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wonda-fhr · 4 months

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Secret Santa for @just-a-tiny-goldfish💕

I had the good fortune to choose between two interesting, complex and endearing steps. Marcos got the job because I had an idea for him in my head right away. Enjoy it. Have a great day.🤗 Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas 🎄

3029 words under the cut no warnings needed

An afternoon off Sure, you can spend the afternoon babysitting Spoon because the dog sitter is sick. After all, you're retired, right? You have time. He knows exactly what time you usually show up at the dog park. What else could you possibly have to do in the afternoon?

An afternoon off would be good for you. You love Spoon, there's no better company. You can take a leisurely walk, maybe go to a cafe or cuddle on a bench, and then bring him back to Chen. No problem at all. Besides, he will owe you a favor, which could come in handy at some point.

The closer you get to the handover, the more you look forward to your day as a dog owner. Chen and Spoon are already waiting at the agreed corner and Spoon sees you from afar and jumps for joy. You try to stop yourself from jumping up and down with him to greet him in the same way.

"Thanks for doing this, Marcos. He's been bored in the office all morning, the afternoon will be hectic for me and I just can't take care of him. He really likes you, he'll enjoy your company much more than watching me get stressed out by reporters". Chen holds out the leash to you.

Did his fingers brush yours as he handed you the leash? Surely a coincidence.

"We'll be fine. Go to work and let Spoon and me enjoy ourselves in peace."

"I'll meet you back here, I'll give you a call." He trusts you with the dog, but you're not allowed to take him to the apartment. Chen's priorities are strange. But what the hell, you've got a dog now. It's going to be a good day.

The weather could be better, today of all days there are always thick clouds in the sky. This morning's rain was certainly not the last. Spoon looks after Chen for a moment and then turns to look at you expectantly with his big, shiny eyes. Fun. When you're here, it's always fun.

Your first stop is the café, a cup to go and something sweet for your stomach. The beady eyes get even bigger and more pleading as you take your order. You pull out some more money and order a puppucino for Spoon, whose tongue gets a lot wetter when he notices the second cup in your hand.

Having a snack with a friend is nice. There's nothing wrong with having company, as long as it's the right company. You slightly wish that all people were as uncomplicated as dogs. Maybe you wish it more than slightly.

The first raindrops tear you away from your idyllic togetherness and you continue your walk. The destination is the dog park, as usual, Spoon should be able to move and play freely.

Fortunately, it's warm and the rain doesn't seem to bother Spoon much. Hopefully your jacket will keep you dry for a while, since you didn't think to bring an umbrella.

There is hardly anyone in the park, most of them have probably fled the rain. Only a petite lady with a massive Newfoundland dog is sneaking along one of the paths. Not exactly a dog that Spoon could mistake for a hunting prey. This means total freedom. Spoon dashes through the rain without muzzle or leash. He runs large circles around you and seems to be faster than the rain can hit him.

The well-trodden paths, now devoid of vegetation, resemble a muddy wasteland. Your shoes have already changed color. Spoon doesn't seem to mind the slippery ground, but you clearly lack the grip of four paws, slipping a bit with every third step.

With tiny, careful movements, you walk over to the trees, where the ground is much drier. Spoon tries to jump at you, but you deflect him before he can make you stumble. He seems a little disappointed by your boringly slow pace and takes another big turn across the muddy meadow.

You reach the tree without falling, leaning against the trunk, and just as your eyes and sensors refocus on Spoon, you feel a short but intense impulse. "Catch."

Your breathing stops in shock, your mind reaches for Spoon's, but he is far away and his impulse to chase is stronger than anything you could do now.

He is fast. Just like the rabbit, who can only keep his distance by skillfully making hooks

For a moment you stand motionless in the rain, but then the realization hits you that you have to do something, and you run after him. You make it through the first few muddy patches with a slight stumble, but in the third you fall flat on your face.

You are trained to fall, your body takes over the thinking, rolls skillfully, gets you back on your feet so you can keep running, but the mud stoically sticks to your clothes. You pass the fence at the same spot where Spoon jumped, then run like hell in the direction he disappeared.

The park is big. You realize just how big when you lean against a tree, panting to catch your breath, and realize how insane the idea of trying to catch a greyhound on foot is. Spoon is nowhere in sight.

There are no fences and many exits in this area, he could be anywhere. Panic creeps into your mind.

You feel lost, even though you're not the one who's lost. But you have lost a friend and now you feel more lost than ever.

Your thoughts race to Chen, who will never forgive you. Should you call him? No, not yet. Maybe you should ask Danny to help you find him. But he would tell Chen, for sure. The feeling of helplessness is driving you crazy, there's nothing you can do but hope he comes back.

Can't you? What can you do? You haven't thought through your options yet, you're not helpless. You have achieved so much without any help. There's no need to wait for someone to tell you what to do.

You start to look around, not at the gray runaway, but at your surroundings. There aren't many people in the park, but there are some. People with eyes and minds that can help you. You lean against the tree and reach out to them, searching for their last impressions. It doesn't take long before you find someone wondering about the fast dog without a leash. That's your direction, you walk briskly to where the person saw Spoon.

There you search again and find more witnesses. Thoughts of the weird guy walking through the park all muddy are humiliating and you try to ignore them. You follow the trail of sightings to the overgrown area with the bushes on the ground and the trees on the verge of breaking.

The rabbit must have found shelter in the undergrowth, was the last thought that had anything to do with Spoon. He must be somewhere in that patch of trees. Hopefully.

You fight your way through thorny bushes, cursing more than once as you get caught in a vine and the thorns dig deep into your skin. Your armor would be very helpful in the fight against the thorny vines, but you have no choice but to free your leg with your unprotected hands.

With several scratches on your hands, you find a more accessible area under the trees, from where you try to get some orientation. Your throat is already raw from calling his name, but there is still no sign of him. The rain has thankfully eased up a bit, not that you could get any wetter than you already are, but you can see a lot better this way. The ringing of your phone almost makes you slip into the mud again.

A glance at the display tells you that it's Chen. Who else? You wonder if he has scheduled hourly checks. So much for trust. On the other hand, you certainly don't deserve his trust right now. You take the call and try to act as unconcerned as possible.

"Hey Chen, what's the matter?"

"I have to go to this interview right now. I just wanted to check in and make sure you're okay. Is Spoon behaving himself?"

Your pause is only a few seconds too long, a hesitation that can be attributed to the dog's distraction.

"He's having a lot of fun and I'm a little wet." At least this wasn't a lie.

"That sounds good. Except for the wet part."

"I'll dry up, I'm not made of sugar."

"Are you sure?" Do you hear a giggle? "See you later, I have to go."

"Bye." You're sure he giggled. Because you're wet? That's weird.

You can't think about that now, finding Spoon is your mission. But there are no people around whose eyes you could use. Just the fat pigeons in one of the trees, you watch them briefly and they watch you. No, no pigeons, that would be madness.

On your way, bending under the gnarled trees, you notice a paw print in the mud. You continue to follow the recurring paw prints and your mind scans a wide radius for Spoon.

An existential fear suddenly runs through you, but it is not yours. A moment later, a squirrel runs toward you, turns in front of you, and continues its flight up a tree. You quicken your pace. If Spoon scared the squirrel, he can't be far away.

Behind another hedge, an open space appears beneath a large tree with low-hanging branches and countless holes in the ground below. In the middle you can see two long legs and an excitedly wagging tail, the only things still sticking out of a large hole. Spoon notices you and jumps towards you and back to the hole for a moment, as if expecting you to help him.

Exhausted, you drop into the mud next to him. While he digs enthusiastically, you secretly attach the leash to his collar, wrap it around your wrist, and breathe a huge sigh of relief.

You watch him dig for a moment until a kiss from his earthy tongue prompts you to join in the fun. It's only then that you notice that it's not just Spoon's tongue that has turned an earthy brown. The well-groomed gray dog has changed color. A dull, muddy brown runs from his nose to his tail. A few blades of grass still cling to his teeth, his paws are twice the size from the mud between his claws, and his fur is soaked rather than spotted.

"I can't possibly take you back to him like this, you need a bath first. Maybe we can go home to you?"

A wagging tail and expectant eyes in a tilted head are the only answer you get and it makes you smile.

"Alright then, I guess to my place. It looks as if you are the first one who will know where I am living. I hope you appreciate it and know how to be discreet."

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At the threshold of your door, you hesitate for a moment and look at Spoon, the mud up to the tips of his ears slowly drying. He looks completely content, he's had a good afternoon and much less stress than you. Now he looks at you expectantly with his bright eyes.

"This is a pretty big step for me, you know?"

Spoon tilts his head as if he's listening to your every word. You have to smile, he's the sweetest and most attentive listener you know.

Once inside, you walk him purposefully to the bathroom and close the door behind you. You open the collar and the first chunks of dirt fall onto the clean tiles.

You shove him into the shower and turn on the water. As soon as it splashes over his back, the long-legged animal amazes you with his impressive agility. Wet and slippery with mud, he wriggles like an eel out of your attempts to hold him, pushes past you out of the shower and enthusiastically shakes himself in the middle of the bathroom.

Your now brown speckled tiles match your muddy clothes perfectly. Your next attempt to get him into the shower turns into a great game of "you catch, I'll run". Even in the confines of a bathroom, you're no match for this dog's speed.

"This isn't going to work, is it? You're not going to shower alone." Spoon wags his tail enthusiastically, leans down on his front legs, and waits for another round of "Catch the muddy Greyhound."

"Maybe you're not a bad partner to practice with, huh? You're not going to turn away in fear, are you?" You need a shower as much as the dog, so you might as well get it over with. It seems silly that you find it hard to get undressed in front of a dog, and yet it is hard. Other people's eyes on your skin is not something you can just put up with. You take a deep breath and remove your shirt.

"You don't see orange very well, do you? How do I look to you? Like painted with mud?" Spoon seems to sense your sudden insecurity, abandons the request to play, and approaches you carefully, sniffing and licking your fingers.

"Apparently you don't find it scary." You crouch down and scratch his ears. He pushes his head closer and closer to you, until you can feel his breath on your chest.

"I would love to cuddle with you too, but we really should take a shower first. Luckily no one heard that, it sounded weird. Come on, come with me." You manage to convince Spoon to join you in the shower. You soap the dog and yourself several times until you feel you have finally washed out all the mud particles.

After you've dried him off, Spoon jumps happily around the living room and you collapse exhausted on the sofa. You leave the fur and mud splatters all over the bathroom for later. When Spoon rests his long nose on your leg to ask for a cuddle, you notice a slight shiver on his body.

"Are you cold? Come on, I'll warm you up." You've barely uttered the request before he's sitting right next to you on the sofa, his front legs stretched out over yours. " Are you allowed to lie on the sofa at home? He spoils you, I'm sure you even have your own." You spread the warm blanket over him and he continues to snuggle into your lap, even though he is clearly too big for it.

The warm dog on your belly, his calm and regular breathing and the pleasant feeling of not being alone have an incredibly calming effect on you. You quickly relax just like your guest and fall asleep with a cozy feeling.

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake. Seeing Chen's name on the screen suddenly awakens your mind, but you're not sure if your voice sounds like that.

"Chen, already finished?"

"Already? I was afraid you'd take him to the shelter if I didn't pick him up soon."

"Are you crazy? I would never ... it was a joke, right? I must have dozed off."

"Of course it was a joke. I'm sorry it's so late, I'm leaving right now. Where are you, do you want me to pick him up right away?"

"We're at my place, um ... no, no problem, we'll come to the meeting point, give me a moment."

"Good, see you soon."

"Yeah, ciao."

Rested, Spoon looks at you as if he's ready for a new adventure.

"No more rabbits today, sorry. We'll have to hurry now."

You curse inwardly, because there is not enough time to take the longer way, so no one can guess the direct direction to your apartment. This time you just have to hope that Spoon provides enough distraction so that Chen doesn't think about which direction you came from.

Even from a distance, Spoon recognizes his owner, who is already waving to greet you. Spoon pulls you the last few feet to Chen and then begins to squeal with exuberant joy. Chen smiles happily and greets his dog just as happily.

"Hey, my pretty boy. What kind of scent is that?"

"Lavender," you answer, a little embarrassed for Spoon.

"What? Oh no, what did he do?" Chen stands up again and his attention is all yours. It's easier when Spoon is your connection than when Chen looks at you so directly. You wonder if he's close enough to notice that you smell of the same lavender shampoo. You wonder if he would like it if you smelled like his dog.

"We both had a few encounters with mud, and he dug a hole. We both needed a good shower. I hope you don't find lavender too bad?"

"Lavender is great. He was on his best behavior, I see. I'm sorry. I guess I owe you more than a few flowers." Chen takes a fresh bouquet of pink and red flowers from his bag and hands it to you.

"But ... you wouldn't have. These are camellias." Flowers, he gave you flowers. You are a little surprised and stare at them, they are beautiful and they are for you.

"I heard you like flowers, I hope these are okay. Just a little thank you. I am still in your debt."

"No, I was happy to do it. I like having him around." You look at the bouquet in your hand and wonder if Chen knows what these flowers mean. He probably doesn't. You're sure he doesn't. Otherwise he would have chosen others, but it feels good to hold them. "Thank you, Chen, they're really beautiful."

"My pleasure. Take care then. Will I see you again for a walk?"

"Sure. As long as it doesn't rain. Bye." Chen smiles and you smile back, your cheeks feel funny, are you blushing a little? Luckily Chen is already on his way home. So are you, with a bouquet in your hand, which you carry like a precious treasure.

#fhr secret santa #wonda writes

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leebrontide · 1 year

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Growing a tea garden?

Full disclosure, I once had an actual Camellia sinensis tree that I loved dearly and flowered for me and was such a joy. But I misunderstood some aspects of taking care of it, and after 2 years, I lost it, which was tragic. I've yet to find another one in an in-person shop near me, so I remain tea-less, technically.

BUT, last summer I found out that there's something called New Jersey Tea. Which, despite the English name, is native to a lot of northern North America, including my own area. And native planting is always a thrilling bonus for me.

Look at it! It's so pretty!

Perfect for a combo native prairie/English cottage garden vibe that's going to go well with all our fruit plants. Being native it's not fussy and I can mostly plant it and forget it, which is ideal. Plus it's a pollinator favorite.

There's a sort of mostly-dug-up garden along the back porch because the previous owners took some apparently massive rhubarbs with them. It's a sunny spot with some decent soil, so a good spot for a garden, and plus then you'd be hanging out with these nice, aromatic plants.

Supposedly, when it's fresh the leaves have an almost wintergreen taste, but when dried it tastes like a spiced black tea. It has no caffeine. It was also supposedly a huge favorite during the US revolution, when tea imports were difficult.

So, then I started thinking about what OTHER plants I can use for making tea that will grow in my frigid home climate.

Canadian Ginger

Just like now New Jersey Tea has no particular relation to Camelia, this is nothing to do with the tropical grown ginger, which is the ginger you probably think of. BUT, it has a deeper ginger taste.

Swamp Mallow Hibiscus

So, again, you think of Hibiscus as being tropical. I only thought to check because one of my neighbors has a bigass deep red hibiscus that's been flowering away every summer for years. Apparently it's some kind of hybrid situation that lets them grow here.

I thought this sort of coloration would look better with the kind of garden I've got going, since I don't want to look tropical.

I adore hibiscus tea. It's tangy, it's colorful. It's refreshing. but I'll be honest, I haven't been able to find any reviews of what the flavor of these hybrids is. If you happen to know, please pass on your knowledge to me.

Fireball Bee Balm

This may shock you, but bee balm is another very pollinator friendly plant. I'm looking to get the fireball type specifically because I like this crimson color. the more common colors are between lavender and hot pink, which are not so much my jam. Plus, it's another native plant to my area!

They have the added bonus of being on the short side, and bunnies don't really like them, so they can form a perimeter around my tea garden to protect the other plants. We have a serious lack of predators in my neighborhood and the rabbits are OUT OF CONTROL. Last winter they ate every one of my cherry shrubs and my entire raspberry bramble down to the ground at the old house. I don't know what we need to do to get some birds of prey over here but we could use them.

Bee balm flavor is a little mint, a little oregano, and a little bit citrus, so that's a natural for tea.

Rose Hips

Apparently you CAN look up which kinds of roses have the tastiest rosehips! Rose hips are the seed of the rose, are in the same botanical family as apples. These are a few of the tastier heirloom varieties I've located. I likely won't plant all three of them. My porch isn't that big and I want to leave a lot of room for the new jersey tea.

Rosehips are lightly floral and tart/citrusy and are a fantastic source of vitamin C. You can of course also eat the flowers, but I don't plan to. My grandma always wore tea-rose perfume and I don't really want to drink a tea that feels like drinking how gramma smelled.

The two lefthand roses are both tree roses (from the middle ages!!), the one on the right is much more low-growing. So I suspect how I end up arranging these will determine which we get.

Anise Hyssop

Proper anise (the flavor for licorice) also doesn't grow here, BUT, anise hyssop has a similar flavor from the mint family. Again, it's usually a purple or pink color, but I CAN find it in an apricot tone, which I love.

Dropmore Scarlet Honeysuckle

Native to IA, not MN but still in the general right biome and so pretty resilient here. I only found out in researching tea gardens that the flowers make for tasty, very sweet, lightly floral tea! I knew you could drink the nectar out of them but this was news to me. And, of course, they make everything around them smell amazing.

I have 16 feet to work with, so plenty of room for plants.

A few other plants that wont be in the garden proper are raspberries, whose leaves have a milder and easy to store version of the fruit flavor, and mint. Both of these though are tremendously prone to conquering any area around them, and so they need some extra containment. We don't really do year-round container gardening here because the roots freeze and kill almost anything. But, the boulevard between the front sidewalk and the street, under the big maple tree, is slated for mint seeding in the spring, and the side garden already has raspberries I'll tell you about on another day.

Chamomile, lavender and echinacea all grow here and are thought to make tasty and healthful tea but...I don't like the flavor of any of them, so they aren't invited.

If you have other plants to suggest, let me know!

#Stormbrew House #gardening #tea #tea garden #long post #gardenblr #gardeners on tumblr #garden planning #Stormbrew Garden

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outeremissary · 2 years

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Hey can I get 7, 14, and 18 for Balthazar on the character ask meme? 🥺

BALTHAZAR MY BELOVED Ash I am so glad you asked and I hope that this is like. Borderline coherent. I did everything in my power to make this readable and make sense instead of descending into the frothing gibberish I am so deeply capable of.

7- What do you like most about this character? Oh man. Personality. The personality. I make a lot of characters with significant like... contrast between personality elements because that's just a Thing I Like, so of course I'd become obsessed with someone who really is deeply emotionally intelligent and empathetic but despite that is manipulative and endlessly self-serving. Everything that is Balthazar's profound capacity to be a better person is a foundational element of him being an utterly terrible one. He's very able to understand other people's needs and desires and rationales for their feelings, and that allows him to take advantage of them. He's driven and extremely hard-working but he's only interested in getting himself ahead. He's charismatic with excellent communication skills and uses that to get others to protect him or cause them to turn on each other. He could be a better person, but that powerful will that keeps him going and lets him survive against all the odds also compels him to defy every expectation others have for him. He's so afraid of being someone who's completely used up by others that he can't help but expect anyone would prey on him given the chance. After all, that's what aasimar seem to be for: making other people's lives easier, whether they want to or not. All that ability to make powerful, genuine connections, and this fear still leaves him completely alone. There's something sad about it. I like that he's a person who's very naturally vulnerable but that instead of becoming strong in a conventional way he's constantly trying to shape that weakness into something that serves him. And of course I love that his natural personality is really playful!!! That he's witty and loves variety in life and pursuing beautiful and interesting things, and that his emotions run higher than he'd ever like to admit and he has such powerful feelings of joy and hot flashes of anger and embarrassment and when he relaxes he can laugh so so easily. He has a mask of pleasantry and under that an air of cruelty but there is something so delightful at the heart of it all (although the tendency to enjoy laughing at others' expense is... well... pretty real). And I love that despite trying so hard to be pragmatic he's always willing to bet against any odds. It's about the whimsy!!! The antiheroic potential!!! The fact that he really is an underdog even if he's a person who High Key Sucks. I want to see things that make him blush, that make his eyes light up... ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I want to see those barriers broken down!!! Sdlfjiojoeirbjodlfaj the aasimar who performs the concept of being an aasimar for others while resenting it all the while........ I want to see what happens when that character becomes able to live in a genuine way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway I don't think I'm doing my concept justice at all here sorryyyy

14- What outfit would you really like to see this character wear? Or what’s your favourite outfit of theirs? This question delayed me several times as I hunted through several devices trying to get a good image collection, haaa... I'm not very organized and it turns out I don't have any "outfits" saved. Oops. If I can just throw down some random things though...

I am NOT suggesting these all be worn together I am SLIGHTLY better at discerning colors than that but all of these things individually I think he would like if that makes sense??????????? help

The most important thing is that Balthazar has a fairly ostentatious, over the top sense of style, favoring wide, sweeping sleeves, distinct collars, and accents like frills, ribbons, and lace. When practical, also high heels. Despite the fact that there are a lot of neutrals in those images it's my goal to never actually have him in all neutral colors; I think that some amount of brightness is essential. It's So Much and while I'm never really satisfied with what I manage to design it is always a really fun journey. Still always working on producing more interesting silhouettes though!

18- What’s something you associate this character with? E.g. a certain colour, object or scenery? Mmm, in terms of color I always think of very icy blue. For a creature of light, a lot about his nature really isn't warm at all. The cold eye color was always meant to reflect that a bit. Although even that is something of a false lead... he wants to be cold, but that's not all he's capable of.

I don't know about scenery, but if I could bring in a season I'd say like the season of spring: running all to extremes and capricious all the way to the end. Spring has snow storms and heat waves and beautiful flowers and you never really know what to expect, but people have a romantic idea of it that makes them yearn for it anyway.

#balthazar #balthazar lucienne #an evil aasimar who is so mean and lies all the time and is so magic <3 #on all levels this is my most self-indulgent character and I figured he'd never see the light of day #so he's full of difficult traits and things that I just find embarrassingly fun #he's classy he's not together at all he's down on his luck but always comes out ahead he's got it together he's an absolute wreck #he knows exactly what he wants and he's dead wrong about it <3 #he's dangerous and the average playground bully could kick his ass #he's so pathetic #the problematic bisexual gnc trans rep everything needs #and most of all he's a FUCKING NIGHTMARE to write in the POV of #Carmen's the monster to my Frankenstein but Balthazar is the Galatea to my Pygmalion #anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk I must now go lay on the floor #god I hope this means fucking anything #emi answers #I love talking about balthazar and I feel like I could for a million years #OC I could talk the second most about

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kiegotakami · 3 years

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it’s the way that. as a kid I like dreamed of producing/writing/whatever live action stuff that would expand on what low budget kids networks shows couldn’t do in their stories and now. now the concept of live action is just a big joke and most of the shows that have been produced are weak ass darker but without nuance versions of their original stories

#is nuance what im trying to say? not sure but u get it #like what’s the point I mean.#it makes me heated like #you could take all of the color and joy out of something good by preying on something so many ppl hold beloved #not everything should get a live-action reboot or a remake #but there are stories that could have thrived with this vision #and they just haven’t #the longer this goes on the more respect animated works deserve in their original form #and the less I want reboots or whatever bc the wrong ppl made decisions to start w making them #not every single one has been bad but Most are at best questionable #kyra speaks

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luminnara · 2 years

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Marko x Harpy!reader | 18+ ONLY

Request: Mine is weird, but since Marko likes pigeons, I like to imagine him with a scary, human eating harpy mate 👀 If you're down, could I get some headcannons or a little drabble about them experiencing like a "harpy heat" or like the reader sees his vamp face and watches him kill for the first time, and is overcome with joy, pride, and lust because her mate? Is so strong? And tough? Strong mate = strong babies. Also he has a shiny / colorful coat, so I like to think that that makes him all the more attractive to her, like when a male bird flaunts its feathers to attract a mate.

MY INBOX IS DEFINITELY OPEN FOR MORE LOST BOYS REQUESTS, ESPECIALLY WITH MONSTERS!

I kinda imagined this harpy style as the kind from world of warcraft tbh so use that as refernce if you want! The descriptions are kinda vague

Warnings: smut, mating cycles/heat, monster stuff, violence/vampire stuff u kno the type lol, some breeding kink stuff

It was love at first sight.

Those golden curls…

Those mischievous eyes…

Those shiny, wiggly squid lures on the shoulders of his jacket…

The moment you met Marko, you were absolutely hooked. You knew coming to the seaside town of Santa Carla was a good move—it was chaotic and fun and full of prey—but the second you saw him, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. He was perfect, and the longer you watched him from rooftops and trees, the more you knew you had to have him.

It was a good thing he felt the same way about the weird bird creature he had glimpsed a few times, too.

Marko had a thing for birds. He liked them because he admired their plumage, and if the flock of pigeons he kept back in the cave was any indication, birds liked him, too. So when he caught a glimpse of something one night that wasn’t quite avian and wasn’t quite human, he was totally hooked…and when he managed to catch you off guard, something no human could ever do, you were delighted to find that he was something else entirely.

You spent a whole night together, just chatting and flying and comparing diets. Vampires liked to drain their victims, only needing their blood to survive, whereas you liked a little more substance in your meals. He could fly, but he didn’t need to grow wings or flap his arms, while you sprouted beautiful dark feathers. He couldn’t survive in the sunlight, and you just preferred hunting at nighttime because your eyes were sensitive. The two of you were different, but the same, and after that first night, you refused to leave his side for very long.

The others grew used to you. Paul liked to pet your feathers when he was high out of his mind, and you didn’t mind sitting with him while he came back down to earth. Dwayne was curious, nudging a book towards you one night and asking you how accurate it actually was about harpies. You answered all of his questions, noting that a lot of his assumptions were wrong, but a lot more were right. And David—well, David tolerated you, and that was more than enough to keep you sticking around. He liked having you around the den so long as you promised to take care of any intruders who might come wandering in, and you liked having a nice space close to Marko where you could roost.

Because he was still the only guy you had eyes for.

You spent date nights together out on the boardwalk, all your feathers gone as you wore your human disguise. Well, most of them, anyways; you always had some on the nape of your neck, soft little things that Marko loved to stroke with the pad of his thumb whenever he got the chance. You kept them covered with your hair or a scarf or whatever you could, lying low and out of sight from any of the hunters David liked to scare you about.

“Vampires are one thing, but a harpy? I bet they’d cut you up and piece you out and make a killing.”

And you’d throw something at him and he’d just laugh, because in a weird way, the two of you had become friends and that was his way of showing it.

Really, you weren’t that worried about hunters. You were a killing machine, just like the boys all were, and with Marko at your side, how could a human possibly hurt you?

Unfortunately, hunters in Santa Carla didn’t work alone—and they were upping their game. That was how, while out hunting one night, you found yourself backed into an alley, three of them advancing on you while your would-be victim thrashed in your grip.

“Fuck off!” You spat at them, talons sinking into the man’s shoulder as you tightened your hold.

They didn’t answer, brandishing their knives and guns as they advanced, and suddenly, you felt like a fucking idiot for hunting alone. You always hunted alone, preferring it, much the same way that the vampires liked to hunt without an audience a lot of the time...but right now, you really, really wished that Marko was there, because you were terrified.

You glanced between the humans, a scared little shriek leaving your throat as you tried not to tremble. Luckily, someone answered--and moments later, blood was splashing across your face as something--or someone--tore through your attackers.

Your heart soared when you saw Marko tearing them apart. He was fast, more like a blur of color and blood as he ripped their spines out and spilled their guts all over the pavement. It was brutal and sadistic, his face twisted in a horrific smile that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

How did he keep getting more and more perfect?

You stared with wide eyes as he carved through the hunters, his claws shredding their flesh, his teeth sinking into their throats and ripping chunks out. You had never seen a vampire in action like this before, and you had never imagined that Marko would look so good amidst so much carnage. He was downright beautiful, his white shirt stained red with blood, his normally hazel eyes blazing bright yellow. When the human in your arms screamed in terror and you shoved him towards Marko, the vampire caught him and separated his head from his spine as easily as he could pop the flower off a dandelion.

And you had never been more in love with him.

He was so fast and so strong, tossing the corpses around as if they were toys. He had come to your rescue so quickly, and dealt with your assailants so brutally...you could feel warmth twisting in your belly and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You were still shivering, but now, it was less that you were trapped and afraid and more that you were slipping into a totally different state of mind.

Marko let the body fall and tossed the head away even as its eyes continued blinking in disbelief at what had just happened. Marko’s chest was heaving and all he wanted to do was drain every last drop of blood from the corpses...but then he remembered why he was there in the first place, and he turned towards you with wild eyes.

“You okay?” he rushed towards you, grabbing your arms as he checked you over. He couldn’t see any wounds and he couldn’t smell anything other than human blood, but when he glanced back up at your face, he saw that you were just staring. “...Babe?”

You were looking at him with an expression he had never seen on anyone before, your eyes almost hazy as you took in his features. It was the first time you had ever witnessed him vamping out, and when you finally moved, it was to trace your thumb along the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He watched you carefully, almost scared to do anything lest he scare you off, but you didn’t draw back. You just looked at him in wonder, lips parted slightly in a way that made him want to kiss you more than usual.

“Hey.” he finally said when you remained silent. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly, and he thought that you were traumatized or something. It would be a fair reaction, right? David spent all his time teasing you about hunters, and then Marko had gone and left you alone long enough for four of the fuckers to go after you--

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound reaching his ears. It took him a moment to realize that the little coos were coming from you, and when he finally focused on you again, he saw mall blue-black feathers dotting the outline of your face, your eyes shifting to a predatory amber. You made the sound again, the soft trill a bit louder this time, and Marko could only stare as you placed a clawed hand on his blood-soaked chest and gripped his shirt lightly.

“Marko...” you purred, your voice strange and inhuman.

He had to clear his throat. “Y-yeah?”

You stepped up to him, pressing your chest against his. “Thank you...”

He felt your tongue on his throat and a shiver ran up his spine. “N-no problem, baby...”

“You were so brave...”

“Yeah, guess I kinda was...”

“...and so strong...”

“Yeah, that too...”

“So protective...” you sank down to your knees, your hands tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

He just stared down at you, his breath caught in his throat. He knew he always got horny after killing, but he had to admit that he was a little confused...but he really couldn’t bring himself to care too much, not when you were pulling his cock out of his pants and wrapping your lips around the head.

“Fuck, baby...” he groaned, running his fingers through your hair. He could feel soft feathers hidden there, more and more seeming to grow as you moaned around him. “Guess I should save you more often, if this is my reward...”

You pulled back, licking a line up his shaft. “Fuck me, love...”

Well, he wasn’t gonna waste any time, especially not when you were telling him to do it. He had you up on your feet in the blink of an eye, his lips crashing into yours as he squeezed your ass. Only a moment later, you were free of your clothes, your back hitting the wall you had just been trapped up against...except this time, Marko was the one holding you there, and you were whimpering for more.

“Please!” you whined, clawing at him as he bit at your shoulder. All you could think about was him, about feeling him inside of you, feeling him fill you up and give you everything you wanted.

He huffed a laugh against your throat, hoisting you up to hook your legs around his waist. His hips rolled forward and you practically screamed when you felt the tip of his cock nudging against you...and when he finally plunged inside, you really did scream, throwing your head back and letting out a noise that seemed more avian than human.

“Fuck..” Marko moaned. You were wetter than he’d ever felt a person before, his cock sliding into you easily. You were warmer than he’d ever felt before, too, practically scorching hot...and he just wanted to sink into that warmth and stay there forever.

“M-Marko,” you breathed.

“Don’t worry, baby.” he said as he pulled out only to snap his hips forward again. “‘M gonna take care of you...”

You could feel tears at the edges of your eyes, you were so happy.

As Marko fucked you, your heart felt so full you thought it might burst. You were overwhelmed and overstimulated, but you didn’t care, demanding more and more and more from the guy who was lucky enough to have supernatural stamina and a libido to rival Paul’s. He fucked you until you came, and then he fucked you until he came, and then he fucked you until you both came together--and then you did it all over again, the two of you covered in the blood of the men Marko had killed for you, your neck covered in dark hickeys wherever you didn’t have feathers.

By the time your feet finally touched the ground again, your legs were so wobbly you nearly wiped out. But Marko--your perfect, beautiful mate, Marko--was quick to grab you, laughing breathlessly as he held you up with one hand and fixed his jeans with the other.

“Damn, baby,” he laughed as he took in your dazed expression. “Not bad, huh?”

“Mmm,” you just smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Amazing...and you saved me...”

The tiniest hint of a blush spread across his face. “It was nothin’...”

A wolf whistle had both of you looking towards the alley entrance to see Paul, David, and Dwayne, and Marko immediately hissed at them. You were still naked, and as Paul leered at you, you thought there was a good chance they might fight...a notion that had those butterflies going wild in your stomach again.

Marko’s nose twitched as the scent of harpy arousal grew stronger in the air, and he knew that the others could smell it, too. He just didn’t even want them looking at you while you were so turned on.

“Well, what happened here?” David asked, boots splashing in the blood as he glanced around at the mess. “You two do all this?”

“I did,” Marko said, straightening up.

“He saved me,” you said, hugging his arm as you nuzzled your cheek against his.

“And then the chivalrous hero took his prize, huh?” David smirked. “You didn’t even finish your dinner before going for dessert...”

“Shut up!” Marko snapped, baring his fangs.

“Shit, I wouldn’t be able to eat my brussels sprouts with somethin’ that cute waiting’ for me, either,” Paul grinned wolfishly at you. “Good job, Marko. You fucked her real good.”

“Shut the fuck up before I--”

“He did,” you interrupted, beaming up at him.

“...Well, I mean, I’m glad you think so--”

Paul barked a laugh and David snorted.

“Careful, Marko.” the platinum blonde said before turning to leave. “Harpies get very attached, you know.”

“I don’t need your advice,” Marko bristled.

“No?” David paused, looking back over his shoulder with a cigarette between his teeth. “Then don’t come cryin’ to me for help when she lays eggs ‘n makes you a daddy.”

Marko’s face fell in shock and Paul laughed so hard he had to sit down in the blood.

“Hey, wh-what?” he asked. But David was just chuckling to himself, walking away with Dwayne at his side. Paul hopped up, saluted Marko, and then followed the others, still laughing like a hyena as he caught up.

And you were just staring up at Marko with the biggest, happiest eyes he had ever seen.

#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #marko x reader #harpy!reader #marko x harpy!reader #marko x monster!reader #slasher x reader

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nobodyfamousposts · 3 years

Text

Chaton Noir: Akuma-ed

He knew he wouldn’t win for ever.

But he thought that “ever” was still far away!

“No, Chaton, you can’t come with me and that’s final.”

She was being very stubborn today. More than usual.

And no amount of pleading was making a difference. Though he was trying very hard. Nothing was working!

Although…

He slowly looked up at her, eyes wide and pitiful. Almost teary. The look that always made her give in and take him along each time before when he couldn't get her to any other way.

Except for this time.

“I mean it, Chaton." She insisted as she got her bag together. "The class is taking a trip and I can’t risk something happening or you getting lost.”

Even his ultimate weapon failed him!

He pouted up at her.

She sighed sadly and picked him up.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, holding him close. “But it’s important that you stay here and be good, okay?”

He nestled close to her, happy for the contact but sad and still a little mad because she was leaving.

But he wanted to be good for her, so he nodded. He wouldn’t like it, but he would do it.

“I’ll be back before you know it. And if you’re good, I’ll bring some cookies for you.”

He brightened at that. He did like cookies!

…but he didn’t want her to go.

“It’s okay, Chaton. It will only be for a few hours.” She assured him, setting him down. “I’ll be leaving my computer on the Ladyblog so you’ll know if anything happens.” She paused and turned to the TV, turning it on as well. “And you can watch cartoons while I’m gone so you won’t be bored.”

He looked to the Teevee as bright and colorful people appeared.

Marinette frowned down at him as he still seemed despondent. She didn’t want him to be upset, but it would be too noticeable for her to carry her big bag on this trip to bring Chaton along. And she couldn’t risk Chloe finding him. Or worse, Lila. And while she would have preferred to take him to Master Fu’s, the timing just didn’t work out and Fu had something else he needed to do today and couldn’t look after Chaton.

But while young, Chaton was smart. And he could be mischievous, but he would at least stay in the room and not be too rowdy.

Still…

“I just need you to keep an eye out and protect my room while I’m gone, okay? Make sure nobody tries to sneak in or take anything.” She instructed.

He nodded resolutely, assuring her that she could count on him!

She smiled and patted him on the head.

“Thank you, Chaton. Be good, okay?”

He nodded again. Of course! Because he was a good boy!

But that suddenly became a lot harder when she went down the floor door and out of sight, and he realized just how empty the room was now that she and the Pink Thing were gone.

Quickly, he climbed up to the window and peeked to the outside, watching as his Creator left. He put one hand on the glass, feeling sad.

He didn’t like being alone…

_________________

“Ah, a child feeling alone and worried for his mother! Perfect prey for my akuma!”

In his lair, Hawk Moth sensed the wellspring of emotions. It would be perfect to take advantage of and create a new enemy to defeat Ladybug and Chat Noir!

“Go forth, my akuma! And evilize him!”

_________________

The sounds of the Teevee helped lessen the silence, but it didn’t change the aloneness. He wanted her back. How much longer would she be gone?

He looked to the clock and saw that the 800 had changed to 834. He didn’t know much about time, but he knew that it was the 8 that had to change to a 3 before she would be back.

That would be forever!

Anything could happen to her while she’s gone! What if she got hurt? What if she got lost? What if something happened and she didn’t come back?

But he wouldn’t cry!

He wouldn’t!

…but he missed her…..

A flapping of wings caught his attention and he looked up to see a bug.

What was it called? A “Butter Fly”?

How did it get in here?

_________________

Hawk Moth grinned sinisterly as he sensed his butterfly had reached the target.

“Good! Get closer, my akuma! And then, nothing shall—”

OMN!

Suddenly, all connection to the akuma was cut off.

Hawk Moth started in surprise.

“What?”

He reached out, but all his straining did little more than to make him appear constipated to anyone whom happened to be present.

Try as he might, he could no longer sense anything!

No emotion.

No akumatization.

Nothing.

It was as if his akuma had just vanished!

What just happened?

What the hell was that?

What happened to his akuma?

_________________

Bleck!

Chaton licked his fist to try to get the icky out.

It didn’t taste like butter at all!

It lied!

The butter was a lie!

It should be called a “Butter Lie!” Not a fly!

He felt a fluttering from his tummy.

Looking down, he poked at his tummy where the Lie was. It was being rowdy. And tickling his inside. He didn’t think he liked it much. But what else was he supposed to do with it?

At least he wasn’t alone now!

Maybe it would watch the Teevee with him?

_________________

“I’m back!” Marinette called as she opened the trap door and came back into her room.

The room still seemed to be in order. Nothing was broken. The TV was on.

And there was Chaton sitting on his little cushion and distractedly kicking his feet while he watched the TV. At least until he realized Marinette was there and he perked up. Within seconds, he was hopping off the cushion to stand in front of her, bouncing happily.

She smiled, kneeling down to pat him. “Hey there. Did you have fun?”

He tilted his head but nodded, giving the clear indication that it was, but not as much as when he was with her.

She smiled gently and handed him the cookie she promised. He happily accepted the gift and nibbled at the edge of the treat.

He was adorable. And better behaved than she expected.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” She asked.

It didn’t seem like anything had, but still…she wanted to hear it from him.

Chaton paused, seeming to consider something...

And then coughed up an akuma.

Marinette stared.

Tikki stared.

Chaton looked back up at them proudly over the fallen butterfly.

Look at the thing he caught! Proud! Proud? Proud of him? Yes?

The akuma twitched, apparently little worse for wear.

Marinette gaped.

“TIKKI!”

_________________

The Butterfly was cleansed and then released.

(Which Chaton was a little sad about since it was supposed to be a gift for her he kept safe till she returned, but then again, it wasn’t made of butter so there probably wasn’t much his Creator could use it for, either.)

Marinette checked over Chaton multiple times to ensure he was unharmed from his exposure to the akuma.

(This, he liked better since it meant she was holding him a lot, though he didn’t like how worried she was because he was fine! Really! He was a good boy!)

Then she hugged him out of relief.

(Much to his joy.)

And gave him the rest of the box of cookies she had promised him.

(Which his tummy liked much more than the Butter Lie.)

All in all, things didn’t turn out too terrible. Though Marinette wasn’t sure she would be making another excursion like this that would leave him alone any time soon.

(Chaton was wondering if he should try hunting the Butter Lies next time….)

And the day ended well...

(Chaton dreamed of Butter Flies and croissants...)

#ml fic #dolls au #chaton noir #little chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #tikki #hawk moth is an idiot

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Pray to Me

Pairing: Shinsou x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gods!AU, Rough Sex, Too Many Norse Mythology References

Word Count: 8.5k

The frigid waters were laden with blood and ice, the salty waves licking the bows of long boats as they accosted the shores. The dark waters of the bay looked black against the fresh snow, churning oars sending sprays onto the docks as warriors returned home.

You stood among the crowds, whips of snow billowing past your reddened cheeks, your arms crossed in protection across your chest. Despite losing the men within your family to raids and battles long ago, you always came to welcome back those who were fortunate enough to receive homecoming. Upon the sails of the ships was the symbol of your earl, dancing proudly against the winds of winter as the men and women beneath them hailed their successes from summer and autumn.

High upon the prow of the leading ship was a carved figurehead, meticulously crafted in the image of Skoll, the wolf who hunts the moon. The wolf’s jaws were wide and within his wooden tongue was an etching of a crescent moon; the wolf with his prey in his maw was a symbol of Ragnarok, a symbol of the return of chaos. And upon the prow was a man you had never seen before.

The man was all shades of violet and violence. His hair was the color of crushed mulberries, the long strands pushed back and wet from the sea, so deeply purple that it looked as if you were to touch him, your palms would stain with color. Blood, russet and old, crimson and fresh, was splattered across his cheeks. A warrior’s tattoos stained the expanse of his chest and arms; the thick, blue lines were heavy and sprawling from the wood ash buried within in pale skin. And his eyes, they were purple and bright, painted with black kohl. The dark smears ran down his impressive cheek bones and curled up from his eyes, appearing catlike. The curious orbs resembled the farthest stars that lined night sky.

You expected murmurs from around the docks, but it was as if the man belonged there, towering over all the rest, hands pulling at the mouth of the wolf within the wood. He was silent power within the snow, lean and muscular, body on display as if the storm did not touch him. You felt drawn to him, like he was looking for you high upon the prow. Your feet moved before you could think. You wanted to be closer, to have those violaceous eyes upon you.

You moved in front of the crowd, standing by the edge of the water, sand and ice crunching underfoot, but when your eyes darted to find him, he was gone. There was no trace of slick purple hair within the throngs of people. Disappointment settled into your spirit and wearily you traveled home to rest.

For weeks you dreamt of him, saw shadows of him within the corners of your vision; illusions of a dark cat in your windows, a tawny owl upon barren branches.

Some nights you dreamed you were sinking into a vast violet sea, trying to swim upwards to break against the surface, to breathe air into your lungs and call to Odin to rescue you. But you were stuck, some unknown force pulling at your ankles and keeping you in a watery, nebulous purgatory just below the surface. You would always give up, allow yourself to float within the celestial unknown of the eerie, mauve waters, allow yourself to feel weightless and accept that you were no longer in control. The undercurrents would push you, bring you into strong, waiting arms, and you would awaken, breathing in and feeling like for a brief moment you were whole.

No one you asked had seen the purple haired man, save those who returned from raiding in the East. One warrior told you that the man you saw upon the prow of the ship was a land spirit, brought with them from the Balkans after blessing them with the gift of fire and aiding their struggles to survive as the weather turned bleak. Another relayed that the man was a spirit of the Wild Hunt, a straggler from the ghostly procession that attached himself to the fleet and brought the callousness of winter with him. No matter what they believed him to be, they had all seen him, the man with violet hair and violent eyes.

You knew that the sisters were calling to you from The Well of Fate, whispering the future that they had laid before you. Something about the purple haired man, whether he be man, vestige, or spirit, made you believe that you were fated to meet him again.

Nearly a full moon cycle passed before your curiosity could take no more. In the dead of night, you wrapped yourself in your cloak, ignoring the shadows and wisps of eyes in the dark as you made your way through the sleeping village.

You found yourself before the Seer, ancient and decrypt, asking for him to translate the gods’ wishes and intentions for your life.

“What questions do you have of me?” His voice was as rickety as the bones that adorned his hut, rattling from stray winds. He had lived hundreds of years and now dwelled between life and death, an interpreter between gods and man.

“Wise one, I desire to know the gods’ plans for me. I have dreams.”

“What dreams have come to you?”

“I dream I am drowning within the bay, and that a man saves me, but only after I stop fighting the currents.”

There was a pregnant pause between you. The Seer considered your words. Your thumbs fiddled within your lap, and you felt heavy, like you were under the gaze of more than just the ancient one.

“A precarious quest awaits you, one that will take you between worlds, to the land of the gods.”

“But I do not understand. I do not adventure, nor travel. I am only a simple healer. What kind of quest could await me?”

Below hooded eyes you watched a black tongue escape his mouth, worrying across dry lips as he pondered your words. Only a few times in your life had you visited him, well aware that fate was already the master of all, even the gods, as even they were subject to fate just like any and all other beings.

“You shall go past where the fence separates us from the place of self-willed beasts, finding refuge in that which is chaotic, anarchic, and wild.”

“But, Seer, I do not—.”

“Yes, child, I know you do not understand. But such is the way of prophecy, only to be understood when it has happened, and it is too late to change it.”

You stood to leave, seeds of fear sprouting within your spirit.

“But do not forget there is order within the chaos.” His voice crackled like fire, calling out to you as you left his home, forging a path through the snow to your own.

The foresights of the Seer lingered within your disposition, the cryptic words reverberating through your mind and taking hold in your daily life. You started to fight the currents in your dreams, only to wake gasping for breath after monstrous beings pulled you into the abyss. The warm arms of your illusory savior felt farther away than ever before. The murky glooms in the crevices felt stronger, grimmer, the oppressive eyes of darkness following you from every corner, every winter shade.

Your hands began to slip as you tended to the wounded, your thoughts becoming absent as you crafted medicine or supper, often burning yourself over fires or forgetting ingredients. You felt lost, abandoned by the gods, but still yet you prayed.

Winter continued to rage on, with the moon living within the sky at all times of day and bathing the world in a constant dusk during the desolate midwinter. Every night before you made for bed, you trekked behind the village to the isolated temple to the gods. No one was ever there. The summer raids were over, the men safely returned with riches aplenty, which, along with the great harvest, had left many believing that the gods were in good spirits and were bestowing ample blessings upon their dedicated supplicants.

But you, you felt no love from Asgard, felt no promise of Valhalla waiting for you.

The temple was hardly a sanctuary at all, just a hut overrun by dormant vines and overgrown with dying grass, with an altar for blood sacrifices tucked away against the back wall. Despite being a devoted village, most saved their prayers for their pilgrimage to the great temple in Uppsala, but you had become desperate. You needed to feel closer to the gods, to find the place beyond the fence that was foretold to you.

You knelt upon a broken stone, obedient hands upon your knees as you began to pray.

“Odin, all-father and far-wanderer, may you grant me wisdom, and courage,

Thor, grant me your strength, wield your hammer to break the barriers that hold my mind,

Baldr, the beautiful, beloved by all, please bestow upon me joy and light,

And Freya, mother of beauty, the völva, help me to discern my fate—.”

Your prayer faltered as you heard steps crunch upon the grass. But the sound wasn’t of footsteps coming towards you, more like someone shuffling, shifting their weight within the temple.

You were not alone.

All your instincts began to fight one another. Your mind wanted to flee, to spring your legs and send you running to safety, but your heart felt like you needed to stay, to speak into the twilight for answers. The conflict led to you staying still and being silent. Your hands fisted upon your thighs, your eyes closing tightly. Whatever was there would go away, whoever was there would leave. Maybe there was nothing there at all, only the spirits playing tricks on you again.

“And why haven’t you called out for me, little one?”

The voice sounded like vibrations from within the deepest ocean; deep, unfathomable, and a little wicked.

He was there, before you, arms across his tattooed chest that was on display under emerald linen and violet head cocked to the side. He was grinning, like a cat would upon discovering new prey. His purple hair was arched into wild plumes, his skin rubbed clean but the kohl still upon his cheeks and around his eyes. He was handsome in the firelight, fiendishly so.

“Who are you?” Your voice was a whisper, so light and airy it floated away into the darkness.

“Who am I?” He laughed, leaning against the sacrificial altar, a blatant disrespect for the gods.

“Who am I…” he repeated it, drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. He shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, eyes closing as he picked up an imaginary rhythm.

“A creaking bow, a burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake…”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers twitching in your lap. You recognized the pattern and knew what words came next. It was an old saying your mother used to whisper under her breath, a chant for the old women and those who held superstitions. It was a warning, a rhythmic song to help children remember to stay safe, to avoid perils.

Your mouth opened before you could stop it, finishing the proverb for him.

“The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery. No man should be such a fool as to trust these things. For they are the trickster in disguise.”

“Aha, so you do know me, girl. Yet after all this time, I’ve never heard you pray to me. Why is that?”

He crouched down to your level, his startling, devilish eyes gleaming like amethyst. He was too close and you felt yourself leaning away, back arching and neck aching as you tried to pull yourself from his gaze.

“No one prays to you, trickster god.”

He merely shrugged, a strong hand reaching for you. Rough fingers found your chin, pulling you closer as his eyes danced across the planes of your face. You began to shake, overwhelmed by being in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous god.

“And how do you know I am he?” he laughed, thumb running over your lips, “I could be Heimdall, sent by Odin to watch over such a devout and…fascinating little creature.”

“Because you’re so…” you paused as you looked for the words. You felt like you were drowning within his gaze, falling to the ground even though you hadn’t moved since he appeared.

He stood quickly, turning on his heel and smirking.

“Because I’m so what? Handsome? Charming? Surprisingly muscular for a god who uses wits and magic to seduce his subjects?”

He pouted at your silence, wanting more of a reaction.

“What if I told you I could be beautiful instead? Would that hex you?”

This time he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond. Within a haze of smoke, he transformed.

A languid, sensuous body appeared between the mists. Voluptuous breasts met your eyes, smooth thighs peeking from beneath an exquisite olive dress. Long, violet tresses fell down the woman’s back, curling so perfectly she looked to be unreal. But his eyes stared at you from the feminine face, dark lavender and sinister upon high cheekbones.

“Hmm,” she sighed, holding her hand out for you to take.

You took the soft hand outstretched to you, surprised at the strength behind the grip as she pulled you to your feet. The goddess was tall and slender, and she gazed at you while she pondered whatever was on her mind.

“Still not as beautiful as you…” her voice was melodic as she looked over her own body, swaying within the graceful skin for a moment before catching your gaze and stopping. You stood still, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed at the hermaphrodite before you. Her lashes fluttered as a familiar smirk spread across her features.

It was as if she was floating when she neared you again, purple hair uncontrollable and suspended within the air. Her tender hands came to your cheeks, pursing your mouth with her thumbs.

“No…nothing is as beautiful as you, little servant.” Her supple lips overwhelmed your own. You gasped, hands flying to her chest to stop her, only to have your fingers sink into the luscious valley of her breasts. A chuckle fans across your face, more masculine than feminine, and the mixture of the voice had shivers of excitement and pleasure racing down to your toes. You were too shocked, too scared to kiss back, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips moved against yours gently, pleadingly, only becoming more active when the delicate hands upon your cheeks converted to thick fingers and rough calluses.

Before your eyes the god shifted again, returning to the fetching masculine figure that he was before. You could smell him now, taste him, like smoke from smoldering coals and the residue of rain from within a summer’s forest. Your hands were still upon his chest, your fingers brushing against the skin that was on display between the open buttons of his tunic. His kiss was intoxicating, a hum of magic upon his lips as he drank you in.

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, licking your lips wantonly before pulling away.

“Why have you been haunting me?” You demanded between heavy breaths, emboldened by his kiss.

“Haunting you? No, no. I’ve been watching you. Observing you. You looked so…sinless among the throngs when I sailed in all those weeks ago. I must say I am very pleased by the things I have seen.”

“And what have you seen?” Your voice snapped; tongue sharp.

His hands caressed your upper arms, eyes glancing across your body as if he was admiring a pattern within runes that he had seen a thousand times before.

“You serve…everyone. The gods, the people in this village, you tend to the weak spirited and the broken bodied, you serve everyone but yourself.”

The god grew quiet, leaning forward to inhale the sweet scent of your hair. His lips pressed to your temple, thumbs stroking your arms through the thin fabric of your clothing. His breath fanned into your hair and you suddenly felt your heart begin to beat more slowly. It was as if his presence alone, his touch, could calm the raging turmoil within your mind.

“Now, I want you to serve me.”

“Yes,” you said too quickly, a knee buckling as you prepared to kneel, “of course, anything for a go—.”

“Shinsou.” His hands held you in place, kept you from bowing to him. He watched as your head tilted and your brow furrowed, obviously wanting to please him. “Shinsou is the name my friends call me, and as shall you.”

“Shinsou.” You tentatively said the name back to him. Your people knew him as Loki, but to know a more intimate name made tingles of warmth spread across your chest, like he was entrusting knowledge unknown by mortals into you.

He became violet and beautiful as you said his name, a warm smile decorating his striking face. The safe feeling of your dreams washed over you. These arms, his arms, his hands and his body, were the safety you had been dreaming of that saved you from the tumultuous seas. You stared at him for a moment, hands feeling a heartbeat within his chest. He looked so human, felt so real, yet still an otherworldly air swirled so poignantly around him. Everything inside of you wanted to fall into him, to feel enveloped by his spirit.

“I’m going to take you away,” he whispered it, hand trailing from your arm to your face, tucking hair behind your ear in a most affectionate way, “you’ll never have to come back here, unless you want to.”

“Take me away? To Asgard?” Your breath hitched as you said the name of the haven of the gods.

He laughed, the sound like honey dripping across your soul.

“No, little one. I am of the giants; don’t you remember the ancient stories? To Jotunheim we will go.”

Your brow lightened, remembering the words of the Seer. Jotunheim, your brain wracked over the word, letting it roll within your thoughts until it revealed what you were looking for. Útgarðr, you realized, the name of that same place given by your ancestors. It meant the world outside your own, the world of chaotic wilds that surrounded Midgard. The place beyond the fence.

This Loki—this Shinsou—was indeed fated to you after all. You felt the connection from the moment you saw him sailing in the winter winds, felt it even more profoundly as he held you before him in the temple. For some reason, the trickster god had chosen you, or perhaps he was merely following fate, testing you for all this time to see if you were truly the human girl destined for him. He was a sign of change, his hands wrapped around the prow of the ship that was carved into a symbol of Ragnarok, the end of the cycle of this world. He was proving to be a carrier of the end times, at least the ending of your own mundane life. And just like Ragnarok, you had a feeling that with this end would come a new beginning, that Shinsou was taking you away but leading you to a new life, a new destiny, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

“Take my hand,” it was a polite command, his words weighty but light enough to promise that you could decline.

You felt something between his fingers, a quietness, a wickedness you could not quite name. It was like a dull thrum of lightening humming between your skin and his. Billows of smoke weaved between your bodies. Just as quickly as he transformed into a woman, Shinsou had you whisked away, transported so rapidly you felt dizzy. You clung to him, your godly refuge, light flashing as your feet found new purchase upon what felt like a floor.

For a moment, you thought the room was a mirage. It was unlike anything had ever seen before, so lavishly decorated with lush furs, viridian curtains, polished stone and warm fires. Books lined every wall and the air smelled of perfumes and incense, even a fountain sprung from stones in the far corner. It was truly unearthly, but his arms around you felt like home.

His head rested upon your shoulder from behind, his palms flattening on your chest to feel your heartbeat as you took in the sights around you.

“This is…this is your home?” One of your hands gripped a muscular forearm.

“Mhm, more like a home away from home, a safe haven.”

He uncurled himself from you, a stout hand pushing at your lower back to urge you to explore. You padded around the room, fingers caressing the spines of books along the walls, finding many in languages unknown to you. Between many of the tomes were vases and trinkets, some glowing with mystic hues, humming with magic well beyond your comprehension.

“What will you have me do here?” Your breath caught as you turned to find him. He seemed so large and ominous within the space, like was the commander of the room and the only ornament to be admired within the vast collection around you.

“You haven’t figured it out? My, and I thought you were keener than most mortals.”

He rolled his shoulders, sighing with content as he removed his tunic, tossing it into the air to only have it dissipate before your eyes in a bright flash of magic. His tattoos seemed darker in the dim light, like the blackest earth pressed into his skin. A serpent trailed down one of his impressive biceps, his other arm decorated in a swirl of runes and etchings of a wolf and a horse, his chest covered with a dark, ethereal depiction of Yggdrasil, the world tree, it’s branches spreading across strong pectorals and its roots weaving between the hard muscles of his stomach.

“Come,” he motioned to you with his fingers, “come back and touch me.”

You had no hesitation, coming to his call like a pet would their master. It felt safe to be back in his arms again, to have your fingers running over the indigo lines of art upon his handsome skin. He proudly showed you his arms, eyeing you with great interest as you admired him.

“Your children,” you mused softly, tracing the pictures so marvelously stretched upon his musculature.

“Yes,” he laughed softly, “my children. Call me sentimental, if you must.” The enormous snake was no doubt Jormungand, the serpentine dragon that encircled all the oceans, all of Midgard. Then there was Fenrir, the ferocious wolf that was chained away somewhere from all humanity and gods alike, in wait to break his binds and eat the world as the end began again. And then there was Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse that bore the weight of Odin in all of his battles. They were all wild creatures, the offspring of the unfathomably powerful god before you. They were all beasts of anarchy, yet they looked so beautiful upon his skin, so harmless within the ink.

“Order within the chaos…” you whispered, echoing the words of the Seer.

“I want you.”

His powerful voice rumbled from within his chest. It startled you, caused your wandering hands to cease upon his arms and become still before him.

“Why?” Breathless. You felt breathless.

“I have traveled every inch of the nine worlds, regarded every corner for fascinations and enthrallments, yet it was in the homeland where I found what I wanted. You are the most beautiful, pliant little create I have ever beheld, and I want you within my bed.”

“No, you can’t! I’m nothing, no one of importance, you…you can’t.”

He left you then, smirk adorning his features as he sauntered to his bed, waiting for you to follow. And you did, an unspeakable urge to touch him, to follow him, to feel him, to be overwhelmed by him, drawing you to him like a fox to its den, to its safety.

“Well, if you don’t want me, my brother Katsuki would give up his fates in order to have such an alluring woman within his sheets.”

“Katsuki?”

He paused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, that playful grin still upon his lips.

“Thor, if you rather. We all have many names, but I only want mine to come from your tongue. So many nights I waited to hear you pray to me, call out to me within your dreams, but I tired of lingering. So now I will have you say it, scream it, for me, little servant.”

He pulled you into his lap, hands greedy upon your flesh, pulling at your thighs and sinking between your ribs. He looked untamed upon the bed, hair almost purposely unruly and muscles rolling and ready to hunt what he wanted to take.

“Do you think you can do that for me? Pray to me? Call out for me like you need me?”

Thick fingers gripped at your cheeks; violet eyes hazy like storm clouds above the ocean. You were reminded that he was a devious deity, a shapeshifter, a trickster, the one thing that your elders warned you about as a child. A burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake, he was all those deceitful things and more. He was the epitome of chaos, yet he had chosen you, desired you, and you knew that deep within your spirit you wanted him as well. He was handsome beyond compare, but his physical splendor was not all that had you holding onto him. Behind those eyes was a promise of release from every woe, a chance to experience pleasure like you had never known before.

“Yes, Shinsou, whatever you desire.”

“So devoted to the gods,” he whispered, bringing you flush against his body, “now I’ll make you feel like one.”

Slowly, he ran his hand downward, finding the intimate, remarkably soaked place between your legs. He could feel your wetness from beneath your wool coverings and a satisfied groan builds within his throat as his lips curl even more sharply, devilishly.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, wrist flicking and sending your clothing away.

You gasped, feeling the threads peel away from your body by what felt like imaginary hands. Just like his tunic before, your shirt and trousers were gone, whisked away to perhaps another dimension never to be seen again.

“Look at you,” he boasts, keeping one hand tucked between your slick thighs as the other rakes across your curves, pinching, pulling, teasing at your flushed skin, “not even the goddesses compare to you. Mhm, thank the All Father for breathing life into you, I must thank him for creating such beauty.”

Your mouth could barely stammer a thanks. You were beguiled, stunned within his lap, your legs stretched over gloriously muscled thighs. You almost felt shameful to be on such display for him, but the hunger in his eyes and the hardening cock underneath told you just how pleased he was to have you.

A deft finger began to circle your most sensitive spot, making you bite your lip as a groan burned within your throat. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, gaze catching every breath you made, every shift and roll of your body. You felt hot, unbearably so, as his finger toyed with you so languidly.

His other hand found your breast, cupping it and testing its weight within his giant palm. His thumb grazed your nipple, circling it at the same pace and movement as your clit. He grinned as he watched you slowly come undone, felt your walls and insecurities crumbling away at his touch.

Shinsou then took your sensitive clit between two fingers, rolling it so perfectly that it sent sparks of pleasure racing across your nerves, surging from your thighs to your toes and back again. He kept going, stroking sensually, purposely, with such expert skill that you felt you could cum just from his slightest touches. Is this what being with a god felt like? Like you were constantly on the edge of euphoria, every touch and stroke like the gift of life within your body?

Your head tipped back as you moan, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. He watched with glee as the column of your throat was on display for him. He took a moment to press his hot mouth against your flesh, sucking roughly against the side of your neck like he was taking your pleasure for himself. You could only moan again, the sensations already drowning you in such bliss you were surprised your inner coil of pleasure hadn’t broken for him already. He was an expert in giving pleasure just like he was the art of manipulation and sorcery.

All too easily he moved you below him on the bed, his impressive body now hovering over your own, mouth still biting at your neck, fingers still circling your nipple and caressing your pussy.

“Tell me what you want,” it was a soft command against the slick skin of your neck.

“You,” you breathed in deep, breasts pressing against his tattooed chest with your inhale, “please, more.”

“More of what? Of this?” he pinched at your nipple, tugging it and twisting it so wantonly that you couldn’t help but to shriek in pleasure for him, “or this?” his two fingers danced along the lips of your pussy, sliding between the wet folds before returning to your aching clit, swirling against it so proficiently that you felt your inner muscles clenching and begging for release.

“All of it, I want everything.”

“My, my, you are a greedy little thing.”

All at once, he ceased his motions, easing the pressure upon your body and leaving you wanting, burning, begging for more. But he is not gone from you. His fingers, coated in your slick, tauntingly trace over your clit once more, so light it’s like the kiss of life just barely brushing over your delicate flesh. You began to writhe in response, needing more friction, needing more of his touch, but he moved his weight upon your body to suppress you. He was teasing, purposely neglecting to give you the stimulation you so desired.

“Any time you want more, you say my name, little one. Say my name and I can give you everything you desire.”

“Shinsou, please.”

He groaned, he himself coming undone at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t even begin to explain how gratifying it was to hear his name come from your lips. He was no fool of a god, he knew no one prayed to him, but he wanted you to pray to him more than anything he had ever desired before. Your songs of praise would fill him in ways a mere mortal could never fathom; your prayers, his name from your mouth, was more intoxicating than any substance Odin had ever created. To have you, a devoted child of the gods, calling his name while he stole your faith away from every other god and claimed it all for himself, fulfilled him beyond measure.

His touch trailed lowered, finding your puckered pussy pulsing and waiting, ready for him. He entered a single finger, a heavy moan of approval ghosting against your neck as your inner walls contracted around him, pulling him deeper into you.

“So fucking tight,” he lifted his head, finding your eyes closed and pretty mouth agape, “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

Waves of pleasure rocked over your body as he moved his finger within you, curling it to massage the fleshy walls, quickly finding a sensitive spot to stroke against. His palm pressed against your clit as he buried another finger into you, the two digits working in tandem to spread you, spear you onto his thick fingers, pushing them far into your depths. Every plunge had you gasping, bursts of bliss spreading across your skin like flames.

His mouth returned to yours as he fingered you, hot and heavy, but his kiss felt controlled, like he was holding back. You reacted quickly, pushing up into him with all your strength, arms circling his neck and pressing him for more. You wanted what he can give, all of it, and you showed him with your actions. Your hands fisted into those vivid purple plumes of hair, tugging as your hips began to match the speed of the hand working within you. You moaned, loud, desperately, your tongue prodding his lips. He graciously accepted your tongue, opening his mouth and wrestling against you. His tongue licked your own, slow and wet, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness.

“Shinsou,” it was a murmur against his mouth, but he heard it, soaked it up and began to thrust and curl his fingers faster than before. You cried out at the pleasure, mouth falling from his.

“You like it a little rough, hm? You’re so easy to read, my dear. I am going to make you cum so hard you’ll be begging for all that I have planned for you.”

His words had your cheeks and ears burning with a blush. He only grinned, choosing to prop himself onto one arm so he could watch you. With every flick of his wrist, every move of his fingers inside of you, he watched your face. He watched how your lips curled, how your jaw clenched. He felt your hands twist in his hair; felt how you would pull on the violet strands in desperation when he touched the perfect spots. His eyes scanned your body as well, watching what made your breasts bounce, your stomach clench, your walls tighten around his fingers. It didn’t take the god long to discover exactly what made you tick.

He rapidly increased his pace, using his newfound knowledge to make your body feel like it could explode at any moment. He touched you just right, plunged his fingers so perfectly as to keep you on the edge of your euphoria for as long as he could. Truthfully, he could’ve kept you in suspense forever, but Shinsou was not a god known for his patience. He wanted to watch you cum, wanted to see your face when you came around the fingers of perhaps the most reviled deity. One even you wouldn’t dare pray to.

“You ready?” He called your name, making your eyes flutter open to see him. He saw the lust within your brilliant irises, your dilated pupils, and that sight alone had his cock harder than it ever had been before. He was no longer sure he could keep his composure as he watched you come undone.

He leaned down closer, close enough to catch your breath within his mouth. He would’ve expected you to kiss him had you not been so far gone, so close to otherworldly release that your lips could no longer form words.

“Cum for me,” that wicked tone of voice was back, his fingers now slamming into your body, “cum for a god, little mortal.”

His thumb returned to your clit, showing it no mercy as he rubbed tight, fast circles against it. His words, his fingers, his body, his breath, it was all too much.

“Sh-Shinsou!”

You reached a high you had never felt before as you came for him. Your head felt dizzy, like you were back to drowning within your dreams, waves and waves of euphoria crashing over you so roughly you felt like you were sputtering for air amidst the onslaught of pleasure. Your walls clenched and unclenched around his unceasing fingers, your chest tightening, your core exploding, heat blooming from every patch of skin he had dared to touch. You screamed. Over and over, the bliss felt never ending, and he baited you for even more.

“That’s right, cum all over my fingers, just like that, just how I want you.”

It felt like he was drawing your orgasm from your body, pulling everything he could from you. His thumb still stroked your clit, fingers still buried deep within your body as you quivered around him. Your thighs clamped around his thick forearm as you finally began to descend from your high, body loosening and sinking into his bed.

He finally stilled his movements. He merely smirked as he watched your chest heave with breaths as you basked in the afterglow of your pleasure.

“Good girl,” he cooed. In the haze you realized how much you wanted to hear those words again, recognized how much you wanted to please him. You wanted more of those encouraging words, more of his admiration, wanted to know how much of a good girl you really were. Your spirit suddenly craved even more, despite the world-shattering orgasm still lingering within your muscles, your blood, your soul.

You felt empty when his fingers left you, but watched in shocked delight as he brought the digits to his awaiting mouth. He sat up before you, sucking at his skin and cleaning your slick from his fingers with a very greedy tongue. He looked wild, uncaged, like the wolf Skoll had finally eaten the moon and brought the world to end.

“Fuck,” you whispered in awe, scrambling for purchase against his sheets as you propped on your elbows to watch him.

He quirked a brow as he slid his tongue between his fingers, relishing your slick as if it was the sweetest honey.

“I’m sorry, did I make the pious girl curse?”

“I’m not pious!” You countered, feeling flustered, shaking your head and pouting as he only laughed.

He smirked as he finished cleaning his fingers, crawling up the bed and pulling you into his lap.

“I dare not argue, not after those delicious sounds you just made for me.”

Shinsou quelled any words that were forming in your mind with a kiss, his lips tasting of you. You moaned against him, feeling his arms snake around your back and hold you to him. His cock was hard and heavy, now prodding against your still pulsating pussy.

“Mhm, how will I take you?”

It was a pondering to himself, but the words still made you tremble. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your nipples hardening as they brushed against the downy hairs of his chest. His strong hands found the flesh of your ass, lifting you to hover over his large, throbbing erection. You held in a breath, waiting, expecting him to take you hard and fast and now, but he merely teased your entrance.

“This way?”

The head of his cock began to spread your lips apart, warm and silken and making you drip even more than before. He sat there for a moment, using the strength of his arms to lift and drop you just ever so slightly onto his cock, each little movement making you gasp.

But then the anchors of his arms were gone, sliding down your thighs as he laid you back on the bed. So easily he moved on top of you again, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slithering up your body to wrap around your tender, kiss bruised throat.

“Or perhaps like this?”

He held you against the bed, cock still hard and waiting between your spread thighs, sliding ever so gently against your pussy. His fingers flexed against your throat and he watched how your eyes flashed with want, with need.

“I could always take you as a woman. You fell so easily into my kiss when I transformed earlier, hm? Would you like that?”

He could feel your gulp underneath his palm, shaky and deep.

“No,” he was smirking, plotting. His deft fingers took your hip into his hand and flipped you over, both hands skimming down your body and pulling you up onto your knees. With a stern hand he kept your breasts pressed into the mattress by applying pressure to your shoulder blades, positioning you just how he wanted. You felt even more exposed than before, your pussy open and wanting and waiting, spread before his hungry eyes like a meal ready to be devoured.

The head of his cock was back at your opening, prodding your lips apart and slowly sinking into you with agonizing slowness. You held your breath, hands fisting into the sheets. He continued to open you more and more, his cock thick and hot. His hand on your hip constrained you securely, keeping you locked into place. The hand on your back did the same, his hold strengthening as he felt you writhe before him.

“Yes,” he purred, cock easing into you, “this is how I want my little servant.”

But the rocking of his hips stopped, the head of his cock now barely pressing inside of you. You breathed heavily against the sheets, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in anticipation. Without being able to see him, face him, you could only feel him. You felt his fingertips press deeper into the curve of your ass, as if readying himself, or perhaps attempting to use restraint. The hand on your back was steady, keeping smooth pressure on your skin. His thighs were solid and strong against your own, his breaths even, his cock so fucking hard.

You cried out in anguish, your aching pussy clenching around the head of his cock.

“Please, Shinsou!”

“Pray to me.”

His tone was nefarious, teasing, almost inhuman in how deeply it reverberated from within that broad chest. You closed your eyes and imagined how the sound must have climbed the dark branches of the world tree upon his skin.

“Pray to me like you did to the other gods in the temple. I want to hear that pretty voice beg for me to fuck you.”

That breathless feeling returned. Your heart began to race, mind rolling around too many thoughts at once that couldn’t be comprehended within your lusty haze. You hastily mulled over words within your head.

“Shinsou…” you began, feeling his fingers begin to mark crescent moons into your flesh, feeling the tip of his cock throb within your core, “wielder of cunning, god of mischief, I beg of you, please bestow upon me great joy and pleasure, take my body as this offering to you, so that I may serve you and grant you the indulges of the flesh—!”

With your final praises tumbling from your lips, he slammed his cock deep inside of you, stretching and spreading you and making you feel like he had set your body alight with magic. Your body lurched forward, nearly toppling over from the power of his thrust, but his strong hands kept you in place, allowing him to begin a brutal speed. Your ass bounced forcefully against his hips, breasts jostling with every thrust. One of his hands curled around your waist to your lower stomach, and he groaned when he realized he could feel his cock bulge from inside of you. He became heedless then, impaling you with reckless abandon, eager to feel your belly swell from the onslaught of his cock.

The forcefulness of his fucking left your muscles aching and your lungs breathless. You were now moaning with every plunge of his cock, as with each stroke he lit a fresh burst of pleasure that rippled across your entire body akin to the streams of enchantments you had seen him wield.

You felt like you were slipping away, having to fight to keep your thoughts alive as he brought you up the mountain of euphoria with just the heavy strokes of his cock.

“Don’t fight the currents. Let go for me.” He grunted the words between thrusts.

You allowed ecstasy to fully wash over your body, allowed his hands to guide you, hold you, take you to far beyond what you once thought the limits of pleasure entailed.

Shinsou moved the hand from your back to your shoulder, using the leverage to pound your body back against his. You could only moan at the feeling, of being so full of his cock, of hearing his groans join the chorus of your own. You clung to the bed with what strength you have left, allowing him to completely take the reins of control and have his way with you.

With each and every thrust, he pulled you back at different angles, trying you, testing you, watching you, seeing which way he fucks you makes you react the most. He listened for sharp cries and deep moans. He felt for your walls to flutter, your abdominal muscles to tighten, learned your body and fucked you with a chaotic yet controlled force.

He leaned over your back, hand moving to your neck, pulling your face up from the sheets. This position has him somehow deeper, head of his cock kissing where the curve of your cavern meets your cervix, farther than any had ever gone before. He filled you to the brim, stretched you so wide you felt you could burst, the intense pleasure of it all bringing tears to the corners of your lashes.

He brought your face closer to his, so that he can kiss your cheek as he fucks you, feel your hair against his chin, watch your breasts bounce so unabashedly from his force.

“You like this, hm? Serving me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

“Yes, yes!”

He squeezed the hand on your stomach, making you moan as you felt the massive cock from inside of you press against your belly.

“You like being so full of my cock? No mortal could ever fuck you like I do!”

“Yes—fuck—you feel so, so good, Shinsou!”

You could feel sweat on his skin, feel his heart beating like a caged raven within his chest. He felt so human, felt so real, but the euphoria he brought you was transcendental.

“You’re such a good girl, such a dirty girl, for me, only me.”

His powerful words were becoming whispers within your hair, vestiges upon your skin. You could only nod, the plowing of his cock into your core now leaving you more breathless than before. You could feel your release nearing, the flames being fanned by every stroke of the head of his cock against your walls, every push of his hand against your belly.

Your slick was dripping down your thighs, pussy so wet that every time his cock assailed your core your ears were met with the sinful sound of drenched bodies meeting one another in animalistic rut. You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your neck, your stomach, his vast chest against your back, rough lips pulling your face into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you.

Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another otherworldly release. You could feel your walls clenching around his cock, your body pleading on its own. Pleasure was singing down your body, bringing pure delight and bliss with every pulse, every push of his cock. You were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge. You had submitted to his currents and knew only he could bring the ebb and flow of release.

You began to chant his name in prayer.

“Fuck yes, little one, just like that. Oh you’re so good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you choked out, nearly sobbing for relief, “so, so good for you!”

“Then cum, cum for me!”

He roared the words against your cheek, his command overwhelming you and sending you spiraling as the waves of euphoria returned, crashing over your body like a tumultuous sea. Your body crumpled underneath his and he held you, the violent tightening of your body sending the god himself over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the magnificent feeling of being completely filled by him. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and making you feel suspended within his arms, gasping for breath and reveling in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

He held you for a long moment, hand against your belly, hand around your neck. It was his turn to bask in the afterglow of sex, to feel wholly spent and satisfied with the girl he had handpicked for himself. You were perfect in his arms, hands fisted into his sheets, lips swollen, his seed dripping from where he was still lodged within your depths. You’d let go, allowed him to have you, to take you, and there was no way in the nine fucking realms he was ever letting you go.

Shinsou kept you within his embrace as he collapsed to the bed, inked chest heaving and Jormungand curling around your back to hold you against him.

“Mhm, all the scheming I had to do to get you here, in my bed, filled with my cum.”

“Scheming?” You asked into his chest.

“What, you didn’t think all those dreams were coincidence, no?”

You sat up to look at him, all tussled violet hair, kohl on his cheeks smeared, grin upon his lips.

“And the cats? The owls? All those eyes on you in the dark? All that time spent waiting for you, little one. I even had to whisper my indecent plans to the Seer. Can you imagine that conversation? At least he put it into fun little riddles for you to decipher.”

“I—I can’t believe you would do all of that, for me. You could’ve just taken me.”

He snorted at your remark.

“I did. My hand was forced to interrupt your fucking daily prayer time and beguile you away.”

You nestled back to him, sinking into his skin, his touch.

“Well, I am gleefully bewitched.”

“And to think,” he chuckled, curling a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes to his, “all you had to do was pray to me.”

You were far too tired for rebuttal, choosing to instead settle with a kiss. He had chosen you. And for that you were filled with adoration, filled with a need to please far greater than you had ever desired to find the veneration of any other god. It was all for him, for a god who had no doubt tricked you into his bed.

__________________________________

This was written for the Citrus Dome writing collab.

#bnha smut #my hero academia fanfic #bnhabookclub #hitoshi shinso x reader #smut with plot #bnha x reader #shinso hitoshi #bnha shinso #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinso x reader #shinsou smut #hitoshi x reader #bnha hitoshi #bnha fanfic #my hero academia x reader

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

✶ — of gift-giving ; d.d.

summary: set post-s2 finale. din deals with the loss of the child. it’s life day.

pairing: din djarin x mechanic!reader

a/n: happy holidays, babes, enjoy a little emotional blurb on christmas eve. i hope this serves as a happy little distraction from the world tonight. i love you all. stay happy and stay healthy.

what do you get a man who has just lost his whole world?

before, it seemed like the possibilities for a life day gift were endless.

new modded-out wing thrusters for the razor crest were now out of the question (because the razor crest itself is out of the question), and that set of little, woolen jumpers you’d set aside after a trip to yavin’s third moon have no use.

and, you seriously doubt din would find little joy in a new blaster. after all, he had enough anxiety resting in the palm of his hand alongside the darksaber — new weaponry would, no doubt, send him into an (increasingly more common) silent spiral.

everything was different now.

you’d seen his face that day, with the horrible moff gideon at your feet as a jedi knight’s robes kissed the polished floor. in the absence of his son — his kin as close as blood — there was something sad that settled into the lines beneath his eyes. if he cried, you did not see. no, you hid your intrigue; when he turned, helmet at his feet, your eyes hit the floor. habit.

but, that is different now.

now, on the eve of life day, you’ve grown accustomed to din’s face and the hot stir the sight of it brings. the feelings you bore for din are common place — they’ve burrowed a home in your heart for cycles, even before the child, back when you were simply an on-hand mechanic from mos eisley. din had taken you into his crew, and... well, you hadn’t looked back.

the kid — grogu — cemented the fact that maybe this was where you really did belong: among the stars, beside a man in glimmering beskar armor.

at times, it was like he held the world in his hands. eagerly, he showed you what he could. it was one of din’s gifts — silent kindness that seeped deep into his every act. he had a good heart, despite his attempts at seeming more like a stand-offish rogue.

this place, once home to jabba desilijic tiure, remains unnamed. boba fett has yet to find a fitting name for the sprawling castle in the dunes — but, for now, it is a haven for both din and yourself. fett, in age old warrior wisdom, can see that din is not himself. this period of mourning must be spent in a place of safety.

every evening, over dinner, you thank fett. every night, those warm, brown eyes — as deep as warm amber — crinkle just a bit at the edges from your words. he can tell you mean it. if not for your sake, then for din’s.

tonight, dinner is meager, but you happily inhale the ration aside fennec in the main hall. where dancers once leapt over the rancor pit like stars leaping across the night sky, the lot of you eat.

din is silent. his jaw tenses when fett spares him a wondering look. between the two mandalorians, nothing is said, yet there are a thousand words. din is quick to finish. you watch has he rises, fetches his helmet, and wipes at his chin.

his footsteps lead far from the hall.

boba speaks curtly.

“go to him.”

your mouth is full of quickened bread, throat dry as you swallow down the oats that had been scooped up on the piece. you feel like a prey, pinned in place by fennec and fett. yet, no one is going for your throat. it is, in fact, kindness that’s seeped into their gazes.

boba’s warm voice is cadenced with a gentle tone.

“... and happy life day, sweet one.”

you find din alone, out the front gate and staring up at the stars. he’s perched on the edge of the long stone slab that once marked the entrance to the palace — but time and the changing tides of the sand have eroded the mound away, leaving a sharp drop off into the dunes below. there is another dune, to the left, that leads up to the palace now. fennec’s footprints remain from the earlier to trek into town.

you watch as the wind, gentle and slow, begins to brush them away.

the twin suns are hot, still, despite having retired below the horizon nearly half an hour ago now. the sky is pink and hot red and it paints din all sorts of hues.

the little gift in your back pocket feels heavier than ever now.

“din?”

your voice is met with a grunt.

his head turns, slowly and ever-so owlishly, at the call. you near.

“i have something for you.”

when you settle on the edge, hip touching his, you’re comforted by his silence. it’s the usual sort, not the kind tipped with sorrow. you wonder — hopefully — if that’s your doing. or, maybe, you’ve caught him in a good mood.

“a gift?” he asks. his voice rattles through the vocalizer in his helmet and suddenly you miss the warm sound it carries when dancing off his lips, unburdened by the beskar.

“it’s... it’s life day,” you say slowly, “or, well. tomorrow is, i suppose.”

“i...” a pause, then his helmet tilts, “i didn’t get you anything.”

you wave his words off, leaning to reach into your back pocket. you smooth your tunic and swing your boots. the little parcel, wrapped childishly in some tawny colored fabric you found laying around, sits in the palm of your hand neatly.

the bundle, in din’s eyes, says a lot about you — about your feelings towards him. suddenly, with the force of a thousand thrusters, din realizes he hasn’t been very kind to you these last few weeks. he’s been frustrated and upset and angry and sad, so terribly sad, but...

he can see, in the lines below your eyes, that you have been too.

“here.”

he takes it. and with one hand, reaches up to pull his helmet from his head.

the mop of brown hair is always a surprise. it makes you smile. a dash of happiness that comes as quick as it goes. din barely catches it. he wishes, earnestly, it would stay for longer.

“should i...?”

“go ahead, open it.”

he pulls back the delicately tied fabric, and all at once feels his heartstring snap.

it’s the gear knob.

that stupid, small, scratched to hell gear knob that the kid was so obsessed with. he’d managed to scrap it from the wreck but...

you’d gotten a hold of it. and you’d fashioned it into....

well, he isn’t quite sure.

you lean.

“boba and i were speaking a week or so ago about armor,” you say slowly, “he used to have trophies on his pauldron, but he mentioned that some embellishments can be highly sentimental. so...”

din pulls the knob, and realizes it’s welded to a chain and at the end of the chain lays a clasp.

“might make some noise, clang around a bit but...”

“thank you.”

his eyes are brown. you hadn’t forgot, but still, the sight makes your heart hammer. his nose is sharp and strong, and his lips are upturned in a delicate sort of smile. you wonder how often that look graces his face. how often does it hide beneath his beskar, like the rest of him?

“it’s not much.”

“it’s everything.”

you make a sad sound then. you lean back on your palms. the sand digs into the pads of your fingers. din’s eyes follow you, and he frowns.

“i haven’t been... i haven’t been there for you,” he says suddenly, already moving to clasp the totem to his armor, “and i’m sorry.”

the knob sways. it glimmers in the setting sun and tinkers against the beskar like a bell.

“we both lost him, din,” you say tenderly, “i haven’t exactly been ready to accept the fact.”

“i know, but,” he lets out a ragged sigh. his gloved hand reaches up to rub his jaw. to din, the action seems foreign despite being a recent addition to his body language, “we still have one another.”

a beat. a slip of silence.

“and i don’t want to lose you as well.”

the admission is soft.

it’s all you really needed for life day.

you turn your head, eyes pulled from the setting suns, and find din’s. his face is calm. the sorrow there has retired for now. you touch his cheek gently. the feeling of stubble beneath your fingertips feels different — so different from when you’d touch it with your eyes screwed shut in the belly of the razor crest.

you kiss him. and he kisses you.

everything is different now, but some things are still the same.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian #star wars imagine #pedro pascal imagine #WELL HAPPY HOLIDAYS

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herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

Home in a Motel Pool

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean and you have some fun in the motel's pool.

A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought, but here it's! Wet Dean in motel pool for us. So canon compliant of me, I know I know. This piece is my submission for @deanwanddamons 's 1st Blogiversary and 2K follower celebration with the prompt in bold. Congrats again, honey! And it's also my part for @anaelsbrunette 's YAS’S POC READER CHALLENGE with the song Home by Depeche Mode. Thanks for the extra time and the marvelous challenge!

Warnings: sex in the pool, p in v, dirty talk

Hunting was brutal. Even when the hunters won, it was a victory with no triumph-- there would be someone dead, always a corpse and loved one weeping as a reminder that you and the Winchesters couldn’t save everyone. You’d come around the town, tell the folks what they wanted to hear to get some information, kill the thing, and luckily save a person or two. It was a page from the emptiest stage, a show for a crowd of three: you, Sam, and Dean. Their own critics and praisers, doctors and patients, sinners and saints.

And if your hands were melted and molded into killing machines, you better pray for your heart to be made of anything but gold. That job didn't leave space or time for tenderness. In order to hunt the prey, you must become ferocious. Attack anything on sight, sing to the loneliest sound that’s the gunshot in the dark, pretend that you’ll make amends only to end up befriending the glorious end of the line that often came too soon.

Thing is, it wasn’t just about that. It would be easier if it was all about perfect soldiers and ultimate killers. A black and white world stained with crimson red would be the ideal, but there were always more colors.

Certainly, it wasn’t the most illustrious job one could get. If anything, it was unfair and underpaid and the seed of violence. Every hunter happened to do things they never could speak about, and all the blood got so normalized to the point red is just the color that pointed you were doing it right. like a good grade or a father’s head pat. Where was the seat on the table for any gentless to sit down in the chaos? In the thankful hugs from the mothers of the rescued children, in the pranks the boys came up with against each other for no other reason but childish nostalgia, in the nights where the three of you stopped and sat on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in silence, in the way Dean’s tough hands touched your cheek so lovingly, in the smell of the Impala’s wheels burning against the streets. Summarizing, when saving people wasn’t reasoning enough, kindness appeared glistening in the middle of the pandemonium, as a paragon of something good in cruelty.

Just like this moment.

‘’My body aches in places I didn’t even know that could hurt.’’ You groaned as you got out of the classic black car, hand on the back of your neck to apply some pressure. Even being thrown against a wall by some demon hurt less than sleeping in the backseat-- sweet mundane problems.

Sam scoffed before adding insult to injury, ‘’At least you were sleeping and didn’t have to hear the same cassette three times.’’

‘’Quit whining, you two. I was the one driving through two states.’’ Dean said in a huff, swirling the keys as the three of you walked towards Bonita Motel’s entrance. He placed an arm around your waist, his own way of showing affection in quietude. Your hand slipped inside his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Sides’, Baby’s backseat is comfortable and Zeppelin is awesome.’’

The youngest Winchester refrained his response to an eye roll and a mumble among the lines not when played three times in a row. You, though, turned your head to the side and offered your stubborn boyfriend a cynical smile.

‘’I prefer a bed.’’

He aimed at you with his signature lopsided grin, the one he knew that you loved, while you passed through the main door of the establishment. ‘’That’s not what you said last week.’’

‘’Guys, limits.’’ Sam pleaded, shaking his head at Dean’s comment before turning around. He made a chatter that quickly got old with the woman behind the counter, gaining two keys. The long haired hunter tossed one at his brother, who quickly grabbed it with his free hand.

‘’This is a good motel…’’ You commented as the three walked upstairs, the gleaming blue sight caughting your brown eyes. Your whole body shone as if it was really a beach and not only a cheap motel’s pool. Dean and Sam had never gone to the beach, but you grew up with salt aired weekends, a collection of swimsuits, and a loud family on the sand. You missed the sensation of being held by the ocean so dearly. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing was after you jumped in Dean’s Impala in New York; hustling for some other life, a better one like your parents when they came to the United States. Yet, a pool could be diverting and cozy. Pulling away from your man’s hold, you approached the small chlorine miracle.

‘’There’s a pool!’’ You pointed out, as excited as a kid in a carnival. ‘’We should take a swim.’’

‘’You guys go. I have some research to do.’’ Sam nodded at the pool with his head, denying the request with a sleight of hand as he opened the lock of the room 209. ‘’Have fun, kids.’’

The green eyed man clicked his tongue when his brother disappeared with the craike of a door. He wasn’t exactly against the idea of jumping in the pool - apart from the germes, but his paranoia wouldn’t mind that much, not after trying endless motel’s bathtubs. The drive here had just been too long. Besides, if that crap motel had a well-cleaned pool, it probably had vibrating beds. He could use a massage. ‘’I think I’ll get crash in bed.’’

You arched an eyebrow. ‘’Didn’t you say that Baby’s backseat was comfortable to sleep?’’

‘’How taller than you I am, sweetheart?’’ He smirked as you walked back to him like you always did, your own north star in shape of a magnetic force of a man,

‘’Shush.’’ You slapped his chest playfully, wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. ‘’Come on. Most motels we go to barely have a door, much less a pool. I miss going swimming. It’s a sunny day…’’ The childish joy in your tone metamorphosed into a newfound malice. ‘’You’ll get to see me in a bikini.’’

The Winchester wiggled his messy brows at your statement, suddenly reinvigorated as he placed his arms around your waist to bring you closer. Forget the body ache and all that, that was a way better reason to be sore in the bones later. ‘’You made some good points.’’

‘’I always do.’’ You kept the adamant tone, even when you could feel his breath on your cheek, those green eyes so livid when looking at you. God, you had to put a period here before things escalated and you two ended up getting to right in the middle of the hall. You attempt to make a joke: ‘’Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter.’’

He knew it was a prompt from The Little Mermaid-- you two had watched two days ago in Tupelo, in a vintage television after killing a Ghoul, while Sam got some junk food. Yet, the kind of smile that brought to his face held anything but purity. A simple conversation became double-edged with Dean Winchester. You two often ended up breathless, either from fighting or from doing more entertaining dances. You should’ve seen that one coming.

‘’I know another wet spot.’’ He’d say, unholy significance trapped in each word as his right hand started to motion over your skin, guiding his greedy finger under your skirt. Your mouth was set in a grim line, a surprisingly determinate attempt to hold back a moan. You and Dean could do it in the pool, unite the good infant memories with the tent-like emotions of adulthood to make a grand deal.

‘’You’ll get all of me wet.’’ You kissed the corner of his lips, smoothly pulling away with a wink. So much self control. ‘’Hurry up, cowboy.’’

You grabbed your bag and rushed to room 208 to change your clothes, leaving an astonished, mildly turned on Winchester behind. Getting in the bathroom, which didn't stink for once, you swiftly changed into the bikini. A jade green one, directly from Brazil’s brand Cia Maritma. If you squint your eyelids hard enough, you could still put a name to each face that was with you when you wore it for the first time in the calmer days. All the long gone friends and the daily sunbath in your caramel skin.

Decided to leave the past well enough alone, you just smiled in melancholy and turned around, facing your reflex in the mirror. You looked hot. Dean surely would agree about that, especially with the way the top brought up your breast.

Arriving in the room to your boyfriend ready for the swim, you couldn’t help checking him out. You were attracted to the way the righteous man’s body was built since the first glance, addicted since the first touch. His shoulder, the freckles on his nose, and the way he wasn’t all defined, yet had the muscles right in the certain spots. You took off your hairpin, hair falling on your shoulder into a brown sea, like the waves crashing against the ocean rocks. The smell of your sweat and orange monopolizing the edges of everywhere, mainly Dean’s senses. He relished on how soft your skin was compared to his, how your accent tingled his insides, and the way you swing your hips while walking. Your boobs almost jumping at his face because of the tiny bikini only aroused him more.

The place had to get some credit. For a dive motel, it was more than they’d picture. Manageable bathrooms and safe locks, the pool glimmering blue with a small tree by the right side. It was gorgeous.

A dazzling breeze whispered through your bodies, causing you to shiver slightly and Dean to get sweet smelling sheets clinging to his knees and feet. Fucking tree. You could taste the friction swallowing the atmosphere, a report of what was near.

Before you could say anything, Dean grumbled as he pokes a leaf away. ‘’It’s gonna rain.’’

‘’It will.’’ You agreed, holding his hand to pull him closer, well-aware that your body would scare away any linger of adorable grumpiness. ‘’But who cares about raining when you’re in a pool?’’

It's the kind of question that doesn't need an answer, it briefly exists to make Dean distracted in wonder just now, a pause between seconds as you jump in the pool first. The water splashing around with a brutal sound. Your body seems to recall an old memory, how you made a lark of anything with your siblings in the sea, how you used to feel like the beaches were a peculiar way of God to show the living how his touch would feel like. Every fiber of your body missed this.

Dean went in too, emerging to the marvelous sound of your laugh. He glanced at you, now less of a hunter and more of a man. The drops on your face could easily be confused with tears, yet the way you grinned and threw water at him couldn’t leave space for any other world but happiness. The Winchester often noticed your longing for cultural things that you no longer had in the palm of your hand. It was stupid, he even felt somehow resposible for taking you away of everything you ever knew only to coaxe you through the road not taken— full of bumps and blood and undecked halls. Then you’d smile, you’d wrap your arms around him like you were doing in that exact moment, and he would see that the drops all over your face are flickering with your chortle.

What other choice would Dean have, what other option could he ever make himself pick, if not to place his hands on your hips? So it goes. He put his rough hand on your, each tender touch seeming to make the bruises there clear up.

The hunter was leaning in to kiss you as a wave of water met his face.

‘’Ops!’’

He narrowed his eyes, spilling out the water. ‘’You are gonna pay for this.’’

‘’I’d like to see you try, Kansas boy.’’

Yeah, you once were raised in the water, such an important part of your identity which you didn't wish to lose, yet slowly slipped beyond your reaches. But you had Dean, you had adventure, and you had the motel’s shitty pool. If you could find contentment in that, you should know that who you were wasn’t lost. You were still the five years old who played in the plastic pool, the seventeen girl who grabbed your cellphone’s lantern and went looking for what was making a noise at 3am, the twenty years old who jumped in a car with two hunters and a craving for finding her true home. You were all of them at once.

Heaven sent the only true friend you could call yours and you’re under his lips. Dean’s crashing his mouth with yours, hungry like an animal after your playful war. You two are soaked, and so is your pussy. He pressed your against the border of the pool, your back to the wall of it. The water rushes in and you couldn’t care less. When did a bikini start to look like too much clothing?

Breaking the kiss, the Winchester glanced at you. The green of all the wild gardens localized in his orbs, dappled with stars and desire. Waiting for his touches, enjoying when he took his time with you was always worthwhile. Today, though, you needed him fast and dirty and raw.

There was nothing you'd rather than spread your legs, so you did it. Dean’s smart fingers quickly ripping your panties and brushing against your heat. He let out an annoyed huff, missing the satisfaction of your wetness around his digitals, how he knew you were a mess for him and him only. The pool’s water didn’t let it much evident, he’d have to fuck you even harder, make sure you were still needy for his cock.

You whined, clinging to his touch with a swing of hips. His hand covering your pussy as Dean applied some pressure, savoring the way your body winced and your eyes shut close, a beautiful moan leaving your lips. He couldn’t wait to eat you out later after he made you come in this stupid pool. Hedonism made his blood thicker-- like he was a calm sea before you, and now his waters were violent and hungry for destruction.

He pulled his hand away. ‘’Dean…’’

‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart.’’ His throbbing cock entered you, voice even deeper as he spoke. ‘’Gonna give you what you want.’’

You placed your legs around his waist and he held your thighs underwater, the sky spilling out its own water above. It didn’t stop two. Your hand on his shoulders, nails sinking in seemed to be a combustible for Dean to go harder inside of your. His hips attacking yours as his mouth kissed your neck with bites.

‘’Dean, please.’’ You pleaded, warm walls squeezing his long dick. ‘’More.’’

‘’All my cock is for you, honey. You get all of it, fucking you, scratching you open.’’ The eldest Winchester said, his voice so low and sensual. You could come only from his talking. ‘’That’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck that pretty cunt, mark you up inside this shitty pool.’’ His digital reached your clint and you growled. Dean kept his dick inside you, unable to pull away from the heavenly sensation of being inside you. ‘’Wanna know something? I can’t wait to come inside that tight pussy right here.’’

He increased the rhythm, pounding you even faster and rougher as you tried to keep up, the lack of synchrony causing his cock to reach and pull inimaginable pleasures inside you, all turning more brutal and necessary. The pool had its own waves, your and Dean’s movements causing a chaos ocean chaos in it.

The heat and the sickliest, you were drowning in pleasure with each thrust to a desperate beat that his heart echoed. All your pretty noises tangled with his breathless howls. The rain’s drops becoming one water with the pool as you and him became one with your intertwined bodies, only to grow apart again and come back in need for more.

Your and your lover’s figures distorted on the reflex of the pool water, washing away any piece left of purity as you moved in a hurry when you finally reached your orgasm. Your cunt tightening around his hardness was too much to bear, making Dean come after you.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathless faces with closed eyelids darting together. The heat calmed down by the water. Dean dared to look at you, but not to pull away. His cock remained inside your tight cunt and he caressed your cheek gently. That woman pounded from within and is pinning him down to earth, like you are his own gravity, the glimpse of relief, the lover’s photographe that gives the soldier’s battle a meaning.

‘’There’s a saying in my country.’’ You said suddenly, opening your brown eyes as he lifted his head to greet yours with his forest ones.

Dean captured your small nose, your desirable lips, your big eyes, your gorgeous tan skin, the signals he had map of on his lips. His thumb still stroked your face as his cock took its time to weaken inside your pussy. ‘’Yeah? What’s it?’’

‘’Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar.’’ He arched his eyebrows, a silent request for an english version. The Winchester knew around ten words in your mothertongue. Half pet names, half cussing. You pecked his plump lips. ‘’There's no literal translation, some things just lose their core if you try to put them to another language. It would be like if you are in the rain you want to get wet. It would be another way to say if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’’

‘’I gotta say, you look pretty hot when you say those things.’’ You smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully, fingernails tenderly fondling the back of Dean’s neck under his haircut. ‘’Do you miss it?’’

‘’My country?’’

‘’Yeah. Not just your country but your language, your friends, your life there.’’ He shrugged, secretly scared of the answer. ‘’It’s not like we go to the same places you used to go to. I see how many bikinis you carry around.’’

Which was the main reason he booked that motel. You didn’t need to know that. The childish joy you had with the surprise was enough for his credit.

‘’No. Well, I still speak my language when I’m mad at you.’’ Dean chuckled. Whenever you two got in a heated argument, your inner latina would come out and jump at him in both languages at once. It was supposed to be serious, but mostly got him all hot and bothered. Your accent was just too sexy, especially when you were angry. ‘’But no, not really. I miss situations and people, but not how it was. It was a good life, but it wasn’t the one I was supposed to have.’’ You pulled him to you by his neck. ‘’I thank you, you know? For bringing me here. For showing me home, Even for the tears and the fear. I finally I’ve found where I belong.’’

Tranquility engulfed the atmosphere momentarily as comfortable as a silent sleeper, the rain no longer coming, giving stage to a sunny sky. You and Dean, twisted together like that was all serenity you could relish on. You both quiet in the afterglow, his cock no longer hard but neither wanted to pull away. He laid his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. He certainly would bring you to a beach as soon as he could, maybe pop the pretty question on his knees there. For now, thought, he could enjoy thar simple moment.

‘’After my house was burned to the ground, I didn’t think I’d have another one. I was always rolling around the country, never really stayed in a place for too long. I didn’t want to call some random walls my home and have it destroyed in my face again.’’ Dean said, his thumbs caressing your thighs underwater. Since his first breath near you, he knew he was a goner. Even better, he knew he wasn’t a goner, a nomad, or a lonely wolf anymore. Dean Winchester once swore he would never come back home after what happened in there, and then you appeared. The hot latina who kept up with his stupidity and didn’t think twice before calling him out on his bullshit, and was always there for him and actually loved him-- not besides the job, but with all the things being a hunter included, all the ugly acts he had to go through. You believed he was good and worthy. His house burned, but you gave him a home. For the first time in so long, Dean felt warm and happy and loved. ‘’But you gave me a home. Without the apple pie life and all that. You, me, and Sammy-- fighting the good fight, just the three of us. This is my home.’’

To be a hunter was to be gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid, always carrying the heaviest cross ever made like a soldier’s duty that wouldn’t end with a couple years of trocious war. This treacherous slope was forevermore. A hunter life, all the fraunds and the paid phone calls and the running away with laughs empty of joy, the song from the wrong side of town. But fuck, all the saving and the excitment and the hustled love made a dance for the melody and suddenly it was worth it. All the tender parts, the new restaurants every week, the jokes in the car, the hidden chortles in the dark places. Sam. Dean. Dean and all this am out of love and loyalty he gave to you.

Everything was worth it to be in his arms.

He brought you back home.

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whatanoof · 3 years

Note

I have a few corruption ideas in mind for cal and I'm just. Okay so like-- reader grinding on/teasing him, maybe while they're hiding in a cave or an empty room in an inquisitor base-- purposefully to the point where he can't hold himself back and he just cums right then and there 👀

Or-- reader accidentally projecting some very, very dirty thoughts towards Cal (bonus points if it's virgin!/inexperienced!Cal), and his reaction to said thoughts ;3c

Don't feel obligated to turn these into full fics or anything tho!! I just like to share my thoughts w ppl and see what they think abt it 🥰💛

SKDJFO THESE ARE GOLD I LOVE THEM.

Oh babe, this isn’t an obligation. This is my PLEASURE. Don’t mind me with my slightly force sensitive reader learning how to weaponize her inexperience against her very innocent boyfriend.

A/N: These turned out a lot more fluffy than I had in mind at first, and probably more so than you had in mind, anon. I'll to expand a little more on these, but I wanted to give you what I have now. More to come!

NSFW TOWARDS THE END 18+

You were two weeks into your relationship the first time it happened. It’s early morning on Bogano, the rare off-day where Cal doesn’t have to take a quest anywhere. The grass glistens in the early morning light, dew droplets sending sparkles of light through the air. You sit in the field, watching the sunrise with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a steaming mug of caf clenched tightly in your hands, gracing your morning with its fragrant smell. Happy chirps and beeps echo through the stillness of the morning as BD-1 scampers around the field, chasing a butterfly that’s been disturbed from its early morning food quest. It’s so domestic that it almost hurts. It reminds you of life before the Purge, when everything was better. Except, now you have Cal.

Not beside you of course, he’s actually the reason that you’re even awake to see the dawn. He stands stock-still in the grass several meters in front of you. He’s relaxed, breathing in the crisp dawn air, eyes closed against the rays of light beginning to conquer the horizon line.

Cere stalks back and forth in front of him, “Focus, Cal.” She hefts a round fruit in her hands about as big as her head. “Sense the life around you. What do you feel?”

Cal pivots slowly on the spot until he’s facing you. “I feel you. And her.” His brow is creased in that one spot between his eyebrows. You want to kiss it.

“Not us, Cal. The life all around us. There’s a reason I chose Bogano for this lesson.” Cere’s disapproving tone is a common staple around here. The crew has learned to accept it as a sign of affection.

“A bogling. On the ship. It’s looking for food.” Cal says.

You smile. The newest addition to the crew has been nothing but a joy to you and a pain in the ass to Greez. It’s always stealing his favorite snacks and making a mess of his ship, if you count it’s tiny nest in the corner of the kitchen to be ‘a mess’.

“Better. Expand, Cal.”

Then you feel something at the edge of consciousness, something familiar and strange all at the same time. It wasn’t so much a thing, but a feeling. A presence. If you had to describe it in words, you couldn’t. But if you had to try, it would be in swaths of color and emotions that blend and swirl in the invisible eye of your mind. It’s warm, reds and oranges and yellows fluttering against each other, tinged around the edges by blue, the same blue as Cal’s saber. Cal. The presence is undeniably Cal, the warm colors echoing back to his fiery spunk and stubborn affection.

Your eyes open. When had they closed? Cal is right there, his hand stretched out in your direction. Cere watches cautiously, eyes flicking between you and him. You see her reluctance to interrupt the moment.

As if called back to the ground by your distraction, Cal opens his eyes with a soft gasp. The presence retreats, fading from your short grasp as you try to chase it. Your gaze bores into Cal, trying to focus your mind on reaching back out to him. But you can’t.

Cere speaks, “That’s enough Force training for today.” She tosses the previously forgotten fruit directly at Cal’s head. “Think fast. Form V today.”

His lightsaber materializes into his hand, cleanly slicing the offending object out of the air in a single smooth motion. But Cal doesn’t hesitate for a single moment, flowing through different saber forms without difficulty. Cere calls a variety of commands, and each gives way to another attack by Cal. The saber moves like it is an extension of his body, like a deadly serpent that flickers in and out of the air.

This continues for a long time, long enough that you have time to finish off your caf. The drink warms your insides. Watching Cal working so hard to strengthen his connection to the Force warms your heart. Examining the definition of his shoulders and his muscular torso warms other places. Your eyes drift to his ass, emboldened by the illusion of ignorance. You allow your mind to drift.

You and Cal started dating two weeks ago. There was an irresistible pull between the two of you, to the point where the crew forced you two to acknowledge it. Cal had been cautious, but permission from Greez and a blessing from Cere was all the encouragement he needed, because as he had said so eloquently, “Like you. I like you. A lot.”

And you like Cal. A lot. Nothing physical had happened beyond a single makeout session and more cuddle sessions than you could count. You know that he’s unsure about sex, and because of that you’re more than willing to wait for him to be ready. But that doesn’t mean you can’t look and daydream.

Your gaze drags over his body, imagining for a moment how it would feel. What it would be like, to be allowed close to him to make him feel good. What his skin would taste like, how your fingers would feel threaded through his bright hair. The sounds that he would make as you go down on him.

A gasp from the field snaps you out of the daydream. Cal’s facedown on the ground; all you can make out of him from here is the fringe of his poncho and his shock of red hair contrasting against the green environment of Bogano. You stand, hurrying over as Cere helps him up.

“Cal?” She's concerned, you can see it in her eyes even if she won’t verbalize it. You’re worried too. In all of your time aboard the Mantis, you’d seen clumsy Cal maybe once before, and that was because he was goofing off in an attempt to make Greez laugh.

He doesn’t respond to Cere. His gaze snaps up to you, and he says your name urgently. Your brow creases, “What?”

His face is flushed red, and he’s panting as he shakily kneels in the grass. “I think you’re Force-sensitive.”

---

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll be easy!” He looks so earnest, like a kicked puppy dog. You avert your eyes. Looking too long means that you will fall prey to the terrible innocent eyes.

“I said no. What’s so hard to understand about that?” You cross your arms tighter over your chest. You know that arguing is futile. Cal is the most stubborn person you know, even more so than Greez and you have witnessed the intense food aggression.

“Babe, it’s one rock. You’re not going to get hurt.”

“I might when it’s going to be flying at my face!” Cere had insisted that you learn to control your Force sensitivity, at the very least so that you could learn how to guard your mind from others. But, she placed Cal in charge of your training. Merrin’s Force abilities were nothing close to what you could hope to accomplish, and you believe Cere’s exact words were, “It will be good for Cal to learn just how irritating training a Padawan can be.”

And so your Jedi boyfriend became your Jedi Master. It was quickly determined that your Force sensitivity was nothing close to the level of Jedi. Your talents extended to thought projection, minor thought detection abilities, and, as Cal had been so excited to learn, basic telekinesis.

That had been an accidental discovery, actually, brought out of a session wrestling with the Mantis’s control board wiring. You’d lost concentration for a split second, and in a flash of light and electricity, you were nursing a burnt finger. Merrin was attracted to your area by the flash of light and pained cry, and was incredibly surprised to find you with various medical supplies hovering in front of your face while you soaked and bandaged your finger. And she’d snitched on you.

So now you’re on a no name forest planet, facing down your boyfriend who’s threatening to throw a rock at your head in order to force out your hidden telekinesis, because as soon as Merrin witnessed the feat, you’d lost all voluntary control over it.

“Cal, this is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Yes. Leave me alone. I can shield my thoughts now, that’s all I wanted to do.”

“Oh come on. It doesn’t excite you even a little?”

It does, but not enough that you’d be willing to have a rock thrown at your face. You roll your eyes and throw your hands up, “I’m going back to the ship.”

But as soon as you turn, something sparks on the edge of your conscious mind, and you whirl with an outstretched hand. The rock sails past your fingers and bonks you on the forehead. You clap a hand over your head as pain throbs at the point of contact. “Ow!”

You whip your head up and glare at Cal, who’s standing there, mouth agape and eyes so wide that you can see the whites from here. When he meets your eyes, he shrinks back and turns to run.

“Cal Kestis you are going to pay for that!” You lunge after him, nearly tripping over a root as you scramble after your soon-to-be dead boyfriend.

He disappears around the corner of the clearing with you hot on his heels. Trees tower over your head in every direction. The only thing interrupting the perfect vision of nature is the dorsal fin of the Mantis spearing up into the sky, guiding you to safety.

And Cal’s running away from it, leading you further into the forest. Branches whip at your face, but you can’t pay attention to them when you’re focusing harder on not losing Cal as he ducks and weaves through the foliage with all of the ease of a jungle cat. Then you round a corner, and he’s gone.

You’re gasping for breath as you stumble to a stop in the midst of the forest. Damn it Cal. You want to rest, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow Cal to get away with this. He knows that if he gets away now, you’re probably going to be cooled down by the time he gets back to the Mantis, and you can’t have that. You tamp down your anger. Gather yourself. Feel the world around you. Now hold it at arms’ length. You bring your mental shields up slowly, guarding yourself and calming your racing heart through a few deep breaths. Then, you let the barriers down, allowing the world to rush back into your mind. You exhale slowly, combing through the sensations like Cal had taught you, searching for the presence that had become so familiar over the past few months. There!

A flash of warm colors in the midst of the muted Force signatures of plants.

You whirl, scanning the tree branches above you in time to see Cal make a break for it. He’s overhead, about ten feet off of the ground and running along a tree branch so gracefully that it seems like he’s skimming across the air. He’s heading for a vine. ‘Sneaky little--’

‘Sneaky little what?’

You gasp as he teases back through the Force. Your brow sets in determination, and you narrow your gaze on the vine that he’s reaching out for. You settle on it, and reach out. Your consciousness brushes the vine, pulling it just out of Cal’s reach. His outstretched fingers close just short of the vine, and he loses his balance.

He hits the ground with an oof and you plant a foot on his chest. “Sneaky little laserbrain.”

“Babe you did it!” He grins up at you, unrepentant and ruffled from the mad dash through the forest, “Don’t you love your amazing boyfriend who just helped you to learn another Force trick?”

You smile, “I do. But--” you press harder on his chest with your boot, “--you’re still going to pay for that.”

He groans, “I just paid by falling out of a tree. How else would I make it up to you?”

Without your bidding, ideas leap to your mind. “Oh, I have some.” Cal, between your legs and making you cum with only his mouth. You, on your knees for Cal against one of these trees. Riding Cal back on the Mantis, topless and gasping his name as he brushes up against that one spot inside of you that makes you sing. You don’t project them, but you’re aware that your shields aren’t up, and Cal’s Force presence is hovering on the edge of yours.

Cal’s face reddens as he gapes up at you. All of this time, and he still gets worked up at the bare idea of you naked. It’s a little cute. He springs to his feet, “Let’s go back to the ship.”

You hum, looking at him thoughtfully, ‘We don’t need to go back to the ship for a couple of those.’

He chokes, and you smile as you grab the front of his poncho and back him against a large tree. This is going to be fun.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #implied smut #fluff

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jeyramarie · 3 years

Text

Midsummers- Pogues x OC

summary: it’s party time on Figure 8 which brings a ton drama and questions, as usual.

wc: 3,038

a/n: here it is!! believe me it’s gonna get crazier. happy reading 🦋

prologue~ pilot~ the lucky compass~ the forbidden zone~ spy games

Previously on good life…

“Wait for me outside tomorrow.” Rafe nodded and she got out of the car quickly walking to her front door. Fallon waved at him before walking in, feeling dizzy from the special moment. The kook smiled and drove to his house as a certain pogue stared at the car. JJ stood alone on the street, holding flowers, completely shocked at what he had just seen. He wanted to go to Fallon to apologize for what happened but instead he showed up to see the kiss. He took a deep breath and walked around, making his way back home as he threw a dozen roses to the side of the road.

The day finally came, with a bright morning sun and a cool breeze. Midsummers, a day where rich people gather in nice dresses and flower headsets to talk about their wealth. Of course, pogues were never invited nor allowed to go. It would be like putting a prey in its predator‘s cage.

Kiara and Lani decided to get ready over at the Carrera’s. It was the kook’s first midsummers which gave her a lot of anxiety which caused the pogue to invite her. Lani didn’t know what to do with her hair, giving Kie the perfect opportunity to have fun with the kook’s curls.

“So these are going on my head?” Lani asked as she held white flowers while sitting on Kie’s vanity chair while her hands were moving around the curls.

“Yes, they are. Almost everyone wears them.”

“What color are yours?”

“Purple, I think. I’m not sure what color my mom chose.” Kie said, lifting her brow in confusion as she braided a section of Lani’s hair. They stayed in a comfortable silence the rest of the hair process, until the kook was about to start her makeup.

“So, what’s going on with you and JJ?” Kie timidly asked as she braided and pinned her own hair.

“Um.. nothing’s going on. We’re just friends.”

“I don’t know, you guys seem pretty close..” Lani turned her head to Kie and stared sincerely as she put down her powder brush.

“Nothing’s going on, I promise. He’s like madly in love with Fallon anyway.” They chuckled and the pogue looked in the mirror feeling a bit more relieved.

After an hour, both girls were done with hair and makeup which only left the dresses. Lani wore a satin yellow dress, similar to Kie’s but it had a lower cut on the back. Meaning that she couldn’t really wear a bra for it. They were gossiping over customers from the Wreck when Ana bursts through the door, quickly walking towards Kie’s bedside table.

“Sorry girls, just borrowing some earrings.” she smiled as she tilted her head to put them on. Kie and her mom, out of nowhere, start to talk about what has happened after the storm. About how people over at the Cut don’t have water nor power and yet the Kooks are enjoying a party. Lani just sat there, looking at them arguing, not knowing where to go or what to do. Ana concluded the argument when she told them that it was time to go. ‘Finally.’ Lani thought as she grabbed her small purse and walked outside.

When they arrived, everyone was piling outside waiting for the Cameron’s to arrive. The waiters were walking around, holding platters of small portioned foods as other’s held mainly alcoholic beverages. Lani spotted Pope first and nudged Kiara’s arm, making her look to find the pogue carrying things with his dad. As they went and talked to the pogue, Fallon stood outside waiting for Rafe. She tapped her heel against the pavement in a constant rhythm, feeling nervous about everyone’s reaction to her walking in with the Kook king. Especially her friends’ reaction (she didn’t care about Lani’s).

“Are you waiting for someone, ma’am?” a voice asked, making her smile, knowing exactly who it was.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m waiting for a tall, handsome man. Maybe you’ve seen him around?” Fallon said smiling as she turned around to see a grinned up Rafe.

“You look… wow.” he said as he grabbed her hands, taking a better look.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Are you ready?” She nodded and intertwined her fingers with his as the Cameron’s began to make their entrance. Ward and Rose walked in first, then Wheezie, Sarah, leaving Rafe and Fallon for the end. The pogue looked around with a bright smile on her face as she walked out on the beautifully decorated porch. She stayed looking around for a bit until she saw her friends. All three of them looked at her with straight confused faces.

“Fallon and Rafe? When did that happen?” Lani asked Pope and Kie who stayed looking at the pogue in shock.

“I-I don’t even know what to think right now.” Kiara stuttered as her mouth stayed agape. They stared at them for a bit until the kook decided to change the subject.

“Have any of you talked to JJ?”

“No.” Pope said dryly, turning around to handle the food he was serving.

“He's probably fine. He has the survival instinct of a cockroach.” Kie said, turning her face away from the Cameron’s to look at her friend, who had a worried expression. They ignored Fallon for the rest of the evening, not wanting to handle that situation at the moment. Lani stayed with Kiara drinking from their slightly alcoholic beverages when JJ showed up. The kook was explaining something to the pogue as she saw something from the corner of her eye, she turned as saw the blonde making her gasp. Lani gave Kie her drink and quickly went to the dance floor just when he was turning around to leave.

“Lani!” “JJ!” they both said happily resulting in a chuckle which quickly ended when the kook saw the bruises on his face.

“I was worried yesterday.. I’m pretty sure your dad didn’t tell you but I was the one that bailed you out..”

“You bailed me out?”

“Yeah, I- I just had to do something.” Lani said with sad eyes as she fidgeted with her fingers. Suddenly, he pulled her towards him by her shoulders and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She wrapped her arms around him taking in his beach boy scent.

“I saw what he did to you… I don’t know what I can do to help but you’re always welcome in my house.. You know, if things seem to get out of control or something.” she muttered into his neck making him tear up. No one has ever been this kind to him, ever.

“That’s enough, Lani. You have no idea how thankful I am.” he said and sniffled, then pulled away.

“I have to do this shit for John B. I’ll see you later.” the kook nodded and watched as he jogged away, inside the house. Lani walked back to the porch and stood next to Kie who handed her a drink. The pogue turned her head to the side and saw a very (disgusting) explicit site. Fallon and Rafe were making out against the porch railing, in front of everyone.

“Ugh, can they be more disgusting?” Lani turned her head as she drank her beverage, immediately choking on it.

“Oh my god, he’s literally massaging her throat from the inside.” she coughed out putting her drink back on the table.

“I still don’t know why or how that happened.”

“I’m as clueless as you are, Kie.”

“It’s disgusting really.” The pogue stared as she grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Let’s just not look at it.. Okay?” Lani said, turning Kiara by her shoulder.

“What did JJ want?”

“I don’t know. He said something about him doing some shit for John B, I don't know.” she shrugged and before Kie could answer the same blonde was being taken outside by one of the guards. When Fallon heard the commission she parted away from Rafe and turned her head towards the noise. To see the pogue already staring at her in disappointment. JJ finally got out of the harsh grasp as he walked out into the dance floor, yelling all sorts of things.

“Let go of him!” Kie shouted, making her parent’s head turn to her immediately.

“You can’t boot him!”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Really?” Mike asked angrily.

“I invited him here.”

“Kiara, stop it.” Ana said with gritted teeth as she grabbed her daughter’s arm.

“I am a member of this club.” The guard got so focused on Kiara and her “speech” that he did not realize that his grip on the pogue was beginning to loosen. Giving JJ the perfect opportunity to break away from the grip and start to jog backwards.

“Sorry bout that. Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie. Pope, Lani, you too.” He shouted pointing at all his friends until finally making eye contact with ‘his girl’.

“Princess, come on!” Fallon smiled and looked up at Rafe with sad eyes. She turned around and started walking down the stairs of the porch towards the dance floor where JJ and John B waited. Pope took off his apron and ran towards his friends while Heyward shouted at him to come back. Kie turned to her parents and apologized continuously as she walked backwards towards the stairs, ignoring their shouts. Fallon was almost with them when she saw Lani running towards JJ.

She jumped into his arms and he gave them a twirl making her stop dead in tracks. The pogue stared as they smiled at each other with joy. JJ put the kook down and turned to make sure that Fallon was behind him. Once he saw her stand in the dance floor alone he stopped too and stared at her with nothing but sadness. Her eyes became watery with tears as she slowly turned around and walked back to Rafe who received her with open arms. JJ saw the whole thing, feeling his heart crumble as the Kook king hugged the love of his life. Rafe looked over Fallon’s shoulder to see the blonde still standing there, without a second thought he gave JJ a death stare to warn him.

“JJ! Come on, man!” John B called out from the van when he noticed the blonde still far away. He snapped out of his trance and ran to the van quickly getting in.

“My dad’s already going to kill me so can you please explain what’s this mandatory meeting for?” Pope asked, getting comfortable on the seat next to Lani.

“Might as well tell them, man.” JJ said as he changed out of the suite he had worn to pose as a server earlier.

“So.. the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant.” John B grinned as he switched his head from his friends back to the road.

“Oh my god.” Lani muttered in annoyance as Kie rolled her eyes and Pope groaned.

“Not this again, John B.”

“Seriously, dude?”

“Just hear me out, please.” He said as he pulled into a secluded part of the beach, between the trees. JJ got out first and started a fire while John B put down a few beach chairs and a big tree log. Everyone sat around the fire, staring at the kook who started explaining everything about the gold. It never left the island, about Tannyhill. Everything was smooth sailing until a certain name was brought to topic.

“Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight-”

“Hold on, Sarah? W-why Sarah?” Kie said cutting John B off in the middle of his sentence.

“Oh boy.” Lani muttered under her breath as she spread out her dress.

“She.. um.. She got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday. That’s how I got the letter.” The pogue said nervously as everyone stared.

“You were in Chapel Hill?”

“He’s mackin’ on her.” JJ muttered looking at his shoes with his hands in his pockets.

“I wasn’t mackin’, I’m just using her for access.”

“There was access alright.”

“J, stop.” The kook said softly as she nudged her head to the side signaling to the pogues.

“Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kiara asked with furrowed brows as John B stuttered out an answer.

“I was trying to get into the archives-“

“Is that a yes?” She yelled, feeling betrayed.

“I left out key details!” He shouted back making Lani’s eyes open wide, no one expecting him to shout back.

“What? You let a Kook in on our secret?!” He was about to answer as he pointed at Lani to make a point but her anger was louder.

“What about Pogue Lyfe? What about our t-shirt company, bro?!”

“I’m just using her for information.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Okay, guys let’s just.. breath, okay? I get you’re both crazy annoyed at each other right now.” Lani said standing up as she looked back and forth between the pogues.

“I’m trying to make us filthy rich here.” Then he moved on to explain what he’d do with the money.

“You can’t trust her.” Kiara said, looking at the pogue with worried eyes.

“What did she do to you, anyway?” The kook asked, ignoring the boys’ bickers.

“She’s like… like a spitting cobra.” The pogue stated moving her hands to simulate the animal.

“Cobra’s spit?” Lani whispered, leaning towards Pope.

“Yeah they do, there’s like this tiny opening in their mouths-“

“Listen to me! Whatever we get she’s gonna try to take.” Kie shouted, interrupting Pope’s explanation.

“I’m sorry about Fallon.” Lani said sitting next to JJ who stayed quiet for a while.

“Nah, it’s fine. Just… wasn’t expecting it, you know?” The kook nodded in understanding and grabbed his hand.

“I know it’s hard but you’ll get through it.” The blonde smiled at Lani as his grip on her hand became tighter.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, J. I’m here for you.”

After some more arguing between them, they all got into the Twinkie and started driving towards Hawk’s Nest. John B pulled up a bit far away, afraid someone would see him, and began to discuss the plan again before he got out. The teens were left alone inside the van giving Pope time to explain the whole spitting cobra thing. Minutes went by when screams were heard from afar, it sounded like Sarah. Lani noticed first and quickly climbed out of the van, making a run for it. John B had been pushed off the tower, landing flat on his back. Sarah was crying hysterically over him as she asked him to wake up but nothing happened. Pope called for an ambulance as JJ asked the Kook princess what happened on the tower.

After what felt like hours, the ambulance arrived taking John B away with Sarah who had strict instructions on keeping the pogues updated. JJ drove Pope and Kie to their house which left Lani to be the last. She knew he felt bad about Fallon and Rafe but she felt the need to talk about it, as a good friend she is.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly not wanting to startle the blonde.

“Um, yeah..yeah. Why do you ask?”

“That whole weird thing between Rafe and Fallon. I know you saw it too and I know you like her so..”

“Yeah, it was weird but I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He said, giving the kook a fake smile. Lani didn’t ask anything else since it was obvious JJ did not want to talk about it. All the way home, the only thing she could think about was if Fallon was thinking about the blonde the same way.

“So what happened back there with Maybank?” Rafe asked as he sipped from his drink, standing next to Fallon who was leaning against the railing of the porch. Watching the employees clear tables, fold chairs and unhinged the fairy lights.

“Nothing, just… I thought it was gonna go differently. I was wrong.” She chuckled dryly, turning to him.

“I’m glad I stayed here with you though. I had a nice time.” Fallon continued, placing her hand on his chest and looking up at his blue orbs. Rafe smiled and slowly leaned down, giving her a passionate sweet kiss.

“Can you drive me home? My mom already left.”

“Yeah, you have to come home with me though. So I can get my car.” Fallon nodded and smiled, taking his hand. Rafe walked in front as they both made their way outside where Ward was waiting for them. The ride was filled with wandering hands, whispers and giggles.

They walked into Tannyhill hand in hand as everyone went up to their rooms. Leaving them alone, playing with each other’s hands as the sexual tension grew faster. Suddenly, Rafe grabbed her cheeks with both his hands and pulled her into a kiss. Their lips moved in a perfect rhythm as Fallon’s hands went up his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. They parted to catch their breaths with their foreheads together.

“Do you wanna see a movie? In my room, it’s still pretty early.” Rafe said, looking at his watch and back at the pogue. Fallow nodded and he immediately grabbed her hand, both of them making their way up the stairs. She walked into his room in awe, feeling surprised with how neat it was. She stood in front of the shelves next to his dresser, staring at vintage car figures.

“I didn’t know you collected things.”

“Um yeah, I’ve bought one in every country I've visited. Some of them were my grandfather’s.” He said standing next to her as she continued to admire him.

“I like them. They’re… cute.” They laughed and moved to the bed, sitting next to each other with their backs against the headboard. Rafe placed his hand on Fallon’s lap, grabbing her hand. She placed her head on his shoulder half way through the movie, making him peck her forehead. The pogue looked up at him and began to lean in. Their lips met in the middle in a soft peck, until it began to grow into something more intense. She slowly straddled him as his big hands went up and down her back, in search of the zipper. Clothes flew across the room as they explored each other's bodies under the covers. The movie was still on, giving them a bit of a background noise as their breaths got heavier.

Most of the night consisted of heavy breaths and soft moans. The sun came through the window in the morning, shining on the messed up sheets. Rafe and Fallon laid in bed asleep until the pogue opened her eyes slowly. She looked around the room and down at her naked body, remembering the events of the night before.

“Oh my god.” She whispered, running her hand through her hair in disbelief.

good life: @ilovefandoms102 @agardenofbooks @cloverrover @lynlovesouterbanks

58 notes · View notes

txemrn · 3 years

Text

Faded

Book/Pairing: The Royal Romance; Leo x Madeleine

Warning: angst (some dark discussion that would give away the plot); smut 🍋 (awkward, NOT sexy); language

Word Count: 3008 (+/-)

Song Inspiration: Faded by Alan Walker ft. Iselin Solheim (lyrics quoted in the text)

A/N: This is a Royal Roulette, technically, but then again, RR was created specifically for Wacky Drabbles, and I just couldn't get the word count down! Oops! Anyway, this idea came to me when I heard this song, and this story needed to be told. Some of it is canon; some of it is creative canon; some of it, well, we'll call it creativity. lol Any and all of these ideas came from my head, but I acknowledge that others have probably written similar stories (purely coincidental).

Huge special thanks to some of my sweet writing friends: @ao719, @charlotteg234, and @kat-tia801. This took a group effort, and I love you ladies so very much for pre-reading and making this story better. And as always, these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

***

He was a rushing wind; my billowing sails drift me into the unknown, but I don’t care. He’s an incinerating inferno: every tradition I was taught was set ablaze by his touch. My caged heart was unlocked by him; he set the monsters running wild inside of me. In my world of propriety and decorum, he taught me to live; more importantly, he dared me to love.

He broke free: from the customs, our culture, the captivity of our world. He broke free.

Without me. And the mess is all mine to clean up, left with only a picture of our passion--a photo of the love we once shared together. But even that is fading, and will be lost.

I’m alone with my thoughts this morning on my walk. The bite of salt in the coastal breeze tickles my nose, inviting my platinum strands into a carefree dance amongst the sunrise. Adjusting my oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses, my bare toes leave the comfort of the white sand beach only to discover the sting of the barnacle laden steps to the stone jetty. But, the shallow waters never met what I needed. My soul craves to commune with the waves from the deep.

I’m lost; there isn’t enough time in the world to think this through, and yet somehow a decision has to be made. God, where are you now? Was it all in my fantasy? Were you imaginary?

Many described our relationship as ‘destiny’--no, not exactly the romance you read about in foolish fairy tales or hear about in silly love songs. Our families ran in the same spheres of wealth and power. Politics. We are royalty. Since we were close in age, we would spend countless hours together throughout our childhood and teenage years. Being the oldest son to the king, he is--well, he was--the crowned prince of Cordonia; an agreement to our nuptials started well-before my formal training specifically for his social season.

But, something was different about Leo and me. We grew quite fond of each other, a friendship that developed into sharing secret kisses in darkened corners. Was this normal for friendships? Or did we have something deeper? Was this love?

As long as I can remember, I was taught my body was not my own; I was born with a greater purpose, and in that purpose, I would bring honor to my family and my name. I would earn my place in history: a woman who gave of herself everything she could for the sake of a country. Even love.

My reputation is to be held in the highest regard. My efforts in style and wardrobe would be subject to conversation and scrutiny. My eloquence and table etiquette could determine whether or not I’d be fit to be a queen. Every eye movement, every smile, every response could bring honor or dishonor to my family. No one cared about me as long as I presented a pristine package to court, a sacrificial lamb for king and country.

But, when the moment came for me to be chosen as his bride, I felt the swelling of joy inside my chest, bursting like strobes of light for everyone to witness. Suddenly the ideas of ‘the one’ and ‘happily ever after’ that I read about in the great classics teased my senses; I wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh. My body had a sudden thirst, a yearning for him that I didn’t understand.

In my innocence, this could only be one thing.

“Countess Madeleine,” he knowingly grins, “will you do me this honor?”

Swallowing thickly, her jade eyes flutter open at the sound of her name. In a handsomely fit tux, adorning his family colors in full regalia, her future husband, the future king of Cordonia, takes a knee to present the stunning canary solitaire. The dread melts away as the butterflies overcome her nerves.

Keeping with propriety, she nods her head while curtly dabbing away tears. But, something is distracting her: she is to be relishing in her accomplishment of winning the honor, for winning all of the glory, for winning the crown. She is to be the next queen of Cordonia.

But she is overwhelmed by all thoughts of him, her husband-to-be, the father to their future children. Suddenly the life she had been training for didn’t matter; she was betrothed and in love.

Smoothing out the tightness of my heathered linen pants, I take a moment to stare at my empty ring finger. I feel soreness from the collection of tears, but I refuse to allow anymore drop on his behalf. Today is hard enough.

I hug my body, remembering the warmth of his intimate touch. I had kept myself pure for him. Until that night.

Within an hour of making his intentions known to the court, Leo scurries away with his future bride, leaving only a trail of giggles and whispers along the way to his chambers.

Shrugging off his jacket, Leo presses her petite body against the locked door. His hand gently cradles her head, his thumb tracing the length of her jaw. His lips hungrily search hers, wolfishly devouring her mouth before she can react.

“Is this okay?” he whispers under his breath, his smoldering gaze entraps her innocent eyes. Breathlessly focused on his swelling lips, she nods her head dutifully.

He places his hands on her waist before sliding them intently back onto the curves of her ass, grabbing at her fullness under her whimper. A growl becomes his breathing, staring at his prey.

“Do you love me, my future queen?”

Love. Was that love?

The hypnotic rise and fall of the waves is starting to sour my stomach, but the ocean spray is so inviting and calming on my clammy skin. Finding a smooth stone, I seek refuge from the surge of the sea’s tantrum. Relaxing under the gentle rays of the morning sunshine, I close my eyes, only to see him.

He cheats her out of her next breath, his tongue overwhelming her mouth. His eager fingers find the zipper to her ballgown. He paws at her back, his fingers brushing against the secret skin of her body.

Her bra tosses to the wayside; admiring his new found treasure, Leo’s hands plunder her supple curves. His mouth plummets to her hardening nipples, his teeth teasing her nerves with fear. The sudden twinge of pleasure thrashes her head against the door.

“Shall I continue, beautiful?” he exhales, catching his breath; but, before an answer is uttered, he stumbles back into the temptation of her perfect body. His fingers tease across the waistband of her petal pink briefs; her eyes cinch closed, her mouth unable to hold back a moan.

“Someone is enjoying themselves,” he chuckles, standing to tower over her. He kisses her cheek, leaning his mouth close to her ear. “Is this what you want?” He tucks a strand behind her ear.

“Mhmm,” her lips curl slightly, leaning into his touch.

“Do you like what I am doing for you?”

“Yes,” she softly groans.

“Yeah?” He reaches into her panties, her knees buckling to the wandering of his fingers. “Mmmm,” he pulls his hand out, licking his fingertips, “that’s my good girl. You love my touch.” He stands back, shaking off her body. Locking his eyes with hers, he casually steps backwards until he reaches the bed. He slides off his belt, unfastening his slacks.

“Come here,” he motions for her to step closer. “Show me your love for me.”

Madeleine’s eyes focus on his growing girth, bulging from his unzipped pants; but, then her gaze darts around the room. Surely he knows that she isn’t well-versed in such endeavors.

“Maddie?” he combs his fingers through her blonde tresses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She closes her eyes. The words send a jolt of happiness through her veins. She was experiencing love. She was prepared for everything else, but this?

"Then, let me show you,” he growls, pushing her back onto the bed. Hungrily ripping off her panties, he exposes her to his touch. Youthful and pure. "Are you ready?"

He spreads her legs apart, her thighs trembling. She grips the sheets with her tiny fists. Her doe-like eyes stare into his hunting blues as she feels him touch her again; but this time, it wasn't his fingers.

With an inexperienced push of his hips, red flashes before Madeleine's eyes as she squints her eyes in pain, hiding the gathering of tears. He thrusts again; her teeth gnash at the breaking of her body. Her head thrashes back and forth, groaning as she serves a penance under his rhythmic plunges into her warm, narrow core again and again. Harder and harder. Faster. Deeper.

Without warning, the beating of her body stops, leaving her stretched, completely filled with him. Moaning her name in the company of obscenities, his breathing becomes quick and shallow despite his efforts to slow down. Sweat gathers across his brow as he savors the delicate tightness of her depths. Stumbling into his ecstasy, he loses control, pouring himself into her. The sudden rush of fullness makes her whimper, the sting begins to dull as a smile crawls across her face. His lips meet her soft, glowing skin. Finally, it’s over.

That night: it was so long ago. But, I can still feel it; I can still feel him. The smell and taste of him lingers on my tongue. I miss him.

And with that, my breathing labors as I choke out a sob. I press the back of my hand to my lips as tears cloud my vision from the Mediterranean horizon. A sour pang creeps up my throat as I cradle my tender belly with my other hand. Clenching my eyes closed, I hope to hold back the downpour of tears from my soul. God, please not again.

Madeleine's head rests on Leo's shoulder, his strong arm securely around her exposed body. Her marigold diamond catches the pale moonlight perfectly, it's brilliance mesmerizing the bride-to-be as she subtly teeters her hand on his well-structured chest. He suddenly engulfs her hand with his. Turning towards him, her lips meet his perfectly like the final piece of the puzzle, locking seamlessly in place.

"Runaway with me, Madeleine."

The flecks of evergreen in her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "What--?"

"This life, Maddie," he gently rubs her back, "is this really the life that you want-- that you'd want for us?"

She sits up, taken aback from the peculiar question. "You mean the life we're living right now? Us? Being engaged?”

“Yes--I mean, no. I--” Leo stumbles over his words, dragging his hand across his face. “I love you, and I want to be with you--” he pushes a platinum strand behind her ear, “--but do you ever wonder what it’s like out there? Out in the real world? Away from all of this pressure? Away from all of these rules?”

“Away from the public eye? Living life--” she titters into a big smile, “--like everyday people?"

"Yes." He sighs, pressing her hand against his heart. "Before long, we will be in charge. In charge, Maddie. Of an entire country." There is a quake in his voice, a quiver that even makes her feel chilled. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” a breath hitches in his chest. “Will I even be a good king?"

“Of course," she whispers, offering a doting smile, “Of course, Leo," her voice becomes stronger, authoritative. “You can do this. You were made for this. And while, yes, you are the king, you’re not alone.” She laces her fingers with his. “You’ll always have me. You have my support--” she kisses the back of his hand, “and most of all, you have my love.” She leans down to kiss his hand again, but rather he captures her in his arm, bringing her to his lips, making her squeal.

“I love you, Madeleine.”

She moans into his pout as he kisses her once more. “I love you, too, Leo.”

The creaminess to his baritone voice dissipates from my memory, fading away much like our love. How could I have been so foolish? I gave him everything--I promised him everything. My life, my whole existence was for him, and I naively thought that love would somehow stitch us together, that somehow we would be the monarchs that did have it all. Wealth. Power. Love. A happily-ever-after that could join the rankings of the greatest love stories ever told.

But, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

The sudden rapping on the door abruptly wakes Madeleine from a deep sleep. The sunlight pours mercilessly through the windows as she grabs the sheets to cover herself.

The door suddenly tramples open, Constantine bounding first into the room, followed by his head guard Bastien. “Where is he? Where’s Leo?” The king sneers as the blonde trips out of bed, reaching for clothing. “For God’s sakes, couldn’t you two show some fucking self-control?”

Madeleine cinches the high-thread-count sheet around her body, leaving her slender shoulders and décolleté exposed. As a blush crawls across her face, the question begins to haunt her: where is Leo? He wasn’t in bed this morning. In fact, his clothes are missing from their disheveled heap that was next to her discarded dress. His watch and cell phone were missing from the bedside table. But, otherwise everything seemed to be in place.

Madeleine rushes to the ensuite bathroom, hoping to find a logical clue to Leo’s whereabouts there.

"Call him. Now," the king growls at the anxious countess.

"He's not answering us, Countess Madeleine. We assume given your current relationship with his majesty--" Madeleine nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry, but the phone number you're trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

Her eyebrows furrow as she ends the call. "I--I--I don't understand," she stammers, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "His phone has been disconnected--"

"Fucking ungrateful--” growls Constantine, ripping the phone from Madeleine's tiny hand, “--selfish son of a bitch!" He throws the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces. He gruffly turns towards his future daughter-in-law. “Are you certain you dialed the right number?" He spits. Madeleine braces herself against a wall, turning her face away from him. She carefully nods, refusing to make eye contact. “Unbelievable!” Constantine knocks over some antique silver candelabras before exiting the room, leaving Bastien behind.

“Sir?’ Madeleine quietly calls to the guard, drawing closer to him, ensuring her body is covered. “What is all the commotion about? Where is Leo?”

“Leo failed to report to his morning engagements about last night festivities. According to our cameras, he left this morning through the northwest gate in an unmarked black Sudan around o’four hundred hours.”

Madeleine cups her mouth as she stumbles to sit down on the bed. She nervously combs her fingers through her tangled tresses. “What does this mean?” She spouts nervously, her body shaking with tears gathering in her eyes.

“Please try not to worry, ma’am,” Bastien carefully places a comforting hand on her bare shoulder, quickly withdrawing it when their eyes awkwardly meet at the gesture. “Um--” he clears his throat, “--I don’t know what he’s doing, but we will find him.” He turns on his heel to leave Madeleine alone when suddenly a thought hits him. “By any chance, did he mention anything to you?”

‘Runaway with me, Madeleine.’ One simple request. He asked me to just simply follow him. I thought he was joking or simply making a hypothetical request due to his uneasy nerves; but, my love for him aside, this was my calling: to serve him. If I had chosen to honor him rather than challenge him… if I had chosen to remind him of responsibility and duty rather than trying to win him over with ludicrous ideas of love in marriage…

Leo abdicated the throne.

No one speaks about royalty relinquishing their responsibilities. We’re born into this; we were made to do this. We spend our entire lives preparing, being told that it is an honor to bear such greatness, it is an honor to host such power. No one speaks of the alternative. Truth be told: if we knew there was a way to escape, to renounce such a life as this, how many of us would take that chance?

It’s been seven weeks since that awful morning. Seven weeks of silence and darkness. Seven weeks of broken dreams and false hope. Seven weeks of only one absolution: Leo had found his freedom. He wasn't coming back.

I pull out the photograph of our love just one more time as the tears gather once more in my eyes. Leo’s last words to me were ‘I love you;’ but somehow as I trace my fingers amongst the black and white print, I have to say, ‘goodbye’ for both of us this morning.

“Ms. Amaranth?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Madeleine wakes from her daydream, her voice trembling. She chews incessantly on her nails as her crossed legs bounce nervously. The sterile white walls around her seem to be closing in around her; the air grows thick, stifling. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The dark brunette stands to come closer to the blonde. She straightens out her white coat while fixing an endearing smile on her face. She sits down next to Madeleine, taking her hand. “I asked if you are sure about this decision?”

If Madeleine had learned anything in the past two months, it's that she could only be sure about nothing. She stares at her bobbing toe, hypnotically entranced with the clicking of the clock in the exam room.

“There are other options," the doctor continues. "Adoption. Keeping the baby.”

I tear up the ultrasound picture in my hands, letting the wind chase it to the sea. The tattered pieces drift for a place to rest, sinking to the depths my soul will forever crave, a secret place far too precious for this world. For my world.

Goodbye, love.

***

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#the royal romance #choices the royal romance #leo x madeleine #royal roulette #choices fanfiction #choices trr

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0risha · 3 years

Text

“BONES.”

✰ PAIRING ⤷ dabi x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤷ It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones, not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself.

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

✰ WC ⤷ 6.6k?

✰ TAGS ⤷ major angst, there is fluff though pinky promise, there’s a suggestive line, please don’t cancel me, it was detrimental to the story manga spoilers, a few curse words, character death, very, very soft dabi, shigaraki is an ass

NOTES ⤷ this is, indeed, the longest thing I've written that wasn't for school. and the summary is just a blurb because i had no idea what to write there. lol, I'm sitting at my laptop while crying my eyes out...... but uh.... I hope you like it ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

You smoke, Dabi takes that into account on the first day he sees you. Dabi hates cigarettes, despises them. He hates that itchy feeling his lungs get whenever he takes a drag, hates the way it makes him feel abyssal, co-dependent. And if there's one thing that Dabi hates, it's relying on something else that wasn't him self.

With that into consideration, he’s not entirely sure why you catch his eye, you’re not typically the type he goes for. He usually chose the dainty ones, the ones that were so eager to experience a jive of thrill, they don’t realize that they’ve encountered a person who played an important role in one of the most powerful villain organizations.

You're in the corner of a dingy bar, the dim lights somehow doing your angelic features justice. The light catches the glint of your name tag and the pastel blue of your scrubs. You look tired. Even from a far distance, he can see the sunken tent of your cheeks. The cigarette stick which hangs from in between your index finger and middle is halfway from becoming a stub. The plastic platter of pretzels that sit across from your chest is untouched as you grumble out replies to the bartender who's trying to make conversation with —a very uninterested— you.

When the clock hits eleven, your bar stool is scraping the ground as you attempt to leave. The relentless bartender grabs your arm with one last plea. His voice raising when you deny the idea that you should give him your number because you're too pretty to be by yourself. With one last pull, you stomp away towards the exit. Dabi doesn't know if it's because he's a villain too, but he follows after you. His senses telling him that there’s no way the bartender who you’d just rejected would let his wounded pride stay unbandaged.

He’s careful not to make any noises with the soles of his boots. The absence of street lights concealing his figure. Unbeknownst to him, his body enforces the skills he uses while stalking his next prey. His languid motions flowing with the same transverse as the cold, biting wind.

And you don’t notice a thing, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your thick silver jacket. But when your walking comes to a stop, Dabi’s heart nearly tumbles out from his chest. Not a second later, you pull out a pack of cigarettes and place one to your lips, lighting it in one go. When you resume walking, Dabi’s body internally holds a jubilee with jeers of relief. He’s not exactly sure why he’s helping you but what type of person would he be if he let a pretty lady like you get hurt?

At the thought, his throat tickles with the hope to let out a laugh.

When Dabi hears the crunch of leaves that bounce off the cracked concrete, for the second time that night he nearly breaks into a fit of laughter. The culprit’s first step is to trap you behind the fenced wall and his burly figure. What an amateur.

A part of Dabi wants to wait and see what you do. Are you a regular civilian? Do you have a strong quirk that would fight him off? His trail of thought evaporates when you hiccup out a laugh, smoke from the corner of your lips flowing into the man’s face. Dabi’s eyebrows quirking up with interest. What’s your next act?

After several hitches of breath, nothing comes and Dabi finally decides to step in as he feels the waves of anger emitting from the balding, middle-aged man who has you cornered.

The confrontation is brief —when the bartender turns to glance at an approaching lean, scarred figure, he scurries off without a word.

“Didn’t have to help me, I had it in the bag.” You squint at your savior as your cigarette bobs with the movement of your full lips. His stature towers over yours but you don’t seem the little bit phased.

“You weren’t scared,” he says and it’s more of a question than a statement. His cool voice sends a frosty layer through each stack of your vertebrae. Though, it slowly ebbs away as you study his features and realize how pretty he is —his eyes a pool of melted lapis. Sharp cheekbones molded to accustom to scars and silver staples that do nothing but add to your thinking connotation of him being ambiguity personified.

“Yeah, even if he did... you know.” You wave your hand. “He would’ve died sooner or later.” Dabi’s eyes narrow in confusion as he catches the way your eyelashes flutter prettily against your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh.. uh- he had heart issues, the kind you can’t recover from.” You remove the lit stick from your lips and give him a full-toothed smile. “Thank you, Mr. Stranger.” And with that, you turn away and resume your lethargic walk down an empty alleyway.

Must be your quirk. Dabi thinks as he watches your figure disappear into the grasping shadows of the night. When he returns to the battered LOV hideout, he goes out of his way to avoid any interaction with the League. Refusing to taint his memory of your pretty smile and pretty face.

The next time Dabi sees you, you’re in the same place. This time you’re not wearing scrubs, opting for a more casual look with a baby blue top that contrasts nicely with your skin and jeans that accentuate your figure. You don't have a pack of cigarettes either.

Unlike before, you notice his stare and you bathe in it. The bartender from the other day all but glances at you. Amusingly, you turn to glance at the brooding figure in the corner of the bar with a knowing look.

After two beers and spinning courage, you walk towards Dabi with sway in your step. His eyes follow your movement until you decide to situate yourself next to him in the booth. His low lids focus on you as you fidget with your manicured fingers. Cute. He thinks. You’re too cute for your own good.

“What’s your name?” You break the silence. Teeth gnawing into the plush dent of your bottom lip.

Dabi takes his time to mull over his answer, he doesn’t notice the way his body temperature flares nor the tiny blue flames that threaten to dance on his scabbed knuckles. A grasp —an unfamiliar cloak, wraps its fabric around his shoulders. Prickles of his being push with urgency to ease it away but it’s all in vain.

“Touya.”

Touya, from the corner of his eye, watches your eyes light up with interest. Bright and wide with swirling specks of gaiety— joy. Which Dabi guesses are because of him. He turns his attention away from you, not wanting to get warped into your pretty eyes that sparkle just from hearing his name.

“S’ a pretty name,” you whisper. Sporting a subtle grin, one that blows wide when you see all four chambers of his heart pumping wildly with blood.

“Can you walk me home, Touya?”

It goes on like this, again and again —conversations with Touya at the back of the bar, sitting next to him in the grimy booth. His replies are quip ones but you know he’s listening to your idle chatter because you feel the way his eyes bore into your skull.

The night always comes to a close with both of you walking shoulder to shoulder, the plans of your upcoming day echoing off the bounds of the night sky. You live in an apartment building, a shitty one. He remembers you complaining about the squeaky floorboards, your loud neighbors, and the pervy, greasy-haired landlord that barges through your door at the most unreasonable times of the day. Touya raises his eyebrow at that.

“I’ll take care of him for you.” The words fly past his lips before he can stop them.

Your response is a peal of robust laughter that comes to a halt when you pull out a cigarette. “I’ll be sure to come to you,” you say. Today marked the thirtieth time you both engaged in subtle conversation. He takes note in the fact that you only smoke when you wear scrubs —the rope of curiosity gets the best of him.

“I have to keep up with the appearance of my two personalities, duh.” Touya has no clue what you mean but your clipped tone tells him that he shouldn't pry.

Meanwhile, your eyes flit to his sapphire ones than to his lips.

“Touya?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I kiss you?” You watch the way his eyes widen with a low giggle.

But before he can answer, your lips are already on his. He’s quick to take action as he cups the underside of your jaw, your breath minty even though you just had a smoke. His head’s a mess, there’s a jumble of terms that fail to come together and form coherent ones. The only thing his brain can commit is the pillowy softness of your lips. Sadly, he can’t enjoy the whole experience. His bottom lip erased with the tissue needed to feel, only leaving a purpled patch in its wake.

For a second, his chest tides over with a tinge of shame but it’s quickly washed away as you pull him even closer. Your small, gentle fingers carding through his soft, inky tresses.

The kiss ends when you pull away with a breathless sigh. You stay close to him, noses nearly touching as once shared breaths mingle. His hands are on your hips now, slowly kneading the soft flesh. A couple of seconds dart by as your dark eyes stare into his bright ones. The low-lighted area giving them a fascinating glow.

You want to tell him how pretty he looks at this moment. His flustered expression causing your gut to simmer with heat.

You need to tell him how nicely entrapped his presence always makes you feel but something in you decides against it, choosing to save it for another time. So you search for an alternative, breath growing unsteady as you stumble across one.

“Can you....walk me home, Touya?” This time it's different from the first night you asked him.

This time your voice trails off with a much different undertone.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Touya wakes up before you do. Peeks of the sun squeeze through your bedroom blinds, casting a shining glow on your skin. As he studies your peaceful features, he encounters a divulgence. One that causes his skin to crawl with parasites that immediately beg him to keep up with this facade. To derive a little longer and enjoy this bliss at his own expense. However, Touya decides against it. It’s quite obvious that he’s not the safest person to be around, his appearance giving that thought away.

It might be better if he tells you first, he thinks.

It might be better if he lets a precious thing like you go before he builds a stockpile of lies that’ll eventually come crashing down when the realization finally hits.

“I’m a villain, you know,” he murmurs as he watches your eyelids flutter open. He grimaces as he tries to think of what your reaction may be. The first words you woke up to would have to be that you’d let a criminal into your home —into your bed.

He sits up to place his back on your cool headboard. The bell of anxiousness that sits at the pit of his stomach rings after a few beats of silence. You turn to stare at his upright figure with two arms tucked underneath your satin pillow. “I know, m’ not stupid, Touya.” You grumble, turning your head to return to sleep.

“What?” His eyebrows knit has his chest shutters with disbelief.

You ignore his bewilderment. “Since we’re confessing our deepest, darkest secrets can I tell you what could’ve been my villain origin story?” Touya stares at your face before bursting into laughter, one that nearly causes the staples around his jaw to unhinge. Though, this laughter is one of relief.

A part of him doesn’t believe it.

He doesn’t think he’s ever done a deed so right, so pure, that had earned him someone like you. The only thing his reeling mind can suffice is that he had killed a scum in some random, dirty alley that ended up being the lowest of the low. At the random thought, he laughs some more.

“What?” You can’t help but giggle, his laughter —which was a rare entity— made you giddy with joy. “I’m serious!” You pout, turning away from him to feign anger, your ears stay perked up as his smooth, rich laughter fills your bedroom with warmth.

“Okay, fine I won’t tell you.” His laughter trails off as he moves from the headboard to lie directly across from you.

“Alright, tell me.” His abnormal body heat causes you to shuffle closer until you rest your head on his chest.

When your story is done, he can’t help but stare at the ceiling in cerebrate silence.

At the age of fifteen, a program introduced by the hero association had recruited kids with abilities related to the medical field. Yours being an x-ray like quirk that allowed you to detect diseases, broken bones, and infections. Ones even normal x-ray’s couldn’t see. Forced to drop out of high school to take nursing classes and discard your latest stage of childhood life, you’d already become a registered nurse before the ripe age of nineteen. You worked in a special division, one where you only dealt with pro-heroes. You tell Touya about your worst encounter, one where you diagnosed a collection of broken ribs and the incapability to do hero work for several weeks and got shoved so hard that your ankle had twisted. Fortunately, the program had been discarded when you were twenty. With your inability to do other things that weren’t related to nursing you decided to stay one.

“Where were your parents?” It takes you a second to answer, chest deflating in the worst kind of way as you remember your father and mother’s shame-ridden faces staring back at your own —your's ridden with disbelief.

“They got money, so it didn’t really matter what happened to me.” You whisper, using the soft pad of your index finger to trace his scarred skin.

“Wanted to be a writer, Touya.” You try your best to hold in your cries but to no avail. “Wanted to write a best-seller,” You laugh, but it’s overshadowed by the watery sob that follows.

And with that, he finally understands. You’re two personas, a writer and a nurse. His chest tides up with pride once he realizes that he’s probably the first person to see and understand what they both mean to you.

“You can still be one,” he says. But it’s a promise of his own in disguise. I’ll change the world for you, make it so you can do anything you want to. It echoes from his every syllable and trails off with a familiar lilt.

And you see it too —hope-filled eyes flit to glittering ones. His, a bright pair of blue gems that shine with raw, unfiltered passion- yet to be completely polished. Against your will, every tendril of your being untwines and wraps itself around his words- you believe him. Unconsciously, your lips blow into a wide smile. “I’ll hold you to it, Touya.”

The stagnant air diffuses once you ask him a question, “when’s your birthday?”

Internally, you kick yourself in the shin as Touya shoots you a whimsical look. You’re not sure why this is the first personal question you decide to ask him.

But to you, Touya’s painted in grey, moral wise. You’ve only known him for less than a month, his background revealed the same night you met him. When you were with Touya, he didn’t seem like a villain. Villains were supposed to be vile, viscous people that didn’t dissolve properly into the troughs of today’s society.

His touch was gentle, handling you with nothing other than care. But you’re sure he’s used those same nimble fingers to inflict pain on whomsoever he chose. To you, Touya’s a jigsaw. You’re prepared —at least you think you are— to solve it. Prepared to start with the small pieces. And when those gradually come together, you’d use them as a guide. Treading carefully to work from known to unknown.

However, Touya prays to the gods that you don’t use your quirk to see the way his heart pumps wildly and the way his breath hitches. It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself.

“December 15th.” Your eyes widen when you realize the day was when you both had met. “I was your birthday gift then, huh.” You giggle, pressing closer to his body to feel the erratic thump of his heart.

“Guess so.” A good lie is always better than the truth.

That’s what he tells himself when Tomura asks where he’s been for the past couple of months. Vehement, crimson eyes digging into Dabi’s skull. He scoffs in annoyance, opting to tell the blue-haired man that he’d been out of town to scout for new members. Rummaging through underground areas where the average of villains was the thickest.

And yes, they’re all lies. He’s happy that Tomura is as dumb as he looks. Though it may be because Dabi has mastered the art of weaving intricate webs of lies- he’s grateful, nonetheless.

When Dabi turns away from him, Tomura’s eyes narrow.

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t as dumb as he looks. But Dabi didn’t know that -at least, not yet.

Here in the LOV hideout, where Dabi’s just a ruthless flame kindler, he finds no self-content, only impatience. Sometimes, taking part in Toga’s antics as a source of entertainment, her bloodlust too damn thick to ignore.

Impatience, a contagious drug that filters through Dabi’s veins and causes his blood to sear whenever he thinks about the overturn he wants hero society to so badly face. It’s the only way this ache of his can be soothed.

At first, it was just for him to bask in -for him to enjoy. For him to see a part of his past, burn. To see a rage of flames that -in time, turned to a cinder, his memories with it.

But now, he wants you to see it too. He wants to keep you tucked by his side as everything unfolds. Knowing this, he waits. Dabi’s not naive, this dream of his isn’t a one-man act.

Though, the biggest step closer to glory comes earlier than expected…

He’s a hero, the number two pro hero in all of Japan. His speed and the aid of his wings being his strongest suit. The information he provides is what still causes the Leauge to thrive. And the reason that Shigaraki now knows of the Meta Liberation Army. A powerful villain organization that rivaled Tomura’s very own. Led by a man named Destro, a name that every villain’s supposed to know. Kuriogi tells him this in his usual monotone voice, he’s the founder and now his son currently leads the army. The thing is, Dabi does know but for other reasons. His father was a hero after all.

Shigaraki orders Dabi to keep watch over Hawks. Sure, Dabi has his suspicions too, but he couldn’t differentiate if it’s the hostility he feels after he learns Hawks’ friendly relationship with Endeavor or for the fact that several missions had been deemed as errors because of the red-winged man’s mistakes.

Though, his stress dissipates when he comes home to you. It didn’t take a lot of time for Touya to get accustomed to your apartment. He’s used to living in shitty places, the League had been -and still is- living in one for months.

Fortunately, your landlord never comes around. You think it’s because of Touya’s intimidating presence but it stretches farther than that. Farther into the territory of what makes Touya into the fearful villain he is. But, you didn’t have to know that. Touya deliberates. You were stressed enough as it is.

Sometimes you’re not even home, late shift reminders overtaking your flimsy calendar. On those days, when you return, you’re so tired that Touya has to undress and bathe you himself. It’s never a toll, he enjoys listening to your barely decipherable recaps of your day, ones that sometimes turn into angry speeches of frustration that he’s sure to soothe with soft kisses to your pursed lips.

“Touya,” you whisper. Head in the crook of his neck while he lathers your body with body wash. Your head’s cloudy, exhaustion taking its home in your body.

“Mhmm.”

“Love you, like.. a lot.” The words bleed together with little to no pauses. It’s so slurred that Touya has to mull over it.

When he finally separates them in his head, he pauses. Eyes going wide as the grip on the pink loofah loosens.

Those words had never been emitted between you two. They were the three forbidden syllables that hung still, frozen in mid-air. It should’ve been easy to say. So easy to confess if push ever came to shove and the tides of adoration ever became too much to bear.

Despite that - in Touya’s head, his sole belief was that he was a package of damaged goods. What solace could you find if he ever told you that he loved you? Would it bring you happiness- fear?

Months had passed between the two of you, the light of winter and spring passing with intertwined hands. But what if- what if- you didn’t love Touya as much as he thought? What if you stayed by his side because you took pity on him? Took pity on a man who had no efficiency, no worth, no value, and used it to your heart’s content to mend yourself together.

Unbeknownst to him, those thoughts had run aimlessly across your mind as well. Both of you were damaged goods. Both of you unfamiliar with the thrum of the common melody.

When you feel his movements halt, a part of you feels victorious.

Oh, how lucky you were for being high on delirium. This was a chance pulled out of luck’s pocket.

“Don’t gotta say it, I see it.” He lowers his gaze to see you staring intensely at his chest. Which no doubt encases an organ that beats wildly because of your words. For the first time in a long time, he grows embarrassed. A streak of red blossoms from under his scarred cheeks as he chooses to hide his head in your neck, inhaling the strong citrusy scent of your body wash.

Hesitantly, you brush your fingers across the expanse of his back. Careful to avoid rough skin. Hoping that with your touch, you can convey a message of understanding.

I love you Touya and I know you love me.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

On a week that you’re finally off from work, you choose to spend it with Touya. He‘s barely out anyways. When you ask him why he’s never out doing villainy things. He answers with, “to spend time with you, princess.” A chortle at the end of his sentence when he sees you duck your head in embarrassment.

“Wanna go dress shopping with me tomorrow?” You ask, taking a handful of potato chips in your palm, focus still on your tv show -which Touya believes is the most boring thing he’s ever come across.

He turns to glance at you, eyebrows knitted as he contemplates.

He knows he shouldn’t, situations where his identity might be discovered, wouldn’t be good for the both of you.

And if Tomura were to find out…. the possibilities were too endless and Touya would keel over before he put your life in jeopardy.

But he still says yes- he’s never actually seen you wear a dress, he tells you. A subtle smile adorning his lips when he sees yours. He doesn’t ask why you want to buy a dress all of a sudden but he doesn’t mind.

The next day, you dress him up in a big burly coat that you had found at a thrift store years ago. Touya scrunches up his nose in disdain as you pull it up to cover his purple-hued scars, the fabric smelling oddly like sulfur. If it weren’t for the way you seemed so focused on hiding his identity he would’ve discarded the clothing a long time ago. He thinks the last straw is when you plop a pair of dark sunglasses on his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you fuss. “I tried my best.”

“Was your best option really a combination of coat and sunglasses?” He exasperates, voice coming out muffled.

“What... I can’t hear you?” You cup the back of your ear, feigning curiosity.

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “Whatever, let’s go.”

You grab your silver coat from your rack and walk outside, both of you making it to your beat-down Honda. As Touya shuffles in the passenger seat you can’t help but giggle at his uncomfortable posture, they turn louder when he turns to glare at you but fails miserably, his intimidating face shrouded by the coat and glasses.

When you enter the boutique a small ding of a bell hits your ear. You smile in victory once you realize the vacancy. A short lady with gray hair waddles towards you and Touya. “Well, hello there!” She exclaims her soft voice matching with the appearance of her shop. Sweet and adorable. “What are you two looking for today.” She walks closer to you two, her motherly aura shrouding you in contentment.

“Well… I’m not entirely too sure,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back. “But something blue and flowy.” You hum.

“Blue and flowy, you say?” She turns. “Follow me.”

You turn to glance at Touya, whose attention is already on you. You grab his hand and follow behind. She leads you to a wide room, the smell of laundry detergent filtering through the air. Your eyes widen once you see the rows of dresses adorned in plastic.

“These are all my babies.” She waves and turns to you with an expectant look, eyes crinkling as she gives you a warm smile.

“They’re real pretty, aren't they?” You nod. “Well, the dressing rooms are back there.” She points to the far right. “If you need anything just come to me, I’ll be at the front desk.”

You walk towards the small corridor of dressing rooms and pick the first one you see. Pushing Touya into the stall, you place your hands on your hip after clicking the door shut. He takes his sunglasses off and shoots you a quizzical look.

“Show me your flames,” you breathe out, palms growing clammy as nervousness starts to set in.

You wring your hands as you watch his adam's apple bob, his stare turning hard. “No.”

You cross your arms and plead. “Please Touya, I wanna find a dress that matches your flames. They’re probably really pretty… don’t know why you won’t show me.” Your voice trails off.

He had an idea that this would happen sooner or later. There were times where you did see his flames but those were accidents. He always made sure to quickly extinguish them when he caught your peering eyes.

His chest floods with guilt once he sees your disappointed expression. He didn’t think his flames were pretty. He’d melted too many flays of flesh to count. The last thing he wanted to do was show you the bright-tinged spirit responsible for his grave sins.

But one dilemma Touya has is that he can’t ever seem to jump over the weak spot he has for you. So, he gives a meek - fine.

He watches your features light up with glee, only hoping that you wouldn’t regret asking him for this. “Can I take the coat off, first?” You hum, scrambling to do it for him. Revealing his plain white tee and his dark black jeans.

“Step back for me,” he whispers, gnawing at the bottom of his scarred lip. He opens the palm of his hand- to first, show a tiny blue flame that sways languidly. Progressively, he increases the flame until it engulfs his hand and upper wrist. When he looks up from his palm to your face, he’s surprised to see that your eyes aren't menacingly calculating or searching for release from fear. Instead, you look on in astonishment.

He sees the reflection of his flames in your eyes and from that circled mirror, a tiny nibble of his conscience starts to ebb with pride of his quirk.

After gushing about how pretty his flames look, you commit the color to memory. Dashing out of the stall to search for a dress, humming a tune when you envision his reaction to seeing you in such a nice, quaint dress on such a special day.

He perks up once you unlock the door, expecting you to change and show him what you’ve found. But instead, he’s met with your smiling face and what seems to be a dress -shrouded in a velvet coverup. “Don’t look so disappointed.” You wag your finger in front of his face. “You’ll see it soon.”

When December rolls by with chilly air as company, you start to see Touya less and less. He never does tell you what exactly it is he does while out doing villain work. Though, he did tell you that his absences would occur more and more since he and his league were working hard to take down a villain organization.

Your eyebrows had furrowed at that. “I thought villains were supposed to band together,” you asked, head resting on his thigh as you stared up at his face. “Not ones with different philosophies,” he had said, hand suspiciously inching closer and closer to your chest. You hummed, still confused.

It might sound naive, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Hero society didn’t interest you. You couldn’t say villains did either but Touya was one. One of the bigshots.

Once, when you’d seen him on the little tv in the corner of your break room, it took a lot in you to not crack a smile. Though the idea of bringing chaos into the world with wide arms made your nerves rack with trepidation, you had Touya, and that seemed like enough.

Fortunately, Touya not being home was a benefit to your plan. You’d already scheduled your days off for work and booked the reservations for the fancy restaurant that was at least an hour’s drive from your apartment building. It was hard work, but for Touya’s birthday, it was all worth it.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Shigaraki Tomura does not like to be lied to.

If he had written commandments for the people he came across, that would be his first line, golden engraved. It’s an unexplainable feeling he gets. If he could, he’d describe it as an itchy, hot coil that warps across his skin. It’s not painful, it’s simply annoying. And he feels it nearly every day. The scars that mar his neck being a result of it.

Why does the world have to be riddled with so many liars?

Dabi’s a liar, he knows that much. Hawks, that red-winged hero may be one too, but he’d deal with that when things finally came into play.

Now, he focuses on the man Dabi truly is. Villains lie. Shigaraki knows this, he’s a villain too. But- he tells the truth when it comes to his goals.

He tells the truth with what he wants.

What he wants LOV to bring.

What he wants society to flood with.

So why couldn’t Touya Todoroki do the same?

Shigaraki Tomura’s smart and Dabi is a fool to not see this. Who came up with the plans? The missions? The very concept of LOV? Sure, AFO had shaped him into who he was today but he was the same man locked in Tartarus, not Tomura.

When Tomura finds the roots of Dabi’s lies through Kurogiri’s peering eyes. It takes an hour of pleading for the ghastly man to convince Tomura not to find Dabi and disintegrate him into a fine pile of dust.

“Why should I!” Tomura shouts, his ruby eyes glaring into Kurogiri’s yellow ones. “He lied to me.” Shigaraki spits out the word so hastily and it’s as if saying the word itself was a sin of its own. Kurogiri nods, silently transmitting his words of understanding, not wanting to raise his temper even higher.

“But Dabi’s an important member of the League, Tomura.” Kurogiri coaxes. “In a week or so, we’ll be off to fight with M.L.A. If anything give him a warning, a threat. Just don’t kill the boy.” Shigaraki takes a second to glare at Kurogiri but eventually, his shoulders sag with defeat.

Even though Dabi had committed the gravest sin, he’d show mercy.

Begrudgingly, he grabs the cup of orange juice from Kurogiri’s hand, his thoughts flying at a fast pace, anger refusing to subside. All until his thinking cogs get stuck on one idea, one thought.

The thought crawls out from his mind and paints his expression with one of sickening glee. His smile so wide, that rivulets of blood dribble down from his cracked lips. His tongue darts out to lap up the tangy liquid as he gets high on this idea, on this revelation.

Shigaraki Tomura needs Dabi but Shigaraki Tomura does not need you.

Tomura knows everything about you, your background, your parents, the countless homes you had to reside in, where you live as of now- where you and Dabi live as of now. Where you work and what exactly you’re planning to do on the 15th day of December. It’s terrifyingly easy to uncover reservation logs.

You’re a pretty woman, Tomura could admit that. But you were a stain in his perfect, webbed canvas of the future. Those countless months where he had expected Dabi to be his righteous subordinate and listen to his demands were spent with you. Cooped up at your run-down apartment doing god knows what.

Tomura’s teeth grit as he digs into the flesh of his neck, specks of blood underneath his fingernails while he fervently scratches the already scabbed skin. Kurogiri glances over at him, seemingly reading his mind.

“I’m leaving.” Shigaraki swipes up from his dusty seat. Oh, how he missed the elegance of his LOV’s old hideout.

“Don’t forget AFO’s orders concerning Gigantomachia.”

Tomura blinks once, twice. “That thing has way too much HP.” He breathes out.

“For now, I need to do something else.” He whispers, bringing his embalmed hand to rest on his face.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Whenever Touya thought of coincidences he thought of the word luck. It was a coincidence that Touya had been at the same bar as you, a coincidence that because of your lack of care for hero society that you’d glossed over the fact that he was a villain. But as Touya stood in your empty apartment, bloody and bruised from his prior fight, his connotation of coincidences slowly turned sour. A bitter taste sat on his tastebuds as he read over your note.

Happy Birthday Touya, my love.

meet me at the Burqoues Restaurant!

Take an uber…. I don’t have any money for one

(using it on the restaurant money)

so I’ll just take my car.

p.s. you’ll get to see my dress.

It was a coincidence that the day he told you was his birthday was the very day the League of Villians had merged with the Meta Liberation Army. Touya didn’t know what this grappling hook of fear was, but as he saw that your Honda was still idly parked in that weird angle you always had a habit of doing -it came to take its hold around his neck.

Maybe you’d actually found a couple of bucks and took an uber instead. Right?

You were probably in the restaurant, ordering that expensive champagne you really wanted to try. Ready to show that pretty, wide smile you always gave Touya when you saw him.

Right?

Touya couldn’t think- couldn’t breathe as he sped down the street. His grip on the wheel was so tight that his staples were close to popping. The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the persistent honking of cars that he nearly collided with.

What should’ve taken an hour took a measly twenty minutes. Without a second thought, Touya was already out of the car.

Upon entering, he received perturbed glances. He didn’t blame them, his clothes were bloodied, several staples unhinged from the skin.

“S-sir?” a tiny voice squeaked. He glanced at the receptionist desk, the bright chandeliers illuminating her meek stare that looked borderline terrified. He probably looked like a villain.

“D-do you have a reservation.”

“Yes.” He answered gruffly, head craning to see if he could catch sight of you.

“Your name please.”

“Touya.” He gritted, eyes focusing back on the receptionist who didn’t seem to believe him. She ducked her head to check, eyes scanning frantically.

“Oh, yes!” She smiled, it was too wide to be real but, frankly, Touya didn’t care. All he needed to know was that you were here.

“Table 15.” She pointed. “You won’t miss it.”

Touya didn’t bother to reply, legs already scrambling towards what he hoped would be you. Ignoring the stares that followed behind him.

Table 12

Table 13

Table 14

Table 15-

Touya's heart nearly stops, vision tinging with black as his knees nearly crumble beneath him.

You weren’t there.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

When Touya returned to the now, Paranormal Liberation Army hideout, Shigaraki had given him a smile so sweet that it had caused Touya's blood to run cold.

However, Touya did not pry, choosing to ignore the guilty glances the rest of the league sent his way. And he hated himself for it, hated the coward he'd grown to be in such a short period of time.

Later on that night, he returned to your desolate apartment, choosing to take a cigarette from your half- empty pack.

Yes, Touya despised cigarettes but at that moment they'd never tasted so sweet. His lungs didn't itch, he didn't feel abyssal. He just felt— soothed. As he took several drags, Touya silently pleaded for the nicotine to somehow make every fiber of his being believe that you had decided to finally leave.

That you had finally realized that a villain like him was no good and would only put your life at risk.

However, his façade had cracked when he'd found multiple files on your desolate laptop, drafts of your story in the making. The first page dedicated to your love for giving you the motivation to publish your first ever book.

And at that moment, for the first time in his godforsaken life, Touya wished he could cry. To show you, somehow that he was grateful for everything you had given him. That he was thankful and sorry for letting his mirror that reflected thousands of moments with you -your arms cradling him, him cradling you- shatter into fractured pieces.

As Touya Todoroki sat on a velvet sofa, arms wide and camera ready, a piece of his brain fabricated the image of you next to him --adorned in a sapphire blue dress, showing him that pretty, pretty smile that he’d grown to love, he told you —and told the world the story he never had the chance to.

To simply, atone.

#dabi x reader #dabi angst #dabi fluff #mha x reader #mha fluff #mha angst

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