the moment you got home. You cleaned and showered. Tried to read, tried to scroll through your phone, tried to do any- and everything you could to not get caught up in the motions of it all, fought yourself for ten minutes on if you should even light a candle or not because it’s not like that but damn it—

Yes it is.

But this wouldn’t mean anything, right? Regardless of a candle lit, which made the whole space smell of honeysuckle and lemon, it’s just your best friend, doing you a favor: teaching you how to work a cock by using his.

Oh, god, his cock. What would it look like? Feel like? Would it curve, or would it be veiny? The thought alone causes you to fidget in your seat on the couch, your eyes darting between the clock on your phone and the front door to your apartment. You feel your heartbeat in your ears and in your core, pulsing. Arousal pools in your underwear at the mere thought of him—how did you expect to function?—and you pinch your thighs together.

You still couldn’t believe he had agreed. And Kiba couldn’t either, even as he meandered his way to your door, his eyes steadfast in the direction of your apartment building. What made either of you think this was a good idea? Was his practice paying off? Did he want it to? He had finally, finally been offered the invitation, the “come over” call that he dreamed of. He had hoped, however, that the circumstances would be different, that it would be for him.

Two heavy knocks on the door alert you to his presence, though somehow you’re sure you catch the scent of his body wash before his knuckles meet the wood. You pull the door open. Musk, earth, hazelnut, bergamot. Messy kitchens, ugly, delicious cookies, using his shower and wearing his clothes.

He’s bathed as well, his hair still slightly damp as it hangs above his shoulders. A wide grin flashes over his face, his eyes disappearing into the image, his teeth catching the overhead light. Your face fills with a weighty heat, and your abdomen flutters at the sight of his broad shoulders and his toned arms under the fabric of his shirt.

He’s opted for his usual lounge attire: a t-shirt, joggers, and sneakers. In his hands are takeout—he’s always eating—and drinks for you to share. You felt underdressed somehow in your own home, donning a thin-fabriced, comfortable yet cute t-shirt and shorts combination—something you’d worn around him countless times. Yet, he’d shown up like this countless times, food and a smile in tow, and he somehow seems more prepared than you’d ever seen him. The way he’s standing tall, his chest open to you… had he prepared?

Despite the vanilla-scented body-wash and the floral candle, the moment the door opens, revealing you in your post-shower, pre-coitus flush, he takes in the intoxicating scent of your arousal, of your skin, of you, and he presses his intent further into his smile. Not here, not now, not just past the threshold.

“Brought food. I doubt you ate.”

This motherfu—

“Thanks. I… actually haven’t eaten, now that I think about it.”

The tension is palpable. He’s trying a little too hard not to look at you, to not brush by you and linger. Though, he doesn’t understand why. You’d asked him to come over and help you, to quell the curiosity of experience, to be good for Jun.

The swelling of a violent storm.

You step aside and allow him in, and he does what he always does: makes himself at home, rummages through your cabinets for plates, a fork, two cups. You watch his hands maneuver whatever he’s holding, the muscles in his forearms. He keeps his nose buried in the food, trying to find something, anything to focus on other than you, in all of your totality.

Kiba jokes with you, carries on conversation while he divides out the food, move to the couch, sit just far enough to not touch, yet close enough to still feel each other’s body warmth. He’s talking and talking, rambling about the day you had already heard about, about a new bug Shino had shown him, about the hot springs he wants to go to in the town over. Maybe, just maybe, he’s nervous, too.

He jokes with you, as if he’s not already imagining your velvety throat wrapped around his aching girth, your face contorted in pleasure as he laps his tongue over your sensitive clit, his name tumbling out of your mouth, hitched and squeaked: “Kiba, Kiba—!”

“Ki-ba~!” You wave a hand over his glazed-over eyes as you call his name, sing-song and light, an attempt to bring him back from wherever he disappeared to as he’s stuck, freeze-frame, a cup halfway lifted to his mouth. You lean against the back of the couch toward him, only slightly, with an eyebrow cocked and a grin peeling back the corners of our mouth. “Where did you go, bud?”

There’s a split second, less than a blink of an eye where his hand is holding his drink; the next, it’s wrapped around your wrist, the cup on the table. How did he…?

His grip is tight, steadying, but then it eases by a fraction, and he finds himself studying the palm of your hand, imagining it wrapped around his throbbing, swollen girth, before his eyes flick up to yours, his jaw clenched, tight, teeth grinding as the wheels he’d frozen over long ago begin to turn, churning, yearning—

“Why did you ask me to do this?” His voice is low, hoarse, carried by a held breath, a tight chest.

There’s an underlying shift happening, and you can feel it in the soles of your feet, the palms of your hands. He somehow seems larger, taller, more devious. A full moon, an autumn night, finding out the ride the full moon sent him on before he disappears, unable to show you the animal that wanted to come out and ravage you, the side of Kiba he saves for the girls he will never see again because he can’t ruin you, you’re his best friend, his confidant.

Ba-dum.

He’s close, so close to you that you can see the pulse of his heartbeat in his neck. So close that the burning heat radiating off of him causes your own skin to surge, your heart to lurch, the damned fluttering in your abdomen. His eyes are zeroed in on you, black irises inflamed with dilated pupils. Hungry, restrained. Electricity ignites within your veins under his touch. He’s touched you, many times. A hug, a helping hand, a comforting shoulder. Why does this feel different?

“Because I trust you.”

Ba-dum.

His heart swells, clawing at his ribcage, screaming to be set free. You trust him. With your secrets, with your life, with your body. His gaze flicks on your lips, only for a moment, before his devilish eyes find yours once more.

Ba-dum.

“Have you ever even touched a cock before?” He murmurs, his tone taking on something silken and starved. He pivots his body to turn, his eyebrow cocked, a whisper of a coy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and he closes the space between you, the space that’s always between you.

You blink as a prickling heat travels up your spine, his question as well as his shift in energy catching you off-guard. Kiba’s never spoken to you, let alone around you this way, even when joking. Though he told you whenever he brought a girl home, or made out with another, you’re sure the gruesome details of his sexual escapades were dumped on Shino, or maybe even Naruto, if anyone. But you’re familiar with the wild look in Kiba’s eyes, the way he’s looking at you: a predator searching for his prey. The other side of Kiba.

“You’d know if I—” You start, but your words catch in your throat as you attempt to let them spill all over your kitchen counter. Even if it had happened, would you tell him? Would it have been in confidence, to share a story time, or would it have been to get even a chance to see a flicker of jealousy, of rage, of something? “No, I haven’t. N-not, ya know… skin to skin, anyway.”

The sting of embarrassment bubbles in our throat, your voice smaller than you wanted it, and whispers nothing good into your ears, but you maintain your eye contact. You made the first pitch, and now it’s game time.

“And you’re sure you want me to be the first?” He asks before he brings your palm to lips and presses a wet yet tender kiss to it. The notion surprises him, that he allowed himself more than anything, but he knows what it’s doing to you—he can smell it. “I do also have your first kiss, so I’d be two-for-two, bud.”

The feeling of his mouth on you sends coursing fire to your cunt, and you can almost, almost feel his lips against your now-soaked folds. And he’s patronizing you, a playful lilt clinging to the nickname, but you don’t hate it. It’s Kiba, in totality. Him making sure, despite his coy grin and thirsty eyes, only makes you want him more.

“I don’t know if that really counts…” You mutter. It does count, and it’s always counted, but he doesn’t need to know that. A stupid game of truth or dare one adolescent summer, the summer you knew you’d never rid your thoughts of Kiba. A summer initiating the biggest game of make-believe.

“How rude.” He smiles against your hand, and his hot breath and pointed canines brush against your palm. He shrugs, his grip falling from your arm, and then he exhales a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll have to make up for it, then. Can’t have meaningless kisses out there.”

Ba-dum.

Lighting cracks inside of you as his large hands splay across your hips and pull you into his lap. Your hands scramble, only for a moment, before one lands on the back of the couch, and the other finds purchase on his shoulder.

The battle within him is raging, a savage and destructive thing. He wants to take you, now, now, but he can’t, he won’t. You’re not the girls he’s given meaningless kisses to. You’re his best friend, and he’s waited this long.

He can wait just a little bit longer.

Ba-dum.

Draping your thighs around his hips, he looks up at you with earnest eyes, a moment of hesitation between you two as he waits for a no, a wait, a maybe we shouldn’t. The pulsing heat of his cock strains against his joggers, pressed firmly against your core as he holds you against him. Though muffled by the thick denim, you feel the aching throb beneath you, the pulsing twitch, the size.

Ba-dum.

When the blockade doesn’t come, and you meet his gaze with an equally intrigued look, his grip on your shirt tightens. He cranes his neck up, and he whispers against your lips, “I have a rule.”

Your heart stutters at the husk in his voice, the low demand for attention. “Okay…”

“If you have questions, ask. And—eh, I guess two rules.” Kiba murmurs against your lips, his face flushed in the dim lighting. “If you want something, tell me.”

Your ears burn, the flush causing your skin to prickle. Your hair hangs at the side of your face, closing you and Kiba into a world of your own, the world you both have always played in. Just the two of you.

“Okay.” You nod, your body ignited in a burning flame. “I will.”

Kiba’s lips collide with yours, rough and excited, then soften, pull back, relax, as his hands tangle the fabric of your shirt in their grasp, and his hips tilt up into yours. A slight movement, one he barely notices himself, but the weight of you on him alone sends a shiver through his body. Another subconscious jerk of his pelvis, reacting to the warmth, the weight, you you you.

The air in your lungs vanishes as his lips bring a reprieve, a cold drink on a hot summer day, lifting the lid before it all boils over, and your grip on his shoulder tightens. Head spinning, a drunken buzz just from his kiss. There’s a small moment that wonders if this is actually a fantasy, something you’ve conjured up in your head, a fever dream.

Your own hips move as you run your tongue along his bottom lip, adding intent as you roll against him, slow, methodical, feeling his entirety through the mere layers of fabric separating the two of you. Always something in the way.

A heavy breath against your lips, he opens his mouth and allows the dance to commence, a slow dance that soon turns into a tango, fervent, impassioned, both of your bodies submitting to what they’ve desired. He tastes of takeout and impulse decisions, sunburnt cheeks, swollen lips, a stupid crush that isn’t a crush but a fact of life. Your hold on the couch releases, and your fingers tangle in his head of dark, thick hair. A grounding grip, a slight tautness against the nape of his neck.

“Fuck…” He huffs before he nips at your bottom lip, his fingers dip underneath your shirt, grazing the flesh of your hips. He takes handfuls of your hips and brings you down against him further, closer, closing more of the space, more of that damned thing always in the fucking way. His lips trail from yours to your neck, the space below your ear, and he runs a flattened tongue along your skin, tasting it, breathing you in before sloppy kisses decorate your neck.

Your eyes fall hooded, and a light pant tumbles out of you at the contact. He sucks at a particular spot, bringing blood to the surface, his canines barred against your flesh.

“Kiba!” You gasp, the hint of a nervousness in your tone, and you detach yourself, only slightly, slightly. “You can’t leave any marks.”

“Sorry, sorry!” He chuckles, and then it hits him, crashes into him that you’re there, he’s here, and he’s supposed to be teaching you and yet, yet, he’s caught in the tidal wave of learning you. His cheeks and ears tinge with a beet red glaze, and he swallows thickly as he stares up at you. “I’ll try to remember.”

“But I want you to.” is what you want to say, but you don’t.

“It’s okay,” you reassure with another light laugh. “I’ll be sure to remind you.”

“I’m happy you did. Don’t ever feel like you can’t speak up with someone, especially if you’re, ya know… If a guy doesn’t listen to you, he—wait, what are you—”

He had started to ramble, stumbling in the moment of stillness. You, however, found the moment to be just when the courage hit to reach a delicate hand down and trace the edge of his joggers.

“I want to see it.” Your eyes flick to his lap, to the strained outline of his still throbbing, stiff cock before finding his gaze again.

Stunned, he stares up at you with wide eyes. Your words echo in his head, over and over, his ears ringing at the sound of your inquiry. When the blockade, the no, the maybe we shouldn't, doesn't come, you peel yourself away from him and lower yourself between his spread knees.

The swelling storm brews inside of him, the savage and violent force of nature. Wait, wait, relax.

“Thank you for telling me.” His eyes don’t leave you as you swallow another weighty lump in your throat, and you pull at the combined bands of his joggers and underwear. He lifts himself up, just enough to help slide the two layers of fabric off of him, watching your reaction.

When his erect member springs up at the sudden relief and twitches, your eyes widen. It’s nothing like the ones you had seen on a screen, but it's like the ones people write about. Thick is an understatement, and two prominent veins run along his length. A pink head, the color of his lips, donned with a dribble of clear slick and wrapped in taut skin. The image of his aching cock sends heat pooling at your core, and you shift in your spot—though it only makes things worse, and your heartbeat thrums in your clit.

He sucks in a breath at your innocent gape, the sight causing his mind to go to dark places where you’re screaming his name, head buried against the mattress, it’s too deep, I’m gonna break, his hand tangled in your mess of hair.

You glance up at him in his flustered state, before you turn your eyes downward and wrap a unsure but willing hand around the base. His hips jerk into your touch, and one of his hands finds purchase on the couch cushion, his knuckles whitening as he keeps himself grounded by his grip. His mind is reeling, a flipbook of the thousand positions he’d kill to see you in, put you in.

“Shit…” He spits through clenched teeth.

“Did I—” You freeze.

“N-no, you’re fine, you can—” He starts, but your slow, fisted movement up and then down his shaft cuts him off. “Yeah, like that…”

“That’s okay?” You ask as you slowly pump your hand around him, your eyes flicking between his length in your hand and his eyes on you.

“Y-Yeah.” Kiba nods, saliva pooling in his mouth as he watches you, dinner and dessert in front of him on a silver platter. He clears his throat, the anticipation making him fidgety. The longer he had to wait, the more the pulsing desperation in his length called to him, begging him for release.

He has to wait a little bit longer.

You nod, and then you sit up on your knees and tighten your grip, just slightly, and increase your pace. His eyebrows pull together as he continues to observe, a face of pleasure, and you feel another wave of heat rush under your skin. Your hand reaches the tip, and the precum allows the smallest bit of lubrication as you twist your hand, up and down.

“You’re doing a good job,” he groans, his voice deeper than before, hoarse, restrained. Hearing him like this, praising you, you’re sure you’ll go insane by the end of the night—if you weren’t already. “You can use your mouth, too.”

“I know!” You quip, embarrassment tingling your cheeks. “I was getting there. Though I don’t know if it’ll fit…” The last bit is more for yourself than anything, said under your breath, but he hears you, and he can’t help but imagine you choking on his fat cock, tears streaming down your face.

Ba-dum.

You lean forward, your eyes crossing as you near your target, and your hand settles at the base. You can do this, you tell yourself, before an unsure yet more than willing tongue licks at his cockhead. He tastes of salt and velvet, and your waiting eyes flick up at him.

“Like that,” he purrs, his deep eyes, dark and yet darkening, narrowed on you by the time you’re looking at him. So intent on watching you, committing the scene to memory.

The encouragement leads you to flatten your tongue and run it along the length of one of the veins. His girth twitches in reaction, accompanied by a breathy curse and a jerk upwards of his hips, though this time intentional.

“Around the tip,” he instructs, his voice trapped somewhere between a groan and a whine. It’s the best he can do to keep himself from fucking into your throat.

You do as he says, swirling your hot tongue around the pink head, collecting his slick in your mouth and finding yourself relishing in the taste.

“Good girl. You’re doing so good.” He pants as his hand, purposefully slow, pushes your hair out of your face and collects it into a loose bunch at the back of your head. His head feels light, like if he doesn’t hold onto you someway, somehow, he’s going to float away.

The two syllables bring your thighs together, a thrum of pressure building in your cunt. You’re soaked already, you can feel it gathering in your underwear, but something about his tone, his dilated eyes downcast, his heedless praise that urges you further, to slowly and messily run glaze his skin with your tongue, circling, up, down. You wanted to hear it more, hear his sounds of pleasure, hear his words of adoration. For him to touch you, everywhere.

And he knows. He senses the shift in your energy, the way you tense up when he encourages you, and he smells it, the collection of wetness just one, two layers away. His grip on your hair tightens, tension gathered at the nape of your neck.

You swirl your tongue once, twice, three times around the tip before you wrap your pretty lips around his cock, sucking at it.

A popsicle, a strawberry at lunchtime, brewing electricity.

“Oh, fuck—” Kiba growls, and his hips buck into the warmth of your mouth as you bob your head, taking small, increasing portions of him each time, little moans vibrating his skin. “Shit, yes, like that. So fucking good.”

A slippery tongue, fingers tangling in hair, flashing lightning.

“Such a good girl. Move your hand while you—yes.” He pants as he watches his cock disappear into your throat, your hand pumping whatever you don’t take in your mouth.

Two gazes met.

Ba-dum.

The crackling roll of thunder.

Within a moment, he scoops you up with a huff of impatience—so fucking fast, how does he do that—and you let out a yelp of surprise.

“Kiba!” You squirm as you’re placed over his shoulder and carried into your bedroom.

He doesn’t answer you verbally; instead, he shrugs you onto the bed, and you land on your back. His erect member is still out, fully exposed, but he doesn't pay any mind to it as he takes fistfuls of your shorts and tugs them off, unwrapping you, a little present, just for him.

“Kiba, what are you—” You start, but your words tangle in your throat when he rids you of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. Unwrapped, a present, just for him.

“Oh!” You exclaim when he hooks his arms under your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the bed.

He falls to his knees, his intense eyes falling to your glistening folds. You smell even sweeter this way, and his head buzzes, dizzied, intoxicated as he drinks you in. His composure is slipping, and he wastes no time lapping his tongue along your slit, from entrance to clit.

“Oh…!” You purr, and then you muffle yourself with your hand as schlurp sound comes from him kissing your cunt, sloppy and hasty. His tongue is rough against your sensitive skin, and when it catches your swollen bud, your hips jerk under him, moaning against your palm.

“No,” he huffs against you in that hoarse, demanding voice. He laps his tongue along your entirety, and then he suckles at your throbbing clit, his eyes watching, always watching. “I wanna hear you.”

“But what if—ahh, fuck—!” You tremble under his touch, your voice hushed, and you grip the blanket. You, too, feel the weightlessness, the risk of drifting away if you don’t. Your face contorts into bliss as your back arches, pushing yourself against his mouth. It’s like you’re vibrating, hanging in a space between fantasy and reality. This isn’t real, it can’t be, his mouth can’t feel that good, not Kiba’s mouth, not—

His nails press into your skin as he holds on to you, pulling you closer, closer to him as he eats you, his fervent and messy movements building a tension in your abdomen more intense than anything you’ve accomplished by yourself. His tongue teases your entrance, your nectar driving him further. He delves it into you, holding you against him as he fucks his appendage into your sopping cunt.

“Kiba—” You moan into the air, your other hand finally finding purchase on his arm, clinging to him.

His name tumbles from your lips, and for a moment, he swears the world goes silent, a deafening ringing filling his ears as you call out. He feels you tightening around him, a bewildered aura taking him over. He’s now desperate for your release, to feel you squirm and writhe underneath him, to keep calling his name. He trails his tongue back to your clit, flicking, circling as a slender finger finds your entrance. It slips inside, your arousal coating his skin, and it pumps in and out of you, restrained, slow.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, your eyes widening as he adds another finger, his digits curling inside of you. “Oh, that feels so good, fuck.”

“Mmmhh.” He watches you arch off the bed, his nose pressed to your mound, his tongue making quick and heavy work of your pulsing clit, stretching you as he adds another finger, slow, waiting for the blockade, the maybe we shouldn’t.

His pulsing length twitches, a violent motion that calls his attention, but he forces it out of his mind. This is about you, about stretching you and pushing you over the edge, your sweet release. The tightness of your walls tells him it's soon, your body tense.

Instead, his pumping of his slender digits is met with another cry of his name. Three fingers stuffed, his fingertips massaging the sweet spot inside of you. The burn of the stretch pulls your eyebrows together, and yet you roll your hips against him, wanting the friction, craving the release, another explosion of deafening thunder, the swelling thunderstorm that is Kiba.

“Ki-Kiba, I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence. It hits you, almost out of nowhere. You’re unraveling, your legs shaking, your skin on fire and the swelling storm raging, ravaging your entire body as it caves in. Your juices pour out of you, trickling down his chin, and he drinks you up with another loud schlurp.

“Fuck.” He groans against you, and his lips envelop your clit as he pumps his fingers into back you, his tongue resuming its assault. His fingers move in you with a faster pace, a hardened pressure against the spongy flesh inside of you. “I need you to cum again. To be ready for my cock.”

“Oh, shit!” You sob. “Right there, right there, right there—”

You’re so sensitive, so intoxicated by the way he handles you, the way he looks at you, the way even he smells, tastes, feels.

“That’s it.” He eggs you on, the itch to palm himself, to rut into you, to lose it just out of reach.

You claw at his arm, at the sheets, at anything you can. You’re going to explode, his slippery tongue and fervent fingers bringing you again, closer to ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” he demands, and as if you’d been born to listen, you do on his gruff command, crying out curses as a mind-stopping orgasm bursts through you. You see stars, the entire night sky on your bedroom ceiling.

“Good girl.” He swipes his tongue along your clit before he removes his fingers from you, slow, gentle, and he sucks his fingers clean of your slick, his girth throbbing harder, harder at your taste. Honey glaze, a spark of lightning, crashing branches in the wind.

He steps out of his joggers and tugs off his shirt, his shoes having been left at the door long ago, his blood coursing through his veins, liquid metal, at the sight of your shivering, half naked body beneath him. With another fast motion, he’s hovering over you, his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you back further onto the bed, your head hitting pillows this time. His hands graze from your thighs and up your shirt, his palms brushing the hardened peaks of your nipples before he lifts your shirt off of you. And then he stares down at you, starved yet adoring eyes. Skinny dipping, a lakeside fire, burnt marshmallows.

You meet his gaze as your chest heaves, coming down slowly from your high, studying the angle of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, the dim light highlighting the flesh that you never dared to touch, to learn—until now. You place your hands on his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle as you feel his shoulders, his chest.

A moment, suspended in time between the both of you. Your heavy breathing fills the otherwise quiet room and the low, rhythmic hum of cicadas just outside your window. Your heart is a drum inside of your chest, beating, beating, bursting as he looks down at you, and your heart skips as you feel his cockhead tease your entrance, rubbing against your slick folds and causing a hitched gasp to fall when it grazes over your sensitive clit.

“Are you ready for me?” Kiba inquires in a husky voice, gravely and controlled.

Ba-dum.

“Yes,” you whisper in return, your hands settling on his biceps as you keep your eyes on his.

“Okay,” he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat, and he presses himself into you, slow, achingly slow.

Ba-dum.

Another gasp wracks your chest, and your eyes widen again as you watch his face scrunch in concentration. And then he whines, a short and quiet sound that makes your ears ring. He wants to jerk into you, bottom out, and the self-restraint is slipping out of his grasp like grains of sand.

Ba-dum.

“Relax for me,” he urges you through clenched teeth as your walls remain tight around him.

“S-Sorry. Oh, fuck, Kiba. I-it’s huge.” You stammer as you glance down at his girth disappearing into you, stretching you past anything your fingers, even his, could offer. You feel every inch of him as he spreads you, opening his present, celebrating his own holiday.

“I know, I’m sorry. You’re taking me so well.” He pants, working hard not to split you in two.

Ba-dum.

The pinch of his stretching you is different, much different than his fingers. He pulls himself back before pushing into you again, your slick aiding in his movements. It’s nothing like how you imagined, the awful and bloodied thing that’s rumored to be losing your virginity, but as he loads himself fully into you, pushing past the subtle barrier within, your body tenses up again, and a tinge of pain replaces the pleasure.

“S-sorry, sorry.” He stumbles over his words. For years, he’s wondered what his girth would look like with you donning it, and now it’s here, right here. And it’s beautiful, heavenly. He doesn’t have the words to describe the way you look wrapped around him—the way you look in general, let alone eyebrows upturned, sweat collecting along your hairline, a heaving chest—but worth every fucking minute of waiting.

“Just—gimme a sec, okay?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah, yes, sure.”

You take in deep breaths, wetness pooling at your entrance, and you ease the tension in your muscles, allowing yourself to acclimate. Relax, relax, but fuck you’re at capacity, at your wits end, wanting to unravel all over again—and he’s barely even moved.

“Okay… we’re good.”

“You sure?”

Ba-dum.

“Yes.” You answer, a strong syllable on your tongue. You’ve never been so sure in your life.

Ba-dum.

And he hears the certainty, feels it reverberate through his bones. He pulls himself back, then into you again, another restrained roll of his hips. You can tell he’s holding back with the way his face is pulled together, with the vein in his neck jutted out.

“Shit.” Kiba mutters, one hand finding purchase on your hip while the other supports him on the bed.

“Fuck, Kiba…” You sigh, your body slowly making room for him.

“My name sounds nice when you moan it,” he purrs, leaning down, his skin desperate for contact with yours.

“Don’t say things like that,” you whisper, a near-plea, your nails digging into his skin as your eyes fall half-hooded. And then he hits that spot, the spot, deep within you, and your back lifts off the bed, pressing your chest to his, another moaned swear falling out of you.

“Why?” He grins, a coy look that almost makes his depraved gaze seem sweet. “It’s true.”

“Idiot…” You respond, your voice hitched.

“Hm?” He cocks his head to the side, a wild look filling his features. He jerks his hips, once, hard, bucking into you before returning to his agonizingly slow pace. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck!” You cry out, dragging your nails along his skin. It hurts, his abrasiveness, but it hurts in a way you don’t hate, that you almost want again. “Fucking asshole.”

“Asshole?” He chuckles, a guttural sound that isn’t impressed. He ruts into you again, wanting to hear that squeaky little voice, that pitched moan that he’s creating. “Baby girl, that’s not you really mean, is it?”

“Goddamn it, fuck, Kiba!” Your voice carries through the room, sending a prickling heat up his spine at the sound. You’re full, so full, and his resolve is slipping, slipping, gone altogether when you sob out his name again.

“Look at you, taking all of me,” he praises, and he glances down at his work before a growled moan leaves his own lips. “Fuck, you’re doing so good.”

Pleasured tears burn your eyes, and you look up at him before reaching up, without thinking, and tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him fully against you. Another sound of pleasure vibrates his chest, muffled as he presses his lips to yours, another messy, impassioned, needy dance.

Another whine escapes him as the restraint fades away into nothing. Your hips open for him, your legs wrapping around his waist as his movements become heavier, more momentum behind them. He envelops you with his arms, one hooked on your shoulder and the other holding your hip. You’re so close, so close; there is no longer anything in the fucking way.

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im.” Ino’s words weigh on your mind, and you wonder if friends are supposed to cling to each other like this.

Of course they don’t, but you don’t allow the thought to cross your mind. Not here, not now.

“Kiba, Kiba—” You pant against his lips between struggling breaths and fervent kisses.

“You’re fucking heaven,” he huffs in return. He moves again, peeling away from you only to push your legs to your chest before leaning down again.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking deep.”

“That’s it,” he coos, his balls slapping against you as he fucks into you, his mercy and patience wearing thin. “Take it all. Good girl.”

The earth-splitting strike of lightning, the house-shaking rumble of thunder.

You’re spinning, free-falling as his length is buried inside of you, his cockhead brushing against your cervix. It’s deep, too deep, not deep enough. Your nails rake across his shoulder blades. His lips find the curve of your neck, and he sucks at the skin, biting down, keeping you in place.

“Shit, shit—” The bubbling of heat collects in your abdomen, and you grip his hair once more, tight, a grounding grip.

He growls against your flesh as he brings the blood to the surface, but this time he doesn’t stop. He’s marking you, his, his, his.

“Kiba!” You call out, your voice echoing, laced with a warning and pure nirvana.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, licking the skin, before landing on another spot on the other side and repeating himself. “I can’t fucking help it. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t mean it, and you can tell. The unfortunate part is: neither do you.

He mutters another half-apology as his thrusts become relentless, fucking into you as he did with the girls he gave meaningless kisses to. But you’re not them, you’re you, it’s not meaningless, it never will be.

You sob his name as you cling to him, the wet sounds accompanying the slap of skin. You’re floating away, gone, a fever dream within a fever dream, trembling legs hugging his waist.

“G-Gonna—”

“Fuck, yes, cum for me. Cum all over this fucking cock.”

And you do, hard. A violent, shattering burst of heat and your essence that sends you into orbit, lightheaded, tears of bliss rolling down your cheeks. Your walls clench around him, milking him for everything he has.

He thrusts into you, enough force behind them to rock the bed, to scoot you further into the pillows as his own climax swells. He bottoms out once, twice, each jerk making you cry out before he pulls away from you, a hasty and frantic movement, steadying his member in his hand as ropes of white hot cum land across your stomach in spurts.

You pant for air, chest heaving, your head still reeling by the time he’s wiped you clean of his essence, your body twitching as it works to come down from its nirvana. You hear him in the kitchen before he emerges at the bedside, a glass of water handed to you as he sits next to you.

“Here.” He says gently, his tone now opposite of what it was mere moments ago.

“Thanks.” You sigh, and you sit yourself up, slowly, before taking the glass. After a few sips, you hand it back to him, and he follows your lead, one, two gulps of ice-cold heaven in a glass. Water has never tasted so sweet before.

“You okay?” He asks, looking over your sprawled-out body, a whisper of a laugh in his voice.

“Yeah…” you nod, though you can already tell you’ll be sore, so fucking sore tomorrow. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Never better.” He grins, and then his eyes widen as he catches his practice, his art of suppressing his feelings for you also slipping from his grasp. He clears his throat and looks down at the drink in his hand. You can tell the wheels in his mind are turning, grinding, but you don’t ask.

You don’t have to. That’s what friends are for.

#my writing #kiba inuzuka #kiba inuzuka x reader #x reader fic #kiba smut #kiba inuzuka smut #kiba fanfic #goddamn why cant i write a DRABBLE #inuzuka kiba #inuzuka kiba x reader

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theshelbyclan · 3 years

Text

Castle in the Sky

Summary: You’re the daydreaming sibling of the Shelby’s, but when the adventure spills over into real life, it’s not as great as you’d imagined

(Gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: A sweet anon requested: can I have request please Something like this Tommy was very protective over y/n and she gets hurt by one of the bad guys and sees blood on her face now all bruised but Tommy wants revenge Omg if you do so thank you so much for my request! ❤️ Huge fan of your works!This is set around season 1, back in the good old days when the only real enemy was Billy Kimber, remember those days? So easy… anyways, hope you like it J Words: 2933 ***

You were only nine when you started as a bookie’s runner for the Peaky Blinders. Nothing about this was special, half the kids of Small Heath worked for them, but there was just one difference: the Shelby’s were your brothers. It was a good job in many ways, because it meant not only being able to help your brothers, but people were inclined to give you a bit extra, just for being a Shelby. You imagined they thought it good luck.

“Y/N, take this to the other side of town, will you?” Tommy requested as he sat hunched over a newspaper. You protested a little, “Why me? I’ve done all of mine for today…” “This one’s extra, alright?” “Who is it?” you could never hide your inquisitive nature. But you only showed it around your brothers; to the rest of the world you were just quiet and practically invisible. He smirked slightly, “Someone who’ll pay up big. That’s why I need you to do it. Can’t trust any of the other kids not to steal…” “I have some homework to do, Tommy.” At thirteen, you were still at school, which was a minor miracle in Birmingham. “Tell you what: if you just do this one job, I’ll get you magazine you’ve been talking about, eh?” now he looked up and met your eyes. “Book, Tommy,” you smiled, “You might have heard of the concept? It’s a little like a magazine, a little like that newspaper, but with more pages? Some find it challenging, but once you get used to it…” “Alright, little miss know-it-all,” he grumbled without malice, “Go on, take the slip, make sure he bets all. Off with you. Stop outsmarting your old brother, eh?” He winked to make sure you were comfortable and you returned it with a big grin. “Where?” “Digbeth,” Tommy’s nose was back in the newspaper, “behind the Golden Dragon.” ***

As you were walking through the streets of Small Heath on your way to Digbeth, you were daydreaming. In a way it was strange just how different you were from your brothers, because the entire Shelby clan was very realistic, trying to make their way in this hard world, where you would rather pretend all day you were the main character in some story. The books you read, it was all an escape to you. So while you were walking, the people and factories disappeared. In your head, you were walking through the woods, on a secret mission that your king gave you. With the top-priority letter in your pocket, you remembered what he’d told you before you left: “If you get caught, eat the letter. If they capture you, make sure to be brave and never divulge its contents to anyone. And if all else fails, you must make the ultimate sacrifice. But remember, you have to memorize the contents of the letter first…” Wouldn’t it just be easier to memorize it now and destroy the letter immediately? You pondered on the matter… In the distance, you could see the mountains and the towers of another kingdom, and you knew your enemies were near. Without anyone noticing, you put a hand to your pocket and could feel the reassuring rustling of paper underneath your fingers: the letter was still there. If it would come to a fight, how would you go about it? If there were just one man, the small dagger in your boots would suffice. If it were two, you’d distract one, maybe by throwing the veil you were wearing, quickly turning around to kill the other and then back to the first one before he had time to recover. If there were more than three, you’d run, because you were the fastest after all. You’d get to higher ground and attack them from there, like a deadly shadow they could never see coming. As you smiled to yourself, you left the daydream for a short moment. You looked down and saw the muddy shoes you were wearing, marching through Birmingham mud. In the distance, all you saw was smoke and factory pipes. But it was honestly all you needed: your imagination did the rest. The real world barged in when you delivered the slip in Digbeth. Everything went smoothly at first. Your big brown eyes persuaded him to indeed bet big, and you were quite satisfied with yourself, knowing Tommy would be too. But you still had to walk back with a lot of money now in your pocket.

*** Almost home, there were only a few streets to go. Your head was back in the clouds and this time you were imagining you were a spy during the war. Silently, you moved through the streets, making yourself invisible and pretending every man wearing a hat was the enemy. So each time you saw one, you changed directions or hid for a second. It was a fun game, until you realised the enemy wasn’t wearing a hat. “Now, what’s a pretty girl like you doing on the streets, all by herself?” A man with a heavy Cockney accent popped up next to you and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. In your dreams, you always knew what to say, but in reality it wasn’t so easy. The man approached you and you noticed he’d cut you off from your one exit out of the alley, “It’s Y/N Shelby, isn’t it,” he grinned. “No,” you managed to say, “you got the wrong girl.” He grinned again, “Nice try, sweetheart. We’ve seen you at the Garrison. They don’t allow little girls at the pub, unless they’re a Shelby.” This was all true. You felt your hands getting clammy. “Tommy sent you, didn’t he?” Again, you tried to remember what the hero in your stories would do. She’d run, climb the building and then throw a knife right between the eyes of the man. Or she’d say something clever, just to distract him, and then turn around and escape when he least expected it. He took another few steps forward and you could smell him now, a smell of strange smoke and the river, “Do you know who I am?” Nailed to the ground, you shook your head. “I work for Mr. Billy Kimber. Ever heard of him?” You turned to see if you could escape, but then realised the other side of the alley was blocked by two more men. Neither of them were wearing hats. Cold sweat of fear ran down your back. The man in front of you started laughing, “There’s no running, sweetheart. Just give it to me.” At once you realised he was referring to the money in your pocket, but for Tommy’s sake, you wanted at least to try to be brave, “I don’t have anything.” He sighed, “Don’t play with me. I’m not the kind of man to play with, and neither is Mr. Kimber,” his voice was suddenly low and menacing, “Your brother thought he could, thought he would get away with fixing a race, he did, and now he’s going to be put against the post and shot. Don’t think I won’t do the same to you.” You gulped, but still thought of Tommy’s disappointment in you when he would find out you’d been a coward. So you took a deep breath and said softly, “It’s not yours. This money is ours. You can tell Mr. Kimber to go fuck himself!” It didn’t come out as strongly as you’d hoped. Like a crack of thunder, he swiftly slapped you across the face with the back of his hand. All the air was knocked out of your lungs in a second and you stood gasping for air, as you felt some blood trickling down your chin. “Give me the money,” he demanded again. And then, like your heroes, you pretended to reach for it in your pocket. Suddenly, you turned around and started running into the other direction, hoping to slip past the two men before they could stop you. But it didn’t work. One grabbed your arm and when you tried to push him away, he punched you hard. All strength left you in an instant. The second one started fumbling in your pockets and instinctively you kicked him, which earned you another blow to the head. More punches followed and your head was spinning. As you looked up to the sky, you remembered wanting to get back home, to your castle, where all was well and safe. In the end, they left you on the ground and the money was gone. Your last thought was: Tommy is going to be so embarrassed.

*** “Y/N?” You opened your eyes, but couldn’t see for a moment. “Y/N,” the familiar voice repeated, “Come on, yes, let’s get you home. Polly, Polly will know what to do, yes…” Strong arms lifted you up and rocking with his familiar limp, Curly carried you back to Watery Lane. When he’d taken you into the kitchen, Aunt Polly flew to your side in seconds, asking, “What’s happened?” Uncertainly, Curly explained and as he did, he started to become upset over your state. That’s when Tommy came in and started to calm him, while keeping an eye on you all the time. “Sweetheart,” Aunt Polly had taken a cold cloth to the cut in your lip, “Wake up… Come back to us…” Again you tried opening you eyes and you finally managed this time. But all your concern was with Curly, who was still anxiously fidgeting with his cap in hand. “Don’t worry, Curly,” you croaked, “I’m alright now. You did good, carrying me here.” “Polly will know what to do…” he kept on repeating. Tommy put a hand on his shoulder and it had an immediate calming effect, “It’s alright, Curly, go back to Charlie, eh? We’ll take care of her now.” Before he left, you said to him, “Curly? I’ll stop by tomorrow, see about that beautiful horse of yours, alright?” That put an immediate smile on his face, “Yes, she’s a beauty, alright… And she needs her princess to ride her! Back to that castle in the sky…yes…” When he’d gone, you lowered your head again and sighed deeply. Carefully, you felt your face and only then realised how awful you must look. “Who did this,” Tommy demanded at once. Polly glared daggers at him, “You did, I presume?” “Me?” “I told you again and again not to use the little ones to run errands. Sending them across half of Birmingham with money in their pockets, and look what happens!” For a moment, Tommy seemed to be speechless. Then he protested, “They’re invisible, Pol. Nobody knows they’re carrying anything.” “This one did,” you interjected, “because he knew who I was.” “How?” “Said he was with Kimber,” you whispered as the memories came back to you, “said he’d put me up against a post and he’d shoot me, like he’d do with you…” In a sudden fit of rage, Tommy grabbed a chair and flung it across the room. Polly snarled at the gesture and then turned to you, “Stay here. This cloth is cold, keep it against your eye, or it’ll turn black in half an hour, and I can’t take you to church looking like that. I just need to have a word with your brother.” You took the cloth and didn’t dare to look at Tommy, who was now being taken away by his aunt like he was ten years old again and in trouble. Aunt Polly closed the door behind her, but you still tried to hear as much as you could. Most of it was lost, but when they started shouting you heard bits like “putting your little sister in danger!” and “this is Billy fucking Kimber, Thomas” and “family first”. At first Tommy protested with “I didn’t know they knew her” and “Kimber is getting weak”, but eventually he shouted out in defeat, “I fucked up, alright? I’ll fix it. I promise.” When they came back, Tommy looked like a dog that’d just been kicked. So he retreated into a corner and started smoking, still sulking a little. Aunt Polly lifted your head up by placing a finger under your chin, “You won’t look pretty for a week, but it’ll heal.” You shrugged, not caring about being pretty at all, and muttered, “I feel like an idiot…” “Why?” your aunt demanded, “because big men decided to go after a small girl?” Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes, as you admitted, “Because I wanted to be brave! In my stories I’m pretty and strong and the hero, but in reality I’m just like a mouse. No one notices me and I’m useless…” “Sweetheart,” Polly softened her voice and crouched down next to you, “Just because you can’t fight like Arthur or John can, doesn’t make you useless. We’re all stuck here, in Small Heath, and there’s nothing pretty about that. But you reading all those books? That’s what’s going to make this easier. You can pretend, and that’s worth more than you’ll ever realise.” You smiled back at your aunt, who always knew what to say to make you feel better. “I’m off to the chemist to get you some powder against the pain,” she kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right back, love.” After she’d gone as well, you sighed again and dropped the cloth. Her words mattered, of course they did, but it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t happy with yourself at all. For starters, you still couldn’t bear looking at Tommy. “Y/N,” he grumbled, which convinced you even more he was angry and disappointed, “Tell me what they looked like.” “They didn’t wear hats…” Impatiently he waved a hand, “Apart from that. What else?” “I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it all happened fast, Tommy. They had that accent that Kimber has as well.” “Fucking Cockneys…” your brother breathed. “Tommy?” you tried carefully, “I’m so sorry, but I lost the money. I tried to keep it. When they asked I told them to fuck off and then I tried to run and even fight, but they still took it. I’m so sorry…” He held up a hand to silence you and locked eyes with you, “You told them to fuck off?” “Yes, but it didn’t help…” “You actually told them to fuck off?” he frowned, “Usually you’re too shy to even say anything to strangers…” “I was angry,” you explained, “and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Tommy walked over to you and much to your surprise, he was smirking, “So you told them to go fuck themselves, and then you fought them?” “Yes?” “Did you hit any of them?” You thought about it for a second, “I think I kicked one in the balls and hit the other in the face.” His grin grew even wider and he mumbled to himself, “Wait ‘till I tell Arthur about this…” “Why?” you protested, “So he can laugh at me as well?” “No, sweetheart, he’ll be the proudest brother ever. His little sister, who everyone thinks is a little mouse too scared to do anything? She fucking hit a grown man and told them to go fuck themselves. Now that’s a hero in my book!” His laugh was contagious and you had to join in. But soon you became uncertain again and asked, “Are you not upset I lost the money?” “The money’s not important,” his face grew serious again in an instant, “but you are.” “Really?” you whispered. “Yes,” he took your face in his hands, “Listen, Y/N, this is what’s going to happen: Billy Kimber threatened my little sister, so I’m going to put himup against the post, and shoot him.” “And then what?” “Well, what usually happens in your books? Maybe I could learn something from them, eh?” A warm feeling of being appreciated for who you were came over you, “You’d take his kingdom and his skull would be put up on the gates, as a warning for all future enemies.” “That’s fucking dark,” Tommy raised one eyebrow, “But I like it.” “Me too…” you smiled at your brother. “I mean it though, Y/N. Kimber touched you, so I’m going to shoot the bastard. I won’t let anyone fucking go near you again.” And just like that, you felt safe enough again to continue dreaming. *** A few weeks later, everything had turned to chaos, both in the Shelby household as in the whole of Birmingham. Tommy didn’t speak to anyone of what happened to you, he hadn’t even apologized, but he wasn’t like that. He told you he’d fix it, promised you revenge, and that was even better. When the men were counting minutes in front of the Garrison and Billy Kimber’s army arrived, you were sitting at home with a book. You couldn’t really concentrate, because you knew there were too many of them. You pretended some angel would appear to save them all. There’d have to be no bloodshed, because this angel would be on your brothers’ side. That angel came in the form of your older sister Ada. She’d always had flair. In the end, only two bullets were fired. You listened to them both. One killed Danny Whizz-bang. The other killed Billy Kimber. Nobody knew, but as Tommy fired, he didn’t have business on his mind.

As he aimed, he saw his little sister’s face, all bruised and battered.

He whispered, “for Y/N,” and shot.

Bang.

***

Masterlist

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monst · 4 years

Note

I'm thirsting. Shinsou slipping birth control pills in y/n's food so when he uses his quirk to fuck her without her knowing, so he can have the pleasure of cumming inside her. Hnn, and he can take pictures of his cum spilling out of her for himself.

On the nose

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

All characters 18+

Warnings: Do I even have to write sexy time? But yeah sexy time actions, Somno, Noncon, Does this count as drugging??? Quirkplay, In summary he’s gonna fill you like a cream donut… :’)

Shinsou read the label for the millionth time that day, the words seemed to glare back at him berating him for what he was about to do. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, this wasn’t his first time using his quirk on you when you slept. He had stretched you out more times than he cared to keep track of. However, it would be his first time experiencing the heat of your walls directly.

The thought of going in raw had him on edge, he couldn’t wait but he also didn’t want to mess up. Taking out the popper dosage he decided that the best way to get you to ingest the pills would be by grinding them into your drink. He hoped it would work. If not then well... ironically he had a plan b… He prepared your drink, a fragrant hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

He grinned deviously at the creamy consistency, well aware of the subtle hint. He made sure to stir it well before heading into the living room. There you sat, your gorgeous frame covered in a cute nightgown he’d gifted you. The modestly long dress was covered in hundreds of tiny cats and you looked adorable in it. Your eyes were glued to a book he had lent you. Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

“Hey, I got you a cup.” He broke you out of your reading, holding the mug up to you.

“Ugh Hitoshi, You're an angel~” You gushed, grabbing the ceramic from him thankfully. Shinsou feigned a meek smile, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Am not.” He protested weakly.

You took a mouthwatering sip and moaned, missing the glint in the asymthest man’s eyes at the sound. “Are too.” You hummed. “Need I remind you of why I’m here?” You smiled gratefully.

“Anyone would have done the same kitten.” He shrugged, the cushion next to you slumping underneath his weight. Your face warmed at the nickname, your fingers tapping on the mug to control your fidgeting. ‘He’s just being friendly (Name).’ you told yourself. Shinsou had been an incredible friend to you and you didn’t want to ruin your relationship with your attraction towards him. In effort to cool the heat in your cheeks you changed the conversation.

“So about the book?” You began, taking another sip of the hot beverage.

“Hm?” His plum eyes were focused on the flecks of white at the corner of your lips. Yet another thing you didn’t notice.

“Right so I’m up to the part where Van Helsing hypnotized Mina to get to the Count. And I was thinking about how crazy that must be.” You paused. “I mean first the Count was visiting her at night drinking from her while she slept. And now her mind is basically being taken over, I feel kinda bad for her...It’s freaky.”

Shinsou held in a laugh, bringing his cup to his lips in an effort to conceal his smile. He was riding high on a power trip, knowing that you weren’t privy to his quirk. He agreed with you, watching as your throat bobbed; the last of the chocolaty liquid sliding down. He stayed with you on the couch chatting about nothing in particular. Until.

“When do you think I’ll be able to move back into my apartment?” You asked.

“Hard to say, We still haven’t caught the guy who snuck into your home.” He frowned, worry filled his eyes, brows drooping as his hand reached out to gasp yours. “Don’t worry we’ll find him, but until then the guest room is all yours.”

“Thanks Hitoshi.” You wrapped your arms around his strong frame. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had ran into that stalker.” Shinsou nodded patting your head gently, his nose buried into your neck. You smelled absolutely intoxicating…

It was late, and you had gone off to bed hours ago. Your slumbering form didn’t register the creak of the door being pushed open. Shinsou felt the bed dip as he crawled on top of you, he trembled in anticipation and gently pinched your side. Once you let out a sound your mind was his. Now in control he invaded your dreams, making sure that he consumed every nook and cranny of it. He had been dropping nitpicked dreams into your head since you had begun to stay with him.

Insurance, he called it.

Pale knuckles brushed against your cheek as he stared down at you lovingly. His soft lips pressed against you, gently at first. It wasn’t long before he was leaving open mouthed kisses on your lips, his tongue tracing their shape, hands squeezing your sides. He seared his lips on the sensitive flesh of your neck, careful to not leave any marks. He palmed your breasts from atop your clothes. His other hand sliding down to the hem of the nightgown.

“Your so soft kitty.” He breathed, sitting up in between your thighs. His hands kneaded the flesh of your plush thighs as he spread your legs, pale fingers pushing the gown up to your neck. Moisture left his mouth as he took in your nude form. He’d seen you bare so many times but it never failed to leave him breathless. His hands traced every edge and curve; a moan slipping past his lips.

“God you're so beautiful~” If you had been awake the intensity of his gaze would have set you ablaze. He took his time exploring your body, his lips caressing your nipples, suckling on the stiff peaks, drawing soft moans from your slumbering self. Unconsciously your fingers found themselves in between soft purple strands. Your body pressed into his as his fingers disappeared underneath your panties.

Pale digits traced down the length of your slit allowing your slick to coat them. A grin touched his face. “Only I get to make you this wet babydoll.” He sighed against your chest, teeth nipping at your nipples once more. He leaned back and hooked his fingers underneath the elastic easily sliding your panties down your legs. He slipped them inside his sweatpants pocket so as to not forget them later. Once more he took your legs and parted them further.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “Look at this pussy.” He felt himself throb at the sight. Your lips were glistening with a light sheen of your arousal and Shinsou wanted a taste. But that could wait.. Afterall he did have all night.

“You look so delicious Kitten.” He moaned allowing his thumb to rub slow circles on your clit. “You're pretty pussy quivering under my touch.” He sneered watching as your chest rose and fell for him. For him. All of it was for him, All of you.

“Hmmm”

“That’s right, you love it when I play with your slutty cunt don’t you?” He panted, heat consuming his face as you moved against his fingers, your legs spreading wider for him in invitation. He was going to allow you to feel the stretch of his fingers when:

“Hitoshi~” You slurred sleepily.

“Ha~” Just the sound of his name on your lips was euphoria. He couldn’t wait anymore. He slid down his sweats, just enough to let his cock spring free. His breathing was heavier, lust clouding his every thought and his thighs trembled when he brushed the head of his cock against the soft flesh of your folds. He played around sliding the tip up to your clit then down; to circle your entrance. He wanted to savor this moment.

“Hnng” You whined in your sleep, your hips lifting off the bed.

“Would you look at that?” He whistled. “My babycat wants me to stretch out her tight little cunt. Well you asked for it~”

With that he sunk into you, he leaned over at the feeling his fists gripping the sheets as your hot velvety walls caressed his throbbing length. “Holy fuck Kitty.” He gasped. He wasn’t even fully sheathed and the warm wet hug he was getting had his eyes rolling back in pleasure. He drew out and pushed back in slowly, basking in the way your walls rippled around him, loving the way your moans enhanced the feeling.

He set a slow deep pace. “T-This feels amazing.” He groaned, his hands coming under your ass to better angle his thrusts.

“.H...Shi~” You whimpered.

“Yeah, that’s right, say my name kitty.” He grunted increasing his pace, the sound of your pussy gushing for him encouraging him to go faster. The paps of his balls hitting your ass drove him to lift your legs, his cock sliding in deeper.

“Ah!” You wriggled in pleasure, your brows scrunching up as he fucked up your insides.

Shinsou shifted and he felt your slick walls clamp down on him. “I found it didn’t I?” He grinned. He continued to abuse the area he discovered watching as you cried out his name, drool slipping down your chin. He leaned down to allow you to grasp onto him.

“Tell me.” He commanded. “Tell me who fucking owns this pussy?”

“Y-Yuah!” Your slumbering form was subjected to whatever he desired and he moaned at the answer.

“Fuck yes you belong to me kitty.” He gasped. He felt your body tremble; your silky walls squeezing down on him tightly. But he was far from done. His name tore itself from your throat as he rutted into you. He fucked you through two more orgasms before the telltale signs of his end were near. He fumbled with his hand to grab his phone from his pocket.

He hit the camera button and began to record. Your face was clear in the shot and he slid the frame down your body making sure to zoom in where your bodies met. He groaned at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. He wanted to get this one thing on video before he came inside of you.

“Kitten I-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted, his hips stuttering. “Where...Where do you want it.” He gasped.

“..In..Side.” He really loved his quirk… Shinsou came with a low growl of your name, spilling ropes of his seed deep inside your pulsing heat. He emptied his milk inside of you, staying in until his sensitive cock trembled and then he pulled out. The girth member was covered in a combination of his and your cum but he disregarded his mess and lifted your leg recording how his cum slid out of your pussy. It dribbled down slowly like molasses sliding down to your puckered hole and staining the bed.

He took a couple more pictures and slipped his phone back into his pocket. All that was left was to clean you up… And his tongue did a really good job at that.

You sat at the table a plate of half eaten food staring back at you. You had paused your consumption when you heard the Shinsou’s door open. Purple tufts of hair flying every which way. He grumbled out a groggy ‘morning and headed to the bathroom, a sly smirk on his lips when he was no longer facing you.

Your face warmed at the sight of him. You had such a vividly erotic dream of him last night…

#shinsou x reader smut #shinsou smut #yandere shinsou smut #yandere shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader

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dewitty1 · 3 years

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Muggle Technology and Heroism

TommyLane

Chapters: 16/16 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Roommates, Pining, Squirt Gun Fights, James Bond Fanboy!Draco Malfoy, Sharing a Bed, Explicit Sexual Content, Drinking and Dancing, A Five Step Plan of Seduction, A Mysterious Absence Of Plot Outside Of Their Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Angst and Humor Summary:

Draco Malfoy wasn’t exactly the best roommate Harry’s ever had. The man tended to watch way too much James Bond and his obsession with muggle technology not only rivaled Arthur Weasley’s but more often than not ended with Harry trying to assure him that the appliances weren’t out to get him. Then there was the little fact that Harry was hopelessly in love with him while Draco remained completely unaware, bringing nameless men home night after night.

But Harry loved his life and was somewhat (as long as he doesn’t actually think about it) content enough in the way things were going. That is until Draco’s old boyfriend comes sweeping back into town – making Draco breakfast and fixing the remote control before Harry can and forcing him to realize that if he doesn’t do something soon, that he might lose the man he loves before he even gets a chance to ever actually have him.

Excerpt:

It was odd to think that maybe he had learned the most about the other man by watching him watch James Bond. Learned the most by the things he purchased and how he used them to relate to Harry… “Draco, the thing is…you’re a bit difficult to understand, you know. You always have been, you were always good at keeping me guessing. Even when we were young, but I think it’s worse now. Harder…to really know what you’re thinking.” Draco frowned at his drink, a deep line carved into his forehead. “It’s called having decorum Potter.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you just don’t know how to say what you’re thinking…what your feeling.” The blonde shifted before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Is this about me fucking around again? Your odd roundabout way of telling me I’m a slut with some sort of emotional complex?” “No.” “Good. I don’t much care for that word.” “Slut?” “Complex, makes me think of fucking shrinks and their idiot views on the way my mind turns.” Draco flicked the cap he had been rolling absentmindedly between his fingers into the grass, a sneer on his lips that hinted that maybe there had been psychiatrists in his past - making him lay on leather couches and trying to analyze him as he glared and told them to fuck off in a number of different languages. The mental image lurched both painful and humorous in his stomach, a small smile contending on his lips as he pictured a younger Draco with his snarky mouth and petulant air. He never would have put himself in therapy, it had to have been a part of his parole after the war. God, Harry almost felt sorry for the men and women who had been assigned to his case. But he was getting sidetracked with his hands sweating against his leg, his heart pounding in his chest, and he needed to stop mentally stalling and gather his courage and do what he should have done days ago. Weeks ago. Months ago. Years ago… He fidgeted as he fingered the bottle and cleared his throat. “Well in any case I’m not talking about all the men. Or about Ethan. I’m talking about you and…and me.” Draco silently shifted his gaze to meet Harry’s, his lips wet from the beer and his eyes heavy, his jaw sliding forward like he was physically blocking his mouth from forming any audible words. He looked determined and lost, confused and uncertain all at the same time. Harry smiled softly, his fingers reaching to lightly touch Draco’s jaw, his courage pumping stronger, pulling him deeper when the other man didn’t pull away - didn’t even look away, not for a second, his gray eyes darkening and drowning out the sound of nature around them. “Harry -” His voice quivered with uncertainly, his eyes darting down as Harry brushed his thumb along the outer swell of the other man’s bottom lip. “I still remember where we were when things changed for me. We were at Pansy’s, I think it was her birthday and you were wearing those navy robes -” “I don’t wear navy.” Draco interjected and Harry grinned as he felt his body tip nearer, his blood pumping hot through his veins and in his ears and he wondered if Draco could hear it. If he could hear the beat of his heart, the thrum in his blood. He wondered if Draco felt it rushing through his own body in a matching rush of nerves and excited anticipation. They were a match in so many things, opposites in everything else, aligning perfectly, complementing wonderfully. Where Harry lacked Draco stood strong and the same was true for the other way around….and in this, Merlin, Harry could only pray they matched. “You did. They were new, you kept tugging at the sleeve when you thought no one was looking and you unbuttoned the top collar as we were talking. You were complaining about the increased price of Chinese chomping cabbage.” The sun had been shining hot, Draco’s face had been flushed a lovely pink, his tone an exasperated huff as he batted at invisible insects and tried to not pull on the collar of his robes that Harry was pretty sure had been a gift from someone. The back garden had been crowded with few people he knew and dozens that Draco did but still the blonde sequestered himself against a tree and chose to lament his potion sells because of the damn fucking cabbage to Harry. They had ended up drinking too much and Draco had smiled sloppily over at him as they snuck round the house and into the wine cellar - where Draco preceded to unburden Pansy’s family of various bottles of prestigious vintage. It was the night Draco vowed to turn Harry into a wine aficionado (or at least not such of an uncultured plebeian who thought wine from a box was quite good). The night Harry had tasted his first Merlot that he actually liked and the night he had shown Draco his first film (Dr. No…which in hindsight probably wasn’t the wisest move). The night he finally admitted to himself as he listened to Draco huff and rant and swat at flies that he had fallen for the other man. “Chomping cabbage?” Draco murmured and Harry could have sworn that the other man’s breath was a little shallower, his cheeks just a little pinker. “That…that was years ago.” Harry nodded and lifted his gaze from Draco’s lips to his eyes. “Yes.” Draco sucked in a breath and blinked quickly, the sun sinking beneath the horizon in one last splash of dying color around them. “You’re being rather enigmatic, Potter. It’s highly unnerving.” He whispered. “No, it’s simply really.” Harry leaned closer as he repeated his words from earlier at the tailors, his thumb brushing along the blondes jaw before slipping his hand down to curve possessively around the back of the man’s neck. He tipped his head, bringing them close enough that their breath mingled and warmed the space between them as he visually traced the sharp angles of his cheeks, the slightly parted fullness of his lips, his impossible gray eyes - the flecks of blue and gold bright up close. “Don’t be with Ethan. Because things have changed. For a long time…I’ve wanted…” He trailed off and swallowed, his courage faltering even though there was no turning back - not with his hand holding his face, his gaze full of the words that weren’t coming off his tongue but with the half confession ringing loud and clear between them anyway. Not with their lips nearly brushing and Draco’s eyelashes fluttering like he couldn’t decide if he should close them or stare wide eyed at him until he inevitably went crossed eyed. “What do you want?” Draco breathed and there was nothing hard or needled about his tone - his voice flayed open and making Harry’s heart constrict as something fluttered in his stomach. “You know. You have to know already…” He murmured in a breathy gush that pushed out of him and before he could ruin it with his own fumbling stutters, Harry breathed deep and did what he’d been dying to do for years now - he leaned in and kissed him, slanting his lips over Draco’s whose parted in a breath of surprise that got muffled and lost inside him. He distantly heard and felt Draco’s drink clatter to the ground as his grip slipped and spilled beer over the ground, his pale hand pressing flat against Harry’s chest like he was going to push him away for all but a moment before his fingers curled tight into his shirt - scratching his skin and heightening his senses further. Using his free hand, Harry’s fingers found their way into Draco’s hair, twisting in the silky locks and pulling gently, his mouth opening wider as Draco’s nails sank deeper, his heart soaring with the feel and taste and reality that he wasn’t being shoved away. He pressed closer, savored Draco’s quiet gasp, his tongue sneaking out to press against his as he kissed him harder, deeper, closer - his hands trying to tug him ever nearer as Draco let out a strangled broken sound. “Harry…” He whispered in a dizzy sort of manner, his hand that wasn’t squished between them coming up to rest tentatively against Harry’s cheek - first one finger, then two, the third tapping in an offbeat rhythm. Trembling. “Don’t be with him. Or anyone else.” Harry muttered between kisses with Draco’s eyes squeezed tightly closed, his lashes dusting his cheeks. “Be with me.” There were more words on his tongue, things that needed to be said, that needed to be made clear, but the man’s lips were like a drug and he was instantly addicted - every nerve in his body catching fire as the other man tensed, let out another soft sound that cracked in the middle, and pressed closer on his own accord. Kissing him. Draco Malfoy was kissing him and for once Harry wasn’t dreaming.

♡*(ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡⋆*ೃ:.✧

#Muggle Technology and Heroism #TommyLane #drarry fic rec #fic rec #Drarry fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp fic rec #Draco Malfoy #Harry potter #OMG Thery were roommates #pininig #angst #fluff #drarry fluff #Carey's bookmark fic recs #carey's personal bookmarks #Drarry #Drarry squad

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danny-chase · 3 years

Text

Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Titans (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper & Dick Grayson & Donna Troy & Garth & Wally West, Roy Harper & Dick Grayson Characters: Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, Garth, Wally West Additional Tags: Teen Titans as Family, Fab Five, POV Roy Harper, Dick Grayson Whump, Hurt/Comfort, getting stuck in small places, Dick pisses people off too much, cat carriers, Canon Typical Violence, roy is trying his best, Dick is bendy, Roy Harper is Speedy, Dick Grayson is Robin, Donna Troy is Wonder Girl, Garth is Aqualad, Wally West is Kid Flash, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, But he gets a kiss on the head instead, No Beta We Die Like Roy Harper, Stitches, Blood, Vomit, muscle spasms, TW for Claustrophobia Series: Part 2 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Dick rescues the Teen Titans, and they immediately have to return the favor.

Roy cursed as his fingers slipped; he’d just been about to make some damned progress on the chain. But no. He was stuck, chained to a wall, in some godforsaken place. He was never gonna hear the end of it from Dick if he couldn’t get out of these cuffs.

He slumped back against the wall of the dimly lit, empty little closet. At least Dick had gotten away. He’d owe one to Wally for listening to him.

<em>“KF, get Speedy out of-”</em> He’d never forget the look of shock on his face when Wally scooped him up instead. Dick was gonna be pissed, they were in a lecture for sure, but Roy wasn’t dumb – he knew Dick had the best chance of getting them out of this mess.

Especially because the JLA were off world.

And the Teen Titans weren’t technically supposed to be going on missions right now…

And he’d been the one to suggest they go out anyways.

He fidgeted with the lock again, ugh. This was so embarrassing – he felt like a kid playing dress up rather than a superhero. Well, he couldn’t feel too bad – Donna and Garth had gotten grabbed first, and Wally got abducted on his way back to pick him up. So, he was at least the second to last man standing.

The chains refused to budge – he was starting to get worried. It’d almost been an hour, they needed to get Garth out – no way fish boy would die of dehydration on his watch. If he had his bow, he could have picked this by now. He huffed in irritation as the chains slipped again, as he lost what little progress he made.

Even if he got out the chains, he’d have to get out the door, find the others, free them, and somehow get out. And he had no idea where this even was.

Dick could get them out of this… right?

Maybe he should’ve let Wally get him out of there instead – but even then, what would he even do? No – he’d made the right decision. But in the eerie silence, he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of regret.

The light coming from the bottom of the door flickered, a shadow appearing. Roy rolled to his side, trying to get a better look. There were two black boots, silently approaching. The doorhandle jiggled, quietly opening.

He heard a shout as the door slipped open – Dick’s alarmed face appearing for half a second before recoiling. He threw a set of lockpicks in the room before Roy could hear his footsteps pounding away.

Roy caught the lockpicks with his mouth, and carefully dropped them into his hands, immediately getting to work. He tried to tune out the sounds of a scuffle outside, tried not to worry as he heard Dick taunting whoever was out there, tried not to panic as he heard shots being fired.

His hands shook as he finally heard the first click. His palms were getting wet with sweat – and he fumbled for a moment, the pick slipping out of his hands just as he started to work on the second lock. Fuck. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time – Dick’s taunts were starting to sound strained, from the sounds of things, he was outnumbered.

He leaned back, grasping for the pick. More footsteps pounded through the halls.

“For a count, you’re really bad at-” Dick’s voice cut off with a thud. Roy’s heart pounded against his chest.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckkity fuckcakes.” His fingers finally found the picks, and he forced himself to breathe slowly, and stay calm. He could do this. It was no different then steadying his hands while using his bow. They worked under pressure all the time.

The lock clicked open in what had to be record time. He quickly shook the cuffs off his wrist, and immediately started work on his ankles. Footsteps were walking away from him, by the time he got through, there was silence in the hall once more.

“Shit.” He muttered, rubbing his wrists as he stood. He crept to his door, peeking out. The hall was empty to the left, though a few unconscious goons laid off to the right. He had two options. Try and find the others or try and find where Dick had gone off to. He couldn’t wait too long; Dick had a tendency to piss off his captors and Garth would need water if he’d been left high and dry.

As he stood in the hallway, trying to make his decision, a near-silent pattering of footsteps began echoing closer. He leapt back into the room, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Quietly pulling the door shut, he held his breath.

The quiet steps got closer, stopping in front of the door. He dropped into a defensive position, getting ready for a-

“Speedy?” Donna whispered, cracking the door open. He sighed in relief, at least something today had gone right. She swung open the door as he waved. He was pleasantly surprised to see Garth and Wally standing behind her.

“Where’s Rob?” Garth asked, his face falling as he scanned the empty room.

“He asked me to get these two out and meet him here.” Wally explained hastily, pulling out a hand drawn map. Roy shook his head.

“Sorry guys, he got grabbed while I was getting out of the cuffs.” A pit was forming in the bottom of his stomach. For something to go right with them, something else had to have gone wrong. “Follow me.” He whispered, heading off to the right.

They slunk down the hall, trying to ignore the amount of blood and what seemed to be vomit scattered around the area where the skirmish had taken place. Roy could feel adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart leaping into his throat every time he caught a shadow moving in the corner of his eye.

Donna slipped her hand into his, looking just as anxious as he felt. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. He signaled with his other hand for them to stop at the end of the hallway. Silently he poked his head around the corridor. A flight of stairs led up to a higher level.

He picked his path quickly and quietly, making sure nothing squeaked or creaked. As he climbed, he was acutely aware of a steady trail of blood speckled across each step. He let go of Donna, and motioned for the others to follow in his footsteps.

He crouched down as he reached the top. The stairs opened into the back corner of the main headquarters of these assholes. He pointed at Wally, motioning for him to join at the top. He scanned the room, hopefully Dick was in here – Wally could grab him and they’d get the fuck out. There was a wall of monitors mounted on a desk in the back (some of which showed them still neatly locked up in their rooms). A table sat in the center; a few goons sat there keeping an eye on the screen.

His eyes followed the trail of blood across the floor, it led to a box(?) under the desk, a navy blanket covered it, obscuring its shape. He nudged Wally, pointing it out, and Wally nodded back shooing them back down the stairs.

Garth passed him the map, wordlessly showing him the route out as he reached the bottom of the stairs. They waited a few minutes, watching as Wally stood at the top of the stairs, readying himself for the perfect moment. In the blink of an eye, Wally was in front of him, the covered box in his arms.

He ripped off the blanket, tossing it aside. He heard Donna gasp next to him and fought to stifle his own reaction.

“I left you alone for five minutes…” He whispered, pulling the lockpicks out again. What he assumed was Dick was crammed into a cat carrier, his side/arm(?) bulging out against the metal bars. A hefty padlock rested against the side, another on the top. Roy’s blood boiled, his vision tinting red around the edges.

Who the fuck would do that to a kid? Dick was annoying – but this? This was-

“Get… out first.�� Dick wheezed. Roy snapped back into the present. Blood dripped from the bottom of the carrier. “Not… safe… here.” Wally passed the carrier to Donna, and together, they quietly sprinted towards the exit.

“I’m going to kill them.” Roy swore, from the safety of their Titans sub (because of course the base was underwater, why not?!?). He angrily attacked the lock with the tools.

“’s fine.” Dick’s muffled voice peeped out from the cage.

“We’re all safe.” Donna nervously stated from the driver’s seat. “That’s what’s matters.”

“Does he look safe to you?!?” Roy yelled, the lockpick nearly snapping in his hands. “Safe my ass. What the hell?!?”

“Uh, you should calm down a bit, or you’re not gonna get him out.” Garth noted.

“’as a point.” Came Dick’s muffled response. Roy huffed, focusing on his work. Finally, the lock popped open. He opened the front door, freeing up some space, and started on the latch at the top.

“How the hell did he fit in there?” Wally muttered disbelievingly. “All of you is in there, right?” He asked, eyes wide with worry. Roy clenched his tools.

“He better all be in there.” He spat.

“I think I am.” Dick replied. Garth timidly walked around the edge of the table, and poked Dick’s side.

“Are you okay?” He asked, lifting the shirt to reveal the imprint of the cage. “There’s blood leaking out of the bottom.”

“Garth, I wouldn’t call this okay.” Wally replied, waving widely at the situation.

“Finally.” Roy muttered, missing Dick’s response as the top lock popped open. He threw open the door. “HOLY FUCK!” He screamed; people were NOT supposed to bend that way.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Dick’s head popped out of the cage. “But… I can’t feel my legs… and I think my shoulders are dislocated.”

“Rate your pain?” Donna called back.

“I’m fine. My limbs fell asleep… like twenty minutes ago.” Dick replied.

Wally threw up in the trash can in the back as Garth attempted to carefully pry Dick out. He’d been tucked into a tiny little ball of limbs, folded neatly in half, his legs pressed to his collarbones, and his arms folded in on themselves.

Roy plopped on the ground. “What the fuck is wrong with them? What the actual fuck?!” He crawled over to join Wally. “Who puts a kid in that tight of a cage?” His stomach flipped, and he leaned over the trash can, waiting until he was sure he was safe – and thankfully, not losing his lunch.

“Can I just break this?” Garth asked, gesturing to the carrier.

“Be careful with him.” Donna warned from the front. “You don’t want him to get cut on any sharp edges.”

“Whatever you do… could you hurry it up? Breathing… is kind of hard like this.” Dick wheezed. “Just get me out.”

Garth yanked at the side of the crate, slowly bending its aluminum frame. Eventually it snapped off, and Dick practically poured out in a puddle of limp limbs.

Roy rushed back to the table, he and Garth slowly helped Dick lie flat. Dick flinched at the movement.

“Is it okay for his back to have bent like that?” Garth asked. “I don’t know about humans, but uhh…”

“’m bendy, it’s fine.” Dick hissed through clenched teeth. “Roy woulda snapped.” He ignored the jab, there were more pressing matters.

“Grab the collar just in case.” Donna instructed from the front. A rush of wind and Wally passed a cervical brace to Garth.

“Unnecessary.” Dick groaned, as Garth carefully strapped it on.

“Mm, sure, Batboy. Can you even feel that?” Roy muttered, probing a gash in his side. Dick groaned in response. “I’ll take that as a maybe. You need stitches, and we probably shouldn’t wait any longer.” Wally handed him a medical kit an instant later. He quickly wiped down the cut. “Guys, hold him still.” Dick squeezed his eyes shut as his muscles began spasming. Roy began threading a needle.

“Wally swap with me.” Donna jogged back, hopping up on the table, sweeping Dick’s torso into her lap, cradling his head. Garth popped up next to her, gently massaging his twitching limbs. Roy held his breath, steadying his hands, and sewed his side back together.

Dick gasped in pain throughout the ordeal, but it was hard to tell if was from the stitches or the muscle cramps. “Sorry.” Roy muttered as he finished tying up the end knot. “I’m sorry we got caught.”

“Us too.” Wally’s knuckles were white as he grasped the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry for this.” Garth apologized hesitating only slightly before popping one of Dick’s shoulders back into its socket. He yelped reflexively, trying to curl around the arm.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Donna tugged him gently into a flat position as Garth moved to the other side.

“Please.” Dick asked quietly, eyes staring blankly at the roof. Sweat trickling down his brow – mixing with what looked suspiciously like tears, as Garth grabbed his arm. “Don’t-ahg” The second shoulder popped back in place.

“Sorry.” Garth repeated sadly, rubbing the knots out of Dick’s triceps as some kind of apology. Roy wrapped the fresh stitches the best he could, as Dick continued to spasm uncontrollably, writhing in place.

Roy leaned against the table, massaging Dick’s calf, it was rock hard – Roy cringed internally as he began working out the knots. “Sorry, kid.” He was only a year and a half older, but Dick was always so small for his age.

“’m not a kid.” He grumbled back, “’sides, I’m sorry you guys had to save my ass.”

“What are friends for?” Garth asked, leaning against Donna as he cradled Dick’s hand, gently curling and uncurling each finger.

“For getting you out of cat carriers apparently.” He joked. “You know, maybe he’s really been a cat this whole time.” The muscles finally relaxed under his hands, and Roy moved onto the next one.

“He’s bendy like a cat, and he does always seem to land on his feet.” Wally chimed in. Roy glanced up, watching as they approached their base.

“Not always.” Dick groaned, closing his eyes again.

“Well, at least you have friends who can catch you.” Donna smiled, gathering Dick up in her arms.

“Thanks.” He replied quietly.

“Thanks for coming after us.” Roy whispered back. Dick opened one eye.

“Always.” He promised. “Thanks for coming after me.” Roy pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Always.”

#bad things happen bingo #my writing #teen titans #titans #fab five #roy harper #dick grayson #donna troy #garth of shayeris #wally west #tw: blood #tw: claustrophobia #tw: swearing

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yugyummygot7reactions · 4 years

Text

Behind the Curtain - 5

| Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Epilogue |

Updates are Sundays at 5pm PST!

Characters: Yugyeom x You

Genre: Smut

Warning(s): Pegging

Word Count: 2,576

“Okay,” you could feel him drifting off into dreamland. “Don’t forget that we have to meet with Yugyeom at 8am.”

Yet another meeting you forgot about. This whole week has you thrown off your normal game.

The next morning you awoke to an empty bed. You hoped that Bam Bam would still be there, there would have been plenty of time for a quickie and some cuddles before starting the day. You looked around the room and it was as if he had never been there, even the food tray he brought last night was gone. If it weren’t for the faint lingering smell of his cologne on your pillow, you would have thought it was all a dream.

You looked at your phone and saw you had an hour before meeting with Yugyeom. You jumped into the shower and threw on your sleek black office dress, black stilettos, and a red lip. You knew that Yugyeom was a sucker for simple clothes and a bold accent.

You walk into his favorite interrogation room and find him wiping down the table and chairs.

“You made it!” He said with a bright smile lighting up his face. He was always so innocently excited to see you. For someone in charge of getting information out of prisoners using dark methods, he was the most cheerful person you’d ever met.

“Where’s Bam?” You asked as you sat on the edge of the table, crossing you legs in a casually seductive way.

“Ah he...” Yugyeom scratched the back of his neck nervously, you could tell he was thinking of a lie, “he said he had an offsite job today and that you could handle the planning. I can fill him in later.” You just nodded and smiled. You knew there was more to Bam’s absence, but pushing it wouldn’t help you right now.

“So what do we need to plan?” You switched your legs around slowly, pulling Yugyeom’s eyes down, hoping he caught a glimpse of the lingerie underneath your dress that matched your lipstick.

“We just need to figure out if we need any more supplies before the raid. I’m good down here on toxins and weapons. I keep everything overstocked just in case an interrogation doesn’t go as planned. How’s Bam’s department?” He asked, already knowing the answer. He spent more time in the weapons storage and chem lab than in his own wing.

“We are well stocked on weapons, maybe even overstocked. We might need to go through and check on some of the toxins in the lab. Bam has been experimenting more lately and I’m not sure how much he is using with each test. He is usually pretty good about letting me know when I need to go on a supply run though, so I think we’re fine.” Yugyeom nodded in response.

“Cool, meeting adjourned?” he laughed as he shrugged and moved to sit next to you on the table. He jokingly bumped you with his shoulder and smiled nervously.

“Is there something on your mind?” You asked as you leaned back on your arm, putting your chest on full display for Yugyeom.

“I had something of a more...personal manner to ask you,” he said, blushing and biting his lip, fidgeting a bit.

“I’m all ears, you know you can talk to me about anything.” You gently smiled at him. You often forget how bashful the youngest leader is. He is the tallest by far and his interrogations have the scariest energy you’ve ever encountered, but you are reminded here that he is still so young and that outside of his work he is a giant teddy bear.

“Jaebeom hyung is scared that we won’t all make it out of this raid alive,” He said, his voice shaking a bit, “There’s something I want to do before I die,” he looked deep into your eyes and you could see the worry and sorrow buried deep behind his normally tough facade, “Can I... I mean... Can we...” For someone whose job is questioning others, he was really fumbling here. “I want to have sex in the interrogation room,” He finally spit out quickly, “and I want to do it with you.” His anxiety was radiating off of him as he watched your face for a reaction.

Hook. Line. and Sinker.

Instead of answering him with words, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him towards you, crashing your lips into his. His hands frantically reach for your hips, pulling you into his lap so you could straddle him. Within moments you can feel his growing erection rubbing at your barely clothed core. He was so eager.

The kisses got a bit messier and he moved to sucking and licking at your neck as he lifted up you off of his lap for a moment while he undid his pants and let his cock spring free.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in between kisses as he reached to move your panties out of the way, “I just can’t wait even a moment longer to feel you.”

He lined himself up and pulled you down quickly onto his dick, causing a moan to escape your lips. His pace was relentless. He was thrusting and bouncing you up and down, hitting you deeper than you thought he could. The sweat was resting on his prominent brow and his moans were echoing through the tiled room as he refused to let up. The friction of the edge of your panties rubbing your clit with each thrust was pulling you close to your release and you could tell from Yugyeom’s breathing and movements that he was close too.

“I’m gonna cum,” You whispered into his ear as he thrusted harder, making sure you would get there. His name fell off of your lips as he pushed you over the edge, your walls clenching around his cock.

“Oh shit,” he breathed out roughly, “Y/N,” he was helping you ride out your orgasm, “I’m - I’m cumming.”

“Not inside,” You mildly panicked, “I’m not on the pill and we aren’t using protection.”

Your words made his eyes go wide and he practically threw you off of him as his seed exploded onto his lap and the table around you.

You kissed him, grabbing his cock in your hand and helping him ride out his high. His kisses were still so needy and his cock wasn’t losing any hardness.

He pulled back for air and was admiring you for what felt like for a long time before you made a move.

“Let me grab some towels, I can clean y-”

“Not yet!” He practically yelled at you as he pulled you back to him. “Can we try one more thing?” He was still breathing heavily, cock still at full attention.

You were a bit nervous to say yes after seeing what some of his colleagues were into, but you couldn’t say no. You needed to see more to know if he was light or dark. You just nodded as he jumped off of the table and moved over to his tool chest in the corner. He kept his torture devices and tools in there, what could he need in there?

He returned with an interesting looking sex toy and some lube.

“What do we do with that?” You asked innocently as he hands it to you with a smile.

“You fuck me with it,” He looked at you, hope in his eyes that you’d say yes. “It’s a strapless strap-on. It even has a vibrator built in so that you can cum again while you fuck me.” He was so happy explaining this to you. “You put it into you, you can turn on the vibrations right away or wait...it’s up to you, and then you lube it up and...well... I think you know what you do with a dick.”

You stood shocked that this is what he wanted to do. You slowly slipped off your dress, revealing your lingerie. You removed the panties and carefully inserted it, into yourself, getting a feel for how to keep it in place. You saw Yugyeom’s dick twitch at the sight.

“Strip.” You said, looking at the almost fully clothed man in front of you. He immediately removed his pants and boxers and then winked at you before removing his shirt, revealing tattoos that you had never seen before. His body made your jaw drop.

“What do you want me to do next?” He asked, eager to get started. He was the expert on this, so you thought he’d want to take control, but you guessed you were wrong.

“Get over here and suck my cock.” You had never felt more empowered than when that phrase left your lips.

Nodding eagerly, Yugyeom moved closer, stroking the fake dick just hard enough to pull the toy inside of you, sending shock waves of pleasure through you with the sensation. He sank down at your feet and leaned forward, licking the tip. Your fingers slid into his already messy hair, a rough tug, telling him to get on with it.

Yugyeom opened his mouth, slowly taking the dildo in. It wasn’t huge, but it was still sizable. He slowly began sucking on the toy, hollowing his cheeks and moving it around just enough with his movements that it was giving you more pleasure than you thought it would.

“That’s it,” you purred.

His hands slid up your legs, wrapping around your thighs, pulling the dildo farther into his mouth, his nose brushing your clit as he got more and more into it. You could see his cock was twitching with excitement for what this was leading to.

“Get it nice and wet,” you ordered. “Maybe I won’t even need the lube to fuck you.”

He shuddered with pleasure, a moan escaping his mouth.

“You like the thought of that?” You asked him, getting a quick nod in response.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “You take my cock so well.” You wanted to see how his other hole would take the cock. You pulled away abruptly, ignoring the little needy sound that slipped out of his mouth and the pout that fell over his lips.

“Let’s get you ready to take my cock,” you commanded, picking up the lube and squirting a bit of it onto the cock, the smell of hot chocolate filling your senses. You held back a laugh. This boy and his chocolate.

He nodded, a smirk on his face as he bent over the table, ass lining up with your hips almost perfectly. It wouldn’t be an ideal angle, but it would work. You looked at him shaking his hips anxiously and noticed there was a bright purple butt plug in place.

“Someone was ready for this,” you walked over and without warning pulled the plug out. It looked like a candy heart and it read ‘Do Me Now.’ He whined at the loss of fullness and whimpered as you stood there admiring his ass.

You went to grab the lube to coat your fingers and prep him more, but he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Don’t...I want to feel it....the stretch.” This plug was quite a bit smaller than the cock, but you trusted Yugyeom would know his limits and would stop you if it was too much. “Please,” he begged, “I crave your cock.”

You lined up the cock and were trying to slide in slowly, but Yugyeom’s arms reached back and pulled you quickly inside of him. The moan that he let out was music to your ears. It made your core twitch in excitement.

He let out another whine, arching his hips back in invitation. You bottomed out and reached down to turn on the vibration. Both of you flinched at its strength and you knew you had to get to fucking him quickly because your next orgasm was already building.

Without giving him any time to adjust, you pulled almost all the way out before plunging back in. It felt indescribable, the feel of his body giving for your touch, the way he begged for your cock to ruin him both vocally and with his actions.

Before long, you found your rhythm, each stroke rubbing against his prostate. “I bet I could make you cum this way,” you moaned out, “without touching your begging cock.” Yugyeom moaned deep in his throat at that thought.

Your thrusts were a bit haphazard, and got shorter and faster as you kept going. You were doing your best to make sure you didn’t accidentally drop the dildo out of yourself and these movements helped that.

“I’m almost there” he whimpered and you were about to fall over the edge again as well.

With a grunt, you slammed into him, nails dragging down his back, leaving red lines through his sexy tattoos. He mewled at the feeling. It was enough to set both of you into bliss. On the next stroke, the pleasure spiked, and he spilled, hips bucking in a way that caused the vibrations to hit you at a new angle, prolonging your orgasm.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the cross between his shoulder blades as you both caught your breath. Your hands rubbed his lower back as you pulled slowly out.

He whined at the loss, but slowly stood up and watched you take the toy out of yourself and turn it off. He gently cupped your face and kissed you, a smile creeping into the kiss.

“I could die tomorrow and be happy.” He said as he kissed your forehead, “Thank you.” He looked both happy and sad at the same time and you felt bad for the younger. No one his age should have to confront their mortality like that.

“You won’t die, Yugyeom.” You promised him, “You’ll be fine.” You ran your hands through his hair as you searched his eyes for any sign of relaxation.

“You can’t promise me that.” He said as he grabbed his pants and walked away from you. Little did he know, you could.

“I still am.” You firmly said, giving him a back hug, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Yugyeom pulled away from you, a tear falling from his face.

“What are you doing the rest of today?” He asked, trying to distract you while he got his emotions in check.

“I have to meet with Jackson later today. Apparently, he needs my help with some new recruit training.” Yugyeom nodded as he handed you a damp cloth to clean yourself up.

“Why don’t you go get ready for that and I’ll clean up here.” He pulled his shirt over his head and ran his hands through his hair.

“You sure?” You asked as you reached for his arm. He pulled away, still refusing to turn around and look at you, the tears streaming down his face now.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine here and you’re busy.”

You turned and left him there to clean up, feeling bad that you couldn’t ease his mind.

Little did you know, another leader had watched the whole encounter through the interrogation room camera and was hoping you would be able to help him later with his fantasy.

He grabbed his phone and dialed his second in command, “I need you to move the new recruit training to exercise room B today and run it for me. Something came up and Y/N and I need to do some work in room A. I’ll let her know, so don’t worry about it.”

He hung up the phone and a smile crept onto his face.

“It’s gonna be a good workout.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Hello My Lovelies!!!

Did you enjoy the chapter? I sure as hell enjoyed writing it.

What do you think about Jackson?? Light or Dark??

Let me know!!

~LoLo

#got7 #got7 series #got7 smut #Behind the Curtain #Yugyeom #Kim Yugyeom #Yugyeom Smut #yugyummygot7reactions

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ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

Unprofessional-Brock Rumlow x Reader (Part 2)

(GIF credit to @wintersthighs)

Tags: @nekoannie-chan @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Requested by anonymous: 'Hello! Can I please ask for a part 2 of unprofessional? I really love that one'

Summary: (Y/N) prepares herself for her training with Rumlow, but as they spar, he gets her to rethink if she even wants to be in a relationship after what she's been through.

Part 1

Characters: Brock Rumlow x Reader (made up characters are included)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

(Y/F/C)=Your favourite colour

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, sexual tension, slight violence, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So I hear that Agent Rumlow is giving you a personal training session?" Director Fury said as we finished going through the agenda for that day.

"Sir?" I could feel my cheeks heating up.

"I had no idea you wanted to improve your physical skills."

"I'm sorry sir, should I have asked for your permission first?"

"No, I just find it strange." he had a smirk on his face.

"Why is that?"

"You're pretty much trained in the field of attacks and defending yourself, so you feel unqualified?"

"No, Agent Rumlow offered me some training. He pointed out that I wasn't aas sharp as I could be after witnessing yesterday's...incident."

"And he said that to you straight after the incident?"

I nodded.

He chuckled."He is a brave man."

My face dropped at his sarcasm, he was enjoying this. He dismissed me, and I returned to my office. I tried to focus on my work, but I couldn't; there were so many spelling mistakes, almost every five seconds, and I was becoming tired of myself doing it over and over again. I knew what was wrong. Brock was on my mind, that man who was so handsome that it should have been illegal. I recalled back to the times where I saw him come back from an intense mission, his face covered in bruising, stitches still fresh with specks of stained blood, but he somehow looked radiant; I would wince when I saw it, just like I would when catching a glimpse of a football game, all those gorgeous men being battered, what a waste.

"Hey," Yasmin, my friend and colleague, knocked on my door,"you having a late lunch today?"

"Hm?" my head darted up.

"You didn't join us today, we tried texting you."

"Oh, sorry. I've been catching up on work. I had lunch at my desk."

"I'm in need of a coffee break, you wanna join?"

I glanced at the clock."Actually Yasmin, I'm afraid I have a prior engagement."

"A prior engagement?"

"Come in and close the door."

She knew I was going to tell her some sort of gossip, and she excitedly shut the door, almost skipping towards the chair opposite my desk.

I couldn't help but laugh at her expression as she waited for me to speak."OK, so you know what happened yesterday?"

"You putting that bitch in her place, yes, I vividly remember the enjoyment."

"Well, Agent Brock Rumlow-"

"Leader of the S.T.R.I.K.E team and only the hardest man to get in the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D, yes."

I rolled my eyes at her."That man has offered me a one on one training session at three."

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock."Are you serious?!"

I nodded.

"Well, what have you brought to wear?"

"Oh, nothing much, just the skimpiest, shortest dress I have with a plunging neckline for my cleavage, and my stripper heels."

"Oh, shut up! Come on, have you brought your cute (Y/F/C) two piece, gym set?"

"...Of course I did."

Yasmin punched both arms in the air."Yes! Oh my god it's happening. What did I say? What did I say?!"

"Yasmin, you're getting way too excited. I bet he literally just wants to train me. Brock wouldn't go out with a secretary."

"Uh, I'm sorry but a secretary is one of the most sexiest positions out there...and I'm not talking about actual sex, just the fact that men like it-"

"Oh my god stop!" I laughed."I'm not getting my hopes up anyway."

"Oh come on," Yasmin moaned,"he wouldn't have offered this for no reason. He is always busy."

"OK I have to get ready now." I stood, hoping she caught the hint.

She understood."You are definitely getting lunch with me tomorrow, and joining me on all my coffee breaks to tell me everything!"

I laughed as she squealed."I promise I will, as long as I can still walk."

She gasped.

"That wasn't supposed to be sexual!"

Heading to the women's locker room, I changed out of my work clothes, spending way too long looking at myself in the mirror. Should I have a high ponytail or a low one? Which one framed my face better?

"What are you doing?" I mumbled to myself.

What if he really did want to just train me? And what if I was putting in way too much effort? I could walk into the gym and make an idiot of myself, Brock could end up just laughing at me. As I made my way to the gym, I was more and more nervous. He wasn't there yet, but I felt like he was about to jump out at any point.

Once again, I caught my reflection in the surrounding mirrors, turning around to check the back of my body, sticking out my arse slightly.

"You look great, stop worrying." Brock startled me as he swaggered in, wearing a tighter top than usual.

I didn't reply, too embarrassed to even think about an answer.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he smirked.

"You're not going to go easy on me, are you?" I smiled, clasping my hands together so I wouldn't fidget.

"Of course not. But I think you can take it."

He started with a warm up, and I followed, nothing was said but I was grateful for that. I desperately tried to concentrate on myself, but who wouldn't take the risk to watch an insanely fit man working out beside you.

He swiftly grabbed a pair of boxing gloves, explaining how I should properly punch as he put them on me. As we stood in front of the punching bag, I did as I was instructed, blocking out Brock and imagining Victoria's face in front of me. It was evident who I wa thinking about, because Brock stopped me.

"I must say, that's much better than yesterday." Brock said.

"Well, yesterday was a bit more of an impulse." I admitted as I took off the gloves, grabbing a towel and wiping off the sweat.

"True. Your form isn't as bad as I thought it was."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant to be."

I was surprisingly happy to be slightly red from the workout, a good way to cover up my blushing.

"It's not like your enemies tell you they're about to attack," I pointed out,"it could be at any moment."

He suddenly grabbed my arm and twisted it back behind me."How right you are."

I quickly reacted and kicked his knee in, making him bend slightly. This made it easy for me to flip backwards over his shoulder, kicking him to the ground. As he grabbed my ankle, I straddled him as to not fall onto my back; however, he was too fast for me, and kicked his legs up so flipped over him, landing harshly on my back. There was no time to groan though, as his fist came flying towards me and I blocked it. Both of us managed to get back onto our feet throwing punch after punch, attacking in all corners. But knowing that Brock was much more skilled, he was able to take me down, landing flat on my back again. I tapped his arm as we took a breath, sensing he also wanted this to end.

"That was quite impressive." he panted.

I breathlessly laughed."Thank you. God, I haven't had this much adrenaline since...well actually yesterday."

"You're not as rusty as I thought."

"I'm surprised too. It's been ages since I was actually in the field." I took another deep breath, finally feeling my heart beat slow down."Can I ask you something?"

He stood up, holding his hand out to me. I took it, still surprised by his strength as he easily hauled me to my feet.

He answered my as he grabbed us two water bottles."Go ahead."

"Why did you offer this session? Really?"

He scoffed."You'll just laugh at me."

I took a swig of water, confused by his statement."So it wasn't just to improve my technique?"

"None of us have much of a social life outside of work, right?"

"Right." I dragged out the word.

"So where's the time for personal life? Like...dating?"

How did he seem so confident yet so shy?

"Uh, y-yeah. I suppose we don't."

"I'm fucking useless at this shit." he chuckled to himself.

"Brock," I boldly took a step closer,"of you wanted to ask me out, I would have agreed."

"So this wasn't the best tactic to ask you out?" he joked.

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. Come on then, when are you free this week?"

"Actually, I have the weekend off."

"Perfect. I'm sure I can swap my schedules around. Get one of the interns to take over."

"You think Fury is gonna let you do that?"

"I'm secretly his favourite...or at least I think I am. And I haven't had asked for a weekend off in ages."

"It's not something we really do."

Without discussing it, we both headed out of the gym, side by side.

"No, but I'm going to. If the world is ending, they can call the Avengers, we'll be busy."

One of his eyebrows cocked up."If it's the end of the world we really will be busy."

I humorously scoffed at his statement, though didn't reject it. I leaned against the wall next to the locker room door."You really are a brave man."

"You better get this weekend off." he demanded as he started walking backwards, keeping eye contact with me.

"Don't you worry your little head agent." I confidently winked, disappearing into the locker room.

As the door shut, I sprinted to my locker, fumbling with the lock before pulling my bag out of it. I desperately tried to find my phone, almost screaming with joy when I grabbed it. I couldn't unlock it fast enough, quickly pulling up my texts as my fingers tapped away at the screen.

To Yasmin:

You are never going to believe what's happened! Actually you will. But I need you to come to mine and help me pick an outfit...and lingerie xx

#Brock rumlow #brock rumlow one shot #brock rumlow imagines #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow imagine #brock rumlow #Marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel film #marvel movie #Marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel one shot #marvel x reader

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baconsoupforthesoul · 4 years

Text

The Ink Demonth - Day 17 - Distractions

Drawing Connections

A/N: A cute little Borderlands AU drabble for you all today. Harrison belongs to the lovely @inkspottie and I hope you all enjoy~

Harrison sighed as he kicked up the sand that was underneath his feet. It felt like he had been waiting here for ages, but he’s sure that’s just the boredom talking. He looked out across the rocky desert where Henry had gone to scout ahead. Apparently, since this area wasn’t as flat and open as the desert they’d been traversing so far was, he wanted a look ahead in case there were any bandits ready to ambush them. Which left Harrison stuck out here, waiting for his guide to come back.

As bored as he was though, he couldn’t fault Henry for taking precautions. He’d heard all the stories of Pandora. He knew just how dangerous this planet could be. If he didn’t have Henry and his ever loyal skag Boris with him… he doubted he would have made it this long.

Harrison carefully lowered himself down onto the ground, rolling up his sleeves and pant legs again as they had started to come loose. He was grateful that Henry had lent him some clothes, especially since his old Hyperion uniform was ripped to shreds, but they were a bit… big on him to say the least.

Henry was a generous man though, even giving him his own chest armor to wear for protection. Harrison had tried to protest but the man had insisted. The siren just hoped that Henry wouldn’t get hurt because he was missing it. He was already deeply indebted to the man and he had no idea how he would ever be able to repay him for his kindness.

Despite his charitable nature though, Harrison was having a hard time getting a read on the older man. From what little information he was able to glean from Henry, he knew that he had been living in a cave out in the middle of the Pandorian dessert, with only his pet skag for company, for years. And… that was about it. Henry was truly a man of few words, preferring silence most of the time. And when he did speak, his language was stunted and stilted. He’d often scrunch his face up in concentration, as if trying desperately to find the right words to say. It made traveling together a somewhat… awkward experience. Nothing but long stretches of silence as they traversed the harsh wasteland. It sure left Harrison with a lot of time to escape into his own thoughts, anxiously pondering over his uncertain future.

Not wanting to dive too deeply into his depressive thoughts, Harrison scanned the landscape again for any sign of Henry. He squinted as he spotted a dying bush among the sandy landscape, reduced to nothing but twigs. Harrison glanced between the bush and the sand beneath him, an idea forming in his mind.

He got to his feet, brushing off the sand from his pants before making his way over to the bush. He snapped a twig off of it, and began using it to make lines in the sand. Perhaps it was a bit childish to be drawing in the dirt, but it would help pass the time until Henry came back.

But what to draw? Harrison rubbed his chin for a moment until a lightbulb went off in his head. He started with a big circle, careful not to disturb the sand too much as to not mess up his drawing. Then he started adding petals all around it, smiling as the twig glided through the sand. He hadn’t seen any flowers on Pandora yet, and there hadn’t been too many on Helios, aside from the occasional office potted plant.Most of the flowers he’d seen had been in pictures. When he had some time on his hands and no major tasks to complete, he liked to look up pictures of other planets. He had been particularly drawn to sunflowers, with their tall stacks and bright yellow leaves.

As Harrison concentrated on his drawing, he failed to notice the sounds of footsteps behind him. As the siren backed up to admire his work, he bumped into someone behind him.

“Gah!” Harrison yelped and spun around.

“H-Henry,” the siren breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was only his guide, who was looking down at him with wide eyes. “You scared me,” the siren whined, holding a hand to his chest.

“Sorry,” Henry murmured quietly, as Boris scampered up from behind him, his tail wagging happily.

“So… uhhhhh….” Harrison fumbled, always unsure what to say around Henry but feeling the need to fill the awkward silences. “Is… is the way safe?”

Henry nodded, but he didn’t move to leave. Instead he seemed to be staring at the drawing Harrison made in the sand.

“Oh, that?” Harrison turned back to look at it. “I was just bored. We… we can get going now.”

Henry continued staring at the drawing for a moment. Harrison could feel sweat drip down the back of his neck, fidgeting with his hands as Henry stayed quiet. What was going on in that man’s head? Shouldn’t they be getting a move on? What was so fascinating about Harrison’s drawing?

The hermit turned to Harrison and held out his hand, motioning to the stick the siren was still holding.

“You… you want this?” Harrison tilted his head in confusion. Henry nodded and Harrison hesitantly handed it over. What in the world did the man need a stick for?

Before Harrison could ask though, Henry went over and began making his own lines in the sand, right next to Harrison’s drawing. The boy watched him curiously, until it dawned on him.

Henry was drawing too. The boy stared as the older man began making curves in the sand, forehead pinched in concentration.

“It’s… it’s a tulip,” Harrison surmised, to which Henry turned to him and nodded again, a smile on his face. The siren found himself smiling back. “You… you like to draw too?”

“Mmhmm,” Henry hummed in agreement, walking back to Harrison and handing the twig back.

Harrison stared up at Henry, realizing he had just discovered another piece to the puzzle that was Henry Stein. While he often came across as so serious, always focused on survival and necessities, there was more to this man then Harrison could have ever guessed. And he had only just scratched the surface.

The rational part of his brain told him they should get moving, that it was dangerous to stay in one place for too long. But his little distraction had somehow turned into a moment of genuine connection, and Harrison wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

The siren took the twig back from Henry, turning back to the sand as he added another flower to his collection. Henry smiled gently at him, observing as the boy tried his hand at drawing a lily. Boris settled himself down near their drawings, relaxing in the sand and letting out a big yawn. Once Harrison had finished, he handed the twig back to Henry, and the process started all over. They continued going back and forth, adding flower after flower and eventually even a sun and a few clouds. To Harrison’s amazement, Henry's smile never left his face while they were drawing, marking it an all time record for how long he had seen the other man genuinely happy.

Henry suddenly gave Harrison an excited look, pointing at him and then at the ground to indicate he had something to show him. Harrison watched intently as Henry began drawing something new. The man started with a big circle, with a smaller circle shaped indent at the top that looked kinda like two little horns. He added a heart shape within the big circle, before drawing two pie-cut eyes. He finished it off with a big toothy grin, turning to look at Harrison with a grin of his own.

“Awww, that’s kinda cute,” Harrison commented. It sort of looked like a cartoon character, of what little he had seen of them. Cartoons weren’t exactly a welcome pastime on the Helios space station. And something about it seemed.. familiar. Harrison tapped his chin for a moment until it abruptly came to him.

“There were… carvings like this in your cave…” Harrison remembered, to which Henry nodded.

“I… he’s my… I…” Henry frowned, his forward wrinkling in concentration. “Designed him,” he finally managed, a look of pride on his face.

“Really?” Harrison beamed up at the other man. “That’s great! I like him.” And he meant it. It was a cute little character. It made Harrison wonder though, when did Henry design him? And… what exactly Henry’s life had been like before he became a hermit out in the desert?

As Harrison pondered these questions though, Henry lifted the twig up like he was going to add onto his drawing. Before he got a chance though, Boris ran up and grabbed the twig from his hand. He crouched down, wagging his tail playfully, before scampering off with it.

“Hey! Boris!” Henry called out, taking after his skag companion. “No fetch! Come here boy!”

Harrison couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched Henry chase Boris down, the skag having a wonderful time playing with his master. Clearly he hadn’t been getting enough attention before.

His eyes drifted back to Henry’s character though, a frown forming on his face. He couldn’t help but think… he’d seen it somewhere else too. Even before he landed on Pandora and met Henry. But where he had seen it before… Harrison just couldn’t quite place it.

#the ink demonth #ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim #henry stein #boris #boris the wolf #harrison #inkspottie #borderlands au #spacy writes

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gayerplease · 4 years

Text

Sublimation

In case anyone's wondering, in psychology, sublimation is a defense mechanism that involves transforming unacceptable impulses into more socially acceptable action or behaviour. It was one of the defense mechanisms mentioned previously. So no, those are not random words I added for no reason. I'm in love with a psychology geek, so I pick up a few things once in a while :)

Funny how I can give define and give examples for all of them but I don't know shit about the book tested in the literature examination tomorrow.

Masterpost

---

"Roman!" I shriek. "For the love of [redacted]! Stop fucking singing!!"

Roman glares, and sings louder, Patton fighting for his disapproval of my language to be heard over the cacophony of noise.

The day honestly didn't start out that badly. There was a huge breakfast laid out for us, firstly. It was incredibly awkward to sit there and eat it, but the food was good and we managed to convince Remus not to start a food fight, so not bad, overall. And then… Well actually that's about the only thing that's gone right this morning, unless you're willing to count Logan, Apathy, Depression and Anxiety disappearing off somewhere so there are technically less of us arguing to be a win. Yeah. Even I can't imagine the arguments that would break out if they were here too. Between Roman's singing, Patton's fussing over my language (Listen, sophisticated my ass, you make puns, you can't talk. Fuck happens to be exactly the word I'm looking for and I'm fucking using it!), Remus's comments, Deceit's comments (Yes keep talking you're certainly not distracting me) I swear--

"Hey since like Anxiety's not here can we go back to our rooms?" I speak up.

"Fine!" Deceit gives in, head buried in his bowler hat. "But you come back here the instant I summon you!"

"Sure thing Jekyll and Lied!" Roman grins, skipping off. "Bye nerds! No! Remus don't follow me--"

"I'm going to go eat a cookie." Patton declares, earning a raised eyebrow from Deceit.

I just sink out, ignoring the look on Deceit's face. Stupid Light Sides. Stupid Deceit. Stupid Remus. Stupid Anxiety or Protectiveness or whatever the hell that monster is.

I scream in frustration, slamming my fist into the nearest punching bag. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid--

I pick up the nearest thing, a spherical lead weight, and throw it at a target. It shears through the padding, landing with a heavy crash. Ignoring the sudden pain in my shoulder, I rip a dagger off the wall and hurl it too. I stomp about the room, kicking away anything in my path, tossing thing after thing at the dartboards, and then at my punching bags when I've successfully destroyed all of the targets with everything from knives to axes to actual darts.

The cacophony of crashing and my own yelling helps. A little. Not enough! I strike at the punching bag again. I don't miss the tough leather.

… I also don't miss the brick wall. I draw back, snarling obscenities as I cradle my injured hand. Is it fractured or just badly bruised? Did I sprain my wrist? I growl. Hell if I know. It's definitely a lot bloodier than one punch ago though. I groan, sinking out. Anx will be giving me shit all week if I don't get it wrapped up right away. Higher risk for infection or whatever. He's always grouching about how none of us take care of ourselves. Fucking hypocrite. Well, no matter, he'll have it bandaged up in a matter minutes, like always. Then I can go back to punching stuff (with my non injured hand, since I'm not a fucking idiot).

I freeze as I take in the scene before me. Anxiety wrapped around Thomas, Logan, Apathy and Depression as they chat semi-causally, some random show playing in the background, atmosphere only slightly tense. Oh. Right. That's not Anx, even though the way he looks up when I enter is still exactly the same. That's not the Anx I know, even though the way he shoots forward is exactly the same.

"Hurt!" He shrieks, and I barely stop myself from putting my hands over my ears.

There. That's not the same. He doesn't take a hasty step back and respect my boundaries when I shout at him not to touch me. He doesn't tell me to sit down. He doesn't give me a fidget cube to play with until I'm calm enough to hesitantly offer up my injured appendage. He doesn't quietly nod and take my hand and wrap it up. He doesn't ask what's bothering me. He doesn't nod understandingly when I say no. He doesn't listen patiently as I begin to rant not thirty seconds later. He just grabs my hand and does his stupid stupid stupid stupid healing thing.

There are no bandages. Then there is no injury. I growl at him, jerking my hand away as soon as he's done. There's no recovery period. There's no yelling for me to take it easy. There's no follow-ups. He doesn't demand to check it every two hours to ensure it hasn't gotten infected. It's just healed and that's it. Stupid Anxiety and his stupid healing.

I suddenly remember exactly who my audience is. Thomas and Logan are staring, Depression and Apathy, at least, are pretending nothing's happening for the sake of my pride. I'm still panting slightly, my hair and clothes messy and drenched thoroughly with sweat, my arms shaking from the exertion, tension and residual waves of anger.

"What?!?" I snap, irritated, fighting to shove Anxiety off as he tries to massage my aching muscles. He's too strong, obviously, and I end up seated on the couch, the glass of water that was forced down my throat already refilled, the pain in my shoulders gone far too fast for it to be natural.

"... Nothing." Thomas answers after a moment. "Er… are you alright?" He asks. "Do you… Do you want to talk about it?"

I growl at him, finding his tone and questions to be far far far too much like Anx's for my liking.

"What do you care?! Fuck off!"

Thomas swallows.

"... That wasn't very nice."

"Did you think I'd be nice Sanders? I'm wrath dumbass!!"

"I…" Thomas visibly fumbles for an answer. "We do care." He finally says, "I care."

"You didn't know I existed before yesterday afternoon!!" I snarl. "You don't know me!"

"I'd like to get to know you." He mumbles.

I flip him off. His face drops, but then he manages a tight smile.

"Stay a while. Watch some TV with us. We don't have to talk, just… Stay?"

"Like I have a choice." I grouch, squirming against Anxiety's grip before giving up and settling down.

Stupid Anxiety. Stupid Thomas. Stupid Light Sides. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

Stupid feelings.

---

Funny story, I was actually having writers block up until the thing that happened to Wrath actually happened to me. Well not all of it obviously. I was just practicing Taekwondo and uh. Swung a little too hard and didn't miss the cupboard door. Whoopsies. Nothing too bad, just a bruise, but then I realised that that'd totally be something that'd happen to Wrath!

Poor guy, he really misses Virgil, even if he won't admit it. How many characters are in denial? Definitely not practically all of them on one level or another.

Taglist (taken from the taglist repository and those who I saw interacted with the previous post, tell me if you want to be added or removed): @legendsgates @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @gigglyscribbles @sure-i-exist @reconditesocks @quietmob @angrycatlovesfandoms @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @kismet-ignis @lgbtqiaemo @relatiwiki @selenechris @bumbybee3 @torotitanium @kuroyurishion @insert-chaotic-enby-name @seren4d3 @mcgonagalls-witches @b-o-o-o-mep @the-sympathetic-villain @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @melochy @naturallyunstablegamer @waywarddemigod221b @ironemrys @croftersjam15 @weird-gremlin @janusissmol @coffeeoverdosedshipper @gayerthansnek-stans-lisa @bloopadboop @silvarraven @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @itzfemalemarionette1-fazbear

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susoftjockau · 4 years

Text

The Plan - Part Four (Carly) + Epilogue

There was a reason Carly was written last on the list she and Steven had back at the food truck.

One fact to recall was the cold intensity of her dorm mate — who, throughout her moments of bumping into her in the early mornings to pack up and get ready for classes — always brushed her aside and never spoken a word or greeting before going through the front door. Sure, they shared the same kitchen island, brewing their favorites — coffee and tea, eating the same ingredients to survive the day, but the atmosphere she bore off was akin to a snake observing the trappings of a mouse.

In other words, she was scary. Very scary.

Yet even with this insight, Connie tried her best to talk to her, watching shows on the couch as time went by. The shows varied from the casual viewing: there was Under the Knife, going on for twenty minutes before they moved on; Poindexter, which took an hour until interest became fleeting at the newest season; Dogcopter 3 — which Carly laid down the inevitable rating of ‘mediocre and a disaster to the Dogcopter franchise’; and many other shows and movies that didn’t live up to their expectations and excitement for the day.

It wasn’t exciting, well; it felt exciting in its own way. Even with the notion they had to hang out for a great period of time, there weren’t any pushes to speak. It was just the two of them, watching fictional characters go through life in the most poetic or dumbest ways a writer could implement them to do. Connie wished it stayed that way. She loved staying in this perpetual state of media watching, no discourse to be found except for the occasional comments from both of them on how an anime didn’t work out or how a particular movie would rather flaunt its busty women around than a coherent plot.

But Carly found a way to break that silence.

And it was all because of Clockwork Philosopher; that and its remake.

Connie was the type to defend, be the morally correct debater for stuff such as Clockwork Philosopher and its remade counterpart, but that’s the tricky part when it came to that anime series in question: there were committed fans from both ends, ready to fight to the teeth on what they believe is crucial, even if Philosopher’s Solitude version was the best piece of media she’d ever consumed in all her seventeen years of living. Carly was the one who didn’t believe such a statement, and, much to Connie’s dismay, was okay with arguing this over hot cocoa and tea.

It didn’t come out of nowhere. It was a gradual rise where both of them brought upon comments of the characters, of the plot, of the people they rooted for and somehow it all lead up to the discussion on which was better: Clockwork Philosopher or the Solitude version.

Which one had the appeal? Which one carried favorability to both of them?

Connie chose Solitude.

Carly, to her surprise, chose the original.

When asking her why, Carly responded.

“Solitude didn’t play up to what I expected.” It was calm, the type of voice that sounded matter-of-fact if one focused, if one took the time to listen to the lilt in her words. “Instead of giving me an interesting dichotomy between characters and commentary over the human experience, I got shounen caricatures — no tinkering with archetypes, nothing about how they full-on cope; just people who don’t change, keeping up with their platitudes rather than having it be challenged to the brink.”

“But they do though.” She kept herself to the sidelines with this whole debacle, but there was a passion riding her words, hidden in the need to keep herself composed and correct. Debating was something she always had a passion for. There was something intense in being able to argue with someone over something you’ve researched or binged for so long, like the reward was to gloat or get some form of digital pat on the back for one’s diligence towards the whole thing.

They fumbled with their cups, warm to the touch, allowing their television to go on with a scene from the anime in question. Connie continued on. “What you’re saying goes against a great deal with Solitude. People have been subverted, given life and roles in the anime than in the original, they’re seen as people rather than cardboard cut-outs.”

Carly gave a nod to that. Another sip greeting the quiet. “I’m curious. Can you explain more of your reasons?”

And the argument would continue forth for a while.

Both watched the other in this state of bliss and gripes in their tranquil bubble. At first, Connie tried her best to not get involved. She liked conflict where the future of it was determined, not given the option to roam around in probability, to whatever hellish path in consequences it had in mind. She added her pieces, given viewpoints that should’ve brought Carly to her knees, yet Carly didn’t heed.

Carly was composed throughout it. With that curious look of hers, eyeing her with no malice but of intense scrutiny akin to a magnifying glass. Something about it left her restless, lost in a myriad of threads where they would babble and discuss the anime in such a way that Connie had no clue when it would end; whether they would stop it altogether and just allow themselves to watch was an inevitable question — and the answer was: they wouldn’t.

Connie wanted that win. That satisfaction of saying ‘ahah’ to the woman’s face, and Carly — illegible as ever — seemed to prod at her, cornering her in ways that made her feel heated and tense. How could she be so calculated over this? Usually when Connie argued it was over forums where another would get aggressive, ready to rip her teeth out with emotion rather than facts, and when that happened she felt accomplished, morally justified, for she took it with stride. There weren’t any moments where she’d notice a dip in her words or her viewpoints (everything looked solid, put-together, thought out). But not here.

Just...hell no. Not here.

Carly clicked her tongue, harsh and quick. The warmth of their cups were gone, drank to the drenches with nowhere else to go but onto the coffee table in front of them. Connie was tapping her knee. The other didn’t seem to fidget, or sweat, or babble; she looked poised. It was irritating to watch now that the argument had gotten more intense.

“Look.” She started, with that same passive tone to her that made Connie want to groan out in annoyance. But Connie was supposed to be kind, respectful. She wasn’t going to blow a gasket over an argument like this, she wasn’t that petty. “An anime could be the most perfect piece of media in all the land, but that still won’t bargain with me. If they hit the objective writing goals then I don’t care — good on them for being responsible writers, following and conforming to the status of writing in general — but if a writer can’t make me feel the humanity in them, then it’s not worth it. If they can’t get out of their comfort zone and go beyond then there’s no point, it’s boring to me.”

“But they do go beyond.” Connie gritted her teeth, watching the woman continue to stare at her, with that muted expression of hers. She was always calm, always the one to resolve and be the strong and morally-correct debater with animes such as this, but it was hard to stare at Carly with this feeling, this lack of victory. There was the crushing reality that this wasn’t the internet; that the choice to just walk away with that feeling of accomplishment was long gone at this point. So everything to her fell flat, each argument that rose from her lips cornered to something incomprehensible. There was one last argument she had in her mind. Like one would grapple straws, she used it. In her heart, in her timid but firey heart, she wanted to win. “They didn't even give the female characters the moments to be fully realized in the original until Solitude showed off their competency and involvement!"

"But it isn't." Carly's expression kept mute, voice level. It pinched at her, hard. God, why is everything getting crowded? Scorching to the collar? "When it came to character, the original nailed it down. Solitude gave the screen time, but not the true exploration of mankind."

"But you're ignoring the characters they've done justice."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm just being level and open-minded," Carly said. "You don't have to get so heated about this if you’re going to be a sore loser over this."

She shot up.

"Can you stop being a bitch about this!?" Connie widened her eyes at that. Looking at Carly, something shifted in her expression too, illegible and foreign, terrifying to process.

She never did that before, she never did that before to anyone in real life.

She fucked up. She fucked up.

Carly's going to hunt her down for this, condemn her to some weird-ass college version of the Salem trials, and it's all her fau—

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Connie looked at her: Carly's eyes crinkled in amusement, a grin on her features — genuine, no malice to be found. "What?"

"Don't just stand there." Carly ushered her. "Go on, tell me!"

"I don't know, I'm sor—"

"You don't like my opinions." Carly continued, voice rising a bit. "You don't want to agree with them; why are you trying to conform and stay silent when you could tell me that my opinions could be debated?"

"Because that would be rude!"

"What's more rude?" She motioned towards the show. "Telling me that Shou Tucker isn't a bastard or yelling at me that my way of arguing could be jarring to listen to?"

Connie stumbled, words spilling out in incoherent rivers — all the justifications and reasons became cut-up, cut off as she tried to find some silver of rationality that would make Carly back down. But she did like the fight...didn't she?

"Give me your fire, Maheswaran." Carly's eyes narrowed. "Or I'll bring my honest-to-God opinions to the table."

She hesitated. "What honest opinions?"

"About anything we're discussing right now. In fact, I'm planning to bring out the big guns."

"What do you—"

"SAO."

No.

No no no no no.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

Connie saw the grin, the eagerness, and she couldn't help but feel it rub off on her — the same expression adorning her features.

Carly took it as the go-to, for the next statement hit both of them like a gunshot:

"SAO isn't bad of a show."

She really liked this, didn’t she?

-----

“Well, that’s good!” Steven had that beam of a smile again, starting to lean more against the table — which Connie advised against before the table could rock more at his weight. “Like I said, three is better than nothing. You did amazing!”

In retrospect, she saw that too. There was still the awkwardness with many of them, but she now had something better: a few acquaintances (friends, they were friends) who are okay with having her in the group, making things easier if she needed it. Connie rubbed her neck, trying her best to respond. “Yeah. But the next few days aren’t going to be great.”

In their plan, they had a few things settled. One of them was the idea of hangouts, wherein their attempts to make her loosen up and relax to Steven’s group of friends, she’ll be exposed to them interacting with her for a great deal of the day. And the idea didn’t feel pleasant. It felt claustrophobic more than anything.

She looked down. Steven’s hand was on hers, warmth spreading to her knuckles as the man kept his grip. It was soft, tender. He wasn’t going to hurt her, and that always was a fact when it came to Steven. A sweetheart by trade. “You don’t have to do it immediately. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow or even in a few months. It all comes down to how comfortable you are.”

Connie smiled at him, giving the man a small nod. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, okay?” She shifted their hands, allowing her to reciprocate his hold, allowing their intertwined fingers to play and brush against the other. “I want to hang out with you. I want to hang out with your friends. I just need some time.”

He hummed. “Alright. We’ll start on your word.”

It was a relief to know he was careful. It was a relief to know that he cared.

- @borkthemork

#steven universe #su au #fic #connverse #su #The Plan #year one

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greensaplinggrace · 4 years

Note

Clerifa in lockup >:) feral bastards all trapped together until they can get bailed out. First meetings preferred! And all of them in there for going waaay too hard at whatever crimes they got arrested for. Also I like your Cloud hurt/comfort fics a lot, so maybe some of that as well? Sorry lol, this is a bit of a convoluted ask, but I just can't get the idea of Cloud/Tifa/Aerith all locked in a cell together out of my head.

Here it is! Clerifa trapped in a jail cell together XD. They’re all feral, but what’s new. I hope it’s in character 😅. Please enjoy!

*TW for mild violence, abuse of authority, police brutality, and heavy cursing

- If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

---

In a room full of empty cells, Tifa and Cloud are jailed together. The cop placing them behind the bars had said it was to preserve resources, but Cloud’s not entirely sure how sound his logic is when the resources they have seem to be in excess. Not to mention the fact that breaking out will now be twice as easy.

The cop had been a bit dim, he concludes, though not at all like the vicious bastard who’d cuffed them in the first place. That one had been big and mean and surrounded by an entourage of equally cruel sycophants, and if Cloud never sees the man again it will be too damned soon.

He stretches out on the cool metal bench, eyeing Tifa’s agitated slouch against the wall across from him. She’s making an effort not to fidget or bite her nails, but the furrow of her brow is enough to let him know she’s worried. She’d been incensed when they were first brought in, red with rage and utterly willing to deck the bastard cop for a second time if he so much as spoke out of turn, but now she simmers and frets in a silent panic. It’s distracting, to say the least, and Cloud dangles his hand over the side of the bench, dropping his head onto hard metal and staring at the ceiling.

“Tifa,” he sighs, and her responding huff is immediate.

“This is outrageous. I can’t believe they would do this.”

“You can’t?” Just last week, she’d gotten drunk with Barret and stood on his shoulders in the middle of a walmart to tell the world exactly how bastardous cops are. In very bright, explicit, colorful language that had forced every mother within a one mile radius to cover their child’s ears.

Come to think of it, that’s probably what had drawn a dozen of them to Tifa’s door. Armed to the teeth and high on that heedy sense of power all cops seem to possess.

“The way they treated Marlene…” she grinds out angrily, tensing as if preparing for a fight all over again, and this time Cloud can’t help but agree with her. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as enraged as he was when the cop had laid a hand on Marlene. The intense interrogation was already too much for a child, let alone an adult, and Cloud wonders how anybody had expected either of them to remain calm in the face of such despicable violence.

They probably hadn’t, he realizes with a scowl.

“Assholes,” he chuffs, and like the devil they appear. The thick steel door leading out of the cell block clangs open, voices spilling into the room as footsteps clomp inside. Tifa pushes off the wall to get a better look at the newcomers, and when her eyes widen in shock Cloud reluctantly follows her gaze. He has to tilt his head back to see them, barring his throat and bracing his boot against the bench to lift his hips, but it’s absolutely worth it for the sight that beholds him.

Two massive men flank a petite woman as they march her inside, gripping her arms as if at any moment she’ll break away and flee into the night, and the image would be hilariously out of touch if she wasn’t currently struggling furiously against her captors. Her brown boots scrape across the ground as she kicks out, arms straining like pale twigs in their grips.

“I didn’t do it!” she snaps, brown bangs whipping around and catching one of the men in the shoulder as she whirls to glare at him viciously, “this is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Look, miss-” one of the cops tries, and she growls him into silence. Cloud feels a number things at that, none of which are particularly appropriate for somebody currently trapped in a prison cell, and he’s only mildly comforted by Tifa’s own breathless shift in response.

“You have no evidence against me,” the woman huffs, digging her toes into the ground and going limp in their grips. The men drag her a few feet before struggling to get her moving, and Cloud has to choke back an astonished laugh at the sight of it all.

“Ma’am, we saw you walking away from the scene of the crime.”

“Anybody could have been hanging out in that alley.”

“But nobody else was.”

“That’s not even a lick of of proof. I’m allowed to wander where I please. This is a deceptively free country!”

Tifa puffs out a laugh at that, stifling it behind her fingers and ducking her head with a blush. The cops don’t answer except to finally lift the woman's feet entirely clear of the ground. She struggles with in a ferocious protest when they haul her further into the cell block, and as they reach the end of the room, the larger one waves a hand in Cloud and Tifa’s direction. He opens his mouth to speak, but the woman slides like an eel from his grasp and forces his mouth shut with a clack. For minutes, the two cops wrestle to regain control, and Cloud wonders why the hell they hadn't put any cuffs on the woman, if she's such trouble.

"I thought you said she was safe!" The smaller cop barks at his partner, and the other man scowls.

"She was actin' all nice and friendly when I brought her inside. How was I supposed to know?"

"That was before I realized you were jailing me," the woman argues, "It's unlawful. You have no proof!"

The smaller one lets out a noise of frustration, but they both eventually manage to wrangle her back onto the ground. The scene almost has Cloud grinning, right up until the bigger cop moves resumes speaking to them. He's got a big, smug looks painted across his face, and Cloud can already feel whatever joy he'd gotten out of the situation disappear.

“Lighten up, lovebirds! You’ve got company.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cloud deadpans, narrowing his eyes at them.

The smaller cop only snickers. “I’m sure you’ll get along great. This one’s a fighter, just like you headcases. So at least you’ve got assaultin’ cops in common.”

Cloud scoffs in disbelief. “There are a dozen empty cells around us. There’s no reason she should be put in here with us.”

Tifa casts him a scolding look, but Cloud isn’t about to share his cell with a violent stranger, no matter how impressed he’d been only a few seconds earlier. It’s one thing to see it happen to other people, but he and Tifa had been just fine here on their own without some suspicious woman sharing their space.

“Guess you should’a thought of that before punching a cop, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid.”

“Really? And here I thought it was only children that threw tantrums in public.” The man sneers at him, and Cloud's stomach drops at the words. He fights viciously to keep his expression neutral through the rush of shame, determined not to let them see him affected.

Tifa, on the other hand, has no such qualms. She instantly light up in a burning rage, stalking over to the bars and clenching her hands into furious fists at her sides. “Don’t ever speak to him like that,” she snaps, “It was your people that escalated the situation, not Cloud.”

The big cop barks out a mocking laugh. “That’s not how the reports are gonna tell it," he says, and the woman in his grasp makes a noise of disgust.

“You liar! Are you going to do that to my case as well? You can’t falsify evidence!”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it? Cry to mommy?”

“Ex cuse you?” The woman stomps and yanks her arm away from him, but the man is quick to catch her by the wrist again. He mercilessly wrenches her away from the cell door with brutal force, nodding sharply to indicate that his partner should head forward with the ring of keys. The sight has Cloud’s blood boiling, Tifa practically vibrating in a barely contained inferno of rage before him, and he has to clench his teeth to keep calm - to remind himself that there’s nothing he can do. That he doesn’t even know this woman.

“Hey! Watch it!” The woman protests, but it’s a fruitless effort; her cries fall on deaf ears. She doesn't even think to let it get to her, though. Letting out a strangled yell of frustration, she twists in the cop’s hold, attempting to break his grip, and lands a solid kick to his shin. Cloud almost winces at the force of it, impressed when her eyes narrow in a glower that promises violence. “Don’t touch me like that!”

“Ugh, aren’t you a bossy one," the man complains, not even deigning to face her as he speaks, and Cloud’s anger almost boils over. Stranger or not, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. “Could we get her in the cell already?”

The smaller cop finally jumps to attention, working up the courage to edge toward their cell with small, fearful steps. Tifa remains pressed dangerously close to the bars, fiery red eyes tracking the man’s every movement with a pointed fury, and Cloud can see the sweat dripping down the man’s brow beneath her glare. When the cop reaches their cell at last, he fumbles with his keys for a solid thirty seconds before he finally finds the right one.

His buddy groans obnoxiously. “Hurry the fuck up, Gallows. I don’t have all day.”

“And yet you’ll leave us in here for just as long,” the woman huffs, expression still thunderous as her green eyes roil in stormy indignation, “I demand that you let me go! You have no right to keep me here. I haven’t committed a single crime ever, in my entire life.”

It’s Cloud’s turn to hide his smirk this time around, lips twitching with amusement.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Then a loud click sounds throughout the room, and the door to their cage is unlocked. Cloud and Tifa both tense, but before they can so much as breathe the door is being yanked open with unerring speed. The larger cop doesn’t hesitate for a second before tossing his prisoner inside, and she stumbles with a yelp of surprise, falling into Tifa’s arms as the other woman rushes to catch her. Cloud rockets into a sitting position, muscles coiling in case of an attack, but the door slams closed just as quickly as it had opened, the cop instantly retreating to wipe his shaky palms on his pants.

Cowards, Cloud thinks, snorting.

The two cops level him with threatening glares when they hear the sound, but Cloud has better things to do than cower. He meets their eyes head on with a stoic expression, mouth curling only faintly in the mocking hint of a smile. The big one flushes with anger, clenching his fists and charging forward like a rabid animal, and his partner has to drag him back by the shoulder before he can do something he’ll regret.

Cloud doesn’t even watch them go.

“Thanks,” their new prisoner says breathlessly, pulling back to brush her bangs from her eyes as she smiles, “you caught me.”

Cloud hadn’t thought it at all possible for Tifa’s blush to get deeper, but the red on the back of her neck looks like something caused by a burn, and she brings a hand up to rub at it as she returns the smile. “It’s no problem at all. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The woman huffs. “No thanks to those... men.”

“You've got that right,” Cloud agrees tonelessly, turning to lay back down on the bench. He gathers his hand beneath his head this time around, letting one of his legs fall over the edge while he peers over at their new arrival.

“My name is Aerith, by the way.”

“Uh, Tifa.”

“Tifa,” the name rolls smoothly across Aerith’s tongue, drawn out with reverent fascination, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh! Uh, you...you too.” Tifa clears her throat and ducks her head shyly. She’s quick to retreat and resume leaning against the far wall, smiling crookedly as she avoids Aerith’s eyes. “This- this is my partner.”

“Cloud,” he offers succinctly.

He half expects her enthusiasm to die down with the word partner in play, and is instead completely caught off guard when Aerith doesn’t even falter, turning to give him a small wave as the corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Hello, Cloud!” she says, “it’s nice to meet you!”

He almost squints against the brightness of her smile, swallowing when he catches sight of the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. They’re a light pink, rosy from exertion or embarrassment, he doesn’t know, and her lips look incredibly soft. “Uh…” He licks his lips. “Yeah.”

Fuck.

His chest heats with a rising blush, heart thundering wildly, and he turns his head to stare up at the ceiling before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. Thankfully, neither of the women in the cell comments on his fumble. After a time, there’s a rustle of fabric that draws Cloud’s eyes to Aerith again, and he watches as she moves to the opposite side of the bench. He bends his knee to give her more room, glancing away from her grateful smile with a light cough.

Then she hops up onto the metal, sitting cross legged despite her dress, boots drawn up under her. She extends her arms to wrap her hands around the place where her legs cross, rocking with an excited energy.

“So,” she exclaims brightly, as if she isn’t surrounded by two dangerous criminals in a room devoid of witnesses, “you hit a cop, huh?”

Tifa’s eyes widen at the question, and Cloud feels a tinge of his earlier wariness return. He frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I did too!” The words sound so surreal, spoken loudly and happily by a tiny woman in a pink dress. Despite his misgivings, Cloud feels a distinct curiosity about their new cellmate form. He can see Tifa leaning forward with interest as well, eyeing Aerith up with equal parts wonder and skepticism. “Why are you acting so suspicious? They already know you did it.”

The interrogation that was the cause of the whole situation had been about other crimes, though. Ones that they don’t have any evidence of. Cloud decides not to mention that. “Who did you hit?”

“Well, aside from kicking and scratching the one that brought me in…” She tilts her head consideringly, raising a finger in the air. Cloud and Tifa both stare at her incredulously as she actually takes the time to think. “...I guess his partner, who wasn’t really my fault. I mean, how was I supposed to know that pushing him would make him hit his head on the doorframe? Plus the cop who ran over my flowerbed with his car. Oh! And the one from last week, who tried to grab me when I was climbing onto a roof. So rude! Can you believe it?” She sounds honestly, earnestly offended by the action, and Cloud blinks in wordless bewilderment.

“Um…”

“You have quite a history with the law,” Tifa fills in, smiling uncertainly. She repeats her earlier motion, rubbing at the back of her neck, and Cloud resists the urge to take her hands in comfort. They don’t usually hold hands in public, but he doesn’t like to see her so upset.

“It sounds a bit far fetched,” he offers instead, for lack of a better way to help her, "we don't know if you're telling the truth."

Aerith doesn’t get affronted, which is a good sign, laughing and taking the time to cast the both of them incredulous looks. “Wow. You two are a bit distrustful, huh?”

Tifa hunches over in the beginnings of shame, and Cloud isn’t having it. “Cops have a habit of using plants.”

“Well, I can assure you that I am one hundred percent plant free! Except for my garden, of course.”

“Garden?” Tifa asks.

“Mhm! I’m a florist. So, not necessarily... plant free. But the cops definitely do not like me.”

Cloud bites back a smirk, vividly remembering the way she’d fought against her captors. They certainly hadn’t been fond of her, that’s for sure. He doubts that kind of animosity can be faked. Though she seems so pleasant now, not even a lick of her earlier anger to be seen. Merely an impossibly upbeat attitude and a playful demeanor.

Tifa smiles as well. Another point in Aerith’s favor, considering how reserved Tifa is around most people. She shifts to get more comfortable and folds her hands together behind her back, humming and sharing a knowing grin with Cloud. He nods lightly in response, and she turns her full attention to Aerith.

“What did you do to get on their bad side?”

“Florists aren’t exactly known for their rebellious behavior.”

Aerith giggles, which Cloud thinks doesn’t exactly speak for her innocence. “They believe I graffitied the precinct.”

“Graffiti?”

“What would anybody even paint on a police building?”

“Oh, just a bunch of flowers…” Aerith twirls her hair around her fingers and grins deviously. “Surrounding a beautiful message of the people.” She raises a finger and winks. “‘Fuck the police’.”

A laugh escapes Cloud before he can catch it, short and strangled as he bites his lip to muffle the tail end of it. Tifa covers a giggle with her hand, eyes creasing in a smile and shoulders shaking. Cloud grins.

“Sounds fitting,” he says, and Aerith nods enthusiastically.

“It’s a shame they’ll never know who did it.”

“I’m sure.”

There's a short silence, then: “So what are you in for?”

The question is spoken innocently enough, but Cloud’s humor instantly evaporates with the words. Tifa’s smile dies and a frown settles on her face again, worry and anger and a dozen other things. The memory isn't exactly pleasant for either of them, and he can tell Aerith's already regretting asking.

“The police came to ask some questions and things got...physical,” Tifa offers hesitantly, voice low. Then she scowls, shoulders stiffening and eyes blazing. “They attacked Cloud!”

Aerith’s brows raise in shock, but her smile is one of pure awe. “So you hit them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tifa says it as if she’d never think to do a thing differently, and Cloud has to fight off an overwhelming bout of fondness.

“But what happened? I mean, why did they attack you?”

“They were...harassing a friend of ours,” Cloud says, “and I stepped in, but…” He’d been too weak. Too out of it, still suffering from the aftereffects of his most recent therapy session. “I wasn’t in a good place.” Mentally, he adds, but the word won’t come out.

He stops speaking and flits his eyes over to Aerith, hoping to gauge her reaction, and the riled cross of her arms is not at all what he’s expecting. Tifa shares the same expression of protective rage, and for a second he fears that the both of them are about to bust out of the prison cells themselves just to track his attackers down.

“What, so they thought they could just bait you and get away with it? Who do they think they are?”

“The police,” Cloud offers mildly, but Tifa only nods vigorously in righteous agreement.

“They acted like a bunch of animals!”

“They were investigating a crime.” At Aerith’s questioning looks he shrugs, carefully picking out his next words. “Our friend was suspected of stealing and leaking some very important documents.”

“Documents?” Aerith’s demeanor drops into one of pure curiosity.

Tifa nods. “Some stuff about the things they’d been doing recently was leaked, and they immediately assumed it was Barret.”

“Stealing evidence from a precinct? That’s pretty impressive.”

Cloud knows. Zack had been the loudest person he’s ever had the misfortune of sneaking into a building with, and the entire mission had almost ended in a spectacular disaster. Although their near escape was absolutely worth the dirt they had dug up on the local police. His only regret is that Barret was caught in the crossfire, not that the man hasn’t committed a number of crimes himself. One of which had involved him and Tifa infiltrating one of the largest Shinra buildings in the city.

Perhaps the cops had been there for more than just the information leak. It's definitely a possibility. The subsequent fight had left both him and Tifa lacking any crucial information on the situation. They hadn’t really had the time to ask questions.

In retrospect, maybe they should have acted with a bit more caution.

“Yeah,” Tifa says, “but they don’t have any evidence about their suspect. They were throwing stones and happened to hit Seventh Heaven. It was all purely coincidental.”

Cloud nods in agreement, but it doesn’t take a genius to see Aerith isn’t convinced. Not that either of them had expected her to be. Fortunately, she doesn’t press the issue.

She makes the right call and inquires about a different matter, instead. One that has Tifa perking up in excitement. And Cloud would be worried a bit more about her instant attachment to Aerith if he wasn’t suffering the same. She’s...surprisingly easy to talk to. Usually, Cloud takes a while to warm up to people, and Tifa’s either too closed off or too shy to get to know them. Yet with Aerith...the words just spill out, and even the silences are comfortable. Easy and featherlight in their simplicity.

Aerith asks about Seventh Heaven. And Tifa opens up. Not about emotions, of course, because Aerith is still new and the terrain is unsafe. But about her people and her place and their life. A life so intertwined with Cloud’s that he should find himself upset with her sharing it.

Except that he doesn’t.

It’s strange, meeting somebody in lockup, of all places. Somebody so bright as Aerith, trapped in here with the best woman he knows. They’re both more talkative than him. Gathering a frisson in the air around them that’s filled with tension and delight. Aerith looks into Tifa’s eyes as if she’s seeing the stars for the very first time, and Tifa looks at Aerith like she’s never seen anything so beautiful.

They both look at Cloud, too. Despite the fact that he doesn’t talk as much as the both of them. Silent and listening and watching in a peaceful sort of complacency. But every time he speaks they listen, and every time they engage in a back and forth he doesn’t at all feel left out or abandoned, but rather included in a strange sort of camaraderie. A bond between just the three of them.

He eventually sits up to lean back against the corner of the cell, an uncomfortable junction between the bars and the concrete wall. It’s worth it to be able to see the two of them, even if he doesn’t ever tell them that’s the reason why, and the conversation shifts from Aerith’s flower shop and Tifa’s bar to their families. Then it changes again as they do, with Aerith letting her legs fall over the edge of the bench and Tifa coming to sit between them through conversations about martial arts and staves and swords thes ize of a man.

After a couple more hours, the conversation lulls. Cloud appreciates the silence, if only because his voice is growing tired from so much use. He can’t even imagine how Aerith and Tifa are feeling right now.

Then Tifa yawns, hands stretching above her head as she arches her back. And within seconds she’s falling sideways to lay her head in Cloud’s lap.

He blushes at the level of physical affection. It isn’t exactly public, but Aerith is right there. Of course, she shouldn’t have any qualms about it herself when Tifa’s feet are in her lap. When Cloud glances over to check on her, he notices that she doesn’t even pause in surprise at Tifa’s sudden touch. Tifa’s shoes must be dirty, Cloud knows, and Aerith’s dress is light enough pink to get stained, but Aerith only hums and lays a gentle hand on Tifa’s calf. She leans her own head back, closing her eyes.

And the cell is bathed in silence.

#cloud strife #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #clerifa #aerti #cloti #ffvii #ff7 #remake #crisis core #compilation #fanfiction #promptfills #fluff #whump #hurt comfort #tho it's mild this time around #feral #XD especially aerith lmao

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years

Text

The Sound Of Surviving, Killian/Milah, Chapter 1/5?

Characters: Killian Jones, Milah

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1355

Chapter summary: In which both Killian and Milah’s minds are their worst enemies, and they talk about it. For Whumptober prompt alt.10 Nightmares.

A/N: This will be part of a series of short, loosely connected stories set around the theme “x times Milah saw Killian at his most vulnerable and one time she didn’t.” I am loving writing young pirate!Killian too much. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy this story. :) Also, I have accepted someone else’s headcanon that Milah struggled with depression.

- on AO3 -

The Sound Of Surviving

Chapter One: We Can Fight The Dark

It's been roughly two months since she ran away with him and they're still getting to know each other. Killian feels so far out of his depth, feeling inept and inarticulate in a way he hasn’t been for years, because he’s truly in love for the first time in his life and he’s terrified he’ll ruin it. And although Milah’s settled in well to pirate life and she seems to enjoy it out here on the seas, he sees another side of her, sometimes, in the dimness of his quarters. A version who's quiet and morose, and Killian's worried he's not good enough. He wants more than anything to keep her with him, but at the same time he loves her too much to do anything against her will. He can’t be selfish.

“Tell me if you’re not happy with me, Milah,” he says one night, against his better judgement, “Tell me it’s so and I’ll take you back, to your husband and to your child.”

His fingers are almost trembling as they trace across her skin because he’s so afraid she’ll say she does want to leave him.

“No, Killian,” she says quickly, almost too quickly, “I am happy with you. You’re perfect. This… this is perfect.”

But Killian can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, because Milah’s clearly not happy despite her assurances, and for the life of him he can’t figure out why. It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night, his mind swirling with troubled, painful thoughts. So it serves to reason that his dreams tonight would follow suit. And some hours later, Milah wakes to him shifting restlessly against her side, his breaths quick and short. The moon is casting a fair amount of light into the cabin and makes the sweat on Killian's skin glisten quite clearly.

"No," he murmurs, a whisper of breath, his eyes moving quickly under closed lids, "No no no..."

Milah wonders briefly if he's become unwell, but his body still feels cool and then she knows what's going on. A nightmare. She has her own share of them these days, but she’s never been privy to Killian’s.

"Killian?"

He twists away from her touch, groaning softly.

"No, d-don't... Please."

He sounds so scared, so broken. Milah can't bear to listen to his suffering a moment longer.

"Killian, wake up," she says a little louder, shaking him gently, “Wake up.”

He does, coming out of his dreams with a sharp inhale, his eyes wide and frightened. It's not a look Milah's accustomed to seeing on him and she doesn't like it.

"It's okay," she whispers, her hand over his racing heart, wanting to draw him back to her, "You were dreaming."

In the moonlight she can see a small tear sneak out of his eye before he rubs his hand across his face.

"Milah," he breathes out, lowering his hand to rest over hers, "I apologize for waking you."

And of course, his only concern is for her.

"Don't worry about that," she says, "Are you okay?"

"Aye."

But he's still wound tight, his hands fidgeting, unable to find calm. His breaths quiver rapidly across his teeth. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this, but he’d known it was only a matter of time. They slept together too often now for it not to be inevitable. But still Killian struggles with both humiliation and the lingering anxiety from his dark dreams.

"What do you need, Killian?" Milah asks softly.

"Out," he says, and almost falls out of bed in his sudden haste to leave.

He fumbles to put on his trousers and shirt, doesn't bother with his other layers. Milah has to spend a little more time redressing herself before following him. It wouldn't do for the other men to see her in such a state of disrobe. (She’d been anxious, at the start, because they were coarse and brash and she was the only woman on board, but Killian’s eyes had blazed fiercely when he swore that they’ll never lay a hand on her or they’d be facing a swift and deserving punishment and she knows he meant it, and the way his crew treat her with the greatest respect she’s ever received in her life shows they know it too.) It's a pleasant night and Milah joins Killian where he stands on the deck, staring across the ocean. She rests her hand against his back. The night sky sparkles with a million stars, far more than she had ever seen from land. The small ripples on the water catch the moonlight, further adding to the peacefulness of the scene, and Milah understands why Killian felt the need to look upon this view after his nightmare.

"It's so beautiful at night," Milah says quietly.

"Aye, that it is."

He puts his arm around her and she leans into his touch. He's calmer now, his breathing steady, the sight of the open water clearly working its magic on his tormented soul. Milah wonders what he had been dreaming of. But she never asks, just like he never asks about hers. He always just holds her until her breathing steadies and her trembling ceases, and she wishes he’d allow her to do the same for him, but his peace always comes from the sea.

“I love you, Milah,” he says, not for the first time, his voice cracking, “I.. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

He turns to look at her with eyes full of desperate hope, his eyebrows drawn together, and his hand cradles her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“But something is troubling you,” he insists, “Please, tell me what it is.”

Milah can’t seem to meet his gaze, his eyes too intense, too full of passion.

“Killian…”

“Do I make you unhappy, my love?” he whispers.

“No. It’s not you, Killian. I’m just…”

She’s never told anyone. With Rumpelstiltskin, it had been easy to convince herself that her persistent feelings of despair came from the fact she had married a coward. That she was bored. That she was lonely. That it was because she didn’t love her husband. But here on the Jolly Roger, standing on the deck in the moonlight with Killian’s calloused hands gentle on her skin, ready and willing to give her anything she ever wanted, she was forced to admit that it wasn’t her miserable life that caused her moods.

“Sometimes I just feel… sad. And I don’t know why. It’s been going on for a long time. But it isn’t because of you, Killian. I’ve felt more joy since I met you than I have in years.”

Killian’s perplexed. He can’t quite understand her meaning, the contradiction of feeling sad but also feeling joy? But Milah can’t explain it any better than that, because honestly, she doesn’t understand it very well herself. Although it has improved markedly since she left Rumpelstiltskin, because with Killian she hasn’t yet had a morning when she couldn’t find the fortitude to get out of bed, the darkness still plagues her. Even in her moments of happiness, there seems to always be a lingering pit in her stomach, and some days she can’t seem to feel much of anything.

“I suppose I’m just broken,” she says, a little too bitterly.

Killian’s eyes blaze, his jaw clenching in anger and he lifts her chin, forcing Milah to meet his eyes.

“No,” he says sharply, barely reining in his fury that someone had put that idea into her mind, “You are not broken, Milah. You must never think that. Never again.”

He wraps his arms around her, and Milah sinks into his embrace. His next words are softer, although they’re no less sincere. She feels them rumble through his chest.

“You’re perfect and I love you. And whatever it is you need to feel better, I will provide it. Just… tell me how to help.”

“You’re already doing it,” she murmurs, voice muffled against his body, “I love you, Killian.”

He holds her tighter, presses a kiss against the top of her head.

“And I you.”

END

#whumptober2020 #alt.10 #nightmares #once upon a time #killian jones #milah #fanfiction #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #my fanfics

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apexlegends-imagines · 5 years

Text

PROMPT: the characters first time confessing to their s/o

sorry this is rushed my my family and i are getting ready to visit my other family aaa !!

ＢＬＯＯＤＨＯＵＮＤ :

- they were so nervous gosh. of course you can’t tell much by their mask but anyone who knew them well can tell

- they weren’t the one for any of the romantic stuff you know?

- they actually had to get help from one of the other legends because they honestly don’t even know what to do

- once it was time they took you out to the forest, making it seem like you two were just going hunting

- they were so clearly nervous you thought it was cute

- once they confessed you obviously returned their feelings

- they still feel a uncomfortable showing their face though

ＬＩＦＥＬＩＮＥ :

- you two did practically everything together

- to be honest you both already acted like a couple

- you love giving her kisses and tell her how much you love her freckles

- she loved telling you her work and snuggling up to you

- she kinda realized she didn’t confirm if you two were actually dating so she went to go ask

- “I was kinda scared to ask as well. I thought maybe your still saw me as a friend instead of a lover”

- now that you both confirmed you were together you decided to tell the other legends

- they were surprised to hear you both were never together until now

ＰＡＴＨＦＩＮＤＥＲ :

- he doesn’t know anything involving human emotions

- to be honest it was you who said it first

- he was so confused

- you thought it was done for

- he had to ask other legends wha at you meant

- he felt so bad after learned you loved him

- he didn’t know how to show he loved you as well so he just showed you his monitor with a heart

- gosh you were so happy

- pathfinder was so naive though to the whole dating thing, especially since you were human

- the press certainly saw it as weird

ＯＣＴＡＮＥ :

- he was a daredevil! he shouldn’t be so scared to confess to you

- but he thought he didn’t have a chance to because well, he thought you were the most beautiful person he ever laid eyes on

- other legends tried to cheer him on, saying he would be the ultimate daredevil thing to do

- he had to prepare, and he wanted it to be special

- he was sweating and fidgeting so much

- you already had an idea what he was going to say, you kissed his cheeks and returned the feelings

ＷＲＡＩＴＨ :

- she still doesn’t understand her emotions that well

- she asked mirage who laughed and said she had a crush on you

- still didn’t understand it

- she felt so nervous and her palms got so sweaty

- she thought it was because of the void jumping she was doing

- she went to get your input on it which made you nervous

- you kisses her cheeks to see her reacting just to make sure and boy was she a tomato

- you giggled and explained to her what was happening

- it took a few weeks after until she decided you two were a thing

- boy does she feel like she is closer to finding out who she is

ＢＡＮＧＡＬＯＲＥ :

- she never liked the idea of having a lover while in apex

- especially when you are in apex as well

- but she just has to have you

- she knew how lovable you were as a person

- she was scared someone was going to take you away

- of coursed she confessed when she had the chance

- boy were to so happy you tackled her to the ground and gave her many kisses !!

- you thought she was so cute

ＣＡＵＳＴＩＣ :

- he actually struggles with some emotions

- it’s not like he doesn’t have them it’s just, he is just so used to being a cold blooded killer

- so when you, a ray of sunshine appeared and took his heart boy was he just head over heals for you

- he loved showing you his new gases, of course making sure you were 100% safe from the toxins

- he actually made some things for you to try and show his emotions

- you laughed and told him you loved him as well

- dare he fight anyone who hurts you in any way

ＭＩＲＡＧＥ :

- he knows people have crushes on him and want to date him but with you? he doesn’t even know your true emotions for him

- he never actually flirted with you, which made many of the legends surprised since he flirted with everyone

- he started to doubt himself a lot like ‘what if they don’t like me??’ ‘what if I’m annoying??’

- he was horrible at hiding his feelings

- you knew after a awhile of knowing him he liked you

- you confessed which made him fumble with his words

- he still can’t believe he is dating you, someone so charming

ＷＡＴＴＳＯＮ:

- she knew she was going to find someone to love, but she didn’t know when

- her father always told her it was a amazing and magical feeling

- so when meeting you she felt like there will be something more than just friendship

- of course she confessed her love to you, but wanted to wait awhile before you two got together

- you gave her all the time she needed

- which took like a month but she came running back to you

- she always gave you some presents before you two started the relationship

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ghostlywritten · 5 years

Text

How Dare You I.

Words: 4k+

You sighed as you organised the table, which had makeup utensils scattered all over. It was always hectic before a show and no matter how clean you kept everything it would always end up as if a hurricane had passed through it. You went to the bathroom to wash out the used beauty blenders before you took your bag with the necessary equipment to brush up the boys’ make up during the breaks backstage.

Being a makeup artist was stressful when you had limited time but mostly it was an easy job and pretty exciting, considering you were in the ultimate vicinity of idols. You were happy to be assigned to Ikon for over two years now, they were a funny lot if they didn’t happen to burn the stage at the moment. You had hoped to get close to them (not just physically when you had to make them look flawless) but it seemed that you were just a secondary character they occasionally made small talk with as you did your job. Not wanting to seem desperate you laid off, only talking when talked to and otherwise minding your own business.

Of course, there were also times they were too hyped up for their own good - when they won an award for example. You remembered that one time where Hanbin had cried at their 1st win whilst the others were jumping around like mad dogs and you had dabbed his tears away with a small smile, quietly whispering a ‘congratulations’ to him.

Hanbin.

That was probably the only time he had truly looked at you, thanking you sincerely as he tried to keep his tears at bay.

Your heart fluttered slightly as you thought of him. You didn’t know what it was about him that stood out to you; he wasn’t the loudest or the funniest member, something you usually found more attractive. Rather, he let his members shine and lead them quietly from the back whilst occasionally being a dork himself. It was endearing how he cared non-verbally for them and you guessed that was what drew you in. It was safe to say, you had a hard time keeping your hands from shaking whenever you had to do his make up so most of the time you tried to avoid him in order not to embarrass yourself.

‘But lately…,’ you thought as you trailed after your colleagues, ‘it seems impossible.’ The past weeks you always ended up being his artist through some coincidence or another as the other members snatched up all the other available make up artists, leaving you to him. And lately it seemed like he finally got aware of your existence, openly staring at you when he used to always close his eyes for a little rest during your work. You had liked those times the most, amazed at how innocent he looked when he napped.

The sound of thunderous footsteps brought you out of your mind and you glanced up to see the boys coming down the stage with exhausted but still happy faces. “Good job!” their manager said, clapping their backs, “Now freshen up and head down to the seats.” As if on cue, Hanbin popped up in front of you expectantly before you even had the chance to blink, bending down slightly to match your height. You tried not to get flustered as you ripped off a few tissues to dry the sweat glistening on his face. That wasn’t the part you enjoyed very much.

A small huff escaped his lips as he watched you keenly and you looked up to see his eyes twinkling slightly in amusement. “You look so disgusted right now,” he said lowly and your jaw almost dropped at the fact that he talked to you. Sure, you had to be around him a lot nowadays but he had never actually tried talking to you before. ‘Must be the high of performing at an award show,’ you mused, trying to keep your expression cool and your heart calm.

“It’s not like anyone would enjoy wiping sweat off as their job,” you responded dryly and he smirked.

“I’m sure a few fans wouldn’t mind,” he retorted, biting his lip. You cursed your eyes for flickering down and immediately looked away but you knew he saw. You could practically hear the grin as you fumbled through your bag for a sponge and foundation, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“You are not welcome,” you mumbled, causing him to chuckle slightly. Trying to fight off the warmth on your cheeks, you reapplied his makeup where it had worn off and he thankfully stayed quiet, opting to watch you again instead. “Do you know that you have the most beautiful eyes in the world?” he suddenly said when you were almost done, causing you to smash the sponge against his nose in surprise. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, holding his nose slightly as he pouted. Your eyes widened in guilt and surprise. “I’m so sorry!” What the hell was up with him though? “Does it hurt a lot?”

He laughed, shaking his head as he dropped his hands and looked down, “No. But do I have to expect you trying to kill me with a sponge every time I compliment you?”

“Probably, yeah,” you joked, inwardly cringing in embarrassment.

“Well, that’s tough,” he mused as you finished off your work with shaking fingers, “I can’t not compliment my future girlfriend now after all.”

“Your what?” you blurted, eyes wide. Where did this suddenly come from? Hanbin simply winked with a smile that caused his dimple to deepen, making your heart flip as he turned away when his stylist called him out for the outfit change. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

That was how you winded up being Hanbin’s girlfriend. Well, kind of. You didn’t believe what he was saying at first and excused his behaviour as a simple mood swing or something else. But when you avoided the aftershow party that night, he asked you why you hadn't been there the next time you met and you ended up talking to him again during your work and again and again, the chatter always growing more animated every time until the one day he asked you out.

He had been talking to you like usual but you had noticed he got distracted whenever his other members passed by, nudging him or sending him some non-verbal messages through gestures or smirks. He would smirk as well, waving them off before he turned his attention back to you. You hadn’t payed it any mind, knowing they liked to tease each other often but looking back on it now, you probably should have taken it as the first indication on what was to come.

“So…,” he dragged on as you finished and started to organise your table, expecting him to leave. “As your boyfriend, I should probably take you out on a date once in a while if I’m correct.”

“Excuse me?” you asked with raised eyebrows. You were more relaxed around him now that you got to know him better but that didn’t stop your heart from hammering still whenever you got close to him...or when he talked like this.

“You know, a date. Where a guy and girl or a guy and a guy or a girl and a girl go out al-”

“I know what a date is,” you cut him off.

He smirked. “Could have fooled me.”

Snatching up a fixing spray, you sprayed him and he flinched away like a cat, groaning like he was about to die. You laughed slightly before you turned away with the used beauty blenders, walking towards the bathroom to clean them up as usual. What wasn’t usual was that Hanbin immediately sprung up and followed you like a puppy. “Does Saturday at 7 sound good?” he asked, watching you clean up as he leaned against the doorway, “I saw this cool restaurant open up in Gangnam.”

“What makes you think I’m going out with you?” you dared to ask, mentally applauding yourself for not stuttering when your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Why not? You’re my girlfriend after all,” he teased, leaning into the doorway as he snuck closer, causing you to naturally bend away in order to keep yourself sane.

“And since when am I that?” you asked, “I haven’t ever seen you go down on one knee and ask me.”

“Seriously?” he said deadpanned and you giggled slightly before nodding with a shrug. “Is that what’s going to take to make you mine?” You blushed heavily at his words, causing him to grin like a goof before he kneeled down, clasping his hands together. Your eyes widened in shock and you noticed people close by paying attention to the scene he was causing. “Please, oh please Y/N L/N. Take me as your boyfriend!”

“Hanbin-ah,” you mumbled, fidgeting nervously under all the stares.

“I promise to keep you happy, now and forever.”

“Get the hell up.”

“Not until you agree.”

“Hanbin!”

“Y/N.” You bit your lip, going to hide behind the bathroom door. Hanbin chuckled, getting up to peek over at you. “What do you say?”

“Fine,” you mumbled through your fingers, not letting him see your red face even when he grabbed at your wrists, “I will go out with you.”

“Yes!” he cheered, turning to the others at the room. “She said yes!” The others cheered as well as if you had just agreed to marry him and you shook your head at him as you finally dropped your hands to see his beaming face. “You’re an idiot.”

But from then on he was your idiot. Or at least you were dating the idiot for a month before he actually dared to shyly ask you to be his girlfriend for real and you said yes, making you an official couple that no one outside of the YG building knew about. It was safe to say you weren’t a secondary character anymore after becoming Hanbin’s girlfriend.

People noticed you more, whispering about you and you saw a few colleagues giving you dirty looks as if you were going to be treated better by any high authority from now on. Fact was, nothing had changed. You weren’t sleeping your way up the corporate ladder, you were still the same makeup artist with the same status and the same amount of work as before.

So, seeing your foundation bottle opened up with the content spilled all over your utensils in your bag for the second time this week made you seethe at the unfairness of it all. You took a deep breath, fully aware of the bustling people around you and forced yourself to remain calm.

“What’s the matter, jagi?” you heard Hanbin say as he leaned in from behind, peeking over your shoulder. “Ooh, that’s a mess.”

“Yeah…,” you sighed, walking over to the bathroom with the bag to start cleaning the utensils.

“Shit happens, don’t fret about it,” Hanbin soothed, pushing your hair from your face and rubbing your back comfortingly. You immediately relaxed as the pent-up anger dissolved into nothingness, leaving you to stare at him in awe. How did he do that? Having this much of an affect on you after a single month would have been scary to you if you didn’t feel so safe around him. Whenever you were with him, you felt untouchable.

“I guess you are right,” you said, not wanting to bother him with your issues. Now that the anger was gone, you felt silly getting riled up about such a small matter.

“Hey, you know what,” Hanbin suddenly spoke up and you glanced at him questioningly, “This is where I first asked you out, remember?” You laughed slightly as you recalled the embarrassing scene and he beamed in success. He closed in on you, trapping you against the sink as he shut the door behind him with a smirk, “I think we should celebrate.”

“What? In a bathro-,” you were cut off when he dove down to claim your lips. Your breath got caught in your throat, taken aback but you quickly relaxed, giving into him. He smiled slightly, wrapping his arms around you to draw you closer and you reached up to play with his hair, enjoying every second of it. Biting down on his lip, you took the initiative to deepen the kiss, causing him to growl. You could feel him get into it before he suddenly held himself back, reluctantly pulling away.

You sucked in the breath you didn’t realise your lungs needed as he placed his forehead against yours, focusing on regaining his own breath. Glancing up, you noticed him avoiding your eyes as his stayed locked on your lips. “Is everything alright?” you asked softly, placing a hand on his cheek. He nodded mutely, leaning into your touch. “I...I have to tell you something,” he whispered and if you hadn't been so close you probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“What is it? You can tell me anything, jagi,” you cooed, nudging his nose with yours affectionately. His eyes softened and you felt like you could drown in the sea of his chocolate brown eyes. Chocolate brown wasn’t even accurate as it would turn into the shade of pure amber when the sun hit his face. Or pitch black when he was angry.

“I…,”

“Yes?”

He breathed in deeply before his shoulders sagged as if in defeat. Drawing you closer, he nuzzled the side of your cheek before whispering in your ear, “I really like you.”

You chuckled slightly and wrapped your arms around him. “I really like you, too.”

Another month passed and you were starting to get closer to the other boys. It began with Jiwon, who insisted to have his makeup done by you because he felt like Hanbin was being treated better and getting too handsome, demanding to be turned as pretty as his youngster. You had giggled at that and proceeded to work as detailed as you could. The satisfied nod at the end was like an entry pass to the Ikon world as every other member took their turn the next days, chatting animatedly with you.

“So...Y/N,” Junhoe started, a sly smirk on his face as you mixed two foundations colours together to match his skin tone, “You and Hanbin, eh?”

“Yes, me and Hanbin, eh,” you mimicked, causing him to chuckle slightly.

“It’s going on well, I see,” he remarked, inspecting you closely, “You like him a lot, right?”

“Yes,” you said without any ounce of hesitation and his smirk widened. He leaned forward conspiratorially, “Do you perhaps even love him?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Why do you want to know?” you questioned whilst you were thinking about it. Did you love him? It certainly felt more than a simple crush and you could imagine being with him for a long while. Was that love?

“I’m just curious,” Junhoe replied, shaking you out of your thoughts. You focused back on applying a bit of dark eyeshadow on his lid, causing him to close his eyes, “He is one of my best friends...I don’t want to see him hurt, I guess.”

You smiled warmly at that, always internally squealing at their rare moments of showing affection (and a tiny bit jealous of their close bond. What would you give for a friendship like that?). “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt him in any way. Pinky promise.” You held out your pinky, which he blinked at in surprise before a small smile reached his lips, intertwining his pinky with yours. You failed to see the guilt flash across his face when you turned away.

“I told you not to zoom in,” Hanbin complained as he pushed Jiwon away and walked towards you, “Hey, what are you guys talking about?” he asked almost uneasily, shooting Junhoe a look you couldn’t decipher.

“Nothing much, bro,” Junhoe replied casually, standing up to free his seat for him and leaving with a friendly smile towards you.

“Should I be jealous?” Hanbin mumbled into your hair as he wrapped his arms around you and you shook your head with a chuckle.

“No, jeez. Sit down,” you said, pushing him onto the chair. He willingly dropped onto it (otherwise you probably wouldn’t have been able to) and looked up at you with a smirk, “I like it when they are dominant.” Blushing deeply, you threw a tissue at him before proceeding to do his makeup with a small ‘idiot’ muttered his away.

He chuckled deeply before silently watching your concentrating face, warmth flooding his eyes and a small but goofy grin plastered on his lips. “There is this annual YG party at the end of the month,” he eventually spoke up, fiddling with your hair that hung between you two. “You going with me?”

“What a romantic way to ask me out,” you commented dryly and he gave you a look. You raised an eyebrow, “Is the honeymoon phase over already?” He playfully poked your belly before swiftly tugging you down by the neck to give you a short but deep kiss. Pulling away slightly he whispered against your lips, “Never.” It took you a second to snap out of the daze he put you in before you sharply slapped him over the head, looking around. “You pabo, someone could have seen this.”

“So?” he mumbled, rubbing his head with a pout, “They already know.”

“Still,” you muttered back, biting your lip when you saw two stylists glaring daggers at you. “What’s the matter?” Hanbin questioned, craning his neck to follow your line of sight but you just pulled him back around, “Nothing. Stop moving or we will never get done here.” He looked at you with narrowed eyes but opted to not push you and instead continued, “So, will you be my date for the party?”

“I don’t know, I never go to those,” you said slowly as you blended the foundation in with a sponge, “Parties are not my thing in general.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said, thinking back on all the other party invitations you had declined so far, “But this is an annual company thing. You are actually obliged to come.”

“I call in sick every time,” you said simply, causing him to chuckle. “This time, it’s different. You have a boyfriend that needs a date to that party.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Since when is that required?”

“Since now that I told you so.” You rolled your eyes. “Please?” he asked, giving his best imitation of puppy eyes. You sighed, “Fine. But only for a few hours.” He pumped his fist in the air in silent cheer before he sprung up from his seat, done with the makeup. “Thanks, jagi!” he said, pecking your cheek as he went off to get his mic on. You shook your head affectionately.

The party was in full swing as you arrived after having trouble deciding what to wear. Nothing seemed elegant or or fitting enough and at the end you snuck into Blackpink’s wardrobe and took a simple black glitter dress that went past your mid thigh and was off the shoulder on one side. You paired it up with simple black boots and a watch on your wrist, leaving your hair down.

The music hit you as soon as you stepped into the hall and you were slightly overwhelmed by the amount of people standing around, chattering animatedly with champagne glasses in their hands.

You stared around in awe at the fancy decor until someone called out your name. “Y/N! Over here!” Song yelled from the top of his lungs and you cringed slightly when more than a few heads turned to look at the commotion. Ducking your head you swiftly walked over, slapping Song's arm half-heartedly. “Way to gain everyone’s attention,” you said with an eye roll and he whined, clutching his arm dramatically to which you chuckled.

“I don’t think that’s what gained everyone’s attention,” Junhoe commented, who stood next to a gaping Hanbin as he gave you an appreciative once-over, “Damn, you look nice.” You blushed a little, thanking him quietly and that was what knocked your boyfriend back to his senses. He shot a quick glare at his member before stepping closer to you, his expression turning dazed again as he wrapped his arms around you. “You look beautiful,” he said almost shyly, tugging at a strand of your hair affectionately. You smiled widely, “Thanks. You look pretty smart, too.”

“I’m always smart,” he stated obnoxiously, causing his other members to groan and turn away. You laughed at their reaction and the grumpy look Hanbin threw at them, tugging on the collar of his suit to turn him back to you cheekily. He immediately smirked, letting you pull him closer as you rubbed your nose against his and pecked his lips quickly. “How daring of you. Weren’t you always afraid of people watching?” he teased, rubbing circles on your back as he started swaying you both to the music. “Hm, yes,” you admitted, glancing around, “But people are otherwise preoccupied so I think this is okay.”

“I’m all for it,” he said, leaning his forehead against your temple as his lips brushed over your cheek, “Everyone should know you are mine here.”

“They already do,” you mumbled into his chest shyly, “You made sure of it.” His deep chuckle made you look up at him again, “Damn right, I did.”

The whole evening was spent with Hanbin glued to your side as you talked to people you had never talked to before in the company and you were surprised how you enjoyed this party more than you had expected. But you were reminded why you didn’t like parties when the music started blasting louder and the previously relaxed and small-talk atmosphere turned into a disco with people crowding the place to dance their hearts out.

You sighed for the umpteenth time as someone pushed you, elbowing your ribs and wondered how people could stand doing this every weekend. You sighed in relief when you spotted Hanbin with the others seated on one the rare couches where you had left them for a quick run to the toilet.

Just when you were about to step closer you were being pushed away to the side. ‘Having a drink in hand would be a disaster in a place like this,’ you thought randomly before you focused back on reaching the boys’.

You could hear their voices when you were close enough but stopped upon hearing what they were saying.

“Make one bet with this guy and he automatically falls in love,” Junhoe slurred, obviously already a little drunk.

You stared as they roared in laughter - especially Junhoe and Song - clapping high fives. Your boyfriend in the middle staying quiet and looking to the ground with his elbows leaning on his knees.

“It’s kind of cute...and a little pathetic,” Song remarked, nudging his leader playfully.

“Pathetic of him to fall for her or of her for falling for his lies?” Junhoe smirked, looking more at Hanbin.

“Both!” You bit your lip as they all started laughing, the sound of it piercing your chest like a knife as if they were repeatedly stabbing every inch of it. And here you thought, you had made friends. When it was all a lie from the very beginning.

You watched your boyfriend sigh in resignation but also smile a tiny smirk at their jests. “I still won, didn’t I?” he replied triumphantly, cutting off their teasing, “She is a sweet girl, but it was really easy.” Pang. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t want your money.” Pang. “I don’t need it anyways.” One blow after another to your heart.

“Yah, but wait!” Junhoe interrupted, wiggling his fingers, “She hasn’t said the three magic words to you yet.”

“She doesn’t need to. I know she loves me,” Hanbin said confidently, “All I have to do is say it first and she will reply. But I still got time, don’t I?” The smile with the dimple that used to make your pulse race caused it wilter in despair upon hearing his words.

“Are you going to break up with her after she said it?” Chanwoo asked and Junhoe ‘ooh’ed. “That would be one hell of a slap to her face!”

But Hanbin shook his head, his eyes softening, “No...I do really like her. She is a sweet girl.”

It went quiet for a bit until, “Pathetic!” Junhoe hollered and the others erupted into laughter again. Hanbin sighed, shaking his head with the same smile still plastered on his face. That was until he looked up and caught your eye. His face went slack as his eyes widened and he could immediately tell that you had heard everything. At this party, despite the loud music and the chattering, cheering crowd around you, you had heard everything.

And you wished you hadn’t.

“Y/N…,” he mouthed as you gave him one long, tear-filled glare before you turned away. For good.

II.

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