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dienamights · 3 years

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Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s): Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.”

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to-

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?”

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now.

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her.

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week.

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No! He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.”

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario.

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,”

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-”

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.”

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight.

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it.

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?”

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high.

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly.

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you.

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed.

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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touchmycoat · 3 years

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I LOVE YOUR PORN AU!!!!! LIKE SO MUCH - and i'm just. if you don't mind me asking, how - the way you flesh out the characters, their motivations, and feelings in every scene in such an eloquent way, and just little things here and there, a habit or an activity that adds dimension to who they are, and - your prose is wonderful. you achieve this addictive, engrossing narrative space that readers just absolutely melt into, and i have to ask - how did you develop your writing style? 1/2

what books did you read that formatively shaped the way you write? or you know, what did you do to improve your writing? i'm so in awe of how you world-built and established the porn au - like lqg & hc being national taolu champions?? how do you come up with that stuff? i cannot comprehend the amount of research and effort that must've gone into porn au, and i'm just so deeply thankful that you decided to share that with us. i apologize if i'm coming on too strong, but wow. thank you 2/2

oh my god please don't apologize, when i saw your ask i rolled on the floor giggling hysterically for a solid 15 min, bless your heart

part of the answer to your question—i've taken like, 8 years' worth of creative writing classes/workshops! there was also a transnational literary component to my degree so whenever possible, i took literature classes fksjdfksd so whatever you see and like is definitely the result of a lot of work. My writing from not even 10 years ago but like, 5? horrid, ridiculous, wild, cringe. The Porn AU itself is the second draft of a MUCH more lackluster piece.

about my writing style. gosh, you really know how to make a writer blush. "I like your writing style" is literally an instant kill LMFAO okay okay, the useful answer: my primary criteria for choosing what to write is, don't be obvious, be interesting. Fiction tells us to show, not tell, right? Poetry is about concretizing the abstract. Screenwriting says cut all useless lines. A lot of writing rules and advice—never start with the weather, avoid detailed descriptions of the characters, don't use adverbs, etc.—are all really about this exact sentiment.

I once took a seminar on writing for horror movies. The golden rule of the horror genre is Never Show the Monster, because whatever the audience is imagining is always going to be scarier than what you actually show them. There are obviously exceptions to this (to all writing rules), but in my mind, it's all the same principle.

LONG answer under the cut

So you start with building a scene. I approach it like essay-writing—I state my thesis for the motivations/main propulsion of the plot. "In this scene, LQG and SY are motivated to save Cang Qiong's porn production, so they have sex on camera." Then you build the sub-motivations: "LQG is also doing this because he's pining after SY."

I learned this "thesis-writing" from theater, specifically from writing 10-min plays. Theater is all about characters being driven by their wants and needs, and the reason I say 10-min plays in particular is because longer forms of writing will give you more leeway, but in 10-min, you pretty much need your character motivations established from their very first line. That's why you need that very clear thesis for yourself—if you don't even know what the character wants from the get-go, then you can't establish who they are, what they want, and where they're going to go in a dynamic and interesting way.

So this thesis drives EVERYTHING that happens in your scene, just like an actual thesis for an essay, just like topic sentences for your paragraphs. Once I do this, I have the emotional direction & narrative scope of how much this scene will cover, I have a sense of where it begins and ends. "Begin with the dynamics of their sex. LQG starts showing signs of his feelings. Reveal LQG backstory for exactly what those feelings are and why he isn't telling SY. The rest of the scene implies that LQG's feelings may not be so unrequited, but also sets up the fundamental problem at the heart of the whole fic—SY's inability to comprehend his own feelings." This is kind of my new thesis now. They're having sex; LQG pines; SY doesn't know he himself is pining.

Now it's time to manifest. This is the "storytelling" part, and the hardest lmfao.

Personally, my approach is largely shaped by my very cool screenwriting teacher, who hammered into us: don't fucking waste lines. The Golden Rule of screenwriting is that every line should reveal something new. I found my old writing kind of repetitive, especially on the emotional front, so this is kind of my editing mantra now—is this line either propelling the story or revealing character? If it's revealing character, is it a revelation that has to happen right now, or is it slowing the momentum of the scene?

But these aren't rhetorical questions! "Momentum" doesn't just mean tumble forward as fast as you can, it also means taking the time to draw the bowstring back further, so your next move has even more propulsion. That's why you get the little "LQG has been in love with SY..." cut scene in the middle of the fucking (at least, that's my reasoning for putting it there). Every line has to bring a fresh revelation that "proves" your thesis further.

That brings me to the details. You said you like the details I inject into the world-building, and honestly that's so gratifying to hear, because that means I'm successfully manifesting my intentions, y'know? "Every line has to bring new info" kind of sounds like a tall order, but the most effective way I've seen it done in books and onstage/onscreen is with these hyper-specific details. If you're writing a scene in which someone feels dirty, never have them just say that—have them say they want to take a shower. Show them running out of bleach again as they scrub down the stall after they wash. Begin the scene like "Steve always washes his throat first now." Then pack the scene with even more revelatory details: "Soap in hand, he heard the pipes above his head groan for a half note on adagio, and readied himself for the blast of icy water that always followed." Shitty shower, probably not rich, is likely a classical musician.

By the same token, I want to build LQG's character. The "Liu Qingge has been in love with Shen Yuan" section is the first insight we get into his background and perspective, right, so: I need to establish LQG's emotional context for filming this scene -> I can characterize him as a nut for martial arts in the same stroke -> so this takes place at a gym, beating up sandbags is a classic way of showing manly emotional distress -> so give me more details on this gym -> Puqi Gym, XL the martial god is obviously the owner -> how do I have XL & LQG a relationship beyond gym owner & client? They spar together -> I want XL & HC's position in this AU to mirror their god/ghost king statuses in TGCF canon -> how can I concretize their fighting prowesses in real-world details? -> they're martial arts champions -> what's an actual competitive martial art form that involves weaponry? -> wushu -> wikipedia Wushu, find taolu weapons sparring

(I just realized that in my songxiao daycare AU, Hualian are Olympic gold medalists by the same narrative logic laksjdnflaksjdnflsd)

So, that's the flow of logic behind my world-building lmao. It's all in the details. Leverage is one of my all-time favorite TV shows and the way they build their stories is super inspiring. If their thesis is "the rich and powerful take what they want, we steal it back for you," they manifest it in the most specific and concrete narratives: mine workers who like the work but are fighting for workplace safety vs. the money-grubbing mine owner who will blow up their livelihoods if it means a bigger payday; the little girl from Iraq with refugee status forced to be an accomplice to antique smuggling vs. international smuggler with a fetish for British royalty.

Last pieces of writing advice I've gotten: pay attention to the real world. A writing exercise we did was just sit in a public spot and make concrete observations on our surroundings. There are stories in everything!!! I learned to observe things like weird holes in the concrete (earthquake? drilling accident? bullet mark?), odd patches of moss or bird shit (look overheard: it's an AC unit dripping water for the former and nesting swallows for the latter), ladies in flipflops walking alongside ladies in high heels (excited mother walking her antsy daughter to the bus for the daughter's first job interview—the daughter's shirt collar is unfashionable and she's taking the bus, so there's a good chance the shoes were passed down, maybe from an office lady aunt. Maybe she's even overdressed for the interview, so will her outfit be an unintended source of tension once she gets to the interview? Is it a group interview, to make the comparison more stark?).

Also, write what you know. You know why SY is a video editor in porn AU? Because I'm a video editor. One of my more popular MDZS fics is set in a plant shop 'cause I worked in a plant shop. SL was First AD in Bachelor!AU 'cause I was First AD on a set once. Concrete details like the editing software having a split-screen, always answering questions about how often to water plants, and being up until 3AM editing call-sheets are the ones that will fully immerse your readers.

And if you can't do the actual things, just watch someone who is, listen to them talk, pick up lingo, and fake it. I watched like a 15-min vox video on fencing for the fencing!AU and a 45-min music theory video on the hospital pianist!AU (also I started learning piano sklfjnlsdjlfkjsd). Of course, I just finished reading a wangxian fic that had me going, "holy fucking shit, the author is literally getting their masters in a music program" so my 45-min youtube video ain't shit, but if you just need a little bit of character establishment, then it's enough to do the trick.

Anyways, tl;dr. Find the details, find the tension. Never tell outright what the tension is supposed to be, manifest it instead. Make the manifestation as interesting as possible, and if it's meant to be funny, make it funnier.

Sorry this turned into a fucking lecture lskjnflskdjnflskd but last thing, someone asked me before if I had formative authors, and this was the list I wrote at the time:

Angels in America (play) by Tony Kushner

The God of Small Things (novel) by Arundhati Roy

The Penelopiad (novel) by Margaret Atwood

“Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out” (poem) by Richard Siken

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (poetry) by Ocean Vuong

Giovanni’s Room (novel) by James Baldwin (and then Go Tell it on the Mountain and then his essays)

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

And, ooh, now that I have this list I think I can even roughly sort it as such: Kushner, Atwood, Siken, and Salinger I really latched onto for their dialogue and very present narrator voice—same is true for Go Tell it on the Mountain. Roy, Vuong, and Giovanni’s Room, I think, are texts more representative of the kind of saturated figurative language I like, and emulate. Of course they all do imagery and voice and overall structure amazingly, but that’s the rough dividing line I’d draw.

But yeah James Baldwin is my fucking hero.

#long post #about me #writing #jesus sorry i spent way too long on this laksjdnflaskjdnflaskjndflas #but anyways i'm super grateful you gave me the chance to introspect and articulate all this #i'm exceedingly grateful too to all the writing mentors i've gotten to have #personal #these are the principles and rules i've learned and #i still definitely screw the pooch #on them #so you know this is just what's on my mind #this is how i school myself

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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holding out for a hero (sashea) - lily2

I’m a huge theatre kid and some of my greatest friends are doing footloose and this besides somebody’s eyes is my favorite song in the show and it reminded me of a certain couple… this short lil fic is an au fic but I don’t know if I’ll do an entire fic based on the musical, maybe if you all like it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

[ for purposes of the au/fic, sasha has red hair similar to her cowboy look because I thought it was genius since footloose is about cowboys/country kids y'know. ]

— *.✧

Sasha sat, unbeknownst to what exactly the current conversation was— paying attention to the tapping of her boots against the tiles of the vintage diner and only staring at her hair and stirring around her straw, the whipped cream on top of the milkshake beginning to melt and only stir in with the rest of it, she felt a soft knock into her shoulder and quickly widened her eyes and kicked herself up, sitting straight and not slugging back. “Yes?” She asked, confused at why and who exactly did that though Adore looked at her and blinked, “Are you okay? It seems odd of you to not talk, you were the one who wanted to come!”

The Russian girl sighed, “I know, I’m sorry girls.” Her eyes meeting Adore, Trixie, Trinity and Aja who were originally just intending to finish up their studying for school and grab a bite while doing so, everything spiraled the minute Sasha wanted to take her order and was met with the most gracious, gorgeous and kind eyes she had ever seen from a stranger, from someone in this lonely city.

—

“And what about for this gorgeous girl?” Shea’s words coming off intently with a bit of flirt and interest, leaning against the counter, she was beyond any realm of beauty: she is why beauty existed in the dictionary, Sasha Velour who she just realized was always constantly around her own classes and school, not like there was more than one school in the deserted small town they lived in but it definitely stung Shea that she didn’t make the connection earlier.

Sasha twirled her red hair in between her fingers, still flushing and biting her lip trying not to smile widely but she did anyway, covering her mouth a second before Shea leaned, “Why are you covering that beautiful smile?” The Russian dropping her hands by her jeans and grinning, she was much, much more different than her current romantic interest who made her feel imprisoned and she knew she was just a sex tool, Sasha got around but not because she exactly intended to.

She saw a slap go across Shea’s head and realized it was Bianca who was working right beside her, she looked away and pretended not to hear that whispered, “She has someone, I’m sure they wouldn’t like it if you were flirting with their girl.”

“And what will you have?” She seemed completely otherworldly and the Russian could barely even order for herself, she was that stressed let alone her four other friends who sat in wait and giggled at her stuttering a bit though Shea seemed to be enjoying it, there was no one behind her anyways.

“Let me get two vanilla shakes, two chocolate and one strawberry and for food…” She paused as she glared at the menu, as if she hasn’t been to this exact establishment almost twice a week for over a decade. “Let’s just get three of the usual meal, with fries and then two salads and one with a side order of fries.”

The Chicago native nodded, getting more and more used to how this ordering system exactly worked, it was much more different than her previous job as a, highly illegal but still paid, bartender at 18. “Did you just move? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before?” Sasha asked plainly, getting out her cash as she handed it over to Shea, their fingers brushing against eachother and causing what seemed like an instant raging spark, it was like every single cheesy movie that Trinity watched, where the chemistry begun with simple eye contact, one look and their mind was utterly blown and needed no further explaination.

“I’m from Chicago!” Shea spoke quickly, counting her back her change as Sasha’s head tilted, “You moved from a big city to this little place? That’s a story I’ve never heard before.” She leaned on the counter as her shoes hit the pavement, along to the beats of the music playing over the speaker. “Yeah, Chicago is expensive and my mom really needed to find new work and this was the closest possible, I’m digging it though.” She spoke though it was only half true, she had a few people she considered “friends” and even Bianca had become her one close friend in the matter of a week since the time she had packed her bags and set on the road to the town but the “No Dancing!” rule set in place was a definite setback and so were half of the people living here.

“Here’s your change, I’m Shea.”

Sasha took the change, returning to her wallet before she took the receipt and returned the smile, “I’m Sasha, Sasha Velour, see you around.” The girl turned on her boots and let her expression speak for itself as she rejoined her table full of her closest friends.

—

Trixie gave a small squeal, “Oh man you’re talking about the cashier aren’t you? We all saw that grin on both of your faces, we aren’t fucking stupid!” She spoke before Trinity hit her in the stomach, shushing her since they weren’t the only people here trying to eat or get work done, “Say it a little louder why don’t you?” The native southerner asked before taking a sip of her vanilla milkshake and saying no more.

“So what happened with you know who then?” Adore asked, tilting her head on in her hands, all of them now hanging onto Sasha’s every word and glancing, curious if she had finally gotten out of hell. “Are you finally free from prison?” Aja asked, all the girls cackling as Sasha frowned, “No!” They all groaned and shook the Russian girl physically, wanting her to snap out of it.

“I have to say, I don’t usually comment on this kind of thing but—” Adore glanced at a Shea taking another order before nudging Sasha, “She gave you much kinder eyes than I’ve seen your man ever give you and that’s all I’m saying.” Trinity quickly came to Sasha’s defense, saying what they were all thinking, “You’re bold to talk for someone who has been only madly in love with Bianca Del Rio for over three years.”

“Oh fuck off!”

Sasha had to laugh and patted her best friend on the back, gently rubbing her shoulders, “You will absolutely get your chance one day, I saw the way she was looking at you during gym.” That wasn’t a lie, there was atleast a small pinch of something even if Bianca was possibly one of the most brutually honest and disinterested people at school: never hanging around anyone and keeping to herself unless it was to insult someone or call out whatever was the latest drama at their school.

Adore shrugged, feeling a bit shy and down, it had been three years and not like she could blame Bianca, she only talked sometimes in gym when they were locked as partners and that was only this year, everything else was from glances, stares and the occasional wave Bianca would give her and only her according to Sasha.

“All the people here suck, we’re just gonna be lonely forever and I’ve accepted that.” Spoke up Aja who crossed her legs and fixed the cuffs of her flannel, “This isn’t the town to start a life or find someone to love, this town fucking sucks.” She muttered to the table, everyone agreeing for the most part expect Trinity who very often spoke of her love for a small town, “I’d rather be alone in a small town than go to a big city where I’ll be alone and stuck in a crowded space constantly.”

Trixie groaned, sulking. “All the good people are taken aren’t they? That’s just how it works here, they’re all taken or maybe no good ones exist and we’re just in the internal paradox of dread.” Adore hung into Trixie’s shoulder’s and felt her lips curl into a small grin, “You sound like me.” They laughed as Sasha nodded at the point, it was true!

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right.”

The minute the words left her lips she felt her four friends eye’s stare, “What do you mean?” Aja was the first to reply, Sasha laughed and ran a hand through her hair, “All the people here are awful! We have already such a limited number and they’re all complete fools, expect one.” She added while looking at Adore intending that exception for Bianca who genuinely was different, her heart still racing as she looked back for a second seeing Shea doing whatever work she had to. “Well maybe two.” She whispered to herself, not wanting it to get to her head considering the broken state of her current relationship.

“Where have all these good men gone…” She huffed out before grinning and adding a subtle, “and women.” They all pondered, knowing it was more a metaphorical question but Trixie still felt inclined to answer, “Maybe back in Indiana.” Trinity hit her again before humming, “Maybe in Russia.” The response intended for Sasha who quickly waved her off, laughing, finding the reply amusing.

“If you thought boys here are bad, Eastern European men are a completely different level.”

Adore kicked her feet back on the table before Aja slid her feet off, “We’re still at a diner Adore.” The girl shrugging, “As long as it doesn’t rip my tights I really don’t mind.”

“I hope they do, then you can finally buy clean ones.” Trinity giggled as Adore punched her in the shoulder, knowing it was the truth her tights were extremely dirty but she took pride in that, knowing that almost everyone dressed the same in this town and there wasn’t much room to be different and look different without getting a slap on the wrist from authority who ruled every part of their life.

“But seriously!” Sasha spoke over them, dreaming about a different time and a different place where she had instead moved from Russia to a town with actual human beings, though her friends were the wild exception, and freedom.

“Late at night I toss and turn and sometimes, I dream of what I need, especially considering my current status and relationship.” She admitted, embarrassed that she truly felt so strongly and needed the closure.

“I always think somewhere beyond my reach, maybe there’s someone reaching back to me, you guys ever feel the same?” Trixie finally admitted though Trinity, Aja and Adore all budged and agreed though Adore was the only one who could make fun of them, though she wouldn’t, considering the fact she atleast had a very large crush on someone who wasn’t a complete dense and stale asshole. Maybe an asshole but definitely not dense and stale like Aja’s recent encounters and Sasha’s relationship.

“So we’re all basically holding out for a hero aren’t we?” Trinity’s voice spoke as she leaned back, dusting the crumbs off her dress, blinking at Sasha who nodded, along with the rest of them, absent Adore though her problem was just being open and talking to her damn crush, who clearly and consistently have her some side stares and glances in class or in the hallway.

“Larger than life is what they have to be.” Trixie nodded, Aja agreeing to that sentiment.

“You all want a Hercules in disguise, I’m starting to notice the rampant patterns in all of you.” They all turned to Adore before Aja held her hand and smiled into her eyes, “And all you want is Bianca Del Rio and yet, you have yet to even have a full conversation with her.” They all laughed and yelled before Adore covered her face and the flush on her cheeks though her smirk told a different point of view.

“So does this mean you’re gonna break up finally with you-know-who?” Sasha wasn’t wanting that question to come up but considering the fact they were all fantasizing about their dream relationship, she saw it coming from a mile away, unsurprisingly from Trinity who always asked the questions everyone was too scared to say aloud.

“Maybe, I’m tired of being treated like a doll!” The Russian finally feeling a new confidence in her answer, “Besides, all we ever did was have sex, kiss and I would hope he didn’t crash us in his car when he drove me home, I can’t even name you a time we had a genuine conversation unless you count screaming at eachother because of his poor choices as a human being and school decisions.”

The redhead gave a subtle glance to Shea who returned the glance and smiled, waving, Bianca slapping her back again before Sasha turned away, leaving the sweet smile across her lips, which needed to be reapplied soon, again her own mind and ignoring whatever Aja and Trinity started to bicker about.

Well, maybe I already have found what I need.

#rpdr fanfiction #roza #sasha velour #shea coulee #adore delano #bianca del rio #trinity the tuck #trixie mattel #aja #sashea #biadore #holding out for a hero #lesbian au #footloose au #concrit welcome #submission

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illumynare · 7 years

Text

Red vs Blue fic: Gift of the Magi (7/12)

Summary: Wash has already gone through too much, been broken too often. So when they get captured by Hargrove together, Tucker figures he has one job: until the cavalry shows up, keep Wash alive and (relatively) sane. No matter the cost.

Unfortunately, Wash is just as determined to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Rated M. Canon-typical language, aftermath of canonical character death, psychological torture, hallucinations, hallucinated child harm, mentions of torture and suicide, fake-out character death.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

@papanorth drew an amazing fanart for this story, so if you haven’t seen it already, check it out!!!

There's a weight in Tucker's gut that never goes away now. An ache in his bones. A thought he can't stop thinking.

I killed him. Maybe I killed him. He was my kid and oh fuck, what if I killed him?

Oh my GOD, stop bitching, says Church. I told you, it didn't really happen.

"The fuck do you know," Tucker mumbles, leaning back against the wall of his cell. "You're not even real."

He picks through his memories, trying to be sure—but the more he thinks about it, the more hazy everything gets. When they landed on Sanghelios together, was it morning or evening? He's not sure anymore. And he feels like there was something funny about the name of the ship that took them there, but he can't remember it no matter how he tries. He can't remember anything about that ship, not even what his quarters looked like, and Tucker is sick with uncertainty.

He wishes he still had the photo of Junior with his basketball team, but it's gone with the rest of his armor. If he could just look at it again— But maybe he never had it. Maybe he never got that email from Junior, written in formal Sangheili: Father, I have a glorious victory to report. Maybe he never spent the day feeling like he was going to burst with pride, because his son had won his first basketball game.

Maybe he deserves everything that Hargrove is doing to him.

The door opens. Tucker shudders, he can't help it, because he knows what's coming next. But then he looks up, and it's not more Charon mercenaries, ready to drag him off for another session in the damn simulator, it's—

"Carolina?"

Her turquoise armor is gleamingly perfect except for the one splatter of blood across her shoulder, and she holds her auto rifle with the kind of practiced ease that Tucker still envies. She gives him a little head-tilt.

And Tucker's still dreading the truth about Junior too much to feel feel hope, exactly. But it's Carolina. She's here, that means the others are here, and that means Wash is going home. Maybe it was always too late for Tucker, but Wash is going to be okay.

"Hey," she says. "Ready to leave?"

"Fuck yeah," says Tucker, struggling to his feet. His legs feel weak and shaky as he followers Carolina out into the corridor; he's been sitting on his ass for way too long.

He can hear shouts and explosions and the rattle of gunfire in the distance, but there doesn't seem to be anyone fighting near them. Then there are footsteps, and Carolina's gun swings up.

"Carolina, we don't have much—" Wash charges around the corner and stops short. "Tucker." His voice sounds dry and hollow, the way it gets when he's not sure if things are real. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Tucker lies. He knows his voice is a little shaky, but he's just—he's so fucking relieved, to see Wash on his feet and in his armor and okay. Tucker can't forgive himself, but if Wash is okay—there's at least one thing he did right. Some part of this mess was worth it.

"Good," Wash says softly, almost to himself, and then turns away. "We don't have much time. See if you can keep up, Private Tucker."

Dude, I'm a captain, Tucker nearly complains, but he saves his breath for running.

He needs it. Wash and Carolina charge forward like they're in a race, feet pounding, and Tucker can barely keep up. He's gasping for breath, his legs burning. He tries to say, "Wait up," but all he can get out is a wheeze, and they don't look back.

They don't look back.

Tucker has this sudden feeling like if he falls, they won't turn back for him. They'll leave him behind and he'll never escape. And he knows that's crazy, it's just the simulations messing with his head, Wash and Carolina wouldn't really do that—

As he thinks that, his legs give out, and he falls to the ground. Tucker falls, trying to catch his breath, and he's afraid. His friends have saved him and he's still so afraid.

An armored hand seizes him by the wrist. Carolina. "Up," she says, and hauls him to his feet, then drags him with her down the hallway.

She came back for him. Tucker is dizzily grateful for that as she and Wash drag him into the Pelican. They don't even take time to strap into the seats; the moment the hatch closes behind them, Carolina yells, "Get us out of here!" and the Pelican rockets into motion.

The sudden lurch is dizzying, but it's comforting at the same time, because Tucker knows this. He's been on, like, a hundred missions for Chorus; he knows this feeling, of everyone piling into the Pelican and then clinging on for dear life as some idiot who never finished high school tries to fly the thing.

They steady out pretty soon. Tucker sits up, sees that everyone is here—Sarge and Simmons and Grif and Donut, and Caboose who has Wash pinned in a hug that looks really fucking uncomfortable. Wash isn't putting up a fight, though, because he's always been soft about Caboose.

And in the corner—

"Is that my armor?" Tucker says.

"I said we should just leave it," says Grif, "but somebody—"

Tucker doesn't hear the rest of the complaining. He's diving forward, grabbing at the pieces that his armor. All he can think about is the little storage compartment where he keeps the photo of Junior. If he can just find it, if he can just see it, then he can stop wondering.

It's empty.

His fingers scrabble at the edges of the compartment. There's a hollow ache in his chest. This can't be real. It can't be.

"Tucker?" asks Wash. He's pulled himself away from Caboose. "What are you looking for?"

"My photo," Tucker says helplessly, staring at the suit of armor. "It's gone. Hargrove took it."

Tucker pulled out the photo and showed it to Doyle, he remembers that, unless—unless—

Grif raises his hand. "I vote we don't go back to retrieve Tucker's porn."

"IT'S A PICTURE OF JUNIOR," Tucker yells.

There's silence.

Tucker looks up to see six helmets turned towards him, and Wash's eyes staring at him—when did Wash take off his helmet?

"Who?" says Wash.

There's an icy feeling spreading through Tucker's chest.

"Junior," he says.

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Donut asks cheerfully. "Because mine is named—"

Simmons shrieks, "DONUT!" and smacks him in the head.

"Okay," says Grif. "I'm also not going back for Tucker's dick pics."

"Actually," says Caboose, "I think Tucker means the genetically engineered alien-human hybrid he shot in the head. Yeah. Good times."

It feels like all of Tucker's insides give this horrific lurch against his ribs, and he can't breathe, can't—

All he can think is, nononononono.

Until this moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd believed Church. He'd been afraid, but on some level he'd thought that he didn't really do it, that Junior was still waiting for him.

"What?" asks Wash.

Shit, Tucker thinks, shit, I never told him, he doesn't know yet, he doesn't know—

"Well," says Caboose, "there was an alien visitor on a noble quest, and Tucker—"

"Fucked an alien and didn't like it," Grif cuts in. "Y'know. Blue Team problems."

And Tucker doesn't want to speak, but he can't stop himself. "He was my kid. Junior was my kid." He's shaking as he says, "I killed my own kid."

There's this way that Wash used to look at Tucker, back in the canyon on Chorus. This look that said, Wow, you're such a fuck-up, I can't believe I'm stuck with trash like you.

Back then, it just made Tucker mad. It just made him resolve to never sleep in his armor again, and complain even more about squats—sure, there were those times he practiced field stripping his rifle late at night, but it was fucking boring in that canyon, what else was he supposed to do—

Now, though.

Now Tucker looks at Wash looking at him, and he thinks, Yeah, you're pretty right.

"Wow," says Wash. "You were that desperate to keep partying?"

And Tucker knows he's trash, okay? He knows that he never did anything good with his life until Junior turned up, but he still bursts out, "Shut up! I was—I was—"

He can't finish the sentence. There's no way to make this any better. Tucker had a kid and he shot that kid in the head and there's no way he can ever come back from that.

"Damn Blue Team, killing their own before we can do it," says Sarge. "Don't they know it's against the Geneva Convention to deprive your enemy of the chance to strangle you with his own two hands?"

Tucker remembers pressing his hands against Junior's broken, bloody flanks, and he wants to vomit. He wants to kill himself. He wants some way to make Wash stop looking at him, but he can't and this is what he deserves. Whatever happens to him, he deserves it.

This isn't real, Tucker, says Church, but what does he know? He isn't real either.

"Am I the only one who didn't know about this?" Wash asks.

"I . . . didn't know," says Carolina, and there's a low note to her voice that Tucker's only heard a few times before.

"Carolina," says Wash, "I think we need to deal with this."

Wash isn't looking at him anymore. He's looking at Carolina—Carolina who's a Freelancer, who's gotten revenge for the family she lost, who isn't Tucker.

Listen: speaking as the Galaxy's leading authority on torture by computer simulation— It's NOT. FUCKING. REAL.

And Carolina says, "He was on your team."

Wash stands up. And Tucker knows what's coming, knows he deserves it. That's why he doesn't look away as Wash steps toward him. When Wash's armored fingers close around his neck and shove him back against the wall of the Pelican, Tucker chokes, and his feet thrash. But he's still watching Wash, still remembering the moment Wash said You're not the same person you were back in Blood Gulch.

Until now, Wash hadn't known who he really was, back in Blood Gulch.

"Private Tucker," says Wash, and puts his gun to Tucker's forehead.

"Yeah," says Tucker, closing his eyes, and he's almost grateful. He doesn't have to remember hurting Junior anymore.

The gun fires and it sears through his skull, one instant of pain that shreds him apart and lays him to rest—

And Tucker wakes up.

Tucker wakes up, and he's shuddering in the medical bed, and Church is saying, Fucking told you so, and it doesn't matter. None of it is real, it's all too real, he doesn't care anymore.

They drag him back to his cell, and he slumps against the wall, just like in the simulation. Is this another one?

He doesn't care.

If he really killed Junior, then it's fine if Wash kills him. It's fine if he doesn't get rescued. Tucker doesn't care about anything anymore.

Wash is losing time.

He knows that's really bad, but he's finding it hard to care.

He goes to the training room and he says, "Safety off," and the Mark IV says, Target acquired, and he lets it spin him into motion, welcomes the numb feeling of something else moving his limbs as he lets his mind fray apart—

simulation_011101 Agent Maine is dead simulation_001111 Agents North and South Dakota are dead simulation_1001111 we couldn't find the body simulation_1001011 we have footage of the interrogation simulation_1011 I'm sorry to tell you

—and the next thing he knows, he's back in his cell staring at the wall. His whole body aches with exhaustion, but he doesn't want to sleep. He can't sleep.

But he does. He falls asleep and he sees the bullet flying forward slowly, like he could just reach out and pull it back. He's screaming but he can't move, can't do anything except watch the bullet crash through Caboose's helmet, splatter blood across the spiderweb cracks of the visor, and I mean we are friends.

Wash wakes up shouting and clawing at himself. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and sour. It's the same way he used to wake up when he was Article 12 (except they had him strapped down every night so he couldn't hurt himself, and he wonders how long it will take Hargrove to start doing that.)

He thinks, I can't do this.

In the same moment, he remembers why he has to do this: because Tucker is still alive. Tucker can still be saved. If Wash just holds on, keeps Hargrove happy for long enough—

It's worth anything, if he can do that.

Wash doesn't matter. His team does. He's known that since Sidewinder.

(He knows what happens when he thinks that he matters, cruel gunshots and Why did you do that? What's wrong with you?)

So he sits up in his cell and he says , "Safety off," he thinks, I'm sorry to tell you, Agent Washington is dead—and the next thing he knows, he's strapped into a seat on a Pelican, staring at a whole troop of other mercs, who aren't even looking at him because they know he's one of them now. He's killed for Hargrove, just like them.

I can't, he thinks, because he knows in his gut that they're going to fight the people of Chorus, maybe going to fight the rest of his friends. I can't do this, I have to do this, and he tells the Mark IV, Safety off—

Target acquired.

Wash flinches, his head jolting against his helmet. He's already lifting his gun, tracking—

What?

Flashes and shouts and explosions all around him. He's back at Crash Site Alpha, near the control room for the tractor beam. Wash realizes what this means: Hargrove is grounded on Chorus, he's not hiding behind the moons, they're so close if only help could find them—

Wash is going to kill anyone who tries to help Tucker.

As he understands this, the Mark IV pulls his fingers, fires his rifle, and he sees a soldier of Chorus fall.

Shit.

Wash stumbles back—he's thinking, Safety on, safety on, but the Mark IV doesn't work that way, doesn't listen to him until the mission is complete; it's letting him back out of this room, but the instant he sees another enemy—

That's when he runs into somebody. Spins around.

"Agent Washington, sir? You're alive—uh, I mean, don't kill me?"

Lieutenant Palomo.

Wash has trained him, instructed him, cussed him out. But Palomo is not part of his team. In the worst part of his heart, Wash knows that Palomo is disposable.

But Tucker was so proud of leading his squad.

Wash is so tired of hurting people.

"Hargrove's on Chorus," Wash blurts out, and realizes the next second that anyone would already know that, because why else would Hargrove try to seize control of the tractor beam—

Target acquired, says the Mark IV, and Wash is lifting his gun, is aiming—

He thinks, No.

He thinks, No, and Stop, and time slows down again, fraying into milliseconds as the Mark IV rattles ones and zeroes through his brainstem, reroutes his nerve impulses, and Wash thinks No, no, stop, NO, and he struggles against it, his spine rigid, his fingers numb and shaking—

he didn't do this for Caboose, he's ashamed of that already, but he didn't have time with Caboose

—and the Mark IV drones, Initiating failsafe, and everything goes dark.

Wash wakes up back on the Staff of Charon. He has a dull, aching sense that several hours have passed.

And he realizes: I disobeyed orders.

Tucker is going to pay for it.

#rvb #red vs blue #agent washington #lavernius tucker #rvb fic #my fic #my fic: gift of the magi

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