#if i like anything abt this piece it’s the little curl on his left side | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

froggyworlds · 1 year

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copy and pasted directly from the notes app on my phone, written when I first heard abt the mandela catalogue but didn’t really know anything about it. these characters are kinda based on Adam and Jonah? except I didn’t really know who Adam and Jonah were at the time.

tw for minor eldritch horror and blood

“Sam? Sam!” Mike’s voice slices through the quiet static of the forest, shadows watching his every move and tugging on his limbs as he spins around, squinting into the dark. “Sam! Please, say something!”

The trees give him no response, laughing at the futility of his efforts with every gentle creak of their branches in the cold nighttime breeze. It’s cold for summer, and Mike regrets not bringing a hoodie on this excursion.

He glances back through the forest towards his car, discarded on the side of the rural, barren road. Its door is still open, the light from the interior spilling out unnaturally into the shadows. Mike tightens his grip on his flashlight, waving it like a weapon and sending the shadows dancing around him in a mind-bending, painful lightshow.

He treks into the woods after the vague trail his friend has left behind: a snapped twig here, a ripped piece of clothing here, a small spray of ruby-red droplets dazzling his eyes when they catch in the light of his torch-

The flashlight flickers dangerously, and if Mike was epileptic he’d most certainly be having a seizure right now. In surprise, the young man drops his only source of light, and it blinks out, swallowed by the night which mocks his foolishness.

He tries to bend down to pick it up, but his fingers can’t seem to find it in the pitch black leaves from last year’s autumn. The moon is his only light now, casting pale, silvery rays through the smothering blanket of unusually bare branches woven tightly over his head, a ghostly halo and a crown of thorns.

Something slithers off to his right and he whirls around like a cornered animal, eyes flashing in terror. Nothing’s there but the faded gleam of a grin from the rocks, glinting like teeth in the moonlight. Twisted claws wrap around his throat and his chest as a voice fills his head rather than his ears, its language none he’s ever learned and yet one he understands in painful clarity.

The universe is an insignificant speck, it explains, and he is even less than that. Mike grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, worried if he opens them they’ll drizzle out of his skull and down his face.

“Sam,” he begs one last time, “please help me.”

No one is coming.

Something comes.

It shrieks with a half-human half-shattered emotion like flowers opening to reveal needles and Mike’s mind can’t comprehend it any further than that and doesn’t try to, and the false angel wings spread over his eyes are blown away in a gust of wind like a tsunami.

Shadow and shadow clash, dagger moonlight against rippling bark, skin and fabric and blacked-out eyes and grey faces and-

LEAVE.

Mike opens his eyes and they stay in their solid form in his eye sockets, where they’re supposed to be. Sam is curled up against a tree nearby, shaking, hands (with fingers just a little too long and a little to sharp) over his face. Blood that’s too dark to be blood stains his appendages, his clothes, the ground around him, and a single feather-sliver-tear-in-reality lays crushed under his foot.

“Not in a thousand years.”

Sam doesn’t look up, doesn’t move besides the ever-present shaking of his body that’s almost still. He isn’t breathing, isn’t alive, but he still sits in the same forest as Mike does and fears the same shadows as Mike does and fears himself, but Mike doesn’t.

They both think they might throw up.

“I came all the way out here to find you and almost got killed by an impostor from another dimension or whatever the fuck they are for my efforts,” Mike says, voice sharp. “Plus, you saved my guts and my sanity. No way in Hell I’m just leaving you out here to fold in on yourself, so get up and let’s go home and bring a baseball bat to my dad’s old TV and read a dumb book, okay?”

Sam still doesn’t move, still doesn’t have a heartbeat. There’s silence, then he clenches his fists and releases them and pulls his hands away from his face, which is too dark to see. Whatever he has instead of insides writhes under his skin and he winces, a motion- a reaction that’s just a little too human-like.

He can’t. He can’t go home again. Mike has to understand that.

Mike doesn’t understand, or if he does he refuses to accept it.

“This doesn’t change anything. You’re not like them. We’ve still known each other for years. You’re still my best friend.”

Sam’s face tries to thrash its way out from under his hoodie, but he puts a hand over it and turns around instead.

“No, I’m not. I fucking ate him - that’s not even the right word to describe what I did - and took his place- you’ve known me for less than a month. My entire purpose is to kill you. We are not friends. You’re the protagonist and I’m the mindless, manipulative monster that’s been terrorizing your world for generations. That’s how it works.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Mike spits. “And I’ll prove it.”

Warm arms wrap around a creature that was never, ever intended to receive affection. A narrative with a clear intention sputters out and dies, choking up salt water and collapsing in a pile of its own blood and outsides-that-were-once-insides.

Sam sobs and hugs his friend back, and the tiny pointless speck of a universe they live in breathes a sigh of relief.

#mythic's drabbles

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kae-karo · 3 years

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thomato/tomokazu brainrot

i'm living in the 'ayato is tomo' world where ayato ran from home due to the vision hunt decree and thoma/ayaka knew about him disappearing, tried to keep it under wraps, etc

thoma always loved ayato and hated when he started talking abt leaving, bc it went from 'vision hunt decree bad' to 'i literally can't do anything and i can't live like this' and he left thoma and thoma felt betrayed

ayato (changed his name to tomo) met kazuha, they traveled together for a while. tomokazu brainrot ensues. but then tomo got fed up with the vision hunt decree (kept him up at night that it was still going on) and finally went to challenge baal. didn't die, bc she recognized him, as did sara, but he almost did. kazuha took his vision, which seemed to die out bc he ran away with it.

but ayato recovered (as ayato) and forgot his ambitions and his hurt about the decree, which thoma is conflicted over - on the one hand, he has his ayato back. on the other, both he and ayaka know what happened, and ayato is still...different. he looks to thoma for comfort, but mumbles a name - something like 'kazuha' - in his sleep. when he sleeps, which isn't often enough for thoma's concerns.

one day, thoma finds ayato sitting in front of a mirror with his hair tied up in a high ponytail, just staring at his reflection. frowning. he notices thoma, tries to smile but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. 'just messing around', he says with a forced laugh, and thoma's stomach turns. that's how he'd turned up to fight baal, with his hair like that. that's how thoma almost lost him, permanently. he laughs louder, comes to ayato's side and pulls the ribbon from his hair. lets it fall, then ties it like his own, and it falls in an elegant wave down his back. this is his ayato, thoma reminds himself, but it isn't.

after a while, he asks. do you remember where you were? ayato doesn't. lots of shrugs, but his gaze goes distant, and he excuses himself from thoma's presence. thoma doesn't follow him, not at first, but when he finally does, he finds ayato sitting beneath a tree, some stray cat he's coaxed onto the estate grounds curled up in his lap. his hair tied up high on his head. this long, it looks more like ayaka's, but he'd cut it shorter when he left. this long, it looks like he could be ayato again, but thoma knows that he isn't.

he looks for kazuha afterward, but finds little. not a family name, and for all he knows, a fake, but he doesn't give up. can't, when ayato asks him to help cut his hair - he's started wearing it up, though he jokes that he can't look just like ayaka or nobody will ever be able to tell them apart, so won't you help me, thoma? and thoma does, of course. he could never quite say no to ayato. has loved him for far too long to-

to want him to stay where he's unhappy, in a life and a time and a stasis and an eternity that he'd tried to escape. thoma understands it better, now, even if it hurts. when he sees kazuha, hears his name from gorou for the first time, thoma nearly breaks down. hand over his mouth, trying to hold back tears, he stalks over to kazuha. no recognition flashes in his eyes, though, and he wonders - hates that he wonders, but does all the same - if ayato ever spoke of him. if he ever missed thoma enough to mention him to someone else so obviously precious to him.

ayato, he says when he manages to lower his hand, and kazuha stares. blinks. then recognition dawns, bright and hot, and his eyes go wide with the sharp breath he inhales. tears spring to his eyes then, too, and thoma doesn't know how to handle that. but they stand in the middle of the resistance camp and thoma's two seconds from losing his composure as well, so he tips his head toward the trees and kazuha follows

it's painful, telling him. harder than he thought it'd be, but thoma understands that pain all the same - he's felt it, too. kazuha takes it all in silence, tears gleaming but yet unfallen, and thoma doesn't know what to say when he asks if ayato remembers him. how to say yes, he does and he doesn't, he calls your name in his sleep and doesn't remember it in the morning. how to tell him who thoma wants ayato to be, who he was before, and not who he was with kazuha. thoma isn't a bad person, but he feels insanely selfish right now, as though he's waving his ayato in kazuha's face.

kazuha kept his vision, though. kept it, hoped without hoping, and thoma's stomach twists. guilt, guilt more than anything - he doesn't want to lose ayato again. how can he lose ayato again, how can he give his ayato away? will returning the vision restore his memories, too? kazuha asks, and thoma wants to say it won't. he wants to protect ayato and protect himself, because what if ayato does remember? what if he loves kazuha more than he ever loved thoma? he certainly can't have loved thoma more, or he'd have returned, right?

but thoma isn't even certain this is his ayato. he is, sometimes, and thoma wants that, but...but it hurts, to see the distance in ayato's stare, the sleepless nights where he wanders in the forest, where thoma follows him from afar. where he does nothing but walk though the evening, until he turns around and thoma rushes back so that he can pretend he hadn't been watching out for ayato. even though ayato's skill with a blade has only improved, though he can't remember how or why. it takes only one minute of watching kazuha spar with another resistance member for thoma to determine who he'd learned from.

there is a pain in letting go. there is a pain in holding on. and thoma can't do either one - he loves ayato too deeply to be selfish.

i don't know if he'll remember, but we should find out, shouldn't we?

it's easier than he expected, traveling with another wanted individual, and kazuha knows too well the burdens of keeping himself hidden. thoma understands a part of it, too, but kazuha is nothing short of incredible at it. it's no wonder ayato stuck around, you're a natural at this, he'd said, on a better day, when the sun shone and kazuha had kept them deftly clear of any shogunate army patrols. the wrong words, he'd realized a little too late. kazuha only nodded, a sharp thing for his typically gentle demeanor, and thoma did not know what to do with that. couldn't get more than a few words out of him the rest of the day.

he loved you too, thoma thinks in kazuha's direction. he doesn't know how to say it, though, because it isn't his place to say. but if not his, then whose? ayato doesn't remember. and it hurts, to see kazuha hurt in the same way that thoma did. he's certainly not a weak spirit, thoma's come to find, but he is a gentle one. kind and a bit mischievous when he wants to be, and thoma can see it, why ayato would fall for him. two of a kind in such different ways. had ayato found comfort with kazuha? adventure? something else, something he'd been searching for when he left? maybe thoma will never know. maybe the only one left to remember is kazuha.

what was he like? thoma asks one night around a dim fire, stirred to life on occasion by either he or kazuha. kazuha's gaze flicks up, and thoma does not need to clarify his question. excited. every little thing brought him such excitement. a thunderstorm, a clear day, a full moon. a small smile tugs at kazuha's lips, the first thoma has seen in days. it calms something within him - i will keep him safe, i will keep his heart safe for you, ayato. kazuha tells him of ayato- of tomo, the name he went by until his last day, until he left kazuha and went to face the raiden shogun herself. and thoma listens, and aches, and loves ever more fiercely. ayato was ayato, the pieces that kazuha saw are the pieces that thoma saw, if from a different angle. you are pretty short after all, thoma says with a grin, and kazuha blinks at him. there's a rush of wind, suddenly, and kazuha's hovering aloft several feet in the air, and thoma laughs louder than he has in well over a year. and kazuha floats down again, rests a little closer to thoma this time.

what was ayato like? kazuha asks in turn, and thoma knows that he does not refer to the time since he's returned. that is for...for later. a rascal, actually, i bet you two got along far too well, he says, and kazuha laughs then, and his head falls on thoma's shoulder, and it's late and dark and warm and thoma talks for as long as he can, every story he'd clung desperately to when ayato left him, and he shares them all with kazuha, who loved him too.

when they return, ayato waits for them at the teahouse. hold onto his vision, let me go in first? thoma asks, and kazuha nods. he wonders if kazuha wishes to put this off, too. how does it feel to have your heart ripped out, returned bloody and tattered, only to feel it torn from you again?

thoma, where have you been? he's crushed in a hug before he knows what to do, what to say, and tears prick his eyes. you had me worried sick! ayato pulls back, and thoma stares at him. sees him in a way he hasn't before - not his ayato. not the ghost of tomo. the two as one. he drags ayato back into a hug. i brought someone here to meet you, he says into ayato's ear, and when he turns, kazuha stands in the doorway. frozen, terrified. he must look to kazuha as he did before, if a bit more polished, and thoma wishes he could hear kazuha's thoughts.

he gets ayato's instead. who are you? not unkind, but curious. why...why am i crying? a laugh from ayato's lips, one that kazuha echoes before he clamps a hand over his mouth. the other holds his vision, ayato's vision, perhaps even his memories.

my name is kaedehara kazuha, i traveled with you for a time while you were running from the vision hunt decree. i knew you as tomo. the name carries such reverence, such love, and thoma turns back to find ayato's eyes wide. tears, as he said, leak from the corners, and thoma wonders again - did you love him more? do you still? how does it feel to lose one's heart?

kazuha... so quietly spoken. does he remember? it's hard to tell, with how he clings still to thoma. it's hard to hope, but he hopes all the same - he loves you, do you remember?

#tomokazu #thomato #genshin #genshin impact #i have no basis for this so don't take it as anything other than a hc #kazuha #thoma #ayato

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todoscript · 4 years

Text

Work of Art

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader genre: smut. word count: 3.6k+ warnings: 18+. shibari. bondage. submissive bakugou. dominant reader. begging. praising. bakugou being a little bit of a brat?

anonymous requested: okay but what abt.. submissive bakugo👉👈 him being all bratty and shuts up when you deny him—

author’s note: ohhh boyyyy... submissive bakugou really got me writing more than 3k’s worth of filth haha, but i hope you enjoy! shoutout to my gals, rosie ( @shoutogepi ) & val ( @shoutodoki ) for indulging with me during our talks about sub bnha boys

“Hmm, I don’t see why you’re so against this,” your voice sounds out, and Bakugou immediately perceives the saccharine dripping upon every word, a lilt of a smile dancing on your colored lips, painted in a vivid rosy red pigment that only enhances your seduction. Despite how sweet you sound, he knows that underneath that layer of sugar lies a venom waiting to intoxicate him—ensnare his reasoning and leave him utterly vulnerable to your mischief. As in this moment, you embody every characteristic akin to a vixen, enveloped in the lacy fabric of your black lingerie.

Bakugou sits before you bound to a chair with an intricate network of cordage twined across his naked skin. The patterns and shapes knotted together contrast stunningly against his expanse of hard muscle—reminiscent of paint on canvas. And you tonight are the artist.

“You look so pretty, like a beautiful piece of art…” you say languidly. Each syllable uttered is drawn out in alluring breaths that somehow makes him feel hazy. He grits his teeth at how much that extra flair in your voice affects him, eyebrows narrowing tightly as he fidgets in his seat. His arms and wrists ache from just a simple wriggle, your meticulous work granting him no chance to get free.

“Ah-ah, you’re not gonna get out of this one,” you tease. Right as he opens his mouth for a snappy retort, the words are swooped from under him when your hands begin to trace his naked skin—starting from his thigh, up to his abs, and then landing to his chest, where you make a point to taunt him by dancing your fingertips there before bending down to meet his eyes. Your ruby red lips curve impishly at what you reduced him to. “You can try as much as you like, but I’ve tied the ropes this way so you can’t get free~ Don’t want you to spoil the fun after all,” you sing. Fully aware of your boyfriend’s strength built upon many years of arduous hero training alongside that powerful quirk of his, you made sure Pro Hero Ground Zero would not turn the tables on you in his haste for pleasure tonight.

Thus, his usual brash exterior dwindles in the face of your ministrations when you play with the rope a bit more. When he notices your eyes descend to his angry red cock that stands firm amid the knotwork surrounding it, his impatience builds. Bakugou wets his lips, finally ushering some words out from his dry throat.

“Fuck… Stop stalling already…” he tells you, voice borderline on a plea, but his remaining pride pushes the inflection back in hopes it resembles even a lick of his regular gruff tone. Your hums in reply don’t entail much, other than the fact you’re still prolonging his needs.

“Stalling? Who said I was stalling?” You feign ignorance before deciding to take a seat on him, straddling his thighs. “I just want to admire my work of art a bit more… I did a pretty good job—” your hand suddenly comes to his cock, fingers coaxing its hardness that makes his breath hitch, “don’t you think?”

For once, Bakugou’s scrounging for words at the sudden contact. He’s not used to being so speechless when it comes to passion in the bedroom with you. If anything—moaning and yelling aside—he regards himself the more vocal one between the two of you, his dirty talk and crude language a routine he always enacted to get you hot, bothered, and oh so ready for him. However, the shibari ropes braided across his body press a button that spurs him to be so… submissive.

God, him and “submissive” do not belong in the same sentence.

He thinks this, and yet the aesthetic arrangement on his skin emphasizes his sensuality and vulnerability, and it somehow makes arousal wholly envelop his cock.

“Well?” You bring him back to the situation at hand by thumbing over the slit of his length, slick with his pre-cum. The touch causes a groan to slip past his lips. “I asked you a question, Katsuki.” You stroke his length up and down for every word, stopping right at the end and leaving his cock weeping for more of your touch, strained by the rope.

“Ah, f-fuck—” He internally curses himself for the stutter. Glancing at you, he heeds the smirk that still hangs proudly on your red lips.

Boy, does he itch to wipe it off your face with bruising kisses and have wanton moans singing from them when he pounds you into the bed. To his dismay, however, that itch remains unreachable thanks to your painstakingly elaborate composition. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, this shibari shit you performed on him was executed with great attention to detail for him to be left so aroused and unable to break free in this damn chair. But would he ever say this to you out loud? Hell no. So he settles for defiance instead.

Bakugou looks you straight in the eye with a smug expression plastered on his face. “Hah, is this supposed to impress me? Seems like a bunch of amateur work to me, babe,” he scoffs boldly, earning a raised brow from you at his attitude despite the position he’s in. Perhaps he needs a reminder that no matter how much he squirms, he isn’t getting a sliver of authority tonight.

“Is that so?” You jab, finger looping around the cordage tied across his collarbones to pull him forward in his chair. His face is so close to yours; he can feel your breath on his lips and smell the enticing fragrance of your perfume. It’s an off-beat mix of rose and jasmine that gets his blood pumping from just a whiff. “I don’t think you truly understand the position you’re in right now, Suki,” you muse sensually, lips tugging back into a smirk that has him second-guessing his actions, “I just need to remind you then.”

At that, your hand immediately falls to his cock, stout and weepy with pre-cum, capturing Bakugou’s attention. He groans wantonly while you stroke it. Dropping to your knees, you watch as your ministrations evoke bliss into his cock from below. You can tell without even glancing at him that he’s biting his tongue to suppress his obscene noises. However, the increasing volume in his voice betrays him.

“Agh, fucking goddd—” he drawls beneath his breath when you decide to pick up the pace with your hand, applying the right amount of pressure that had his walls slowly cracking in front of you. The strain on his body from the ropes heightens his lust. Bakugou tugs on the restraints in the fit of pleasure building inside him.

“Hm well look at that. You were so bold before, but now look at you—” Your other hand goes to fondle his balls, the extra sensation making him buck in his seat, “a hard, aching mess at my touch, isn’t that right?”

“Ugh, if you—fuck—think I’m going to give in— Haaahhh...” His words are a jumbled mess. Bakugou leans against his seat, tossing his head back while involuntarily rocking his hips into your hand.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over your moaning and groaning,” you mock, watching his brows knit together at the lust consuming his being. His panting comes out ragged while he gasps for air, thighs flexing at the fire coursing through his body that teeters on a tightrope. However, before he can reach his high, the sensations are ripped away when you quickly remove your digits from him, recognizing his imminent release.

Bakugou shoots his eyes open. A sharp shift in his seat has the chair’s legs scraping against the floor. “What the hell?!” he growls, practically snarling the words out. There’s a wave of anger heard in his tone that you don’t take a liking to. You wag your finger.

“That’s no way to talk, Katsuki.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I was so damn close to cumming! Why the hell did you stop?!” Bakugou yells vehemently with a pierce in his red eyes. You run your hands on his thighs as you lean up to return the look.

“Y’know if you’re going to act like this—act like a brat—I might as well just leave you here and not let you cum at all tonight, hm?” you threaten, and the notion brings his temper to an immediate silence. The idea of you keeping him bound to this chair while his cock cries for release is enough to diminish his poise. He sinks in his seat submissively when you inch closer, eyeing the bright red of your painted lips that curls salaciously with each word you utter to him.

“But if you behave, sit here obediently, and continue looking all pretty for me, I might let you cum. How’s that sound?” you offer.

He bites his lip. It’s like he’s making a deal with a succubus right now, that damn voice of yours coaxing him.

“F-Fine…” he manages to answer. You smile at his compliance before placing a kiss on his cheek. You’re granted a glimpse of the faint, red imprint left on his skin thanks to your lipstick when you detach from him. Almost as if you’ve marked him as yours.

“Good boy.” The praise sends a shiver down his spine as you whisper it into his ear. He watches you descend onto your knees again, gazing at his cock like you’re about to pounce. And god, does he wish you would just do it already, but instead, you choose to prolong him some more and glance at him.

“Now… what do you want me to do to you?”

Really? Did you have to ask this? Bakugou furrows his brows at how you play cloy. “Argh, you already know—”

“I want to hear it from you though,” you interject, leaning forward and running a finger along a prominent vein on the side. His pretty cock twitches at your touch. “Use your words and tell me all the things you want me to do to you, ’Suki.”

Before he can bite his tongue, his mind is already one step ahead of him, blurting out his thoughts shamelessly. “God, I want to be in your mouth. I want you to suck my dick and let me cum in your throat. And then I want you to get up here, ride me to oblivion, and let me paint your pussy so fucking white. Please please please—” He adds in his pleas for good measure, the desire to climax overpowering his pride in the heat of the moment that feeds your ego.

The word “please” has never sounded so dulcet coming out of that usually vulgar mouth of his. Who knew Bakugou Katsuki was capable of begging so well? It’d be an absolute shame not to reward him for his good behavior.

You lick your lips. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Then you begin acting on his wishes, your tongue making contact with his hard cock, gradually running up the side until you reach the head. Swirling against the tip causes a growl to bellow from his throat, jerking forward when you wrap your lips around the entire head. He watches with lidded eyes as your lipstick begins smearing across his dick, sucking him in like that.

His moans sound frenzied the more his cock inches into your warm cavern. The sounds encourage you to eagerly bob your head up and down his length with your spit collecting in the back of your throat. You adore the way his cock feels in your mouth, so heavy and thick, and especially love the fact that your controlled pace has your man reeling with pleasure, finally letting his unabashed whimpers out. You savor every little sound like it’s your favorite song on repeat, which it might as well be from how slick gathers at your cunt listening to them.

“Shit! Baby, please don’t fucking stop!” he begs, head tossed behind him as you moan your response into his dick, picking up speed. Your hand pumps his shaft a few more times until you bring it down to your panties to move the material aside and rub your clit. The contact sends a tingle through your body that urges you to bottom his cock into your mouth. Feeling your wetness enveloping his cock gratifies every nerve in his body until it ultimately leaves him undone.

”Agh! Sh-Shit—!” he curses, his climax peaking as his white cum spurts inside your throat. You make sure to swallow every last drop, tasting his delicious cream on your tongue as you detach from him with a lewd pop.

Bakugou is still catching his breath by the time you happily wipe your mouth of your excess spit and any lingering drops of his delectable seed, his chest heaving in and out with the red rope flexing at his every movement. A haze clouds his vision from the intensity of his orgasm, but he’s at least able to see you standing before him—lipstick now messy but that mischief in your eyes persisting.

“Sukiiii~ You’re absolutely gorgeous like this—tied up, sweaty, and gasping for air just because of me,” you praise.

“B-Baby…” Bakugou’s tone somehow rings higher than usual. Your eyebrows perk up, the wetness at your core saturating through your panties hearing the shameless little whine.

“Kiss me… please…”

Well, since you asked so nicely…

You straddle his thighs and bring your lips to his own, letting him taste the bittersweetness of his cum from your tongues fervently melding against each other. Soon the makeout session comes to a halt with a quick peck on his lips. He peers into your glimmering expression with an insatiable need, struggling in his bonds as his cock hardens once more at your proximity—skin so warm against him. But your lingerie still obscures him from your real treasures. He wants to rip it off you already.

“Can I get out this damn thing yet?” he asks, quiet yet impatient. You shake your head.

“’Fraid not, Katsuki, I still need to ‘ride you to oblivion,’ remember?” you quote him.

Crap. He does. And surprisingly, there are no objections when you remind him. His silence amid your established authority doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you grin devilishly at how pliant he’s become throughout the night.

As if you’ve read his mind, your hand finds the clasp fastened on your back. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for me—” a simple flick of your wrist undoes the grip holding your bra together, “I’ll reward you for the rest of the night.” On cue, the skimpy garment glides down your shoulders.

Tossing the bra into the void of the bedroom, you can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your lips at Bakugou’s widened eyes aimed at your tits bared before him. He absentmindedly shifts in a vain attempt to lift his hands and grab your mounds, forgetting the rope bound on his arms behind his back prevents him from touching your soft, naked skin.

“Aw, you want to touch my tits?” you chide. Bakugou grunts in response, and you’re amused by the way he turns his head bashfully as if you miss the subtle blush dusting his cheeks. Such a cute little act.

Cupping your hand under his jaw brings his attention back to you. You nudge him so he faces you again, not allowing his eyes to gander anywhere else but on your own.

“I’ll let you do a little bit more than touch…” Your thumb lightly brushes his lower lip, pulling it down ever so slightly, and he realizes what you want him to do.

And boy, is he eager to abide by your desires.

Opening his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate to latch onto your right nipple immediately, tongue poking out around the bud. You hum in content at how passionately he licks and sucks, petting the back of his head and brushing your fingers through his soft blonde hair to encourage him along.

“Ooooh… That’s it Suki… You’re doing so well, sucking on my nipple like that,” you moan as Bakugou moves over to your left breast, giving its twin the same amount of attention. He groans between licks, flattening his tongue and drawing out the sound erotically against your skin. It spurs you to grind your clothed pussy on his erection, earning you his hisses between tugging your nub into his mouth.

In the meantime, your other hand, not caressing his locks, stumbles upon your wetness seeping past your intimates, practically soaking through onto his dick. A few strokes of your fingertips beneath your panties gathers your gossamer-like slick that interlaces your digits together in a web. You tear Bakugou off your bud to hover your glossy fingers in front of him. Right away, he begins diligently licking away at the slippery sheen, moans lewdly vibrating deep in his throat with each swipe of his tongue.

“How do I taste?”

“So fucking good. Shit, I want more,” he says. You grin, flattered by his enthusiasm to devour more of your essence. However, you’d have to put that on hold for another time.

“Hm, not tonight, I’m afraid. I need you inside me right this second.” Your words have pure anticipation sparking through his body. He stares attentively as you lift yourself over the head of his cock, aligning his length into your soaked hole, panties pushed to the side.

“Arghhh…” Bakugou hisses between gritted teeth when the first inch enters, fists clenched around nothing at how tightly you’re squeezing him. Your whimpers accompany him as you adjust to his well-endowed size, a pleasant burn seizing you. Heat sprouts in your abdomen the more you descend on Bakugou’s firm, aching cock, eventually bottoming out with a long sigh.

“Fucking hell, you’re so damn fucking tight—”

If your mouth feels good, then your pussy is practically heaven, inducing him in hot, tight bliss when you start bouncing up and down.

“Ah, Suki, your cock is so big… so hard…Mmph, I love how it fills me up!” you sing, arms wound around his neck, tits pressing against his chest. Having to sit back with nothing to leverage him amid your silky walls pressing around his cock, bursts of mini-explosions crackle in his palms. A musky scent of burnt caramel suddenly invades your senses, making your cunt clench tighter. Bakugou curses at how you hug his length.

“Fuck! Baby, I want you to ride my cock faster! Make me cum so damn hard that I feel it for weeks!”

Even when taking on a submissive role, Bakugou’s dirty talk never ceases to rile you up. You nod in reply, thighs flexed while your tempo on his cock increases to the point where it ensnares both of you in the throes of pleasure. Unable to do much except allow you to work yourself on and off him, he settles for leaning in and capturing your lips, which you respond to earnestly by parting your mouth to let your tongues dance again. A few particular hard drops later cause him to detach himself from you to groan out loudly.

The echo of your skins making firm contact against each other fogs his thoughts. His eyes are half-lidded when they gaze at you. You giggle at his expression—shrouded in pure bliss from his blanketed red eyes to his tongue peeking out of his lips. Caressing his jawline, you tilt his head up.

“Whose good boy are you?” you ask. It takes a second for him to answer.

“Y-Yours…”

You pry on, not letting up for even a second in your bouncing, “Who made you a pretty work of art tonight?”

“You! Fuck, you did!” he cries out, head tossed to the side that grants you access to the beautiful expanse of his neck. Your mouth finds his skin, kisses ascending until you reach the junction below his cut jawline as he continues reeling at the sensations building inside him.

“That’s right, Suki. So good, so obedient. I think it’s time I let you cum, yeah? Let you fill my little hole up with all your creamy white goodness…”

Your pace escalates quickly, not granting a relief of pause until you both begin arriving on the cusp of release.

“Fuckfuckfuck!! C-Cumming—!” Bakugou yells out, your grappling walls milking his twitching cock that surges into his climax. As promised, his cum coats your insides wholly white, stuffing you to the brim that has the heat inside you lurching. It’s right after the apex of his pleasure that your pussy spasms around him, body trembling, and toes curled as you peak into your high. He licks at your nipple arched in front of his face while your cries fill the space of the room.

By the time the two of you settle down in the aftermath of your euphorias, you’re both sweaty, panting messes. Bakugou more so as his head rests against your shoulder, allowing you to pet his hair between your fingers and comfort the tremors still racking through him.

“You did so so well, Katsuki. I’m very proud of you.” You lay a sweet kiss on his temple. Your praises manage to elicit a content hum from his lips while he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Before you can get up and remove the tight ropes still lining his upper body, Bakugou suddenly lifts his head and meets your eyes, a tired yet devious expression painted on his face.

“Next time, we should tie you up in these things.”

#bnha x reader #bnha smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki smut

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mikwrites-archive · 4 years

Text

sweet dreams (are made of this)

✞ prompt: “You know that part in scary movies when somebody does something really stupid and everyone hates them for it? This is it.”

✞ pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader ✞ warnings: blood mention, the word bastard ✞ genre: fluff, a little crack, modern vampire au ✞ wc: 2.7k

✞ a/n: i was supposed to finish this yesterday so it would fit for jeonghan’s birthday too but it’s still his bday for me so its okay shhhh (even tho i rushed it oops) but it still fits under the cwc october event which i was very excited abt so i hope u enjoy!!

There’s an incredible amount of ups and downs to being roommates with Yoon Jeonghan.

The main downside was that he seemed to gain the reputation of the college campus crush. And even worse, you couldn’t find any reason to disregard the attraction towards him, with his good looks, intelligence and wit, musical ability, and athleticism.

Yet the upside is the very same reason, leaving your dorm empty for your own leisure often due to his popularity.

Perhaps that was for your own good, or his, that you didn’t find out his secret until later.

As you step inside one evening, one typically reserved for movie nights and indulging in junk food, you’re taken aback at the figure sitting on Jeonghan’s mattress. You recognize him as Kwon Soonyoung, the leader of the dance team, and he greets you cheerfully. You’re too flustered to notice the way he seems out of it, and he giggles, flopping down.

“Any spare blood?”

“Excuse me?” You blink, pausing in uneasiness as if you’d misheard. He opens his mouth to respond, sitting up and swaying slightly as if he were drunk, but before he can voice the clattering thoughts, the bathroom door slams open.

“Sorry, we were playing basketball and he got hit on the head really hard, just ignore him.” Jeonghan butts in quickly, hiding something behind his back while taking his friend by the arm, who sends you a toothy smile and a wave.

“Sorry if he said anything weird.” Jeonghan offers as he re-enters the room, and you assure him otherwise automatically, inquiring if Soonyoung was alright.

You’ve always been on amicable terms, always been something easily compelling about Jeonghan, teetering on the border of acquaintances and friendship, and you think it’s this moment that tips it towards the latter.

“Any plans for tonight?” He pipes up curiously, and you tell him hesitantly, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds fun.”

“Did you want to join?”

“If it’s not too much trouble?” He looks hopeful, neither of you even remembering the last time you both spent a night in the dorm in each other’s presence, and you rummage through your shiny bag of sweets to avoid awkward contact.

Yet you’ve always been told it’s only an awkward situation if you make it one.

“I’ve got enough snacks to share.”

Throughout the film, you don’t notice the way he barely touches them.

He tells you on a whim one morning, and he has to admit that the fact you hadn’t suspected anything pertaining to his condition surprised him. You’d grown closer in the passing months, and with many close calls, Jeonghan decided to bite the bullet.

“I’m a vampire.”

“Ha, ha, funny joke.” You don’t look up from pouring coffee into your chipped mug, and Jeonghan blinks.

“I’m not joking.”

“Yeah, and I’m a werewolf.” You deadpan.

“I’d hope not. Though I’m sure I would’ve been able to tell.”

Finally looking up at him, you study his expression, and it’s the epitome of solemness and sincerity, causing you to truly consider his words.

“So… those juice packets… that time with Soonyoung…” your mind races to draw the connections, and Jeonghan shrugs.

“Blood, and that idiot overworked himself that day and our dorm was the closest.”

“This better not be another prank.” You warn, and Jeonghan smiles.

“I’d never dream of it.”

You come to the conclusion that there’s no evidence to point otherwise to Jeonghan’s confession, and your mind is turned into a tangled mess of frayed threads.

“You know that part in scary movies when somebody does something really stupid and everyone hates them for it? This is it.”

You’re spinning on your desk chair, the circles making your head swim, but maybe that was just your mind attempting to comprehend the weight of his statement.

“Okay, rude.”

You lift your head to see if he’s really offended by your deprecating comment, but he’s absorbed with his phone, slumped down in his bed, smirking at whatever was being displayed. He glances up, catching your gaze with a quirked eyebrow.

“What?”

“You’re a vampire. And my roommate.”

And someone you have feelings for, your subconscious whispers devilishly and you swat it away like a buzzing gnat.

“So?”

“I dunno.” You sigh, unable to stitch together your words comprehensible to yourself and him, afraid of piecing together a monstrous Frankenstein to loom over you both. Instead you let your head fall to your desk with a full thunk.

He seems to suspect your hidden truth, and sets his phone aside, sighing.

“Didn’t you know you aren’t supposed to invite vampires in? That’s on you, really.”

You don’t reply, so he shuffles over, tapping the top of your head. When you don’t respond, he tugs at your hair lightly, still garnering no reaction. So he places his hands on each side of your head, lifting so you’d finally face him.

“If you want me to go, I’ll go. Mingyu has a ton of spare bedrooms at his place I can crash at.”

But you don’t want him to leave, pulling yourself from his touch, and with a dismissive air, as if you didn’t care whether he left or not, you tell him it doesn’t matter, whichever was easier.

“But if you stay, can I ask questions?” You add on, and he laughs.

“Tomorrow. It’s movie night tonight and it’s my turn to choose.”

“So do you sparkle in the sunlight?”

“Please don’t tell me all your questions are from Twilight.” He groans.

You’re lying on your stomach on your bed, Jeonghan sitting cross legged, facing each other.

“It’s a valid question!”

“No, I don’t. I can also eat food, including garlic, though not too much, I can see myself in mirrors, and can go in the sun but get burnt real easily.” He assumes a bored demeanour as he rattles off what you assume to be frequently asked questions. “Process of evolving I guess you can call it.”

You purse your lips, pondering what else to ask. “When were you turned into one?”

“Nineteenth century or so? I travelled the world a lot though, I forget.” He muses, and it’s just a number to you, not settling in his many years of life.

“Who else besides Soonyoung?”

Jeonghan rattles off the names of his friends, some that were completely understandable and others that stunned your thoughts.

“Is it… hard to live for as long as you have?”

He seems startled at your question, and ponders it, turning it over in his mind like the clothes tossed in a washing machine’s rounds.

“Sometimes.” He admits. It’s difficult to amount the trials and effort of living for decades into words, sometimes feeling as if you were stranded in the sea, bobbing with your head barely above the water, gasping for breath. Others, like you were floating in a serene pool, the sun warming your bones. You move on.

“Can I... y’know... see your...” you stretch your lips back slightly to show your teeth tentatively, pointing. Jeonghan obliges, baring his teeth, fangs snapping out briefly and he grins at your fascinated expression.

“Are you gonna ask me how it feels to be bitten by them?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you snort.

“I’m not looking for a death wish.”

“I know you’re curious! Everyone always is.”

Nothing externally changed, settling back into your daily routine (with the exception of Jeonghan spending more nights at the dorm); yet there’s still some inward aspects you both had to deal with.

You detect something’s awry with his mood the minute you walk in, Jeonghan not even sparing you a small nod in greeting or acknowledgment. No matter how tired or upset he may be at times, it never affected his fond disposition towards you. Setting down your belongings on your mattress, you pipe up nervously.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He responds in a clipped tone, pausing before elaborating slightly. “Just hungry. Forgot to restock yesterday. Texted ‘Cheol. Said he’ll come as soon as he can.”

You’ve come to know that expressed hunger for Jeonghan didn’t apply to the human need, but rather the vampire need, and you fidget with your fingers.

“Will you be fine until then?”

He nods curtly, and you know it’s not personal, but the manner it’s delivered stings.

“If you want, you could… I could help.” You finish lamely, nervously.

He snarls, lip curling, and it rises the gooseflesh on your skin, your hands tightening over your phone as your heartbeat pounds out of your chest.

“I said— just drop it, okay?”

You stand there for a few moments, feeling rooted to the floor as he turns away sullenly, and you force yourself to trudge away quietly. When Seungcheol arrives, he pulls you outside after delivering the packets.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He’s just a little grumpy, the equivalence to being hangry.” Seungcheol smiles apologetically. “I hope he didn’t scare you or anything. Jeonghan’s actually pretty tame when he’s hungry, but I know you saw Soonyoung once and they’re quite different.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Seungcheol looks at you curiously.

“Does.... blood taste different depending on the person?”

“Yes and no. For instance, we can tell if someone’s smoked or drank alcohol, but in terms of different people having different tastes, it’s just a matter of blood type. Why?”

“Well, I offered to... y’know...” you tilt your neck, gesturing lightly, and he nods understandingly, a smile and twinkle in his eyes. “But he got really snappish with me, so I guess I thought maybe my blood was weird or something.”

“Did he really?” Seungcheol is unable to hold back his smile this time, and you furrow your eyebrows, so he explains further. “A lot of media nowadays take the vampire biting to a whole sexual level, and to a certain extent it can be true, depending on when you were turned, but for others, it’s common for feeding to be completely off limits to those we're interested in. As a matter of respect, you could say.”

“Are you saying that...”

“I’m not saying anything.” Seungcheol holds up his hands in an air of innocence. “But try asking him.”

You mull over the words as Seungcheol departs, and re-enter the room to meet gazes with Jeonghan, crimson liquid drifting up the straw from the plastic packet.

“I’m sorry I was rude. I know you were just trying to help.” He swallows, licking his lips, and you catch a flash of sharp ivory.

“It’s okay. Seungcheol actually told me something kinda interesting.”

“Like what?” He straightens, setting the blood aside carefully, and you make your decision.

“Nothing.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes, but doesn’t push, and you’re torn between feeling relieved and disappointed.

It’s not brought up again, verbally between anyone or within your thoughts, until Halloween rolls around. It’s almost ironic, you think, the most haunting night of the year opening the chapter that haunted you the past year.

“Are you coming to Mingyu’s party?”

“Wasn’t invited.” You shrug, and Jeonghan laughs.

“Like that stops most people. But if you really care, he said I could bring a plus one and I choose you.” He points at you playfully, as if choosing a Pokemon. “It's a masquerade. He’s always had a liking for those things, he used to throw them all the time back in the days.”

You don’t know how long ago he’s referring to, but you still attempt to picture Jeonghan and Mingyu elaborately dressed and adorned with delicate masks.

“So what do you say?” He leans forwards, as if your answer was an intimate secret, and you tell it to him, never having much luck in refusing Jeonghan.

He tells you he’ll meet you there, yet it’s an hour into the celebrations, and you’ve nursed a few drinks, danced with some strangers, and haven’t seen any sign of him. It’s apparently not uncharacteristic of your roommate, as you converse with the host, Kim Mingyu, so you don’t worry too much.

You’ve forgotten to track the passing hours by the time he arrives, lost in the lull of the rise and fall of voices and faces unknown.

“There you are.”

You almost don’t recognize him, gold spun locks turned to raven black, in addition to the mask resting upon his features.

“I couldn’t find you, so I had a few drinks with the guys.”

“You changed your hair.” It’s a childlike, wondrous instinct, the way your hand comes to curve into his hair, and he lets you.

There’s something addictive in the way you touch him, uncaring to the swaying bodies on the dance floor, the pulse of the music thrumming through your veins.

“Let’s talk somewhere else.” He pulls you away, searching for a relatively quiet place, but the bathroom is taken up by a poor soul retching into the toilet, the bedrooms locked (Mingyu having enough sense with that at least, Jeonghan thinks), so he finds a closet instead.

“Why are we here?”

He doesn’t respond at first, the closet shades slanting horizontal lights, framing his face dangerously, like the edge of a knife.

“I see the way you look at me. Like you love me. I’ve been around enough to see it.” Jeonghan doesn’t let you speak, yet you’re not sure what you’d say if he allowed you to. “You said the stupid part everyone would hate you for in a horror movie was letting me stay. I think so too. But I think my own part is falling in love with you back.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Vampires can't get drunk.” Jeonghan huffs, and you cross your arms disbelievingly. “Why is it that whenever I tell you something serious, you brush me off?”

“Because you don’t have to be so dramatic and make it sound like sarcasm!”

“Well, I’m not trying to!” He glares exasperatedly. You both stand in silence, until you pout.

“You didn’t have to say that liking me was stupid.”

“It is stupid.” Jeonghan snorts. “I’m a vampire. You’re a human.”

“So?”

Jeonghan pauses, sighing.

“I didn’t say I don’t like stupid things. I did confess to you after all.”

“Hey!”

He grins, stepping closer to grab your hands, slender fingers wrapping around your wrists before sliding down, perfectly fitting into your own. You tug him closer, and he propels himself snugly against you, chest to chest, breath fanning upon the shell of your ear.

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t answer, nodding breathlessly, and he leans forwards, smiling against your lips.

Jeonghan takes out a box of mementos for you to rummage through a week later, spreading out the photographs, journal entries, and other knick knacks across your mattress you both sat cross legged upon.

He mainly does it for your amusement and interest, answering the spare question or comment you’d make offhandedly, browsing through his phone, but when you burst into giggles at a seemingly whim, he straightens up.

“What’s so funny?” Jeonghan peers over your shoulder, and you hold up the photograph gently towards him.

It’s not exactly comedic material, but something about the photo tickles your throat with laughter; Jeonghan dressed pristinely, a solemn, almost bored, expression upon his fine features, styled hair without one strand out of place.

“What’s wrong with that picture?” He jutted his bottom lip out accusingly.

“Nothing.” You assure with a gleam of a smile, and he rests his head on your shoulder after some inward deliberation at the truthfulness of your answer. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am I guess.”

He doesn’t move from his position, but you can tell he’s listening intently so you continue with a breathless laugh.

“You’ve lived for so long, and I get to be a part of it. Maybe I’m taking a page out of your dramatics, but I dunno. It’s nice to find something unexpectedly that I didn’t know I was looking for in you, even if it was kind of weird. I guess Seungcheol was right.”

“That was really sweet, and I thought we were going somewhere, until you said the last part.” Jeonghan furrows his eyebrows, looking at you confusedly, and you chuckle, telling him about the time Seungcheol dropped off blood for him last minute.

“Bastard.” Jeonghan mutters, and with your fit of laughter, it’s passed over, Jeonghan’s unsaid words lingering on his tongue.

He sets them free when you fall asleep on his lap, midway through parsing the box’s contents, and he cleans it up with his best to not disrupt your sleep, talking in a soft voice.

“Everybody’s looking for something. I’m glad we found that something in each other, in this lifetime. ” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you stir lightly, smiling gently.

“Me too.”

✞ taglist: @seijoh @soranihimawari @peachy-yabbay

#caratwritersclub #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan imagines #svt x reader #svt x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios

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themagicalmysticalboy · 3 years

Note

PLEASE do that bob&george oneshot there's barely any content for them I love your stuff!!! :D

a/n: in which George and Bob Dylan are v e r y high on acid. this is technically closer to what a shroom high is like as opposed to an acid high but who cares abt semantics, right?

You've Really Got A Hold On Me

The flower pattern on the wall was doubling and tripling into a never-ending spiral, budding and blossoming in the blink of an eye. John joking and making the intimate circle of people laugh brought the wallpaper’s movements to a slow end. George took in a deep breath, grounding himself. Brian was to his right with his knees to his chest. Cynthia fell to his left, cuddled up against John. Leaving George directly in front of his friend.

They all sat around on the floor as the party around them went on. George wasn’t quite sure what John said but the flame of Cynthia’s lighter dancing strangely as she lit a spliff was enough to have him giggling. A wave-like sensation followed and tumbled through his body pleasantly. His fingers were a retreating tide, stretching impossibly long as he fiddled with a tune on the guitar only to come back to normal. He curled and uncurled his toes, feeling them roll like a carpet being put into storage. His whole body could be a rolled-up carpet for all he knew. Wouldn’t that be nice? But then again, carpets can’t hear and George was quite enjoying the music at the moment. Someone was playing a familiar song on the piano but the name of it couldn’t be placed.

Before he really understood his thought process, he was standing and his guitar was propped against a chair.

“Where you off to?” John was looking up at him with half-lidded eyes and a far-away smile.

“Duh know.” George laughed at the realization and let his feet guide him away.

Enough acid, alcohol, and weed had gone around that the party was nearing its peak. Whose party? At whose house? For what occasion? No clue. The important thing was that it felt warm. And not in an uncomfortable way. More like an excited hug from a long-unseen friend. Vibrantly dressed people filled the room and lined the walls. Some melted into the floor while others didn’t even touch it. Music was still going and Paul’s voice belted lyrics with the tune of the piano. He wasn’t visible in the crowd of people but he sure could be heard.

Swiping a drink from a serving table, George strode through the crowd and ascended a set of wildly painted stairs. Two birds sat together, painting a step with a bottle of sparkling nail polish. They didn’t look up as people passed. They only saw each other as they practically sat in one another’s lap. George rather liked when people did that- got lost in each other. He excused himself to pass and moved along.

At the top of the stairs, a couple rushed into a room in a fit of laughter and kissing. The door slammed behind them as George went by. The sound hit every inch of his body like a brick wall and suddenly the fringed lamps were giving off the worst lighting possible. When he tried to breathe he found that the warm hug had turned into a stranglehold. With the chug of his drink, George took swift strides down the hall. Tension rose in his muscles and tendons with each movement and the lights only got brighter and brighter, threatening to blind him. Finally, he opened the very last door at the very end of the hallway.

New energy from the space calmed him almost immediately. The glow of the lights somehow tasted much kinder in there and no one else was occupying the space, save for a tabby cat.

“You mind the intrusion?” He addressed the cat. It responded with a short meow and settled on the couch, unbothered. “Ta.”

The door clicked closed, sealing in the soft vibes. The art studio he found himself in was covered with finished and half-finished work. One piece still sat at the easel with nothing but a messy black background. Paint and drop cloths cluttered the space around the easel and couch. The floor was a beautiful and giant daisy, splattered with freckles of stray paint. George laid himself down on a delicate white pedal and took in the energy of the room. He felt yellow and orange bursting in his chest and behind his eyes.

There was a rhythmic knocking at the door. It echoed and bounced until it was all George could hear. The muffled chatter and music from the party fell away to the knockknock, knockknock, knock. The orange in his chest fell way to blue which melted into yellow seamlessly. He wasn’t very sure how to respond to the knocking, so he didn’t.

The door creaked open, regardless, and George slowly sat up to find a mess of curly hair on top of a small frame. “Bobby,” He greeted with a toothy grin. “You’ve got to ask the cat if you can stay.”

“Oh, man. Really?” Bob smiled, awkwardly removing the cigarette from between his lips though both hands already held drinks. “Well,” he asked the starring tabby, glancing to George as they both tried not to laugh.

The cat hopped from its resting spot and rubbed against Bob’s trousers. He looked to George to see if he had passed.

“Oi, well, now you have to leave. They like you more than me.”

“Apologies to your ego,” He stated as he sat in the center of the daisy and placed one cup in front of George before taking a sip of his own.

“I’ve got a drink, actually.”

“I’m sure yours isn’t water.”

The green vibrations romped around George and he took up the water appreciatively. “I feel romanced.” And he kind of meant it though his tone made it seem more of a jest.

Bob only hummed, placing his cigarette back between his lips. He leaned back on both hands to stare at the ceiling, casting his features into the soft yellow lighting. Both his legs were laid out flat, one foot on either side of George. “It’s loud down there. I couldn’t feel - see - anything right, you know? The noise was a cloud over my eyes.” Smoke poured from between his lips, delicately floating into the air.

“Mmm, suffocating like.” As Bob rose his head up George realized he hadn’t been seeing right either. A radius of color encapsulated him, dancing softly above his skin. It shimmered around him in an impossible display of greens and yellows. He saw nothing like it when he was downstairs. “Blinding too, yeah.”

“You Beatles are hard to find. You, Ringo, and John, at least. If anything, Paul’s hard to lose.”

George rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. God. He really hadn’t seen anything before this very moment. “Paul’s good for company ‘til he finds a bird to fly off with or gets bored,” he answered listlessly, lost in the explosion of color and energy before him. “Do you see all the colors?” He had to ask, even if it sounded a little silly out loud. “You’re as good as a rainbow.”

Bob gave a youthful grin and tilted his head. New shades of blue and green and yellow spun out from around him. “Yeah. You look like the sun just as it’s rising.”

The flow of energy between them felt magnetic, compelling George to move closer. Once they both occupied the bright yellow center of the daisy- George’s legs overtop of Bob’s thighs- the pull finally settled.

“You think it’s our auras,” he asked as he rested his hands above Bob’s hips.

“All I know is that I can see all of you.” He said as his eyes flicked between George’s eyes and mouth. “I could taste your favorite song on your lips.”

Though he fought to keep a straight face, his lips defied him and curled into a smile. He bit down on his bottom lip in a vain attempt to gain control but quickly gave up. “You think so?”

Bob nodded ever so slightly and cupped the side of George's face. His calloused fingertip gently rubbed his cheekbone. “Can I…?”

They were almost nose to nose already. It took so little effort to close the gap that George barely registered that he had done it at all until their lips grazed and a bolt of lightning struck through his veins, illuminating the room so brightly that George could see the pale yellow through his closed eyes. His fingers curled into the fabric of Bob’s shirt as he pressed into the kiss.

When they parted Bob’s head fell onto his shoulder, his hands circling George to clasp behind his back. “Hold me, please. Hold me, squeeze, hold me, hold me,” He sang softly, his usual folksy vocals nowhere to be found. “You really got a hold on me. I said you really got a hold on me.”

George gave a breathy chuckle and did as the song called for, holding Bob tighter in his arms. “The Miracles. Can never go wrong there.”

Bob raised his head and they kissed again before George repositioned. He tugged Bob along with him until they were both flat on their backs, laying on the same flower pedal, hand in hand.

After a while, Bob pressed his head into George’s. “How long do the colors last?”

“Probably another hour.”

Bob rolled on his side and George turned his head so they could meet eyes. “What even is an hour?”

With a quizzical glance at his own fringe, he surmised, “Somewhere between five seconds and an infinity.”

“Perfect. We’ll lay here ‘til then.”

#i’ve never written bob before so i don’t really like his voice in this but hopefully i’ll write him more and get better #george harrison #john lennon #cynthia lennon #brian epstein #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles one shot

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katsukisbeatingheart · 4 years

Text

and far away

Where two points meet in the wrong place, and second chances are inevitable.

word count: 3,090

warnings: angst, mentions of death, but it ends fluffy (and dramatic), i promise

ao3

a/n: aright this was the first soulmate au i wrote and look at it not being the first i post, comin atcha live from the wake of deadline after deadline.

Anyway. i don’t even know what kinda soulmate au this is i just sorta threw it up bc i had a dream abt this and i couldn’t get it out of my head and i had to rework it until i got it right.

thank u.

shinso

dabi

sero

You know that weird feeling you get, hearing about a piece of your little big world disappearing—how maybe you took it for granted, because it was inconsequential to your immediate life, yet it was still always just there?

Things you never thought about, but they’re gone and they’ve left behind an incalculable, gaping hollow.

You take notice, and your life changes forever.

That one flower shop you would pass by on your way to work in the morning burned down last week. You’d never considered stepping foot in to it once and yet the lingering aroma of hydrangea, bishop’s lace, and caspia melded with smoke reminds you harrowingly of the crisped possibility of something beautiful growing.

The statue sitting obscurely just at the edges of town—the one you’d see very briefly through the train car windows as it blurred into distance and hapless memory—the lightrail broke down in front of it one time, you could see it had garish red spray paint at the base—toppled over a few nights ago. You must have seen and missed it a hundred times and now it would never stand tall again.

Or, a person.

The hero surging up the ranks, commanding noise and shaking the earth with a violently righteous heart and power of will—had died last night.

He won to save.

For the first and last time, he lost to save.

You'd have expected sadness, of course—after all, he was a hero—and a person.

That empathetic sense of loss was inevitable, no matter who it could be.

But a piece of you had been broken in that moment.

You woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering in your ribcage, cheeks soaked under silent tears a thunderstorm couldn’t feel coming. The grief outweighed the confusion.

Recollections of a smoky scene billowed in and out of your consciousness, the rumbling and rubble in fresh vibrations on your skin. Though when you tried to remember—when you tried vehemently to clutch at the broken pieces—your head throbbed with an unknown ache.

It was like trying to recall memories from a life that wasn’t yours.

You were listless in your haze to the kitchen, pulling down a glass to fill with water. The coolness slipped down your throat to satiate flames you didn’t ignite.

By some spell only the universe and the promise mark branded across your heart of hearts knew, you clicked the television on through cold fingers. You can’t say that you remember fishing around the couch cushions for the remote, and you clutched to it like it was the only physical thing available. A flimsy, breakable anchor and a key to your undoing. The buttons stilled and your expression grew stony upon the red headline glaring through the room at 2:14 a.m.

The glass slipped from your fingers and you fell to your knees in the fractures.

The explosion you knew ended it all echoed in your ears, its knell a salient cackle without a voice, and existence a weightless pressure on your chest and head—places he’d have to wait to kiss for another lifetime.

You’d never focused on soulmates, the mere idea of one a luxury you could not afford.

And now a cruel, implacable taunt you could not bear.

Yours was miles away, apparently, and even before this moment you were more than a little skeptical about the idea of them. You’d heard the stories—promises from and to the universe conquering distance and time.

And love.

Love so overwhelmingly pure it stretches across ages your world just didn’t have.

To you, it seemed merciless—doomed to tie with souls you could miss in more than a few incarnations. Maybe some had multiple soulmates, you’d thought. You couldn’t be sure you were one of those people—if that was at all possible—but then again you weren’t sure how to tell.

All you knew, was right then and there, you at least had one.

It killed you knowing it took losing something you never even knew you had, to want it so, so desperately bad.

The truth curled at your throat venomously, asphyxiating a slow and decadent anguish incomparable to anything you’d ever felt before. Rip a limb, a lung, all limbs, both lungs—pull your heart right through the skin of your chest in a spiked, poisonous vice; nothing could destroy you more than this.

He was gone, and you were certain it was the kind of gone you would feel the next life over.

You barely had any strength in you to curse the stars swimming in your vision; barely any will to pray for a tear in existence—a loophole to bring him back.

Another chance.

Dilapidated and barren, you had spread out over the broken glass, impervious to what can only dream of harming you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.

The crowd swirled around you, passing faces and brushing shoulders with hardly an 'excuse me', or ‘coming through'.

One particularly harsh shoulder check sent you back a step, and you whirled to get a better view at who had crashed into you.

A man in a red turtleneck, donning a tan trench coat and a frustrated growl checked his wristwatch, before looking back up to you with kindling in his eyes. They were sharp, even as he glanced down at you rather indifferently, eyebrows pulled into a harsher expression than expected for someone who had been so kind as to gratingly remind you of your place in the crowd. Just another bit of space to skirt around into the next person, most likely.

Suddenly he relaxes, eyebrows raising up the slightest.

“Hello there, stranger.”

Your heart leaps to your throat and the tears flow—an unknown relief flooding through and you feel grief from another lifetime dissipate. You launch as best as you can into his arms, and he gathers you into palms that smell like caramel and sugar and ink and brass—in a hold that makes you feel safe.

And very warm.

You feel his hands at the top of your head and pressed into your back. They're big and steady, something you hadn’t realized you needed until they were on you.

It was as if all your life you had woven insipidly day to day on a tumultuous mundanity cracking at your feet.

And now with the hand that guided you into every curve and fold of the blazing man at your fingertips were you unshakable.

You blink and the fire flickers behind his eyes. He’s staring at you intensely—as though he’d silently asked you a question only you knew the answer to. Like it would disappear from existence if he were to look away now.

That much was probably true, as his skin paled to cumbersome bewilderment and an uncertainty to make a willow tree quiver. He had frozen, as if he could see the universe unwinding on your face.

Your voice echoed a hollow “I’m sorry”, and the crowd separated you like the tide pulling from the shoreline.

•.•.•.

You didn’t know what the sea did with the waves once they took them from the coast, but you did know that aching familiar feeling of impermanence. How an undercurrent can feel like a lifetime, and yet no amount of splashing can save a riptide. Not from brevity or grief in the same short breath.

It was still that recognizable body of water. The jolt of a new ripple in a single spot designing the whole thing entirely different, even if just for that one spot. That one moment.

A lot of it was in chance, you figured; chance that was so somberly beautiful in it’s immanence and what ifs.

Work swept you by with a complicated ease. You recall people communicating to you—you just don’t remember what they had said. Or needed. Or asked. Or pleaded. Behind calls of a name that sounded nothing like yours, yet you for some reason still answered to. Your attention fixated on the improbable, and you lived your day in a vacuum. You’d been shaken up so bad and filled by so much longing that by the end of it, you couldn’t tell your own headache from the strain of the city around you.

Your step from the platform onto the train car was cement, but you willed yourself forward for the certainty of routine and familiarity in the wake of tomorrow. The presence of other people around you was vague, and you thought to yourself how you would rather be anywhere else in the world than right there.

When the doors sliding closed behind you sounded a little too final—like the angry clank of a set of iron bars—you jerked your chin up, and leapt forward to press your fingertips to the glass.

On the other side, was the man with red eyes. His blonde hair bristled, almost as if he’d felt what you were feeling. Electric. Scared.

The cement in your step earlier felt like a ball and chain now.

You pressed further desperately against the completely solid and completely flat surface, as though you could singlehandedly figure a way to defy all known laws of earthen physics and somehow permeate through the doors. It was like watching a tsunami form, feeling the flood come and go and the wind push against your face. The motions were slow—his gaze using an eternity to find you again for the second time in this life—and you could feel yourself beginning to drown.

His eyes meeting yours became the catalyst to your fifty-second undoing. The undertow touched your face, laced your ankles, and pulled you under with the abruptly unwelcome motion of the train.

You watched each other through the window.

There was a spark of motion—he had dropped whatever was in his hands in a hastened mess—and you both took off in different directions to the same apex.

You skipped and hurdled around people cramped like bricks, strewn about like greenbriers, and stretched about like tripwire. You weren’t sure if you were actually saying anything, but your mouth moved like it was trying to apologise as you zipped down the opposite end of the train, eyes never leaving the man quickly slipping through your fingers ag—

Again.

The word rang in your ear like the piercing peal after an eruption.

Dread filled your chest as you watched the end of the train come into view, and the man in red ran out of platform to chase after you to. He stopped and stared in absolute dismay, as the light catching on your face from behind the window faded into the darkness of the tunnel.

You, in turn, leaned against the back window, throwing your shoulders around to slide to the floor. People stared and murmured, their curious gazes and exchanges doing nothing to penetrate the frenzy lurching you back and forth.

Your breath stung—but not anymore than your eyes.

He might be back. Tomorrow. You never know what'll happen tomorrow, your heart reasoned. Lucky for it, it hadn’t realized the both of you had already broken to pieces. Your skin stung and prickled with a vengeance, as though barrages of glass were sprouting where your nerves would be.

Never seen him there before. This was probably just a one-time thing, the hollow muttered. It was a bitter thing absolutely none of you needed to hear, but you figured it was the truth. After all, what are the chances of finding one man you’d never run into before in your life, among the thousands you see every day?

Way easier to give in than to hope for this ephemeral nonsense.

You hardly recognized the echoed, tin voice bleeding through the intercom, announcing that you had arrived at your destination. You briefly wondered how a trip that had felt so achingly long had gone by so fast—especially now that you realized you weren’t where you were supposed to be.

Collecting yourself as best you could, you rolled up slowly, pulling your coat around you tighter. You cleared the platform and stepped glacially up the steps, taking a moment to fix your eyes on the sunset tearing a beautiful orange, red, and yellow across the usually blue sky. It was an inferno against the usual insipidness.

You fixated on the rolling greens surrounding the scar the city made with it’s cracked sidewalks and taunting buildings and yelling cars and angry people and empty promises and—

“Hey.”

Broken hearts weren’t supposed to beat so loudly but yours did. You spun on your heal to face him.

You choked and felt unbearably like you should leap into his arms, as though something was imploring you to.

“Hey there, stranger,” you whispered, with a meek crack on the end of your breath. You were facing the beginning of the rest of your life and all you could say was hey back.

The man in front of you seemed to get the same idea, because he moved closer, sauntering up the slope to close the small distance like he had all the time in the world. Though, part of that might have been exhaustion, and part fear that the wind would catch you and steal you away. His legs trembled and you wondered what reason dominated the better bit of that.

He stopped in front of you, his hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched in a resolved curve, the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. You were certain you didn’t know him, and yet you were perfectly ready to believe that little bend in his face wasn’t a usually welcome guest. It looked so foreign on a face you weren’t supposed to have any recollection of.

His voice is like crackling and smoking tinder, deep and rich and roaring. It was getting to you in ways you never expected a sound to find.

“Don’t tell me I ran the better part of an entire city just for some shitty 'hey there'.”

You don’t think you’ll ever get over your shock and awe, but you collect your wits to square yourself against him. Your movements are sinuous as you slide forward, damn near chest to chest when you raise your face again.

“Well,” you sigh, letting a not-unkind smirk slip into your features, “looks like you’ll have to stick around longer if you want more than that.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a matter of want, but more a matter of deserve,” he grumbles. You snort at that, mindlessly catching a loose strand of his hair between deft fingers.

“Is that so? What makes you so entitled?” you tease.

His expression falls and some kind of grief pulls his brows down.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I just feel like I’ve been missing something.”

For the first time in a while, you breathe evenly. It’s an odd feeling, but not unlike that moment of clarity you imagine tides have just before becoming a whole ocean again. Like the one you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Your raindrop fingertips find the smoothness of his skin, brushing along his cheekbones to roll down and splay across the sturdy planes of his chest. The quiet is cacophonous but you inhale gently and smile the most genuine you feel you could possibly muster.

“Hi,” you begin again, eyes sweeping the fabric of his sweater, to try and find confidence in the material. You raise your gaze to his—burning through your eyelashes—and he’s glaring at you with a quirked brow that doesn’t feel at all the threat you imagine it would be in different circumstances.

“I don’t know how to describe this, but I think… there’s this something that’s telling me I’m supposed to be with you— someway.” You glide your fingers down the curve of his arms, linking very lightly around his wrist.

“I feel like you’re someone I’ve lost a long time ago—” your fingers tangle into the cracking skin along his hands,

“—and I’m being offered this one chance to find you again.”

You measure up your hands, placing them palm to palm and he stares like they’re all he can see.

“If I don’t take it you’ll be gone for good,” you whisper in a voice so frangible.

A cheekier smirk cracks his mask from ear to ear.

“In that case, I’m definitely entitled to something, then.”

“Like what?”

Tender wouldn’t have been the first choice of words the moment you crashed into the scowling man on the street—but here he was now, cantankerousness replaced with a compassion you shouldn’t be surprised he could hold—considering you’d never met, after all.

“Your name.”

You tell him with a resounding crest in his chest and when the lightning strikes, his smile actually shows teeth that aren’t grit into a grimace. The first drop of rain spills down your face, and the man in front of you catches it with his thumb.

“Katsuki.”

It was loud, hearing that name in your ears. Like being trapped inside a clock tower—the reverb of each cog shifting and clicking into place with a harsh clang, succeeding rolling tones in succinct phrases you’d been hearing all your life.

Or rather—lives.

Your places in existence swirling in and out of mosaic focus of one another, to finally comix as clandestine breaths and fluttering of skin on skin.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Katsuki,” you smile.

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnha soulmate au #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha reader insert #bnha x you #why am i so dramatic with bakugou????#this is ridiculous somebody please come stop me #im rlly out here i guess

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Heaven Shall Not Shut Thee In Pt. 2

And here’s the second one! Took some details from the original version of the NATM scripts, which talk more abt what happened to Ahk to land him in a sarcophagus, and just sort of went from there in terms of working canon in here lol. This isn’t my happiest fic by far, but I’m glad to have written it.

A big ass warning for violence though. It is in this, and explicitly described. I’ll add a tw tag of violence, but if y’all need additional tags on it pls let me know!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The halls of the museum are quiet when he wakes. The lights are on, exhibit spaces empty of their inhabitants, but it is silent as death.

When he finally finds them, they are all in the main hall, huddled near the front desk around Larry.

“Not yet. I promise, I will show him this. But not now. Let’s give him a heads up first, let him know there’s something he needs to read, and he can look at it on his own-” Larry is saying as he approaches.

“He will need comfort,” Teddy interrupts. “And company. It will be devastating to him, Lawrence. We cannot even begin to imagine the pain it will bring Ahkmenrah-”

“What will?” he asks, and they turn almost in unison.

“My boy,” Teddy says, and rushes through the crowd to hug him. It’s a bear hug, but a comforting one, even if he doesn’t know why he is deserving of it in the moment.

“Tell me,” he says gently, and Teddy lets him go with a sigh.

“Well,” Larry starts. “They’ll have to update the plaque. The informational one about you, in your exhibit. There’s been a discovery, apparently. Some of the other staff were talking about it and I found the journal article and...look, you don’t have to read it right away. Only when you’re ready.”

He moves quick as he can, and grabs the article from Larry’s hand before he can pull it away.

A article from a scientific/historical journal. ‘The Death of Ahkmenrah: A Mystery Solved.’

He skims it, then goes back to reread it, and lets Larry and Teddy help him to a chair at the desk as his legs weaken.

“The discovery of a new tablet, found amongst otherwise unremarkable sands, has solved an ages-old mystery. How did the young, and presumed healthy, Ahkmenrah die? Little information has ever been found to hint at it, even after excavation of his tomb.

Until now.

A confession, recently translated by several top translators in the field, from Ahkmenrah’s own brother, Kahmunrah, reveals the truth. It reads:

I have finally rid us of him, cleared my path to the throne, and still it is lost to me. 73 stab wounds to him, and still they will not give me the throne. He lays in ribbons, his blood stains the floor of his room, I have lain his weakness out for them, to see he was not fit to live nor to rule. And it was all for naught. Better I should have killed us both, and left them with no one to inherit it.”

He can read no further, can only hear the beating of his own heart thudding heavy in his ears. He can feel Teddy’s hand on his shoulder, but it barely registers. There is just the beating and the words in front of him.

“73 stab wounds”

“He lays in ribbons”

“Kahmunrah”

“He wouldn’t,” he says it so quietly he can barely hear himself. He shakes his head. “Why would he...”

“I’m so sorry,” Larry murmurs as he kneels down in front of him. He’d forgotten Larry was a father, or perhaps just not had that as the first thing he saw him as, until now. The concern in his eyes is paternal, caring. “He shouldn’t...no one should ever do that, to anyone. Hurt them like that. No throne could ever be worth the act of killing family.”

He hates how he knows he must look right now, bent in half sitting in the chair, with his head in his hands, the article dropped to the floor. He feels Teddy carefully remove the crown from his head so it won’t fall, and wants to thank him.

But all that comes are tears, wailing and weeping as everything his mind kept from him comes flooding back.

He’s in his room. Kahmunrah stands in front of him, wearing a malicious smile. He needs to leave, needs to get past his brother now, he knows that.

“If you simply say you wish the throne go to me first, they will allow it,” Kahmunrah says. “They would do anything for you, anything at all. If you aren’t ready to rule, I can hold the throne until you are. Don’t let them push you to it.”

He shakes his head. “They aren’t. And even if they were, I would not question them. They are our parents, best is to do as they instruct, and they have asked me to take the throne next. So I shall.”

As the last word leaves his mouth, the knife Kahmunrah holds, with its gilded hilt, goes into his chest.

At first, it doesn’t hurt. He can see the knife, but it isn’t until a moment later that the throbbing pain sets in, and he tries to run.

Kahmunrah yanks the knife from his body, and grabs him, pushes him back towards the wall as he attacks again, and again, and again. Silent except for the sounds of his exertion, even as he begs mentally for him to say something.

Say something to me, anything, but do not leave me to die in silence.

But he says nothing, and ceases his stabbing only when Ahkmenrah falls to the floor, his torso so ripped apart that there is nothing solid enough left to stab again.

As Kahmunrah leaves, Ahkmenrah finds himself staring at his hands, the remnants of his torso. The combined wounds are open enough he can see organs, in pieces, spilling out even as he tries to hold them in. He had no idea there was so much blood in the body, or that it could dry so quickly on his hands as the rest trickles out onto the floor.

He waits there, for someone, anyone. A guard, servant, his mother or his father.

But when he finally can fight it no longer, lets his eyes finally close and the breath leave him, there is no one.

He comes back to himself in Larry’s arms, clinging to him like a child. The wracking sobs have brought on nausea, and he’s grateful for the bucket (probably stolen from a janitorial cart) that Teddy holds near his mouth as he retches.

There are voices around him, Larry and Teddy and Sacagawea, then Attila and Octavious and Jed, all blending together, none of them loud enough to drown out the screaming in his head.

He sees it all from outside himself, as they walk him to the employee lounge, sit him on the couch, try to gently take off his sweat-soaked garb. He pushes them away; it’s too much like a funerary undressing and he can’t handle it.

He curls up on his side on the couch, and the voices fade until it’s just Sacagawea. She sings something he can’t understand, but it’s soothing.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs as he whimpers. “The past is gone, and you are safe in the present. Come back to the present with me. Tell me what you see around you now.”

The room comes back into focus, and he realizes he is laying on her, his head in her lap. She’s sitting upright, apparently comfortable as anything, humming and running her hand gently through his curls. His mother used to do the same, when he’d run to her after a nightmare, and he wishes he had the words to thank Sacagawea for doing it now.

“What do you see?” she prods, softly.

“The TV,” he croaks.

“Good, what else?”

He lifts his head just a bit to peer around. “The lockers. The table...my other clothes.”

Someone must have grabbed them from Larry’s locker, and he realizes it means they must have been trying to get him into them, to make him feel safer, more comfortable. The sweat from his panic and fear has dried now, leaving him cold.

“Do you want to change into them?”

He nods, and sits up so she can stand.

“Let me fetch Teddy. We’ll help you, okay? Don’t stand up until I have him here.”

They’re back a moment later, and he’s grateful for the help. His legs are still weak, his whole body hurting from how tense he was, still is. He doesn’t know when he’ll feel relaxed again, but their hands helping him into the warm sweatshirt and sweatpants helps. He needs to thank Larry again for bringing the clothes for him.

“You don’t have to go back out again,” Teddy says. “Unless you feel ready to do it.”

He thinks. Part of him wants to go back to this exhibit, to hide there and wallow in the feelings.

But one night of wallowing will not send all the mass of confused emotions away. It will take time, and work, and he knows it. He has an eternity, so long as the tablet works, to do that work. To try and heal.

The part of him that wants to go back out wins; the fourth king of the fourth king may have fallen, yes, but he rises again.

They all treat him carefully, Sacagawea and Teddy and Larry staying close to him as he settles at the same chair behind the desk. He’s content just to be out with everyone, to watch them run about and mingle and have fun. He isn’t feeling anywhere back to normal or better, but simply being out there is a victory, as he thinks on it.

Kahmunrah is dead. Ahkmenrah rises again each night.

Kahmunrah will face punishment for his actions in the afterlife. Ahkmenrah is surrounded by new family, friends, who care enough for him to pick up the pieces and help him through the aftermath of a night like this.

Kahmunrah only survived, was willing to kill to do so, and still was deeply unhappy.

Ahkmenrah thrives in love and happiness. And that, he thinks is the greatest victory he can achieve over his brother’s actions. To live each night, and do what his brother tried so hard to prevent him doing.

Thrive.

#text post #LeeH writes #ahkmenrah fic #NATM fic #tw violence

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

What’s Your Pleasure? - Billy Russo

Prompt: I just need me some Dom! Billy Russo, w spanking, like I NEED to read abt being bent over his lap and then fucked into the mattress by that smug piece of pie. Ofc only if you're comfortable w writing it tho Prompter: Anonymous I’m sorry, “smug piece of pie” is wonderful. Thanks for that. So here we go, some naughty to enjoy!

Warning: Smut! Spanking. Some D/s themes. Safe, sane, and consensual y’all!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

One of the things that you and Billy liked to do was make little bets. It was always harmless stuff; just something to pass the time. The winner usually got to pick dinner or get a back rub or bragging rights.

This time you had bet Billy that he wouldn't get home before you because he never got home before you.

Low and behold as you walked into the apartment you shared with him, he was sitting on the couch with a grin.

“You left work early, didn't you?”

He laughed as he stood up and moved over to help you take off your coat.

“I told you I was gonna have a short day. You should have believed me.” He brushed his lips across yours briefly, a tease more than anything. “I win.”

You pretended to grumble even as you smiled. Shoes came off next and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“So what's your prize? We never did decide on terms this time. Want to pick the movie?”

He shook his head and dragged his nose up the length of your neck as a tease. The hand he had placed on your side smoothed down to rest on your backside.

“Nope,” he muttered against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse point.

Your pulse quickened. You weren't positive but you had a hunch of where this was going.

And yup, you could feel him getting hard against your hip as he held you close and nibbled on your neck.

“Want to pick the position?”

You were breathless as you leaned into him.

“Not exactly,” he said with a grin.

His hand on your ass gave a squeeze before he reached you to cup your chin. He pulled you in for a kiss, his tongue tracing over your lips before he tilted your head to accept him.

The kiss made you even more breathless. He bit down on your lip hard, tugging your lip between his teeth. When he released it he smoothed his tongue against the place he had just bitten.

“Billy,” you moaned quietly, your body bowed into his.

He chuckled against your lips before he tugged on your hand to get you to move with him. The two of you stumbled towards the bedroom.

“What's your safe word?”

Yup. Your heart was about to explode.

The two of you dabbled in this a few times and every time was better than the last. It had been a while though, with both of you working long hours.

You wanted Billy to be in control. Right then you'd do anything he said.

“Yellow to slow down. Red to stop.”

His smile was a little predatory as he stepped away. He rubbed himself through his slacks before he had a seat on the edge of the bed, eyebrows raised as he looked you over.

“Take off your shirt and bra.”

You did as you were told, adding a little theatrics to it just because you knew he'd appreciate it. The button up blouse was off and tossed to the side but you took a little more care with your bra. Your arms behind your back had your chest thrust out forward and you could see his eyes roaming your chest hungrily.

Unhooked in the back, you tugged down your straps slow enough that you earned a pointed look from Billy. With a small smirk, you let the bra fall to the floor.

Your fingers went to the waistband of your skirt but he made a sound in the back of his throat. Instead he beckoned you closer with one finger.

“You shouldn't have teased me,” he said as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs, bunching you the material of your skirt as he did so.

His touch made you feel like your skin was on fire. His hands moved so slowly that you couldn't help but shift closer but you hesitated when he shot you a look.

Damn him and that smug smirk. You wanted to kiss it off of him but instead you simply let your hands rest at your sides.

Ever so slowly he lifted the skirt up until his fingers brushed the sides of your panties. He hooked his fingers into the sides and tugged them down. You had to brace yourself on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Come here,” he said as he leaned back and patted his legs.

You raised an eyebrow but moved to sit. He made a noise trailed his fingers over your stomach.

“Over my knee,” he explained with a smirk. You gave him an incredulous look and he laughed. “I won the bet. Time to pay up.”

You couldn't do much more than clench your thighs together before you moved to do as instructed. You leaned over him so that you could brace your hands against the floor while your stomach was across his lap.

His hand drifted down your back slowly, a teasing brush in contrast to what was to come. Then he pushed the fabric of your skirt up until it was around your hips and you were bare to him.

“Wanna place a bet on how many you can take before you ask me to stop?”

You shot him a glare that was quickly met with a smack to your ass that made you gasp. It was a playful smack but on bare skin it felt different.

“Do you want me to count?”

He smiled and gave you a nod. His hand moved over your backside once before a quick slap made you jerk.

“One,” you said evenly. Another slap. “Two.”

Three. Four. Five.

You counted with each smack, your voice wavering as the feeling became more intense.

Six. Seven. Eight.

You could feel yourself getting wetter with each delivered strike. One of your hands and gripped his thigh and in the seconds before his hand would connect again, you tried not to grind against his leg.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

He wasn't hitting in the same spot each time and the strength behind it wasn't the same. He wasn't trying to hurt you and it wasn't some sort of punishment; this was purely enjoyment for both of you.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

He had his hand pressed to your back to keep you still but you still wiggled on his lap. You were so turned on that you wanted him to stop, to roll you over and take the edge off.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

His breathing was coming out ragged and you could feel him hard under you. You knew him well enough to know that he wanted to throw you down on the bed as much as you wanted it. You also knew he was too determined to do it until he was done with this.

“Eighteen,” you gasped as your fingers curled into his leg, biting your lip as the next blow came before you'd done more then blink. “Nineteen.”

There was a long hesitation and you thought that was it, he was ending it on an odd number. Then the twentieth blow came and you let out a high pitched whine.

“Twenty.”

His hand cupped and then gently soothed the area. You knew it had to be hot to the touch because you could feel the heat yourself.

His voice was soft and sweet as he asked, “Too much?”

You shook your head, wiping away the tears that has gathered in your eyes.

“Not enough,” you begged as you let your hips move against his leg, desperate for relief after that. “Billy. Please.”

He bent down to press a kiss to your back before he told you to stand up. With your knees shaking, you did as you were told but it only lasted a second before he pushed you onto the bed.

“On your stomach,” he said as he tapped your thigh, grinning when you pouted. “My rules. Roll over.”

On your stomach you propped your head up to watch him. He removed his shirt and pants almost faster than you'd ever seen. Then his briefs were tossed to the side and you bit your lip as you watched him squeeze the base of his cock.

“Hips up,” he said as he crawled onto the bed behind you and lifted your hips. “Like this.”

The lyrics to a raunchy song popped into your head as you assumed the position. His hands roamed over your back and hips, gently moving over your ass where you were still tender.

Then lower. You heard him swear when he realized how wet you already were.

“Goddamn. We should do this more often,” he teased as he pushed two fingers in.

“Promises, promises,” you sang.

His fingers were inside you when his other hand smacked against your ass. You heard him moan when you automatically clenched around his fingers at the sting. He did it again as he twisted his hand, fingers seeking out your g-spot at the same time.

You'd started whimpering at that point. It was not enough and you needed more.

“Don't move,” he warned as he removed his fingers and got up.

The familiar sound of the condom he was preparing made you start to ache. Then he was back on the bed and pushing your legs open a little wider.

You might have thanked God when he first started to push in. The position wasn't your favorite but that's just because you preferred to being able to see him. It still felt wonderful.

He pushed in more and you rocked backwards, feeling him stretch you wider as you moved. Then before you were fully adjusted, he pulled out and then pushed back in harder.

“Oh, oh god,” you moaned as he fucked you. “Right there Billy.”

He snapped his hips faster, fucking you harder. The buildup with the spanking had you right there on the edge but just his cock wasn't enough.

Your hand started to reach under you but he grabbed your wrists and slammed them onto the bed.

“Don't,” he growled into your ear as he continued to thrust hard and fast.

That made you clench around him, much to his delight. He let out a loud moan as he moved to hold your wrists with one hand. The other went to your hip to guide your movements.

“You feel so good,” he said on a moan as he moved inside you. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Don't you dare,” you threatened as you thrust yourself backwards against him. “Billy, please.”

The hand on your hip moved forward. Inch by inch until his fingers slipped between your folds to rub almost harshly against your clit. You let out a gasping moan, panting as you dropped your head against the bed.

His movements were fast and rough and you let out a loud whine as your climax started to sneak up on you.

“Billy,” you cried as you turned your head, accepting a bruising kiss as you clenched around him.

He flicked his tongue against your bottom lip before he let out a loud moan, his hips stuttering as he came. Both of you moved as one so that he could pull out to rid himself of the condom and roll you over.

“You okay?” He ran his hand up your leg and then your stomach.

“Mm, never been better,” you promised as you tugged him closer to you. “You should win more of our bets.”

He laughed and slapped his hand gently against your ass. When you hissed, he made a soothing sound and smoothed his hand over the tender area.

“Babe, did you need to use your word?”

Quickly you rolled over so that you were resting on his chest. It took the pressure off your ass. Once there, you leaned up to give him a kiss.

“It was great and wonderful and amazing, honestly. If I needed to, I would have.”

Billy brushed his fingers against your cheek and pulled you into another kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Love you too baby.”

He pulled you in closer, his arms wrapped around your body. You would need to get up and get dressed. Dinner would need to be discussed. A shower at some point. Or, better yet, another round.

Instead you stayed curled up with Billy.

“Wanna make another bet?”

He was smirking as he asked and you laughed into his chest.

“I have a feeling that even if I lose, I still win.”

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vibranium-chakra · 5 years

Text

Developing, Part 2

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader

Warnings: Smut and dassit.

A/N: This took me longer than I'd hoped lol, but I added on (: hope you guys like it!

You were absolutely spent. Erik gently removed the gag from around your neck, allowing you to breath more shallowly. As you caught your breath, his surprised eyes stayed on you. He was fully enamored with you, more submissive and innocent than anyone he’d ever been with.

You turned your body towards his, now caught up with yourself. You bit your lip nervously when you saw his ambiguous facial expression, mouth still slightly agape and eyes fixated on you.

“S-Sorry Sir. I didn’t know I wa-”

You were cut off by his lips crashing into yours. He tangled his fingers in the curls on the side of your face. The kiss was taking the little breath you had left away.

“You were perfect.” he gripped your face between both hands, the praise tickling your lips he was so close.

“You wanna try something else?” He cooed at you through a mischievous grin. The way he woke up your body, you’d do anything he wanted.

“Yes Daddy.”

The simple sentence had never sounded better in his life. He heard the sincerity and lust scattered in your tone; a dedicated and unafraid submissive. The innocence in you had transformed before his eyes. The cuff on your right wrist was keyed open only to be pulled behind your back and locked again. You were now pleasantly positioned below him on your knees. Erik admired your for a minute; your thighs, too thick to touch your toes in the position, had spread in size like dough. Your arms behind your back drew his eyes to young breasts, supple and begging to be touched. You watched the aerial view of him quickly pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, dick bouncing out. The dark cedarwood scent he usually wore hit your nose violently as they fell. As hard as he was, the weight of his dick didn’t allow the member to point upwards. It was hung. You’d felt a glimpse at the club but still wasn’t prepared for this.

“You like what you see?” he said smugly, grabbing himself at the base before stroking steadily. You were practically salivating. You wedged your bottom lip into your mouth callowly and peered up at him. He read your mind.

“Ask me.”

“Can I taste it please?”

“C’mon.” he gruffed out. You took your time examining it before taking the head into your mouth. The small drop of precum meshed well on your tongue before you started a slow and steady sucking motion. Erik’s head fell backwards as he relaxed his muscles . He was under your spell. He peeked down to be met with your dark brown eyes. You started going harder, taking more inches in with each swallow. You went as far down as you could go before gagging and retracting. Erik’s bottom lip dropped; he would’ve stopped and kissed you if it didn’t feel so good. From then you slowed back down and sucked him off passionately, your tongue running around his dick with every stroke, never losing eye contact. He started whining and cursing under his breath which motivated you to gag as much as you could. The suction sound echo throughout the bedroom. Rings of bubbly spit developed around the base of his shaft. It wasn’t until you went so deep that your eyes watered did he pull his dick away from you; he almost lost control.

“Shit Princess, hold up.”

Pride swelled in your chest. Pleasing him is all you wanted to do. He tangled his hand in the back of your head and hair, gripping softly.

“Lemme see what you can really do. Open up. Eyes on me.”

You’d seen enough porn to know what was coming next. You extended your tongue, opened wide and took a deep breath. Erik sunk himself into your mouth and throat, going until he felt you cough. He kept the motion going experimentally until he was full blown fucking your face. The slow thrusts escalated to a quick and rough rhythm. Spit dripped down your chest and breasts, your curly hair now held down by Erik’s grip.. He thrusted one more time, going as deep as he could until you retched. He pulled you away with a loud pop, both of you breathing heavy. Your face was now stained in tears and saliva; he has never seen anything else so beautiful.

Erik didn’t even give himself time to direct you, opting you grab you up by the underarms and reposition you back on the bed. He quickly turned you around and bent you over by the lower back. His expression awed at the sight as he kneeled behind you, face to face with your pussy. Aside from the wetness that still smeared across your lips, he could now see that you’d managed to cream up a little in between the time you squirted and now.

“You nasty little bitch.”

Usually being called a bitch lit you aflame and sent you into a cursing fit, but right now it made you want to come undone. He smacked it with an open palm. Your back arched at the sensation of his fingers, the digits playing against your clit and making you squirm. He expertly teased your clit, rubbing and flicking with purpose.

“Ahh fuck baby,” you squealing. He surprised you with another smack to your left cheek.

“That’s not my name, Princess,” he retorted, not missing a beat as he continued.

“You tryna get punished already?”

“No...n-no Sir,” you kinda did, but you responded cautiously, anxious of what he may do if you said the wrong thing. You yelped as he spanked you again.

“I can’t hear you.”

“No sir” you moaned out confidently. Erik grinned at that.

“Good girl.”

Your head shot up at the feeling of his mouth fully enveloping your pussy. His tongue explored the entirety of your canal, occasionally stopping to flick against your clit and vacuum it inside his mouth. It wasn’t long until you heard only the smacking and sloshing of your juices and Erik’s saliva. He groaned in vibrations against your pussy. He took one breath before attaching himself again. It was too sweet for him to worry about air.

He added in two fingers to the equation, jerking ferociously and probing at your G-spot every time. By now you were a moaning, shrieking mess. You struggled to stay afoot on the ground.

“You tryna run from me?” He released you but kept his fingers holding their pace, all the more forceful now that his lips were out of the way.

“Daddy please!”

“Gimme that shit c’mon,” the vulgarity alone had your mouth stuck open and silent as you rippled through another orgasm. You shuddered as he slowed his movements, making sure his fingers were covered completely before craning around to your mouth. You sucked everything off, savoring the taste and staring in his eyes. His sultry gaze and face shining from your extract towered over you.

In one swift motion, Erik turned your body around and pushed you backwards. Erik was in the middle of skillfully removing a Magnum from the package with his teeth before rolling it on. You watched intently as he towered over you. He pushed your legs back slid in painfully slow.

“Fuckkkkkk.” He hissed as he watched your pussy devour him, throwing his head back. His plans to dominate you were almost thrown off. He stroked a few more times before bottoming out altogether and staying there. You had never felt so full. He adjusted his stance so that his face was inches away from yours.

“You gon take this dick like a good little slut?”

Your face froze on his. Slut? You weren’t sure if you were shook because he had the gall to call you that or because it made you throb. You blinked a few times before nodding. Erik chuckled and beamed at your expression. He knew you’d like this. He wrapped his thick fingers around your neck, putting a little pressure on the sides.

“You better answer me girl.”

“Yes sir.”

He grabbed your thighs up, keeping them spread apart and proceeded to stroke your walls. It felt like his dick was touching your soul. The slow but hard strokes made you feel full each and every time followed by a wet suction noise when he retracted, and you loved it. You knew that you’d never wanna feel abt other type of sex again. His eyes fell to you excreting more cream onto his dick after just a few more strokes.You gasped and groaned in approval all while he continued to call out the dirtiest things he could come up with.

“That’s it, take allat shit.”

“Such a nasty fuckin’ pussy.”

“You take Daddy’s dick so well.”

“You creamin’ all over this big dick?”

Erik gripped his bottom lip with his teeth once he started going in harder, the slapping of his skin echoing off of yours. You had never been fucked like this; pounded and suspended where you couldn’t move. This was the first time a man didn’t need to be led or directed into what to do with you. Erik just knew. That alone made you want to shatter into pieces. Before you knew it your legs were shaking and your screaming escalated, but he wasn’t stopping. He had found the perfect algorithm to your pussy. He knew you were about to cum but he didn’t wanna wait for you to ask.

“C’mon slut, cum for Daddy.”

That was it. Your skin grew hot, eyes rolled, ears popped. The only thing you could hear or feel was yourself screaming the leak that sprung from your pussy. You heard liquid hitting the comforter and carpet below you. Though Erik hadstopped stroking, he thrashed his fingers against your clit and pussy. He wanted you empty.

Once you stopped, Erik went down and slurped up as much wetness as he could. You shuddered at the sensitivity.

“Think you can take a little more?” He said just above a whisper as he came up. His dick was still hard as rock; he still hadn’t come. Damnit.. You nodded faintly at his request. As tired as you were, you wanted to see him come undone. You needed the gratification. His eyes fixated on your swollen pussy as he eased back into you. You’d never get used to that. His speed picked up quickly. You were so warm and sopping now that you’d been fucked so well. Your walls started to contract around his dick so sweetly, he didn’t wanna pull out. It wasn’t long before the warmth and music of your moans brought him to a climax. He moaned as he emptied into the condom. Once you both caught your breath, he kissed you long and hard. His lips tasted like you and he chuckled once he realized that’s what you were trying to taste.

He discarded the condom smoothly into the trashcan nearby before removing your cuffs.

“Ouch. I didn’t realize how tight those were,” you complained examining the demarcation where they pulled.

“I bet you didn't.” He pulled you into his chest by your wrists and rubbed over them with his thumbs. You both were now lying in the middle of the bed facing one another.

“You did so so good, thank you.” He whispered before kissing your forehead. “You okay?”

You nodded and smiled on the inside, unable to really move much. His hands played and traced at your waistline softly, so soft that you practically fell asleep.

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buckymcbuttfacebarnes · 5 years

Text

reunions are the best part

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: abt 1700

request: hey can u write about where bucky & the reader are dating, and one night after the two went on separated missions, bucky came back bringing an random gift to her and its a necklace with the word 'b' on it, bc he wanted everyone to know shes only his and she loves it? and its all fluffy and romantic please? (requested by anon)

a/n: its fluff city baby. thank u for this request anon i hope it doesnt disappoint xx

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was very little to be happy about when you and Bucky were forced to separate from one another. Though you were both well-aware that last-minute trips and dangerous expeditions were the main point in your job descriptions, it did not stop you from wallowing in that uncomfortable feeling of worry and longing.

That is why reunions were the best. They were the best part of any mission, hands down. You had been apart for three weeks, nearly a whole month. His mission had taken him to Spain, where he could walk along the shores of beaches and look up the glittering sun-tinged waves. Your mission had taken you to Ohio. You supposed it was a fine state, but it didn’t live up to Spain’s splendor.

He met you in your room, and even though you knew he was coming, you were still shocked when you saw him standing in the doorway, his lips curled into that ever-radiant smile. You shout his name in excitement as you clamber off the bed and jump into his arms.

“Hi, doll,” you hear him say.

“Hi, baby.”

God, how you loved to feel his arms around you, strong and firm. His left hand slips beneath the rising hem of your shirt, metal grazing the delicate skin of your lower back. It sends chill from the base of your spine to the very top. Your face is tucked into the crook of his neck. You can smell his cologne and the familiar scent warms you from head to toe.

“You missed me, huh?”

You take a good look at him, hands on either side of his face. “You cut your hair,” you muse, one hand floating up to touch the shortened strands.

“You don’t like it?”

“Very retro, Barnes,” you comment, a slight allusion to his days in the forties. It is not quite that short, but now it only comes past his earlobe. He has it messily brushed back from his face. “I like it.”

He grins, eyes crinkling jovially at the corners. “Good.”

“Good.”

“I should shower,” he sighs, hands running up and down the length of your sides, touching your skin. Every time he leaves he misses you more and more. “I probably smell like shit.”

“You don’t, just come lay down.”

This makes him laugh, but he shakes his head. You unravel your arms from around his neck, hands resting on his shoulders.

“C’mon, please? I missed you.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” he says, mimicking the look on your face by poking out his lower lip. He laughs and grabs at your wrists. “You’re welcome to come shower with me,” he suggests coquettishly, lifting an eyebrow as he presses a kiss to the inside of each wrist.

You bite down on your lower lip, masking a smile. “I’ve already showered.”

“You can never be too clean.”

In the shower he asks to wash your hair, but it’s already been washed, conditioned, and detangled, so instead you wash his.

“Can I use your shampoo? It smells better.”

“Yours smells just fine.”

He wrinkles his nose and you roll your eyes, but you oblige him anyway.

The water is hot, hotter than Bucky can initially stand, but he works through it. Beneath your hands, tense muscles succumb to relaxation. His head dips down to press loving kisses against your wet skin. He is so happy to be home.

In bed, his eyes are half open and his damp hair hangs down onto his forehead even though he keeps pushing it back. You tuck it behind his ears once or twice.

“I really like it this short.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum, flipping onto your stomach to look at him. It’s dark aside from the lamp on your nightstand. It casts a light on him that reminds you of the early morning sun. The shadows highlight the prominence of his brow bone and the small dimple in his chin. He is so handsome.

“You got really tan.”

“I know,” he laughs, “I was in the sun constantly.”’

“You go to the beach?”

“Of course I did. Sam forced me.”

“Lucky bastards,” you grimace.

“Hey,” Bucky chuckles, “I was thinking of you the whole time I was there.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course…” his flesh hand cups your face and you lean forward to kiss him. “Oh! I got something for you. Hold on.”

He gets out of bed to scramble through his suitcase, still packed with all of his things. It would probably remain like that for the next two weeks. Bucky was a terrible procrastinator and unfortunately, so were you.

From a small velvet dust bag, he pulls a blue velvet box.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

Bucky, with a crooked grin upon his face, settles back into bed. His back rests against the headboard as he holds the box out to you. You sit up on your knees and open it up gingerly. Inside is a necklace. It is a delicate gold chain, simple and understated. On it hangs a small disc pendant which simply reads the letter ‘b’, printed in a simple lowercase font. It is simple, but it is so beautiful.

“Oh, Bucky,” you breathe. There is a lump in your throat and love in your heart. You lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, long and lingering. His hand cradles the back of your head.

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

“It’s ‘b’ for Bucky,” he needlessly explains.

“I thought it was ‘b’ for buttface.”

He laughs, “Alright, alright, smartass...Give me another kiss.” Bucky leans forward to meet your lips. “I just thought, you know, your my girl. And, doll, with a hot piece like you, I know guys might wanna try somethin’. Now they know, even when I’m not there. You’re my girl, I’m your guy.”

“That’s corny.”

“Oh, you think that’s corny? Wait ‘til you hear this one, dollface,” he holds his forefinger up in preparation. “When you wear this, it’ll be like a little piece of me is with you, I’ll be with you always.”

“I love you.” You settle into his lap, the necklace still in your hands. You cannot help but peer down at it lovingly. “Can you put this on me?”

He snatches the box from your hands with a mischievous smile, tossing it aside and onto the bedside table with a carelessness that makes you laugh. “Later,” he tells you quickly. “Right now I wanna see how much you love me.” He flips you over quickly and the sound of your laughter becomes the best thing he’s heard in weeks. It’s loud and beautiful and exactly right. It was everything.

“You’re so gross,” you say from beneath him.

“Gross? What’s gross—” he leans down, peppering kisses along the side of your face, then down the length of your neck “—about wanting to see how much my girl loves me?” When you don’t answer his hands find the ticklish spot on your side, making you squeal. “C’mon, tell me. Let me hear ya.”

“Nothing,” you respond quickly, eager to stop the torture. He refuses to let you off easy.

“What was that, doll? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing, nothing!” you chant, the words drawn out by ebbs of laughter.

He stops the torture. Now he is so close to you, both of his forearms on either side of you, his body against yours. You don’t mind the weight of him, you only want to feel him against you. Blue eyes appear bluer when surrounded by such perfectly tanned skin (you imagine they must be mirrors of what the ocean looked like), he watches you with amusement, the sight of your grin putting butterflies in his stomach.

“That’s my girl.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #marvel imagine #bucky barnes

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blackpantahh-blog · 6 years

Text

Passionfruit

Erik (Killmonger) Stevens/Black!Reader

Summary: As far as reader feels, long distance relationships hardly ever work... Or do they?

Word Count: 1.9k

Notes: FR Ya’ll spare my ass cause this shit is my first posted fic and boiii im out here scared shITLESS

Listen,Seeing you got ritualistic

Cleansing my soul of addiction now ‘Cause I’m fallin’ apart.

Yeah, tension

Between us just like picket fences

You got issues I won’t mention for now, Cause we’re fallin’ apart..

You stood in the shower thinking about the last time you had a real conversation with Erik, the detached shower head close to your face as you rinsed the deep conditioner out of your stubborn curly hair. The start of this month might've actually been the end of y'all little three month relationship, ever since you moved out of Oakland to go be closer to your family in another state, he kind of cut all of your contact with him short.

The arguments started to pop up more, conversation over the phone became tense and brief. You definitely felt that spark between the two of you beginning to slip away and it was pissing you off because you still had yet to understand why he would stop speaking to you just because you moved.

You stepped out of the shower after you slid the shower head back on its mount, not bothering to ring out your wash rag as you threw it back on the towel rack. You threw your hair up in a towel, and wrapped another around your body frame, exiting the steamy bathroom to throw some shit on before bed.

‘Don’t Touch My Hair’ blasted through the speakers of your iPhone 8, to which you’d thrown on your queen mattress, letting the towel hanging off your titties fall to the floor of your modest bedroom. As you threw on some pajamas, the song playing from your phone had been interrupted shortly with a ding, as you perked up. “Who the hell’s texting me this late at night?” You fussed to yourself, eyebrows furrowed as you looked at the iMessage displayed across the screen.

My Boo “You up?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cell phone and typing up a reply. “Yeah. Just hopped out the shower. Y.”

“Jus wonderin. Take a pic for me.”

“Naw. Too tired for that freaky shit.”

You waited a good two minutes for a reply before you sucked your teeth, throwing your phone back down, going to sit down in front of your vanity mirror, detangling your hair carefully so you didn’t accidentally pull your hair from your damn scalp. You chuckled to yourself, it gave you a rush of confidence turning down Erik like that. He stayed expecting to get something from you when he rarely ever gave. Even though when he gave it was amazing but…. that’s besides the point.

You wasn't about to sit there and tend to his every need when he didn't do the same for you anymore. Y’all changed and it hurt like hell, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

I can't blame you, no.

You finally got a reply back from him, as you turned out your bedroom light, climbing under your bed sheets. “Smh.”

“When's the next time I'm gonna see you?” You decided to change the subject since it wasn't going anywhere. Despite being a little mad at Erik, you still wanted to at least have a conversation with the nigga. “IDK. Gotta see how my schedule look. Y don't you come 2 me?”

“That can be arranged.”

“Bet. Wyd?”

You instantly rolled your eyes at the question, you hated when he asked you that because every time he'd ask, you're doing something boring. “About to fall asleep. But you keeping me up ofc.”

“Good. I want you 2 think abt me when you dreamin.” You smirked at that, deciding to leave him on read as you turned your phone off with a soft ‘click’, tucking it under your pillow after plugging it in.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

I can't blame you, no.

You were seriously gonna plan going back to California to see this man, but you'd have to let your people know first ahead of time so they weren't just wondering why you disappeared again.

By the time your alarm went off for work, you had sleep like two minutes max, so it made you grouchy as hell. You flipped the thin sheets off of your soft chocolate legs, eyes heavy as shit as you forced yourself to get ready for another day of your regular ass hustle.

You threw on your work uniform after taking a quick shower, grabbing up your apartment keys and essentials before you left the house for your job.

_ _ _

Listen,

Harder building's trust from a distance.

Let's rule out commitment for now, cause we're fallin’ apart.

Leavin’? You’re just doing that to get even.

Don’t pick up the pieces, just leave it for now

Cause we’re fallin’ apart.

By the time you got back to your crib, you were all the way burnt out, your feet burning and tired from running around doing so much stock in that small, agitating retail shop you worked at.

You swore as soon as you stepped through the door, your phone started ringing, making you let out a groan. “Hello?” You hadn’t even bothered to look at the caller ID to see who it was.

“Damn, who pissed you off today?” The remark made you suck your teeth as you glanced at your feet, slipping out of your ugly ass work shoes, and stumbling over to your couch. “Everybody.” You bit back, letting your eyes fall close as you laid down on the comfortable seating. “Even me?”

“Especially you.” A sleepy smile spread across your face at the sound of Erik’s deep chuckle in your ear. “But I called you to let you know that you prolly won't be able to come to visit me.”

The comment made you sit up, back aches and all, your pretty face screwing up. “And nigga why not?” Erik let out a huff of air at your aggressive attitude, he knew you'd react like this before he even said anything. “Because this week I'm working heavily so by the time I get home, Imma be tired as hell. So don't waste your time tryna visit.”

“Fuck you mean “waste my time”? Erik we haven't seen each other for months now. Why would that be a waste of time?” Another impatient noise came from his end of the line, you listened to the sudden silence coming from your phone's speaker, only brief shuffling.

“Y/N–”

“No, Erik. If you don't want me to come then just be real with me. I know that bitch that's in your house right now wouldn't want me to be there either.”

You spat, you didn't want to be the one to be starting shit but you and Erik been distant for awhile now and you were sick of it. “Y/N, that's far from the fucking case. You should know that.”

“I don't know shit anymore, Erik.” You heard Erik sigh again, “You accusing me of having bitches in my house but why the fuck you looking so fine every time you post on the gram, huh? What nigga you dressing up for?”

You were so stunned at his accusation that it made you speechless, Erik’s side getting quiet again as he waited for a valid explanation. “What are you talking about? I dress up for my damn self.”

“Then stop saying I got women in my house, and trust me when I tell yo ass that it's work that's keeping me busy.” You knew you were being unfair and irrational by accusing him of cheating, but you were so dead set on traveling to him that it infuriated you that he would tell you not to come at all.

“Fine, Erik..” You weren't about to apologise to him because you were still mad, Erik knew that much. But his work wasn't the type of job that you could just call out on. His schedule was full and he needed you to just deal with that for the time being.

“Now stop poutin’ and tell me how ya’ day went.”

_ _ _

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

I can't blame you, no.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

I can't blame you, no.

It's a few weeks later and you're chilling, curled on your small loveseat as you waste away the rest of your off day watching Game of Thrones and snacking on unhealthy shit. You ran a few errands today like restocking your kitchen, and paying off your rent for the month, so now you were just relaxing in some tight ass pajama shorts and a grey tank top.

You felt your phone buzz in your lap, and then buzz again as you grabbed it from its spot huddled halfway between your legs. It was Erik.

“Open ya door.” As you read the message, loud knocking radiated throughout your apartment, making you jump from your spot on the couch, going into fight or flight mode as you approached the door. You took a peek through the peephole in the door, snatching it open when you saw Erik standing in front of your door, his dreads cascaded over his face as he stared down at the lit screen of his phone.

“What the hell are you doing here!” You hissed at him, the chain of your door lock obstructing some of your view, as you stared him down.

“Good to see you too. I thought yo ass missed me, but now we speaking through locked doors?” You rolled your eyes, closing the door to unlatch the lock. After you unlocked it, Erik opened the door to let himself in.

You glared at his feet with a raised eyebrow, his black and white Air Max 95s still laced on his feet as he stepped on your freshly vacuumed carpeted floor. “You might wanna take those off before I drag ya ass back out the door.” He rolled his eyes, taking off his expensive sneaks and putting them neatly on your shoe shelf by the door. “Thank you, sir.”

“Mhm.” He hummed, walking around your apartment, oddly scanning the area. You watched amused as he dipped down, looking under your couch, and then your loveseat. “Erik, What are you looking for.” That came out as a statement more than a legitimate question.

“That nigga you been dressin’ up for lately.” The comment made you double over with laughter, as Erik rose back up from his spot where he was laid out on the floor, staring at you with a stoic expression. “You think I’m playin’ Y/N?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” You caught your breath after cracking up, crossing your arms again. “Nigga, you came all the way here just for that? I’m hurt.”

“No, babygirl,” He walked across the room to where you stood, grabbing both of your arms to uncross them, letting his own slip around your waist, pulling you towards him in one quick motion. “I came here to see my chocolate goddess.” He leaned in for a kiss, to which you dodged by moving your head back, watching him frown up, “Stop playin’.” You snorted, letting a smile spread across your face as you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck, leaning up on your tip-toes.

“I missed you so damn much, babygirl.” You hummed in reply, practically melting in his grasp as you relished in the feel of his lips against your own. Your eyebrows furrowed deeply, pulling back from the kiss suddenly, as Erik opened his eyes, eyeing you curiously.

“Erik– how’d you get my fuckin’ address?”

...

#black panther #black panther fic #erik killmonger #erik stevens #erik(killmonger)stevens #erik x reader #black!reader #erik killmonger x you #my fics #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine #black panther imagine #bp

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nessaandoliver · 6 years

Text

title: grief characters: nessa, oliver words: abt 3k notes: this little exercise was basically just “how many spoilers can i stick in here without actually spoiling anything” lol. i had too much fun writing this. hope you enjoy <3

::::

He startles awake to see Nessa bent over him and he panics for a moment, afraid that something might be wrong, until he registers the look of quiet conspiracy on her face. She presses her finger to her lips, her gaze quickly darting to where Adam lies sleeping soundly, snoring lightly with his mouth wide open.

Oliver gives her a questioning look, but she nods to the door and then skirts around his sleeping mat and quietly leaves. He is tempted to lay back down, but she must have come to him for a reason. Still half-asleep, he pulls his worn jacket on over his sleep shirt and slips into his boots in the corner of the room. To err on the side of caution, he straps his gun at his hip and then sleepily makes his way towards the door.

He stifles a yawn and runs a hand through his hair, trying to fix the awkward tuffs sticking up in the back. Nessa waits outside the room, leaning against the wall with her hands tucked behind her. He raises an eyebrow as the door clicks shut behind him.

“What are you doing up this late?” he whispers.

The moonlight that slants through a nearby window catches on the curl of her hair, turning it birch white. “I couldn’t sleep,” she replies softly. “I...want to show you something.”

“Now?” he asks, propping his hands on his hips like a disgruntled mother of two.

“No, tomorrow afternoon,” she drawls with heavy sarcasm. “Yes, now! Come on.” She beckons him to follow with the twitch of her finger and, against his better judgment, he follows.

The old castle hallways are drafty, and even though it’s late summer, this high up in the mountains the nights are chilly. Oliver pockets his hands as he follows Nessa down spiraling staircases and stone corridors, feeling more and more awake with every step he takes.

“Reina would kill me if she knew I let you lure me out of the castle without proper protection,” he says, speaking softly even though they are alone. There may be ghosts in this castle, forgotten by time, and he doesn’t dare talk louder than he has to, out of fear he may disturb them. Dust makes the air feel thick.

Nessa replies, “What Reina doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” After a beat, she adds. “You make it sound as though I’ve left you no choice.” He hears her footsteps stop and he makes a soft sound of surprise when his chest bumps against her shoulder; he hadn’t realized how close he was walking behind her. “I’m not a princess anymore. I do not give orders.”

He regrets his poor word choice. “I know,” he says. “I almost just went back to bed.”

She starts forward again. “You’ll be glad you didn’t, I promise.”

They fall into a comfortable silence as they make their way toward the grand entry hall, where all the tall windows are glassless and gaping, allowing large chunks of moonlight to split across the marble floor. Oliver pauses when she reaches the front doors and pulls on the metal rung to swing it open.

“We’re leaving the castle?” he asks.

She flashes him a smile that is far too mischievous, and far too pretty. She is practically monotone, bleached by the moonlight, but it turns her into a dreamlike figure. He wonders briefly if he had even woken up at all.

“Think you can handle it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. He draws closer to her with a smirk.

“Oh, I can handle it,” he assures her, straightening the lopsided collar of her jacket.

She peers up at him without restraint or hesitation, meeting his gaze head on, mirth hiding there at the corner of her mouth. He grins down at her, giving her a wink, his hands lingering around her throat. Oliver retracts his hands and pockets them, but he doesn’t step back and neither does she.

“There’s a little chapel on the castle grounds, down by the river,” she says in a voice quieter than before, warmer than before. “It’s really not so far from here. We’ll be fine.”

He tilts his head, a gesture that invites her leadership. “Show me.”

She gives him a slight smile and then turns and beckons him to follow as she begins her trek down the gentle slope from the castle doors. The shallow hill stretches for at least a mile, all the way down to the riverbank. He walks side by side with Nessa on the path, the two of them resting in a companionable silence, neither of them wanting to shatter the quiet moment.

He can’t remember the last time he was alone with her. Reina and Adam are always close by, both a blessing and a curse. He can’t do or say anything stupid to Nessa with an audience, but on the other hand, he can’t do or say anything to her at all. Reina’s obvious and disgruntled disapproval of him is no secret, either. It’s funny, how she trusts Adam - Nessa’s least favorite person - more than she trusts Oliver, especially since he’d never done anything to explicitly deserve her skeptical scrutiny.

Fixing his thoughts back on the moment, Oliver wonders how Nessa would react if he reached out and took her hand, and then banishes that thought entirely. This is no time for him to indulge in his own desires, and it would be cruel of him to act on them when she has had so much else to deal with lately.

He dares a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye. Her short hair bounces around her chin, her eyes half-lidded in thought as she watches her boots crunch against the dirt path. A part of him very nearly asks her what is on her mind, but another part reasons that if she wants him to know, she’ll share. Nessa has never been afforded very much privacy in her life, and the last thing he wants to do is pry.

About fifteen minutes later, she points to a tiny, building standing alone near the bank of the river. Nessa’s steps quicken. “Do you see it?”

“Yeah. It looks small.”

She nods and goes on ahead. He smiles as he watches her rush forward, content to linger behind for a moment, and take in the lovely, moon-bleached scenery around them. The chapel is as tiny as he thought it was going to be. The white stone nearly glows in the moonlight, crumbling pieces of the roof resting on the ground, overgrown with tiny purple flowers. The grass here reaches Nessa’s knees, swishing as a gentle breeze blows through the valley.

Nessa takes a deep breath as she pushes the front door of the building open. The hinges creak with dreaded protest, loud and wailing and resistant, before the opening is large enough for her and Oliver to both slip in. She disappears into the shadows first, not even looking back to make sure he would follow.

“Watch your head,” he hears her say from inside.

He ducks as he enters. “Were people back then always so short?” he asks.

“No, you’re just freakishly tall,” she replies.

Oliver opens his mouth to respond to that, but his quip dies on his tongue when his eyes find the large, stained glass window at the back of the chapel, casting jewel tones on the ground. The inside of the building itself is empty, the pews had either never existed or had been taken out a long, long time ago. A bed of grass covers the floor, softening Nessa’s footsteps as she goes deeper inside, the many windows wide enough to allow for bright slices of moonlight fall into the building.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, finding his gaze drawn back to the stained glass. How it had survived for so many years without shattering is a mystery. The castle has to be at least a couple hundred years old, and abandoned for half that time; it’s only safe to assume the chapel has been around for just as long.

“Isn’t it?” Nessa replies, her back to him, voice echoing off the empty walls.

A thought occurs to him. “How did you find this place? When did you find this place?”

She shrugs, the wave of her hair caught in the moonlight, still facing away from him. “I went for a walk last night.”

He frowns. Hadn’t she told him tonight that she couldn’t sleep either? That makes this two nights in a row. Oliver approaches her slowly, entering the the shadows before her and turning to face her. The darkness almost entirely obscures her expression, but she can probably see his clearly and that’s all that matters. His hands curl into fists inside his pockets.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

She is quiet for a moment. “Not yet,” she says, her voice fragile.

He blows out a breath in relief, glad that she isn’t going to try and hide this from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, even though he promised himself that he wouldn’t pry.

She gives a funny little laugh, almost self-depreciating. “Do I?” she wonders aloud, as if to herself. “When Reina asked, I said no.”

“That’s okay,” he assures her gently. “You don’t have to.”

Nessa takes a deep breath. “Reina did not have an easy life. Her mother died giving birth to her and her father was very sick, and blind. He couldn’t do anything for himself. At a young age, Reina was out selling newspapers and picking up other odd jobs just to take care of her father and herself. She never got to go to school. I think some neighbor took pity on her and helped her learn to read and write.

“Her father died when she was fifteen years old. She had to spend a year on the streets of some backwater town in the west, fending for herself, until she turned sixteen and enrolled in the military academy in Niaren. She excelled. Just before her eighteenth birthday, she was promoted to the royal guard. That’s when I met her.”

“We’ve been together ever since,” she continues. “Reina knows everything about me, and I have always trusted her with all of my secrets. I’ve shared everything with her. So why?”

The words hang in the air between them. Oliver feels as though she might be on the cusp of breaking. “Why what, Princess?”

When she speaks, her voice is eerily calm. “Why can’t I tell her how scared I am?” she asks quietly, as though speaking too loud could bring the whole church down on them. “I watch that horrible day play out every night in my head and I can’t stop it and I can’t tell her.” She sucks in another deep, deep breath.

Oliver knows. She doesn’t have to say that she blames herself for what happened at the palace. She doesn’t have to cry or scream to relay the pain she keeps where no one can see it. He knows because he has lived it, too. He lives it every day. His face crumples like a wad of paper at her words. He swallows a thick lump of emotion caught in his throat.

“The night my parents died...the night my sister was kidnapped… I just.” He stares hard at the space between their boots on the dark floor. “I just hid. My mom was screaming for me. I could hear my father yelling for someone to go get help. The nearest neighbors to our estate were only two miles down the road - not very far away at all.”

He wrinkles his nose, smelling phantom smoke. The nasty scars on his arm and shoulder throb at the memory. Shame wells up inside of him, but he forces the words out. It’s been a long time since he’s shared this with anyone and it hurts. “I didn’t do anything. I just sat in a closet with my hands over my ears until the ceiling fell on me. I woke up in a hospital two days later.” His voice is as soft and flickering as the single flame of a candlestick. “I understand, Princess. I blame myself, too.”

She is quiet for a long moment, and there is a slight hitch in her breath as she struggles to compose herself. Again, he wants to take her hands in his, to feel her skin on his and ground her to this spot. He doesn’t know if its more for her comfort or for his. Instead, he just stands there, hands tight in his pockets, memories searing across his thoughts like shooting stars.

When she speaks again, her voice has a tremor in it. “Does it get easier?”

He can’t lie to her. “No. But you get stronger. And you can promise yourself that you will do everything in your power to make sure it never happens again.” He blows out a puff of air that lifts the lock of his hair off his forehead for a moment. “Princess, listen. I personally think you’re crazy for believing even a fraction of this is your fault, because you can’t control the will and actions of another person. But I get it. Just… Just don’t let it consume you.”

He steps closer to her and he reaches out with both of his hands to take hers. Propriety be damned. “Promise me.”

Her hands, stiff at first, become pliant, her fingertips chilled against his warm skin. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of this when I brought you here, Mr. Kenton,” she says.

“It’s no burden,” he replies. “Seriously. You’ve never been a burden, Princess.”

She sighs, an unexpectedly harsh sound. “Can you stop calling me that? I’m not a princess anymore.”

Despite the situation, he chuckles at her frustrated tone. “You’ll always be a princess, whether you like it or not.”

Her hands tighten on his and she steps even closer. The toes of their boots might be touching. The corner of her open jacket brushes against his thumb and he can smell the rosewater of her hair drifting up to meet him. He acknowledges the way his heart does a quick sprint, and swallows.

“I am not your princess, do you understand?” she says softly. “I don’t want to be that person, to you.”

He feels his gaze grow sharper, more focused. Even in the darkness, he searches the shadows of her face for her expression and is disappointed when he can’t see a thing but the slightest slope of her nose.

“I wish you’d just call me Nessa,” she adds after a moment.

His breath catches. “I can’t,” he says, very nearly pained by the words. They come out of his mouth like cotton, dry and rough.

She lets her fingers play over his, sighing more softly this time, turning her head down to look at their hands. He is content to stand there and let her think, enjoying the simple feel of her chilly skin against his.

“I know,” she finally says, her thumb resting in the cradle of his right palm. After another moment passes, she adds, “I promise.”

He softens like butter, feeling half-drunk on the resolve in her voice, the way her fingers thread through his and then squeeze. “You won’t be alone,” he tells her, his voice far more intimate than he means for it to be.

“I know,” she murmurs again.

They stay like that, silent again. Oliver dreads the moment they have to let go. He doesn’t know when he will be this close to her again, so raw and vulnerable and open. He is sorry that she is enduring so much pain but he more than glad to share it with her. To make it so that her demons can rest with his.

Reluctantly, he pulls away when she yawns.

“We should probably get back,” he says. “It’s getting colder out.”

She hums in agreement. When they get back to the palace later, he makes sure to walk her to the room she shares with Reina, knowing that when they separate, everything will go back to the way it was before tonight. There will be distance between them in the daylight.

He catches her hand at the door. “Please remember what I told you,” he murmurs.

She nods, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. “I will.”

“And I’m here to talk whenever you need to,” he adds.

“I know.” She smiles just a bit but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. I know...I know it must have been hard. I’m so sorry.”

Oliver resists the urge to touch her face, to see if she will lean into his hand and linger there. Instead, he steps forward and brushes the hair back from her forehead to place a chaste kiss there at her hairline. She goes utterly still for a moment, but her hand tightens around his marginally before letting go. When she steps back, her expression is soft as a dream.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

She opens the door to her bedroom and mouths a timid little, “‘Night,” before slipping away. The door closes with a soft thump. Oliver holds his breath for a moment before letting out a big sigh, resting his forehead against the door. He stays there for a while, shelving away everything that had happened meticulously, afraid of forgetting even a single second.

The only thing that pulls him back to his own room is the promise of a decent cushion and the happy knowledge that he is far too tired for dreaming.

#nessa and oliver #nessa belle trevelyan #oliver kenton #writing #fic #hmmm im dying #i don't think i've ever made oliver talk abt his past quite like this #and the reina stuff hasn't been discussed by any characters either #so this wa s good

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atomicstrawbrys · 6 years

Text

String Tied Together

A sequel to Broken String. //

Arthur wouldn't say he'd grown bitter. Just realistic. At age twenty-five, he'd come to understand that the relationship between soulmates wasn't always happy. Some got divorced, and some cheated on their supposed 'other half'. Wherever his soulmate was, he probably did them each a favor. Arthur was nearly thirty, now, and was..adjusted. He was fine.

Besides, he wasn't alone. He had Alfred. Neither of them had soulmates, but they had each other and they were more than happy. There was no way there was anyone on earth that was better for him than Alfred. Whoever his soulmate was, he could fuck right off. He built a life without him. With his amazing, incredible Alfred.

He was sitting on their downstairs sofa when his phone vibrated. He held it in front of him, reading the text from his fiancé.

'Hey babe! I'm gonna be home a little late tonight, so don't worry abt dinner!! i'll pick up a pizza on the way home :)'

Only a few seconds later, his phone buzzed again. "love you!!!'

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling fondly at the device. Alfred was ridiculous.

'I love you too, you know that. See you when you get home. I guess I'll tidy up, since I don't have to worry about cooking.' Arthur answered, getting to his feet and putting his phone in his back pocket. He didn't get a response. Alfred must have gotten back to work.

He had some time to kill, now. Deciding he'd start upstairs and work his way down, he grabbed his bucket of cleaning supplies and lugged it upstairs.

He'd swept and mopped in the master room, and cleaned the windows. The sheets were in the wash, and the furniture was dusted and shone to perfection. Arthur was digging around in the closet now, going through boxes to see if there was anything he could throw away. Arthur set aside shoes he never wore and coats that were old and moth-eaten. There were still cardboard boxes in the back. Things they hadn't unpacked since they moved into this house a year ago.

It was keepsakes, mostly. Scrapbooks, journals, and a few stuffed animals Alfred won at a carnival. Arthur pushed a pink rabbit aside and blinked at the bottom of the box. There was a mint green piece of paper at the bottom. The corners of the stationary were torn, and thin. He definitely didn't remember putting that in there.

Assuming it was garbage that had just slipped into the box, he picked it up. He was about to crumple it up when he noticed his own handwriting on the sheet. He unfolded it.

'Dear Soulmate-

Well, that sounds silly, doesn't it? I'm afraid I don't know your name, so soulmate will have to do. I just wanted to write you, so I could tell you how much you already mean to me. You seem so kind, and friendly, and I look forward to the day we finally meet. I've been keeping all your things! I'll return them to you one day, I'm sure.

Anyway, I don't want to risk this letter being too long, otherwise, it may not get to you. So, I guess this is it for now. I love you, already.'

Arthur frowned, eyes widening as he realized where the letter had come from. This was the same note he'd written as a teenager. The one his soulmate had received just before he left him. He got to his feet, stumbling out of the room and down the stairs.

Grabbing his phone, he called Alfred. No answer. He called again, and again, but every result was the same. Alfred must have his phone turned off for work.

He sunk onto the sofa, staring at the note as his eyes watered. What did this mean? Was Alfred his soulmate? Why had he left him? Why was he back now? Did Alfred know?

Arthur was sitting in the same place when Alfred came home. The sun had gone down, but Arthur hadn't turned the lights on. He was just sitting in the dark. Alfred approached him slowly, holding out a hand after flicking on the living room light switch.

"Babe? You okay?" He asked, slowly lowering himself down beside him. He set the pizza on the coffee table, and Arthur shoved the letter into his arms.

"What the hell is this?!" He asked, but it sounded far more like a demand. "I want /answers/, Alfred," He hiccuped.

Alfred skimmed the letter and folded it. "Why were you going through my stuff?" He frowned, crossing his arms. "It's from my soulmate. Believe it or not, I had one, you know." He puffed out his cheeks.

"But you can't have this!" Arthur snapped, curling his fists.

"Why can't I? Just 'cause you threw out all your soulmate's shit doesn't mean I have to-"

Arthur cut him off. "You can't have that because I wrote it!"

Both of them were quiet, then. Arthur was waiting for a reply, while Alfred stared at him in stunned silence. Then, he chuckled and looked down. "I shoulda figured. Hey, don't cry-"

Alfred was beaming, and he reached out for Arthur. But, Arthur recoiled, shaking his head.

"Don't touch me- you left me! Why? I, you cut the string! Alfred...why didn't you want to meet me?" His voice grew faint, and he curled up, looking off to the side.

Alfred blinked, then smacked his own forehead, shaking his head. "No, no, that wasn't it..! Arthur, c'mon, you know me better than that by now. I..look, my parents..they cut it while I was sleeping. They didn't want me to be with a boy, you know how they are."

Arthur looked down and nodded. "I know..." He sighed, rubbing his neck. "I don't know what to think, Alfred. We were going to meet so much earlier- I probably would have known you in high school or college, we lost so much time.." He glared at the ground.

"It wasn't that long." Alfred moved closer to Arthur again, and this time Arthur leaned against him. "It doesn't matter now, okay? We're still engaged 'n everything. So it worked out, yeah? I found you anyway..!"

Arthur snickered. "I asked you out, Dear." he was quiet for a moment, then continued. "I guess it worked out. Does this change anything?"

Alfred shrugged, ruffling Arthur's hair a little and kissing his temple. "Not if you don't want it to, I guess,"

Arthur looked up at Alfred, and he smiled, if only a little. "No..this is nice. Let's just..eat our dinner. We can watch an episode of that sci-fi show you like."

Arthur grinned, opening the pizza box and settling back. "Best suggestion I've heard all day."

#I got a request to write a sequel but I just wanted the story to be its own post #usuk #ukus #aph #hetalia #APH America #APH England

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pacman-tattoo · 6 years

Text

pokemon hcs [bmc]

just general teams + other things for like... all the characters.

also none of these are fukn balanced or anything i just went with what i think the characters would use

alsoeveryonelivesinalolawhoops

no warnings. just nice pokemon stuff. happy things <3

jeremy heere - jeremy was born in kanto and raised there for most of his life - eventually moved to alola with his dad and lives on melemele island! his mother is from sinnoh (and lives there now) and his father from kanto.. he’s visited kanto a couple times with his family before his mom left, and plans to just travel the different regions one day! jeremy is the kind of person to have a full team on him at almost all times imo!

his team consists of:

a shiny toucannon! he came across her one day and managed to catch her (as a pikipek) and still cries over the fact he found her tbh. her name is leia and she will fucking fight anyone who messes with jeremy (or any of jeremy’s friends, tbh.) ((michael cries over her. everyone cries over her. the shiny bi birb......... bless..... RICH CRIES OVER HER A LOT BC!!! IT’S THE BIRB!!!!!))

natasha is jeremy’s vulpix! she is a cutie that was given to him by his dad, and she’s not an alolan vulpix (which, jeremy is completely fine with tbh, because natasha is pretty fucking rad). jeremy’s actually grown up with her so they’re pretty close.

ganon is a gengar that will fuck u up. he’s kind of an ass sometimes, but he’s apart of the team nonetheless! jer caught him after he was dared to go into the thrifty megamart (while acerola was off taking care of official business, which is... a no-no, jeremy you fuck).

galileo is an eevee jeremy has yet to evolve - mainly out of uncertainty. he’ll probably end up as a jolteon tho! jeremy caught him since the boy loves eevees. michael was probably like “so what are you gonna evolve him into” and jeremy was like “.... fuck, idk.” he’s a pretty rad eevee, tbh - but he’s a lil smaller than most. he doesn’t let that get him down - fuck you if you judge him on his size, tbh.

kalel is a tirtouga that jeremy revived! he’s a pretty rad dude who acts a lot older than he is. pretty gnarly. michael likes him. they share weird outdated lingo lmao

peggy is an ariados that’s super sweet. gentle spider baby. she’s pretty optimistic tbh!!! jeremy loves his spider baby. he raised her from when she was just a baby spinarak. his daughter. i love her.

michael mell - born and raised in alola on ula’ula island! he’s pretty content to staying in alola, but would 100% travel other regions with jeremy because honestly - that sounds super fucking cool. keeps 3-4 pokemon with him at all times. super guilty about catching pokemon and sending them back to his parents - but they don’t mind! his dad loves pokemon a lot and both of his parents research them!!!

his team consists of:

daxter the decidueye! michael’s parents managed to get daxter (as a rowlet) for him for his birthday and the two are super close! sometimes closer than michael and jer are lmao. he’s a pretty damn cool bird. fuck u jeremy and ur SHINY bird.

link the raichu (alola ver.)! A RAD BOY, MICHAEL LOVES HIM A LOT AND WILL FUCKN SQUARE UP IF U INSULT LINK HE IS THE BEST FUKN RAICHU FUCK U

clyde the psyduck!!!! a good boy!!! THE BEST BOY!!!! everyone on michael’s team is the best. michael loves his team. clyde is a giant baby who michael likes to carry around tbh.

samus the flareon!!!!!! the only gal who will fuck u up if u underestimate her. michael treasures her. she is a good bab. 10/10. likes to curl up on michael while he sleeps.

christine canigula - also born and raised in alola on akala island, but lived in hoenn for a couple of years before moving back! she loves her team and would fight u. a complete angel tbh, names all her pokemon after theatre characters (same tbh). her father travels a ton and she meets up w him sometimes while she travels!!! it’s fun times

her team consists of:

cassie the oricorio! too good for the chorus. christine loves her a ton!!! she is a good bird. very dance and gets along with christine rly rly well!!!! (most often seen as in pom-pom style)

eliza the lilligant! she is good and an angel. i love her. extrmely sweet tbh. the most liked member of the team tbh. (these descriptions get shorter with every character whoops)

macbeth is christine’s machoke! he’s ready 2 tussle if u hurt christine + he’s super gr8 at moving set pieces if necessary! once picked up jeremy and scared the fuck out of him.

puck is a togedemaru! he’s super cute and ready to destroy. probably the strongest of the team tbh. probably fucked up Many ppl. he’s super sweet though??? just don’t anger him lmao. he chills in the light/sound booth during shows. he doesn’t even do anything he just chills there.

rich goranski - from sinnoh my sweet dudes! most of his pokemon are actually like.... sinnoh-native. lives in alola with his older brother now but still visits sinnoh every year. tends to travel rather than just staying in one place. has broken his pokedex multiple times on accident. his bro is pretty laid-back tbh but probably works for aether since they pay is... good and he was support rich that way. has burn scars from a bad run-in w a pokemon :/

his team consists of:

buzz is his electabuzz! a good baby, buzz is a big ole softy who cares deeply for his trainer. a tough dude, ready to tussle if someone tries to hurt rich though.

ryder is his mudsdale! a tough, cold dude who doesn’t rly give two shits abt 99% of things. prefers naps tbh. a bit stubborn sometimes too tbh. actually rly loves brooke??? no one knows why.

onyx is his salazzle. a sharp-witted girl who would fuckin stab a bitch for rich. very protective of him. she loves her short trainer. often picks fights with daxter whenever rich and michael are together, but more in the older sister way tbh.

jake dillinger - born and raised in kalos, jake made it his personal goal to travel to every region and beat the leagues. his parents have been sort of absent from his life so he’s extremely independent and tends to mother his team, honestly. he regularly talks with sycamore (and thanks him for giving him the opportunity to travel)! strong boy. loves his team. only carries three pokemon bc he’s always ready to add to his team.

chester the chesnaught! wasn’t named by jake. a timid boy who’s a little bigger than most chesnaughts, ending up around 5′8″ rather than the usual 5′3″. forgets he’s a big boy. has always referred to jake as his papa ever since he was a chespin and he hasn’t stopped lmao. what a cutie

stephanie is his mienshao! a tall babe who is ready 2 tussle. loves jake? he is a good trainer. often spars with chester to keep her skills sharp. i love her?

beans is his reuniclus and he is a smart cookie. awkwardly smaller than most pokemon tbh? he doesn’t care. he’s happy and loves himself and his teammates. often naps but is a strong baby.

chloe valentine - born in kalos, raised in alola on akala island. met brooke there too!!! didn’t grow up expecting to be that interested in battling but something seemed to spark and she’s honestly one of the strongest trainers in alola. honestly, i could see her as an island kahuna??? ready to fight anyone threatening her island.

buster the machamp. protective of everyone tbh, not just chloe. a jolly boy who loves to eat, and often jokes around with the rest of the team and with chloe’s friend’s teams.

marshmallow the bewear. honestly a terrifying bear who knows her strength. very patient with everyone, except buster when he tells shitty jokes. often the scariest part of chloe’s team.

kate the lucario. the real threat. chloe fucking trains with her in order to keep in shape. often responsible for knocking teams out, kate is the powerhouse of the team. marshmallow may strike fear, but kate’s the one trainers should lookout for.

brooke lohst - born and raised on akala island with christine! brooke has always had an interest in taking care of pokemon and aspires to be a nurse someday tbh!!! not interested in battling tbh, but is super supportive of her friends! only keeps two pokemon with her at all times tbh. they’re good friends.

winona the chansey is brooke’s main partner tbh. she plans on staying by brooke’s side when she goes into school and helping her when she eventually becomes a nurse! good friends with rich’s mudsdale tbh. winona is very bold and very strong and i love her

terra the espeon. given to by jeremy! terra is a sweetheart who also helps brooke as much as she can, and can help calm trainers if needed. whoops i love her?

jenna rolan - also born and raised in alola on melemele island. jenna is insanely smart??? honestly she’s gonna be a professor one day. she studies under professor kukui rn! more intereted in research than battling tbh. loves her team i s2g she would fight anyone for insulting them.

frost is her ninetails (alola ver)! jeremy loves her? especially bc he was raised in kanto and woah jenna u have a ninetails wtf!!! but she’s an ice type!!! thats so cool.... but anyway, frost is a diva i s2g, she likes attention (and likes jeremy because he gives her attention).

andy is her dragonite!!! he’s a good friend, a good chubby soft boy. andy is basically a giant teddy bear who just wants to cuddle tbh. often found napping??? what a sleepy boy

i love pokemon?

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somefinelipstickonthatpig · 7 years

Note

(abt that smoke au) Please for the love of Laphicet write that I will dance at your wedding

well gET UR DANCIN SHOES READY BUD cuZ HERE WE GO !!

Canon-divergent drabble in the Tintagel Ruins where the scene in which Sorey gets locked in the chamber happens just a little differently.

[also for Sormik Week 2017 - Day 8: Katz’ Korner, Free Day since I could write whatever I wanted to my heart’s content so heRE HAVE SOME REQUESTED DR A MA and a little fluff at the end cuz i love these two]

When Rose first said, “Whoops,” Sorey should have known that wouldn’t bea good sign. “Don’t you ‘whoops’ me!” he had cried, fumbling for the gap in thewall to the left. Rose just laughed. When she said, “Whoops,” again for the secondtime, Mikleo beside him grumbled with his arms crossed over his chest, “Whatdoes she mean by that?” and Soreywasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The third time she made some sort of surprised sound was the moment itall went downhill.

Steam hissed into the room from a corner Sorey couldn’t identify, thoughhe tried to find it.

Edna whistled long and low. She lifted her closed parasol to her slendershoulder and tapped it once, twice. “Well. Things just got interesting,” shemused.

“Uh—sorry, Mr. Shepherd! Dunno what that did but I’ll see if I can turnit off…!” Rose’s voice traveled to them from behind the thick wall. “Obviouslyit didn’t open up the door, so…uh, how about this one?” As she spoke, a collectionof shafts dotting the upper walls of their enclosure slid open. Moresmoke—colored oddly, Sorey couldn’t help but notice—filtered slowly into theroom.

Mikleo huffed, “That is the oppositeof helping!”

The Shepherd laughed nervously. “It’s okay…!” He called out, both for theseraphim around him and the human who couldn’t hear them still fiddling in theroom beyond. He scratched the back of his head and then shrugged. He turned tothe others. “Here, maybe there’s a way to make that stop on our end. C’mon,let’s check it out.”

Soreylead his team around the room, meticulously examining every wall. He placed hisfingers to every crevice, pressed into each nook he could reach. Edna stompedon the floor pattern with her overlarge boots, mumbling something about thisentire venture being “stupid.” Lailah hummed, eyes following the images alongthe walls with her bright green eyes for guidance. Her fingers hovered justabove the stone surface.

Mikleonever once left Sorey’s side. Perhaps that was why he was the first to noticewhen Sorey’s breathing started to change.

“Sorey?”

Soreycoughed into his hand lightly once and then twice. He shook his head andblinked his eyes hard. “I’m fine,” he answered, his voice quiet. He winced andlifted a hand to his throat. “Just getting sore, I guess. Weird.”

Mikleofrowned but said nothing.

Afew minutes later, Sorey coughed again. His shoulders curled inward. Mikleo’shands shot out and hovered. “Do you need some water?” he asked.

Soreyshook his head again. He waved a hand. “No, it’s passed.” He turned to thewater seraph with a bright and brave grin. “But thanks! C’mon, there’s gotta besomething here that’ll turn that weird smoke off. Let’s see if we can find it.”

Mikleolet his hands fall to his sides. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, now filledwith the smoke in question. He watched the way the clouds of it slowly driftedwith an odd odor and hue, circulating and churning around itself.

Aheavy stone settled in his gut when Sorey swayed and coughed again. TheShepherd put out a hand to steady himself against the wall they were beside. Thesudden attack was rougher than before; it drew the attention of the two otherseraphim in the room. Edna tapped her parasol against her shoulder. Lailah’sface grew tight. The fire seraph walked over.

“Sorey?”Lailah called.

“It’sokay,” Sorey responded with a bare-bones chuckle. It was weak. Mikleo couldn’thelp but notice the sweat that now dotted the human’s brow. There was an odd,thin strain to his breath. “I’m fine.”

Sorey’sshoulder crashed into the wall with his next lung-rattling cough a few minuteslater. His body sagged against the stone.

“Sorey!”

Lailahand Mikleo were there in moments. Mikleo took his shoulders and eased him tothe floor. Lailah hovered in front of the Shepherd, her hands torn betweenreaching for his fevered skin and clasping each other in front of her.

“Ohdear…!” she gasped. “He’s so pale…!”

“Sorey!”Mikleo called, tucking him against his chest. He could feel every shake ofjagged breath in his friend’s form and his hot pants for air, short and pained.

“I’mfine,” Sorey whispered. “It’s okay. I just…gotta figure out how to—“

“—Sorey,you’re not fine,” Mikleo corrected.His head snapped up; his violet gaze swept the room. “Edna!” he called to theearth seraph now standing in front of the wall that had imprisoned them. “Can’tyou do something about this?”

Ednaturned. Her glare, even from across the room, was edged with daggers. “In caseyou haven’t noticed, Meebo, I’m an earth seraph. I can’t do anything aboutpoisonous gas and weak humans.”

Lailahmade a soft sound. “Poisonous—“

Mikleoshook his head. “I know that, youidiot! I wasn’t talking about the gas; I was talking about the door! We need toget Sorey out of here! Now!”

Edna’seyes lit up with something dangerous. Her body fell still. “What did you just call me…?”

“What’sgoing on in there?” Rose’s muffled voice carried through the thick stone. “Everythingokay? I can hear a weird hissing sound, but not much else. You still kickin’Mr. Shepherd?”

Lailahjumped to her feet. “Rose!” she called. “Rose, you have to hurry! Sorey’s in abad way!”

Therewas no response from the assassin just outside their room.

Edna’sgaze drifted to the wall. The tip of her parasol dropped from her shoulder andto the ground. “Well. So much for that; she still can’t hear us, it seems.”

“Shecan’t—“ Sorey’s voice was haggard. He coughed again; Mikleo was half afraid thehuman in his arms would upheave his own lungs with each rough jerk. An odd lookentered Sorey’s wide green eyes; something born at the intersection of fear andresignation. “—well,” Sorey gasped thinly. “That’s…not good.”

“Brilliantdeduction, Sherlock,” Edna mumbled.

“Edna,this isn’t funny.”

“DoI sound like I’m laughing, Meebo?”

“Guys,”Sorey breathed. His fingers reached up for Mikleo’s tunic. Tanned fingers duginto white-spiraled teal. “Stop it. We gotta…” A thin, high and whispy thingcame out of the Shepherd. “…gotta get out of this.”

“Weneed to get you out of this, Sorey,”Mikleo stressed. He squeezed the Shepherd’s shoulder and could feel Sorey’sform shake and labor to breathe. How strange it suddenly seemed to the seraph inthat contact that so small a thing such as badair could wipe away a life. Humansare different from us, Mikleo, Zenrus had always said.

Nowthat the difference was tangible under his fingers, Mikleo wasn’t sure he likedthe reminder as to just how fragile humans could be.

“Yes,”Lailah agreed. “And we need to hurry. Perhaps…perhaps if one of us were toarmatize with him? We could blast our way out and—“

Soreyshook his head. The world swam in front of his eyes with the motion. “—but, theruins…”

“Sorey.You’re really gonna worry aboutkeeping the ruins intact when I’m pretty sure it’s this ruin that is killing you right now?”Mikleo’s voice lacked all humor as Edna stepped over to the huddle around thefallen Shepherd.

“Tintagel…”Sorey rasped. He coughed violently. “…there’s…so much history here. We…we gottagive it its chance to tell us its story. To…to explore it all—“

“—oh,just shut up already,” Edna deadpanned. She stuck her hand out towards theShepherd pointedly. “You can’t explore if you’re dead, idiot. And neither willyou be able to help my brother like you promised. So suck it up and armatizewith me. I’ll make sure your stupid ruin stays safe.”

Soreyraised glassy green eyes to the earth seraph. His exhale struggled to fullycome out of him. “You will?”

“Ohmy gosh,” Edna rolled her eyes so farback, they may have gone into her head for a moment. She squatted down andsnatched up one of Sorey’s limp hands in her own. “You’re as bad as Meebo. Justsay my name and let’s get this over with already.”

“Hey!”

“O-okay.”Sorey’s quiet voice wavered. He took a breath and tried to squeeze Edna’s handback. “Then let’s…l-let’s go.” He took another breath and for a moment, Mikleoworried he wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

Then,he whispered, “Hephsin Yulind,” andthere was a great flash of light.

Rosejumped the instant she heard an explosion from some place behind her. Her headsnapped around, blue eyes wide. “What the—?”

Withoutwasting a second, she scurried back to the room she had left the Shepherd in.The large door that she had shut between them was burst to pieces as if asingle powerful punch had been given to its center and torn all the stoneasunder. Dust was still settling from the blast. In the doorway, looking paleand weak and surrounded by a strangely-colored smoke that spilled out into thehallway from the chamber, stood the Shepherd himself.

Hislegs shook.

Hereyes widened even further.

“Is…”he began. His voice sounded weak. “…is the door okay?”

“U-uh—“Rose wasn’t sure the door should be the Shepherd’s priority right at themoment.

Blearily,those green eyes turned to the stone that had crumbled to the floor around him.Stone he had, she was assuming, somehow blasted aside in his effort to get out.At whatever he saw, the young man nodded, his feathered earrings dancing tosome unknown question that hadn’t been asked.

“Isee,” he said. Then he collapsed.

Astrange wind blew in from behind Rose and swept the smoke away.

“Sorey,we’ve got to stop doing this.”

“Iknow.”

Mikleopressed cool fingers to the Shepherd’s brow, feeling the poison-fueled heatstill simmering underneath his human’s skin. He wet his fingers again with asmall spell and watched as Sorey’s eyes fluttered at the renewed contact whenhe placed his fingers at the tip of the human’s forehead.

“Heythough, this time,” Sorey murmured back, rough and quiet. He coughed weakly.“It’s not my fault.”

Mikleo’seyes flickered up to look at the assassin who was in the middle of aconversation with another member of her Sparrowfeather group. Rose had a tightfrown on her face; her arms were crossed over her chest. “Yeah, I know,” hemumbled.

Soreycoughed again, a harsh and grating sound rising up from deep within.

Mikleoleaned back. “Do you need to sit up?”

Soreyshook his head. A few harrowed breaths later, he calmed. One hand clung tightto the collar of his dark blue button-up as the other rested on his stomachover the blanket lying across him. His exhale seemed to rattle his whole body.“Ugh. I feel awful, Mikleo.”

Mikleolistened as the human’s breathing slowly evened out. He nodded. “Yeah, well.That’s ancient poison for you.”

“It’s…notgoing to kill me, right?”

“Sorey,”Mikleo chided with a small and knowing smile. “Do you think I’d let it?Besides, you’re past the worst of it by this point.”

Soreylooked up. He grinned back. “Oh. Yeah. I guess that was a silly question, huh?”

Mikleoput his chilled fingers to his best friend’s brow again. Gentle pressure,soothing, and caring. Sorey’s eyes slipped shut. “The silliest thing I’ve heardall day,” he fondly murmured—and that, he knew, was saying something.

#sormik week 2017 #zestiria #sormik #sorey #mikleo #edna #lailah #rose #a hint of dezel #fanfic #mod krissey writes a thing #Anonymous #not on AO3 unless people want it to be so i can move it there if u guys want #just lemme kno

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