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#it just kinda blurred like - i was sitting here writing two seconds ago
tojisun · 11 months
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i fall to pieces
dilf!toji x college student!fem reader
!! this is a mess of tropes that i’ve always wanted to explore (such as lovingly tending injuries and being in love with your best friend’s dad) - the second one is a major CW; legal age gap (reader is in her early 20s and toji is in his late 40s); mentions of bullying (not between toji and the reader); petnames; no curses au // 2.9k words
: i had fun writing this even though i kinda forgot what the plot is midway; i hope u guys would like it <33; title is from cherry - lana
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your knuckles, the ones that aren’t bruised, raps on the door, impatience thrumming in your veins. the ache in your jaw still stings, but you are far too focused on the split skin on your knuckles and how the trickling blood had turned the hems of your cream-coloured long sleeves into a garish sight. your chest heaves at another ragged exhale, your whole body trembling, feeling the burning remnants of exhaustion. 
the door opens after your last bout of knocks.
“jesus, what- y/n?”
you startle, not expecting toji to be the one to answer the door.
“what the fuck happened to you?” he asks when you didn’t reply, reaching to wrap around your less injured hand, clasping his thick fingers and warm palm around your wrist to tug you inside the quaint home. 
“uh,” you say unintelligibly, following him with unsteady feet as he leads you two to the living room. “is gumi-chan here, fushiguro-san?” is what you said instead, not really knowing where to even begin with unpacking the dumpster fire of a fight that you were in just minutes ago. 
he clicks his tongue. “i told you to just call me ‘toji’, kid.” he sits you on the sofa, your body bouncing on the plush cushions in a cartoonish way. “and brat’s with y’r other friend. the loud one with pink hair.”
you hum. “yuuji,” you say even though toji would just forget your friend’s name again.
he grunts. “yeah, that one. a’right, you,” toji points at you. “y’stay here and don’t even think about movin’.” then he disappears, his feet padding quietly on the wooden floors. 
only when he’s left do you realize how tense you still are, your shoulders poised as if expecting an attack. you force yourself to let go, feeling your body tremble at the extra effort it needed to exert to unwind your aching body. your eyes slip shut, your brows furrowing as your side throbs in pain again. fuck, you thought, the bitch got me good. 
any other day, you would’ve found yourself winning a tussle with no injuries. or, you grumbled to yourself, i wouldn’t even be in the tussle. but they had no right to pick on mai like that. 
(“heard you sucked cocks to get here,” fake blondie crooned as she wagged her stick-like finger, tutting like mai was a child.
mai bristled—who wouldn’t? 
she’s put countless efforts to get to where she is right now, and for her integrity to be questioned, because what? mai’s too pretty, too confident in herself, for a smart kid? clearly fake blondie hasn't seen enough of your friend group if she’s baffled by how someone could be smart and pretty and confident. even panda was charming, and no one even knows what he looks like underneath that mask he stuffs his head in. 
so next thing you knew nobara was throwing a punch, with momo jumping at fake blondie, and of course you had to join in; you weren’t going to let your girls fight on their own. but then one of fake blondie’s friends pulled out a bat out of nowhere and hit you at your side. 
you stumbled on your feet, almost tumbling to your knees at the sharp pain. mai’s shrill scream had been enough of a wake-up call before you were reaching at bat girl’s hair and yanking hard, forcing her to crumple before you. 
it was a blur after that. then mai was nudging you out of the alley, murmuring her thanks, before you four were parting ways.)
you hear toji walking back in and you peel your eyes open, tracking him as he makes his way back to you. he falls on the floor, almost between your legs, and your breath stutters when you realize the lack of proper distance between you and your best friend’s dad, so you clamp your legs shut and looked away just before toji could lift his head to meet your eyes. 
you startle when warm hands clasp with yours, your eyes jumping back to toji.
“easy,” he grunts like your heart isn’t thrumming loud and fast within the cages of your ribs. you swallow the lump lodged in your throat.
“ok-y,” you reply, internally cringing when your voice breaks at the end of a single word. fuck, you’re a mess. you clear your throat, feigning nonchalance even as toji begins uncapping the alcohol. “okay,” you repeat.  
he hums, spilling alcohol into the cotton ball before pressing the soaked cotton on your split skin. a hiss makes it past your teeth before you are clamping your lips tightly, trying your best not to jostle your body any more. you didn’t even notice your flinch until you hear toji’s soft shh sounds, his thumb running soothing circles on the part of your skin that isn’t wounded or bruised.
“m’sorry,” you murmur, feeling shy all of a sudden, your lips still pursed at the dull thrum of pain.
“s’fine,” he says. “should’a warned you.” toji pauses, the cotton pinched between thick fingers. he looks at you. “good to go?”
you nod, not trusting your treacherous voice anymore. 
toji’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “good girl.”
your mind screeches to a halt, your breath getting stuck in your lungs. it is like the world has stopped orbiting—it hasn’t, not when you can see toji dressing your wounds with gentle hands and even gentler touch—and all that’s left is the echoing words that toji just uttered.
good girl, he said naturally. genuinely. 
good girl, he said in a voice that denoted nothing out of the norm, the same way we’d say the sky is blue and the ocean is deep and you are a good girl. 
(his good girl.)
good girl, he said like he meant it.
fuck. fuck.
a squeal is building in your throat, your body trembling softly as the emotions seated in your chest began to expand and spill over and–
“ow!” you hiss, unconsciously tugging your hand away from toji’s hold, feeling the bite of stinging alcohol running along your tender skin where scratches and beading blood laid.
toji blinks at you. you blink at him in return, feeling prickles of embarrassment creeping from the base of your neck. 
you laugh, something so fake and brittle, feeling so ashamed and awkward. “sorry.”
toji shakes his head, huffing fondly, and his eyes crinkling in such a soft way. “c’mon kid, give y’r hand to me and we can finish patchin’ it up.”
you gingerly give him your hand again, licking your lips, wanting to say something even though words aren’t structuring themselves properly in your head, only to collapse into silence as toji’s hands cradle yours softly once again.
(he’s always been so soft with you.)
he hums, approval dancing in his tone. “y’r doin’ well, kid.”
before you could stop yourself, a wheeze punches itself past your throat. christ, the praises.
toji looks up, concerned.
“just parched,” you say before he could ask, feigning dry coughs to strengthen your obvious lie.
“…i’ll get you somethin’ after this,” toji replies hesitantly. “you still like those ramune, yeah?” 
“yeah,” you answer, your voice curling as you smile, watching as toji begins to bandage your hand. your cheeks tingle when toji’s lips tug up at hearing your quiet excitement. 
you cough, clearing your throat. “i’m shocked gumi-chan kept a stock here,” you say, after a while, wanting to break the loaded silence. “he said he doesn’t like them anymore.” your nose scrunches in judgement.
toji kept to himself for a moment and you wondered if you said something wrong. shame curls in your stomach, chasing away the previous excitement that had been budding in your chest. an apology sits on your tongue, prickling and heavy, then toji huffs. it’s only then do you notice that the bandages are secured but toji still hasn’t let go of your hand. 
“yeah, megumi’s done with ‘em,” he finally says, running soothing circles on your skin again. “i just kept buyin’ a bunch cause i know you like ‘em.”
“oh,” you mutter, feeling so breathless and choked up at the same time. 
toji chuckles without humour. “yeah. ‘oh’.” 
there’s a certain hesitancy in his next caress, an internal battle flickering from within his eyes, and you feel lost, anxiety and desire mixing in an uneasy tandem, overwhelming your veins to the point of silencing the previous beating you had. then, toji lets go.
your hands twitch, jolting to pull him back, but you catch yourself before your touch can connect. but it’s too late: toji had seen your aborted move.
he looks at you, searching for something in your eyes. a heartbeat passed, and you don’t know what’s gotten into you but you fall into his space, your knees hitting the floor with a loud thud. it’d be another pair of bruises that you’d carry home today but for now, with trembling arms and roaring heart, you let your hope choke you to the point of acting stupidly.
the kiss was chaste, cracked lips just landing on top of scarred ones. the world felt faraway yet scorching at the same time.
you feel toji tense under you and panic explodes in your chest.
stupid. stupid!
you pull back, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but you are stopped by toji’s arms encircling your waist to tug you to his lap. one of toji’s arms snake to your back, his palm coming to rest on the back of your head, before you feel him pulling you back into another kiss. this one is deeper. more heated. more desperate.
good. you think to yourself as your eyes shut close, feeling yourself drowning in toji’s kiss. so good.
you loop your arms around toji’s neck, tugging him closer as if you two aren’t already pressed flushed onto each other, raking your fingers through the straight strands of his hair. 
you savour the kiss, the moment, toji’s touch. you know that after this, there will be nothing between you and toji. a shared kiss is easy to forget as time crawls by, after all, nothing good will come out if things between yourselves are made serious. you’re not allowed to hope.
but god, the way you still do.
you hope that toji would make you his, whatever “being his” even means. you hope that he’d whisper confessions, stilted as they always are from toji’s lips, or praises. lots and lots of praises. you hope that when you two pull apart for air, toji would push himself back in your space and kiss you again, just as yearning as you are.
(you hope he loves you just as much.)
then, despite your internal cries of ‘too soon’, toji is pulling himself from the kiss. you let go, sucking in air desperately, filling your lungs with needed air to distract yourself from the searing loneliness that is crushing you already. 
you clamber off his lap, not meeting his eyes, only to pause when toji refused to let you go.
“uhm,” you begin, trying your best to ignore the tingling of your lips, when toji refused to budge. “toji-san?”
you startle when he cups your cheeks. “told you it’s just ‘toji’, kid.”
“okay,” you murmur. “toji, what’s, uhm, what’s up?”
he chuckles. “well if you keep rollin’ your hips, then somethin’s gon’ be up, a’right.”
you choke, startling on his lap upon hearing his words, the previous tensed atmosphere shattering into something light and humorous. “what the hell?”
but toji doesn’t regale you a response, instead he caresses the skin under your eye, smiling cheekily. “my pretty girl,” he coos. 
your lips part, ready for just as cheeky of a response, when toji’s eyes turn sharp and steely, chasing away the stuttering words on the tip of your tongue. 
“you fought them well, didn’t you?” he continues, his voice still in that crooning tone. “you came to me, beautiful in y’r anger.” toji’s voice has turned into measured murmurs. “and i know you must’ve won—you always do, kid.”
you nod, not knowing where the conversation is going.
“but you came to me, bleedin’ and achin’ and it terrified me.” he leans forward and presses a kiss on the corner of your lips. “and it got me thinkin’–” he pauses, going silent.
you shiver, feeling the way his lips are still pressed on your skin, ghosting with their touch—teasing, caressing. the desire keeps growing in the pit of your stomach.
then, toji pulls back, his eyes finding yours as he says, “i don’t think i can handle lettin’ you go anymore, pretendin’ i don’t love you.” 
“what.” your voice came out as a gasp, your lips (still tingling from toji’s kiss, you noticed with satisfaction) falling in surprise.
“wait,” you say because you couldn’t fathom a reality where toji said he loves you. “what?”
“c’mon kid, up-up,” he replies instead, carefully pushing you off his lap and urging you to stand before he can clamber to his feet. you follow his command, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed by everything.
he loves you?
“let’s get you y’r ramune,” he continues, pulling you to the kitchen, like he didn’t just drop a bombshell on you. still, you follow him to the kitchen—you would honestly follow him everywhere—hovering by the fridge, bandaged hand intertwined with toji’s own scarred hand, watching as he rummages past refrigerated produce, before pulling out the peach-flavoured soda. your favourite. 
toji lets go of your hand and rips the seal off the nozzle before pushing on the ball. the clink of glass on glass is the only sound in the kitchen as toji turns and hands you the drink. 
“thank you,” you say before taking a sip.
toji leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead. “always.”
your cheeks burn, your veins thrumming with each wild pump of your yearning heart. the affection you have for him is spilling over and even with toji’s disjointed confession, you know it’s your turn to make the move.
so you step on your tiptoes, kissing toji on his jaw, before murmuring, “i’ve loved you since.”
as if that was all that toji had been waiting for, toji doesn’t waste any time before he’s scooping you off the floor and plopping you on the counter, his lips are hot as they met yours for another kiss. he cups your jaw, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss. the ramune slips from your hold but toji catches the soda, plopping it beside you, before turning his now free hands to touch whatever they could of your body. you reciprocate with the same ferocity, tugging at black strands and nipping his bottom lip, trying to convey the want and the love and the heat simmering inside you.
toji growls, deep and satisfied, his voice rumbling between you two. it was loaded with an emotion that easily reflected the storm raging in your chest, silencing the budding uncertainty over toji’s affections for you. you scratch at his back, trying to hold onto him tighter, afraid that this is just another dream.
(you used to count every single one of them, only stopping when one of those dreams left you too raw, feeling like you have been gutted and left to bleed on your bed.
you don’t remember the whole of it, but even with only the fragments you were left with, you know why you ache: flashes of a little kid with toji’s eyes and your nose; flashes of a life beyond flirty conversations and fleeting touches; flashes of vows that lasted a lifetime. 
you woke up sobbing in your dorm room, feeling so small, so robbed of what you wish life could be with toji.)
toji pulls back, the whine in your throat cutting off into a moan when his lips latch on your throat, sucking and biting—marking you up because you are his. you arch your back, giving toji more room to stake his claim on you. 
lust and love are mixing, leaving you breathless and teary-eyed because god you’ve been waiting for this for so long. 
“love you,” you hiccup, trembling when toji’s hands hook under your shirt, tickling your skin with his ghosting touch.
“shh,” toji murmurs, fond and understanding, straightening up to gaze back at you again. “i know, baby. i’ve got you.” he loops your legs around his waist before toji is hoisting you up in his arms and, without staggering, carrying you to his room.
your eyes flutter when he carefully lays you down on his bed, his eyes watching you with reverence. 
“let me love you,” he whispers.
you nod, softly. desperately. “please.”
his touch is a gentle scorch, his bigger body easily covering yours. when he thrusts, it is deep and and strong and filling, reaching your most intimate parts with measured strokes and unwavering intensity. when you cry his name, he croons and coos, praises spilling from his scarred lips along with his promises of loving you and caring for you, something that is so sentimental even as he continues to fuck you filthily.
“my sweet girl,” he murmurs on your skin, his lips latched on your collarbone. you almost don’t hear him amidst the consistent slaps of his thighs on your pelvis. “my precious, sweet girl.”
that’s how you cum: toji deep in you, your name slipping past his lips like prayer, and your pleasure consuming your every nerve.
you know things aren’t perfect, not yet anyway, but your mind is a mush, overwhelmed with toji (his scent, his touch, his words), your body is singing with euphoric contentment so you bury the worries deep in the pockets of your chest because for now, you are in the arms of the man you love. and he loves you just as firmly. 
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ficsbypix · 1 month
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ships in the night | j. quinn x f!reader [m]
TITLE: Ships in the Night WORD COUNT: 3.6k SUMMARY: you've been apart for two years, but yet here is on your doorstep. at 1am. again. WARNINGS: Angst. Smut. Joe's kinda messy in this one. NOTES: Fun fact, I started writing this in September last year and accidentally lost my notes in Sticky Notes so I got in a ~*mood*~ and didn't finish it. And then I opened Sticky Notes a couple of days ago and boom, they'd reappeared so I took it as a sign to finish it. I also listened to "Heartbeats" by The Knife a lot during writing this. I also highly recommend the Jose Gonzalez cover. Please remember that I love your likes, but comments and reblogs mean the world to a writer.
You wince in the light as your eyes open and you yawn. With a groan, you pick up your phone and look at the time. Almost 1AM. Yeah, you should probably think about getting up from your comfy couch, disentangling yourself from your lovely, comfortable blanket and actually crossing your apartment to your bed because sleep has been threatening to take over for the last couple of hours now. Well, okay, fine it’s been less of a threat and more of an action because while you’ve not been properly lost in sleep, you have been dozing off in front of your television on and off for a few hours now. You’d literally come home from work, tugged on some pyjamas and wrapped yourself in that blanket with your pizza.
You stretch with a wince, the romcom you’ve been watching is long over (you can’t remember which one it was, but your love life has been such a disaster zone lately you’re living vicariously through them at the moment and they’ve all but blurred into one) and has been replaced with an American sitcom with a laugh track that’s double the volume of any of the actual dialogue. Yeah, time to turn that off.
You sit on the edge of the couch for a few minutes after clicking the remote and getting rid of the laughter, just trying to regain your barings from your dozing off session. You push your hair out of your face and reach out for the half-drunk glass of wine that’s still on the table - you’ve done about half a bottle this evening with a few slices of takeway pizza, a treat after the long week in the office but all of the carbs and sugars could have definitely attributed to the overall tiredness of this evening. You take a couple of sips and brace yourself to stand up.
And then your doorbell chimes.
You’re awake. Wide awake almost immeadiately and you feel like you’ve been doused in cold water. Mere seconds ago you’d been in a happy medium between sleep and wake and now… God, now your body feels like you’ve downed a litre of espresso.
Because there is only one person who would turn up -- uninvited -- at your flat at this time of the nght.
The same person who routinely turns up on your doorstep in the middle of the night.
Joe.
Joe’s on your doorstep.
There’s a twinge of excitement in your stomach and you fucking hate yourself for it, because you should not be happy at the idea of him being out there. You want to be annoyed that he’s there, pretend that you’re asleep, or even out at some party or at some guys house but you know that you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from opening the door and you know that your apartment is the only one with this specific enterance that happens to have a window next to it so even though your blinds are down, he can probably see a chink of light from underneath them.
Not that it would have stopped him from ringing your doorbell even if he couldn’t see signs of life from within, it never bloody has before.
You take a deep breath and try and steady your racing heart. He’s your ex-boyfriend for a reason. He hadn’t been a bad boyfriend - far from it actually, you’d met in a pub one weekend and hit it off and had started seeing each other almost immeadiately and you’d dated for five years. He still remained the loveliest guy you’d ever been with and it had ended pretty amicably because some things in his life had shifted and he just hadn’t had the time for a full relationship anymore and you’d had to go long distance for a year.
You’d lasted six months long distance before a Facetime call where you’d called it quits and agreed to stay friends. He’d cried. You’d cried. You’d gone to bed for a week after because you thought he was going to be the one, you were going to marry him and have 2.4 kids and an overpriced house in London and send your kids to private school.
You’d agreed to stay friends. You’d agreed one day that you might find your way back to each other.
And he does keep finding his way back to you, these stolen late nights happen at least every month, maybe every six weeks at a push and it’s always because something has happened. A bad review, an argument with someone, a bad date with another woman, there’s always a reason he ends up on your doorstep. And it’s always because he needs comfort.
A specific kind of comfort.
And you always fucking let him in.
You could not let him in for the first time. You could pretend that you didn’t hear the doorbell, that the light is only on because you fell asleep with it on and you’re in the deep, deep sleep you would have probably been in now had he not rung the doorbell and just wait for him to go away. It’s not like he’ll even be here in the morning, he never usually is.
So naturally with a sigh you pad to your door and open it.
As always, something has happened. As always he’ll probably be cagey about it. He looks tired, he’s wearing his glasses and he’s smothered in a big coat and a ‘teeny weenie beanie’ adorns his head in the cold London night. You don’t say anything, you just look at him.
“Hi,” He mumbles. “Can I come in?”
You don’t reply, you don’t need to and you don’t know why he’s even asking because he knows you never say no. You sigh lightly and hold the door open to him. He slips into your apartment as you close the door with a quiet click behind him, you’re not wanting to wake up your neighbours at this early hour. Or late hour, depending on how you look at it.
He kicks off his obnxious heeled boots, throws his coat over your sofa and tosses his beanie hat on top of the coat, running his hand through messy curls. He looks good and you hate yourself for still thinking it, too much has changed, him, you, his lifestyle. “How are things?” he asks. The whole situation is awkward, his voice is awkward.
“Fine,” you finally find your voice and tell him. It comes out scratchy friom the dozing off, it’s been hours since you’ve left work and even used your voice and so you clear your throat and repeat yourself. “Fine, things are the same as they’ve always been.” you pause. “I’d ask how you were, but I kind of see it even if I don’t want to… congratulations on the thing by the way.”
Joe nods. “Thank you.” he says.
The two of you fall silent, neither of you really know what to say. “So, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Joe asks.
“Well… you’re here, at this time. That normally means something has happened.” You keep your voice light. “So spill, what’s the matter? Or are you just about to go away filming again? But you look pretty stressed out, so I’m going to guess it’s not the latter.”
Joe swallows and doesn’t speak for a second. “Why does there have to be a reason? Could it just be that I wanted to see you.”
“It could be,” you nod. “But it’s never normally that you just want to see me. And if you just wanted to see me, why at this time of night?”
Joe doesn’t respond, he falls quiet and swallows, his eyes darting around your living room, taking in the remants of your pizza and wine evening and your blanket strewn. You stand with your arms crossed, watching him and you can see his mouth curve into a small when he notices the one glass, the one plate but it disappears so quickly that you could have almost imagined it.
Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re here alone on a Friday night, because he can’t see any signs that you’ve fully replaced him yet (which you haven’t, but God knows you’ve tried) and you don’t know how to feel about that. You’re not going to fuck him tonight now, just to prove a point.
He’s an ex for a reason.
His eyes land on you again and he looks you up and down, almost like he’s drinking you in. “Cute pyjamas,” he tells you and this time he gives a real smile.
God you love his smile.
“Come here,” he mumbles. “I’ve not seen you for weeks…”
You’re not gonna fuck your ex.
You are not going to fuck your ex.
His arms close around you as you reach him, your head rests against him as you breath him in. He smells the same as he always has, you don’t know how to describe it but the best words you could think of would be musk and comfort. You feel safe, he’s always made you feel safe and warm and comfortable. You look up at him, his face is serious and his big brown eyes gaze back down at you.
And then his hand is cupped on your cheek and his lips are on yours.
And you give in.
His kisses are almost desperate, his hand slips from your cheek pulling you closer to him, your own arms wrap round his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately, his hands touch every part of you that they can and it’s almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that you’re truly there and in his arms. You understand the feeling, it’s mutual.
The desperation makes it feel almost different to the other times that this has happened, but you try and push those thoughts away and just focus on kissing him. Kissing Joe. Your ex.
As he kisses you he backs you out of the living room, down the hall and the two of you tumble into your bedroom, hands still all over each other. His find the buttons of your pyjama top, undoing them without taking his lips off yours, shoving it off you as you help him with his own shirt. Both of your hands work at any button or zipper you can find, tugging and pulling until the two of you are tumbling back on the bed.
You can’t help but giggle as your naked back hits the soft comforter and he pauses to look down at you, his eyes taking in your body and then he laughs too and dives back in for another kiss, nipping lightly on your bottom lip making you groan into his mouth, because he’s such a shit and he knows exactly what that move of his does to you.
He doesn’t let you adapt to him when he slips inside, he slips back out and then back in again almost as quickly as he pulled out. No slow pace, fast and hard and desperate, desperate desperate. You have no idea what’s gotten into him tonight but he feels so fucking good and you love it so you’re not complaining about it. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “Always feel so fucking good for me.”
“Yeah?” You breathe out, arching your back and you wrap your legs tightly around him. You need him to be as close as you can get him, not that you can get much closer than him being quite literally inside of you. “Fucking love the way you stretch me out.”
This almost feels like you’re a pair of horny college students, in your dorm room when your roommate is out of the room and you only have limited time. He buries his face into your neck, nibbling and biting as he fucks up into you. “Take me so well,” he moans into your neck. “Fit me like a fucking glove, sweetheart.”
You preen at the term of endearment and wrap your arms around him, your nails digging into his back. You know you probably shouldn’t mark him up, you never know what he’s going to have to film but you need to mark him, you need to put your mark on him, you feel almost as desperate as him. You need this closeness, this comfort.
You need the way he’s all but slamming into you, the way the headboard is hitting the wall and probably keeping your neighbours up, the way he’s stretching you out so well, the way he’s being kind of rough with you and the feel of his flesh underneath your nails. You need him, you need him, you need him. “Feel so fucking good!”
“Yeah?” He mumbles against your ear, pulls out almost all the way and then slams back into you, pulling a deep moan from the recesses of your chest. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”
“Just like it when you fuck me.” You breathe out. “Like it when you’re rough with me.”
You know this isn’t going to last, the desperation between the two of you tonight is too much tonight. But you love it, this wasn’t the norm between the two of you when you were together but the rough desperation would come out sometimes, normally when he’d been away for a while and you fucking love it, its when you feel your closest to him when he’s just that desperate for you.
“I wanna make you cum so fucking hard,” he’s kissing you again now and he groans into your mouth. “Want to make you cum so hard you remember I was inside of you for the next two weeks.”
You whine out at his words. You want that too, God you want that too.
He slips a hand between the two of you, finds your clit and starts rubbing. He’s a seasoned veteran when it comes to your vag and he’s got his patterns, his ways of making you feel good but tonight… tonight he’s roughly rubbing circles as his fat, hard cock slams up into you and he just wants you to cum. You roll your hips with him, panting and moaning and gasping his name. So close, so close. You wish this feeling could drag out and last longer but this is the way both need it.
His mouth presses against you and you groan into it as the white hot rush hits you, your entire body feels like it’s on fire as you cream down on him. And it must feel good because the moan he lets out is almost feral.
He shifts himself, kneeling up and his hands find your hips, he grabs onto you and pulls you down onto him, rough and hard and fast, his eyes on yours the entire time. Desperation flashes in his brown eyes and then his hips still and he holds you close to him as he cums inside you, slamming his eyes shut and groaning deeply, filling you.
He flops down next to you, lying on his stomach, his head on the same pillow. And he gazes at you, his breathing heavy. You gaze back at him, he looks so beautiful like this, flushed and fucked out and you wonder why you ever let him go.
The only thing sound in the silent room is you both trying to catch your breath.
He leans over, kisses you again and rolls onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling.   
You break the silence. “Macaroni me,” you mumble and he laughs. It’s an ongoing insiide joke between the two of you, that started from a Valentine’s card one year and you can’t remember the last time you asked him to do it, but it had to have been back when the two of you were actually together. He humours you, twists his body so that he’s spooning you, but tucks his legs into yours so you’re lying almost in the shape of a piece of macaroni, your rapidly cooling but still sweaty bodies pressed together.
Silence overtakes the two of you as he holds onto you tightly, both of your breaths calming down in the dark of your bedroom.
It’s you who breaks the silence again. “You’re not going to be here when I wake up, are you?”
Joe’s breath hitches but he’s silent for a few beats, dragging it out. “I don’t know.” he tells you honestly.
You’re glad he can’t see your face because you need to close your eyes for a couple of seconds to compose yourself. You realise just how much you want him to still be here with you in the morning. “Okay,” you breathe out. “Well… whatever you’re going to be filming in the next few weeks I hope it goes well.”
You hear Joe swallow again. “Thank you,” he tells you. “I’ll come visit.”
You close your eyes again, almost steeling yourself for what you want to say to him. You want to tell him that if he leaves before morning breaks again to not come back, because it’s time to let you go. If he doesn’t want you properly, then it’s time for the two of you to move on and as much as you like the idea that the two of you could just stay friends and be cool with that you know that isn’t something that’s possible. Not with the two of you.
It’s been two years. Things have changed.
But what hasn’t is that you still love him endlessly.
And you think he knows that.
And you think deep down somewhere, he still loves you too.
“Don’t,” you mutter. “Don’t come visit, not anymore.”
Joe is silent. “You know I will anyway.” he mutters. “I don’t think you know much I miss you when you’re not around.”
“Goodnight, Joe.” you say softly, an ‘I love you’ on the tip of your tongue.
“Goodnight.”
You stir in your bed the next morning as sunlight streams in through your curtain. He’s not pressed into your back again.
You knew it.
Gone again.
Then you feel a shift next to you and a voice, rough from sleep, speaks.
“Good morning.”
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mundoperla · 1 year
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hi! can i request frank meeting his soulmate in a trial for the first time? ofc survivor soulmate. female preferably! i love your frank sm
fuck you *writes an entire fic of this idea because frank morrison supremacy AND AAAAAA CUTE*
❝ 𝑺𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑬𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓. ❞
Frank Morrison x Fem! Survivor Reader.
— The concept of soulmates never interested Frank, but now that he’s found you under these circumstances you’ve got his full attention.
‼️tws;; brief mentions of violence (srry ur friends get clapped), meg. ‼️
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The fire at the center of the camp crackled softly with the only other source of sound coming from the other two lively killers interacting with one another. The Legion keeping to themselves sitting farther from the banter from across the flames.
Everyone was tired, but nobody could sleep. The other three kept themselves on their toes in case it was time for one of their trials, Frank still tried to settle despite the rough conditions the group had been tossed in.
Another killer had left since it was time for their trial, leaving the antsy few to sit down until they came back.
Joey had sat down next to Frank, leaving Julie and Susie to themselves since he had so real interest in the girls’ conversations.
With the masks on Frank could tell the other man had something on his mind, it wasn’t hard to tell.
❝ You’re in pretty deep thought over there man. Barely said a word in like what.. Maybe a day in this realm’s terms? Talk about it. ”
The rest of the Legion was fond of Frank’s bluntness, he didn’t want secrets being held unless they shouldn’t be discussed to begin with.
“ You ever think about what your soulmate is doing ? We don’t know how long we’ve been her or how much longer we’ll still be here. What if we’ve missed out on meeting them already ? Kinda sad when you really think about it..”
Frank didn’t believe in soulmates, nor did he care for the idea. He didn’t need another person, he could be happy on his own.
“ So ? Who cares what a so-called ‘soulmate’ is potentially doing. ”
“ I care! I coulda’ been with em’ long ago, maybe– “
“ HAH! I bet’cha yours is probably a survivor you’ve killed before. ”
“ Man.. “
——————————————————————————————
Frank is running through the corn field trying to catch up to Meg, his legs feel like gelatin and his vision begins to become even more blurred than before.
He’s irritated that his frenzy had to be halted so suddenly, but he physically cannot move a second longer.
Hesitantly he sits between two of the lockers that stood side by side within the shack panting heavily, removing his mask and placing it to his left.
Most of the survivors were horribly injured with one of them already being sacrificed. He could let the last remaining three get a generator done before he gets back up, he wouldn’t take long to get back up again anyways.
“ Hey! You okay over here? ”
He hasn’t heard this voice before, yet there was an odd sense of familiarity in it’s tone.
You were peaking from the front doorway that exposed the fields, not a single scratch on your body. Frank’s eyes scanned you for a moment, discreetly hiding his mask behind him to ensure he didn’t alert you that he was what you needed to avoid.
He’s never even seen you before, however he wants to keep you here for as long as he can. He wants to hear you talk, to watch your look of worry fade into joy when he says something funny, he doesn’t even know your name yet he wishes to stay in your company for an eternity.
“ Oh, M’Fine. What about you ? ”
“ Trying to find everyone else.. I don’t know who’s still standing and who isn’t. Probably not safe to stay in here though, the killer could get us if we stay too long. Can you stand ? ”
You’re considerate. You’ve never met him a day in your life but you look into his eyes with sincerity — your hand reached out to grab his. Frank kicked the mask under a small gathering of hay from where he was sat. He could go undercover just this once.
The way you spoke gave him goosebumps and left and unfamiliar fluttering feeling in his core. Still in such a horrifying situation you were still cracking a joke or two that followed with care whenever he’d so much as stumble on a pebble whilst walking over to where a generator was located.
It felt.. creepy watching you work on generators with his excuse being that he’d ‘keep watch’ in case the killer came so he wouldn’t blow up your progress. Naturally he would’ve killed someone on the spot if he found them repairing like you were doing, but he didn’t want to harm you. Instead you are left unharmed.
Felix limped into the rustic home that sat next to the both of you, Frank had noticed before you.
“ Sit tight for a minute, I think someone’s inside the house. I’ll go in and see if they need any help. ”
You give a nod of understanding and Frank runs inside. He had full intentions of getting rid of your teammate, but he had to do so in a manner that wouldn’t incriminate him.
You could hear the two men screaming from the inside of the home, frozen with fear you didn’t know how to respond. Frank bolted out from the back door and in your direction, grabbing your hand and rushing you over to the tree where the animals were strung.
“ The killer was in there. I got away but he killed the other guy that was in there that I tried to help.. Needed to get you away from there. ”
God lying to you this way made his stomach churn, but he wants to try and remain as close as he can until this all ends. Your brief expression of fear makes his heart ache, would you look at him that way if you found out what what really happening?
All potential what-ifs that had began to plague Frank’s mind were cut off by the sudden sensation of your arms wrapped around his torso.
“ Even though you couldn’t save whoever was there, you still went back for me so that I could be safe.. That’s really cool of you to do. ”
Your words of praise rang through his mind like the sweetest melody, your embrace felt like what could only be described as heavenly. Shyly wrapping his arm around your waist with the other reaching up to place his hand on the back of your head.
A moment of silence had passed, the two of your still standing engulfed in the warmth of one another — this feeling of familiarity that you felt around this unknown man became stronger, hopefully he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed when he placed the hand that was on your waist onto your face.
You were incredibly stunning, even with your hair disheveled from the running, beads of sweat rolling down your temples because of the heat, your [e/c] eyes still looking deeply into his dark brown ones.
“ Should’ve told you this earlier but my name’s Frank by the way. ”
The two of you let out soft giggles from the late introduction,
“ [y/n]. My name’s [y/n]. ”
“ Pretty name for a pretty girl. ”
You swat at his shoulder causing him to let out a deeper chuckle, your moment of bliss interrupted by the gate beeping next to the both of you.
Frank’s heart sunk, he can’t leave with you. This is where everything crumbles and you’re never going to interact with him again after this.
All he can do is silently watch you pull down on the lever until the exit fully opens, he’s afraid, what does he do? run away? try and follow you out? what does he—
“ [Y/N]! GET AWAY FROM HIM! ”
Fuck. He should have kept chasing Meg at the beginning.
“ What ? Why ? Frank’s with us. ”
“ [y/n] please! He was going to kill me, he already got Felix and Vittorio you need to get away from him! ”
Frank doesn’t say a word nor does he make eye contact with you. His back is still facing Meg, he’s fighting every urge to snap back and kill her right where she is. But instead lets her bolt past him to grab your arm to lead you out the gate you had just opened.
You struggle with her for a moment whilst screaming at her to leave without you to which she hesitantly does. Leaving you with Frank once again.
The brunette still refuses to make eye contact with you, he silently waits for you so shout some kind of obscenity at him out of anger but instead,
“ Y’know if I can come see you after I walk out this gate ? ”
“ Wh- What ? ”
“ Well? ”
“ I- Well um- There’s a path from where the uh.. killers are that leads to where you guys are? We can’t kill ya’ but— “
“ I don’t know that path so swing by, I’ll keep an eye out for you. ”
You give him a smile and a little wave of your pinky and run out through the gate, Frank’s eyes never leaving you until that same familiar fog clouds his vision and disperses to have him back at the campfire.
“ Oh hey— “
“ What do you think about the possibility of your.. ‘soulmate’ being here. In this realm or whatever it is. ”
“ What’s with this sudden interest with soulmates now ? What happened in that trial man? ”
“ Just answer the damn question Joey. ”
Frank can hardly take his friend’s prodding to hear what sparked his sudden interest, bolting up to make his way to where your camp is located so he can see you again.
His mask is on this time, but he’ll take it off just so you can tell it’s him.
He can already see you from the small clearing in the trees looking around for him, to which you spot immediately.
That same beautiful smile on your face as you hop up from your seat to walk to where he was posted.
How much time can he be given now to waste with just you and nobody else.
••• ••• •••
FRANK HAS MESSY BROWN HAIR IDC IM RIGHT RAGHHHHHHH
it’s literally 3am & i got class in the morning but anything for my bbgs who also love frank🤭
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waiting-so-long · 4 months
Text
To be Decided - Part 2
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Characters / Fandom : Marvel / COD crossover no one asked for. Simon “Ghost” Riley, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson.
Part 1 Here
Pairing : Bucky x reader? Ghost x reader?
Summary : Having previously been apart of the 141, now an agent with Shield, you were excited to introduce Bucky and Sam to Simon when he came to visit. What you didn’t expect was the battle between the Sergeant and Lieutenant for your attention. What happens when lines get blurred, and boundaries are crossed? Can all actions be forgiven, or will everything change?
Warnings : 18+ only, minors be gone! Delulu Bucky again like coocoo. Semi dark!Bucky. smut with DUBCON vibes(how can you really know who is wearing a mask?), Oral (f receiving), fingering, not great at writing smut but it happened. Barely any Simon in this part like none at all :( Idk what else you let me know if I missed any!
Word Count : Unknown, written on mobile, sorry!
A/N : ahhh this idea was going to haunt me till I wrote it down so hopefully someone else can enjoy it too. I expected to have more Ghost in this but it all kinda got away from me. I may have a part 3 thought up? With protective gaurd dog Simon cause I love him. All mistakes are mine, barely proofread tbh.
——————
The next couple days were infuriating. Aside from a couple cocky smirks, or slightly suggestive comments, Simon chose to completely ignore what had happened between you. ‘Almost happened’, you keep reminding yourself, as if the specification makes any difference to you. It doesn’t. You still feel a heat rush through your body at the memory of Simon on top of you, his breath warm on your face. Maybe he is right to ignore it. Maybe it would have been a mistake if he actually kissed you. Maybe he doesn’t want anything to change.
But that doesn’t explain the lingering glances, the not-so-innocent touches, that - at one time you wouldn’t have had a second thought about - now make goose bumps appear on your skin just thinking about. You shake your head at yourself. You’re miles away from him, you need to focus on work. You still have piles of paperwork from your last mission to turn in before the end of the day, reports from witnesses, and your own final report as well. You should have done it days ago, but you were too busy, and excited to prepare for Simon.
Luckily, it’s a calm day at the Tower so you can focus. Although it’s never too busy on this floor. Mostly just personal offices for higher ranking agents, your own being the one furthest from the elevator, opposite from the large conference room. Your office is small but it’s somewhere you’ve made comfortable. Little personal touches, trinkets, that could never find a home at your apartment, scattered along the shelves here, next to books and photos from your past.
Two of your favorite photos sit side by side on your desk. The first was just a few months ago, after a rare evening with the whole Avengers team. Everyone opted in for a movie night and drinks at Tony’s home theater. You had fallen asleep, not even 20 minutes in, head on Bucky’s lap as he played with your hair. He fell asleep shortly after, the picture taken on Sam’s phone, showing the two of you in the same position early the next morning. Bucky looked so peaceful, so content, you wished you could see him like that every day.
The second one was from years back, you were standing between Price and Ghost, in his full get-up, skull mask and gloves. The three of you covered in dirt and blood, but they had humored you and took the picture. They hadn’t known you long, Simon was still wearing his mask around you constantly. But you had a successful mission, and that was the first time you felt apart of the team. You loved that memory just as much.
———
Bucky was thankful for that photo on your desk. He remembered it after you had all left the bar the night you introduced him and Sam to Simon. He spent a long time that night thinking, pacing. The way you were looking at Simon playing over and over in his mind, wishing you would look at him that way. For a moment, wishing he could be him, if it meant you would pay Bucky just a bit more attention.
And then, he had an idea. The photo. Simon in his full uniform. He was sure a guy who is that attached to hiding his face wouldn’t go far without the stupid skull mask and gloves. Did he bring them to your apartment? Were they just shoved in his suitcase, or casually laid on your counter as he played house with you? His idea started to form into a plan. He was going to need help though. He needed Simon out of your apartment.
“You want me to what?” Sam was looking at Bucky like he had three heads.
Bucky rolled his eyes, “Just a couple hours, man. Y/n said she felt bad she had to work while he’s visiting her, and wanted to see if one of us would show him around, make him feel like a real tourist.” Bucky thought he would mind lying to his best friend more than he does.
“And why can’t you do it, if you’re the one she talked to about it?” Sam wasn’t gonna concede without a small fight at least.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” They both knew nothing good would come from Bucky being alone with Simon.
Sam considered his options again, “I do this, and you’ll owe me, and I can cash in whenever I want.” Sam stuck out his hand, willing to shake on it.
If his plan works, and Bucky gets what he wants, he would do anything Sam asked. “Deal.” He smiled, as he took Sam’s hand.
It was surprisingly easy for Sam to get Simon out of the apartment. He had said he didn’t mind waiting for you to get off work, but was feeling restless still.
Now Bucky hoped he was right, that Simon had brought his gear and uniform, just in case. It’s what Bucky would have done. Maybe they are similar after all. After using the key you had given to him for ‘emergencies’, Bucky made his way through your apartment to the guest bedroom, on the bed sat a small duffle bag, socks hanging out of the side. No, it wouldn’t be there. He scanned the room… There, in the corner near the door, a pair of combat boots sitting by a utility backpack. Bucky quickly dumped the contents on the bed, barely able to contain his satisfaction at being correct. Skull mask, gloves, and a black military jacket neatly folded among various weapons. He collected the items, - making a note of how they were folded, placing everything he didn’t need back in its place - and headed to the Tower.
———
You had just finished your lunch break, making your way back to your office. As you opened the door, you screamed, instinctively reaching to your right hip for the holster you weren’t wearing. A good thing, as the figure standing in front of you in the dark, - obviously intent of scaring the life out of you - is not one you would have liked to shoot.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Riley! You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” When he didn’t respond you continued, taking in his uniform, mask and gloves, “Did you get called away?” You tried and failed to hide your disappointment in your voice.
He simply shook his head, but didn’t elaborate, so you pressed further, “So why are you wearing that, just to scare me? You know I’m not intimidated by the Ghost,” throwing him a wink as you started walking toward the lamp across the room, he must have turned it off when he came in.
Bucky felt both flattered and jealous when you winked at him. He knew you intended it for someone else, but he was the one who was on the receiving end so it didn’t really matter, did it? He stalked across the room, coming behind you, grabbing your wrist just before you pulled the string on the lamp. He needed the room to stay dark if this was going to work.
“Si, what are - ” The words dying on your tongue as you tried to face him, only for him to keep your back pressed against his chest, one hand still holding your right wrist tightly, left hand pressing firm on your stomach. He was flush against you, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
Bucky moved his hand off of your arm to raise the mask just over his lips. He brushed the hair from your neck, inhaling the sweet smell of your shampoo, placing feather-light kisses over your sensitive skin. He’s waited so long to feel you like this, tilting your head to give him better access to your pulse point.
Goose bumps spread down your back as he left kisses trailing from behind your ear down to your collarbone. Still pressed against his chest, gloved hands sliding under your shirt, stopping just under your breasts, waiting for permission.
“Please… I’ve been waiting for you to touch me all weekend,” you sighed, your hand coming up to grab the back of his neck to pull him closer. The roughness of his gloves against your bare skin making you shiver. You gasp as you feel his teeth nip at your ear, a low growl coming from his throat.
Bucky was struggling to stay quiet. He wishes he could tell you how long he has waited to feel you pressed against him, to taste your skin. Wishes he could tell you how pretty you sound, ‘Just for me’ he says in his head. He turns you around, moving to undo the buttons on your blouse, his mouth following his hands, open mouth kisses leaving a trail of marks across your chest.
He places a soft kiss on your nipple before pulling it to his mouth, a small moan escaping you as you remove your shirt fully for him. You reach for the back of his neck to try to pull his mask off, wishing you could run your fingers through his hair. He reaches behind him, grabbing your hands and places them firm on the table behind you.
“Why won’t you let me touch you, I want to see you,” you know you’re whining and sound desperate, you expect him to tease you, knowing how he loves how you look when you blush for him. Instead he just shakes his head again as he continues to slowly kiss down your stomach, his hands tugging your pants off your hips, holding you steady as you step out of them. He kisses your hip bones, and you squirm at he grabs your ass with both hands. He picked you up, and sat you on the edge of your desk, before kneeling back down in front of you, continuing to leave excruciatingly soft kisses along your legs, all the way from your ankle, slowly making his way to you inner thigh.
“Si, please. I’m so tired of you teasing me, plea— Ah!” You yelp as he bit down on your soft skin, so close to where you’re aching for him. You jut your hips off the wood just slightly hoping to find some stimulation.
Bucky can’t believe that he’s here. He’s finally here. You’re needy for him. Begging for him to touch you. He could never tell you no, pulling your panties off as you raise your hips, he’s met with the most beautiful sight. You’re practically dripping for him. He places a light kiss to the soft patch of hair, ‘so perfect, all mine. My love, mine’. He hears you whine, so impatient, and he shushes you, quickly pulling his right hand out of the glove, shoving it in his pocket, before pushing two fingers past your folds. He can’t stop the groan that comes from his chest at the feel of how warm and wet you are. Still kissing your legs, your hips, your stomach, he rubs your clit, loving the way you arch towards his hand.
You try to reach for him again, another stinging bite to your skin making you cry out and put your hands back on the desk to your sides. You’re not sure why he won’t let you touch him, and why he won’t use his goddamn words, it’s infuriating but he feels too good for you to complain right now. “Mm I need more, I need more of you, please.” The words barely leaving you mouth before his is right where you need it. His tongue immediately coming to lick a fat stripe across your cunt, replacing his fingers on your clit. You feel him moan into you and you cry out as his fingers lower to fill you up.
Bucky knows it’s risky, he’s been avoiding looking at you in your face this whole time, knowing once you see his blue eyes instead of the brown you’re expecting, it will all come crashing down. He knows this, but he just can’t help himself, looking up at you as he sucks on your clit, your head thrown back, eyes closed, thankfully. ‘God, you taste so amazing, baby. Been dreaming of this. You look so gorgeous, come undone for me, love. Please, please.’ Bucky’s mental pleas mixing with your own voice, you’re practically grinding on his face, chasing your release.
You feel your legs shaking, heat creeping up your neck, “F-fuck, please don’t stop, baby, please, I need you.” His fingers pick up pace inside you, as the room fills with the sound of your wetness, causing you to squeeze around him. His left hand pushes your thigh to keep you from closing around his head. As your orgasm crashes into you, he doesn’t let up, still licking and sucking and fucking his fingers into you, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. If you weren’t so caught up in the feel of him, you might have noticed the blue eyes looking up at you through Simon’s mask. You might have noticed how, this time when you reach out for him, he grabs your hand with his left, gloved finger intertwining with yours. You should have noticed that, even through the leather, his hand is more solid than it should be, not flesh but metal.
Maybe a small part of you does.
But you don’t have time to process that. He forces another orgasm from you without letting you recover even slightly from the last one. This one, he barely lets you finish before he’s standing, grabbing you harshly by the jaw, and kissing you just as harsh. The taste of your slick as his tongue pushes into your mouth is not the romantic first kiss you may have imagined, but fuck was it good. You moan into his mouth, and he pushes himself closer, you feel his cock press against you for just a moment. And then he’s gone. You open your eyes, and he’s backing away toward the door, like he doesn’t want to go, mask covering his face again, before turning away from you, leaving you there. Satisfied, but needy. Confused, you start to get yourself dressed again.
He may have left but you still can’t wait to return the favor when you get home.
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h-grangers · 2 years
Text
one shot
max mayfield x harrington sister
- sitting in max’s hospital room, with only your thoughts to occupy you.
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i’ve never felt so drained before.
the events from two days ago feel like a blur. everything is hazy and i can’t remember much of anything.
of course, apart from the reason why my girlfriend is currently comatose and in a hospital bed.
i haven’t moved from her side at all, not until steve forced me to at least shower and pack an overnight bag if i truly wasn’t going to budge (which i wasn’t).
everyone else came and went, sending their “condolences” or whatever. it’s complete bullshit seeing as max probably doesn’t even know half of them.
well, it’s not like she’s able to tell me.
i told her that it was a bad idea. i told her that there was no way in hell we could possibly trick vecna. steve called me a ‘negative nancy’ (much to nancy’s annoyance) but sitting here, contemplating the past two days events, i wasn’t wrong.
and even now, steve (and everyone else) try to lighten the mood by saying that max could be in a much worse state, and i have to bite my tongue to refrain from telling them that she also could be in a much better one.
i know they’re only trying to help, but they just don’t get it.
and i think that’s the worst part. the fact that they don’t understand, and it leads to me feeling like i can’t talk to any of them.
steve always drops by the hospital for 30 minutes or so everyday, but he’s so busy with helping hawkins after the earthquake that we only have time for a light, quick chat.
lucas, my first friend since i can remember, visits the hospital as much as he can, to have a general talk with me or to read to max, but neither of us want to address the elephant in the room; what’s next for max. for hawkins. for everyone.
and let me not forget el
oh el.
where would any of us be without her?
i knew it wasn’t a ‘miracle’ that saved max. how could her heart stop beating for over a minute and then suddenly start beating again? even the thought of what i’d do without el brings a lump to my throat.
i run my hand over max’s bandaged hand, taking in hard, deep breaths. i feel like i’ve been fighting the urge to burst into tears every single second of the day.
steve told me this morning that the gang is getting ready for another fight, due to will feeling vecna’s presence and the ever changing weather.
another fight.
another war.
‘will it ever be truly over, max?’ i say quietly.
she doesn’t answer me.
a small part of myself believes that she never will again.
this short but.. ah definitely not sweet! i’ve been wanting to write this ever since vol II but every time i rewatch the scene of lumax in the hospital i burst into tears.
also, i had a different version of this done this morning and i saved it to my drafts. i went into my drafts a while ago to upload this and it never saved.. so i kinda rushed this sorryy lol
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lordoftermites · 3 years
Text
uhhhh hi, wow, hello.
i have [productively... somehow, i think?] dissociated the entire day, and now it is 1:09AM.
and while i have no idea where most of that near-13 hours went, i have a cookie. like, a whole ass cookie.
so i mean, it must have been a good day.
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seijorhi · 3 years
Text
Fracture
i apologise in advance.
Miya Osamu x female reader
TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw
‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’
How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?
And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 
Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 
And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.
As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 
“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”
There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.
You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.
And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 
Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 
Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.
You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.
At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”
But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”
Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.
Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.
The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.
“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”
The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 
You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 
“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 
Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 
How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.
It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 
He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.
“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.
It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 
It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.
“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 
Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.
It’s a good sign. 
“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.
He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.
Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 
The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.
The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 
And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.
“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”
You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”
Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.
Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.
It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.
Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.
“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”
You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.
You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 
Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”
He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”
Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 
It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.
Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 
“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.
And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.
It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 
“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 
He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”
Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”
You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–
But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 
And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.
“Oh.”
Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”
And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 
Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–
“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.
Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.
It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.
Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.
There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 
Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.
“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”
It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.
“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”
Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”
“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”
It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.
They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.
“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”
Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”
You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.
He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.
“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 
Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”
Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.
And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”
But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.
And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.
It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 
Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.
And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.
By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.
As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.
You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”
“Nobody’s stopping ya.”
“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.
Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 
“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”
And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”
He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”
There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.
In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.
You want it to stop.
“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 
This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.
You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.
“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”
Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.
“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”
Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”
You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.
And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.
You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.
A hickey.
Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.
You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.
Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.
And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.
Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.
Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 
A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 
A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.
You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–
There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 
Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.
By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 
“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.
You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.
“I’m starving.”
Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 
And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 
“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 
You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.
“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.
Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”
Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.
“You sure yer okay?”
Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 
Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”
There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.
You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.
Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.
He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.
And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.
You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 
There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.
You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.
Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.
You need to go back to Tokyo.
Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 
No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 
You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.
Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.
The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.
“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 
The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”
He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.
“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 
Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.
And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”
“Which is?” you force out.
Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”
Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 
“Osamu–”
“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”
And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.
It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–
This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.
He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.
“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”
He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”
Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 
Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.
He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”
He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.
Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 
Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 
And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.
Like you’re willing.
Like you want this with him.
An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.
There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 
Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.
He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.
“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 
But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.
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hanazuma-inactive · 3 years
Note
Hello! This is kind of a long request and well- Hopefully you’re fine with doing temporary Body Swap. :>
So basically Bakugou and his Male S/O are pro heroes and when out on a mission, they both get hit by a villain who has a swap quirk. Basically, they just swapped bodies. (Y/n is in Bakugou’s body and Bakugou is in Y/n’s body, they basically just switched minds.) They are told by the other pro heroes that the two should go home and take the day off. Unfortunately, nobody knows how long the quirk effect will stay, but they were convinced it was only temporary. So the two go back to their shared apartment and the day goes on pretty normal- besides the fact that, you know, they’ve swapped bodies. Though later Y/n gets a bit of an idea. What if he were to f*ck Bakugou in this body? The thought seemed kinda strange at first since he would literally be f*cking his own body, but he couldn’t deny that the thought was turning him on. Especially wanting to see Bakugou’s reaction. So, he basically handcuffs Bakugou to prevent him from struggling and.. while in the middle of doing it, something happens.. Shit! Why did it have to happen now?? Y/n panics in his head as he realizes they just swapped bodies again, and he is now at the mercy of Bakugou Katsuki himself..
I actually sent a request kinda similar to this to someone else but it was a while ago and they haven’t responded so they may not have liked it, or it just didn’t arrive. And sorry for choosing Bakugou again, you just may be able to figure out who my favorite character is.. Sorry for my rambling.
If you don’t wanna do it, that’s fine. Anyways, have a good day/night, man!
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in his shoes (nsfw) bakugou x reader
pronouns: he/him
warnings: body swapping during sex, bottom and top reader+bakugou, selfcest (?), degrading, bratty behavior, claimming and possesive themes, bondage (handcuffs)
a/n: i really like this concept and i will write it don't worry 😎👍 i usually write all of my requests anyways. im also sorry this took literally 5 years.
_____
katsuki bakugou and y/n bakugou. the two of you have been married for 2 years now after you guys started working as heroes. you both went to UA and graduated at the top of the class. neither of you had time for love or romance resulting in neither of you confessing you feelings for each other. gladly, things managed to work out in the end.
"he's on it again, i need the bakugous here right now."
hearing the police force requesting your assistance, you and your husband show up on the case. it turned out to be the villain that the two of you couldn't capture the last time during patrol. 
"HEH?! look y/n, it's this motherfucker again. what's up with this loser, coming back every time it's annoying." 
"play nice now katsuki, let's just go and restrain him and let the police take care of the rest."
the two of you move quickly to match the villain's rapid movements. katsuki flew around using his quirk to attempt to catch him but failed. the villain was surprisingly agile and you guys had a tough time trying to chase him down. 
after around half an hour of chasing you finally cornered the villain on top of a tall building in the middle of the city that was still in construction. the ground was hard to walk on and somewhat unstable but you managed to find your balance. 
"alright, give it up, you've got nowhere to run now. 
"what he said, stop resisting and i won't blow your face off."
the villain's expression turned to fear as you started to close up on him. out of panic, he used his quirk. it was a small beam that didn't hurt at all. however, after a few seconds your body started to heat up, you looked over to katsuki and you could tell he was feeling the same. what was happening?
seeing the two of you struggling, the villain quickly left the scene but he had trouble moving around due to his surroundings. his movements were also somewhat impaired due to fatigue. it was most likely the aftereffect of his quirk which was why he was pretty reluctant in using it. 
the strange feeling in your chest wouldn't go away and your vision started to blur. next thing you know you woke up on top of the same building to see yourself lying next to you. was his quirk duplication? no it couldn't have been. you tried to stand up but felt the weight of some heavy armor dragging you down. you look down to see yourself wearing katsuki's hero costume and his gauntlet. still in awe, you heard a groan in your own voice next to you. 
"shit… wtf happened, y/n where are you where-" 
it didn't take long for your husband to find out what happened. 
the two of you have switched bodies.
you both tried to explain to the police who's who but it only ended in confusion. you went home with your husband after they put the two of you on break for "damaged mental" from the villain because the majority of the police thought you guys were crazy. 
there weren't any cases similar to body switching between heros before so the doctor said there's nothing that can be done other than attempting to wait off the effect. so there you were, in your husband's body, cooking dinner for the man while you saw your own body lazily sitting on the couch with your legs spread open watching the tv. 
life went as normal for the next two days, since you two were both males there weren't any problems whatsoever. however, one day a thought flew into your mind while taking a nap with katsuki. since he was the one who would usually top, now that you're in his body wouldn't it technically mean you get to top? 
physically you would be using your boyfriend's body to fuck yourself. but the thought of the all mighty bakugou katsuki taking his own dick, his bratty attitude, and lastly breaking him and making him fall apart by your touch aroused you in an indescribable way. you knew katsuki wouldn't agree to this due to his prideful personality so you had to take other measures to carry out your plan. 
you and kastuki had all sorts of toys laying around and you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine with them. while he wasn't looking you grabbed the vibrator, handcuffs, and blindfolds and put them all on the nightstand. now that everything is in place, all you have to do is wait to catch katsuki off guard tonight when he gets tired.
later tonight, after finishing dinner, katsuki was yet again sitting casually again on the couch watching tv, not giving a single care to the world. 
"heyy katsuki!"
"hm? yah?" 
"come with me for a second? i want to show you something!" you said with a sly grin on your face
katsuki didn't care enough to talk back, neither did he think this could lead to the ill intentions you had with him tonight. following you into the bedroom, you gestured katsuki to sit down on the bed. he obeyed although he began to have a suspicion of what you're about to do. using your new body, you abused katsuki's strong muscle and speed to restrain your own body with the handcuffs you prepare. there was no way for katuski to fight back in this situation because your body was simply not built enough to resist his. 
"h-huh? what are you doing dumbass…if you're joking s-stop it now, it's not funny." 
"oh i am very serious katsuki, now that i'm inside your body. i am going to fuck your brains out. i'm gonna thrust that bratty attitude of yours right out the window." 
hearing you say that, your husband looked away to avert his eyes while you heard a small gulp coming from his throat. you could tell he was nervous and that's exactly what you wanted. katsuki has never bottomed in his life before and he does plan on doing so either. 
finally having katsuki in your grasp, you decided to carry on with your plan. you put on the blindfold for him as he jolted in surprise. katsuki tried to get out of the handcuffs but later found his attempt futile. these were the toys he used for you too and he out of everyone should know it's impossible to get out of them. once your husband stopped moving you gentlt took off his pants, leaving him exposed wearing only your boxers with an erection under it.
"aww katsuki~ already hard and i haven't even done anything yet, maybe you're better off being the bottom hm?" you teased 
"s-shut up you shit head, just get on with it, whatever evil plan you have in store for tonight…"
"no need to rush katsuki" you said as you entered his asshole with 2 of your fingers, loosening him up for the vibrator. 
"we have the entire night."
you heard your own voice whimper as you explored more with your fingers. soon enough it was time to put the other toy in. your fingers left for a bit preparing the vibrator, leaving bakugou panting from the pleasure and clenching his hole around well, nothing. you turned on the vibrator and katsuki immediately noticed the familiar sound of what's in your hands. 
"o-oi y/n, don't put it in here, i-i won't be able to take it." 
"oh i'm sure you can~ you made me do it plenty of times, why can't the big and strong bakugou katsuki do it?"
without mercy, you put in the vibrator quickly and let the show play out. katsuki was moaning and groaning while you stroked your own cock enjoying the view. katuski's cock was bigger than yours and you weren't used to jacking off such a big dick but it was a nice first.
seeing a wet spot forming on katsuki's underwear, you knew he was ready to go. you took off katsuki's underwear to see the precum leaking from it, so much it looked like he was about to cum any second now. next, you took out the vibrator and started to spread some lube on your cock. you positioned yourself on top of the katsuki and teased his pink hole with your huge cock. 
"what do good boys say katsuki~?" 
"tch! i'm not saying it, y-you sadistic fuck."
you slapped katsuki's ass so loud that the neighbors probably could've heard you.
"i'm the one in control right now, you listen to what i say, understood?"
"f-fine, jesus christ! p-please y/n, put it inside me…" 
"that's a good boy…" 
after you fit ¾ of your cock in katsuki was already panting heavily trying to catch his breath. it reached his prostate you leaned down on his chest to bite on his nipples to make him feel even better. his hole clenched on your hole so tight you were barely able to move your cock around. you continued to make thrusts and sped them up each time. 
during your thrusts you suddenly felt the weird feeling when fighting the villain again. both you and bakugou's body started to burn up but it wasn't as painful as it was last time. next thing you know everything was pitch black. you felt a piece of black cloth on top of your eyes and a familiar size inside your ass. it didn't take you long to realize that you and bakugou finally switched back. 
you were glad to be back in your own body but why did it have to happen now?! out of all the times it could've happened this was no doubt the worst possible timing. you just teased the crap out of bakugou and now that he's in control again he can take his revenge right here, right now.
"oh? would you look at that…our bodies switched back…" you couldn't see katsuki say this but you could already tell the evil smile on his face. 
"k-katsuki i'm sorry, i didn't mean to tease you that hard i was just trying to have some fun y-y'know." you desperately tried to explain. 
"too late now baby boy… bad boys get punished for what they did. now… get ready, for the night of your fucking life." 
regret, nothing but regret. bakugou was already an aggressive person when it comes to sex, now that you pissed him off even more you weren't prepared for what he was about to do to you. 
without warning, katsuki pulled back his hips and thrusted into you harder than ever. you took his entire length right away and the full feeling in your ass was too overwhelming for you to handle. you started to blabber nonsense, unable to form words due to the pleasure. 
"c'mon baby… gotta speak up if you want me to understand you." bakugou said knowing damn well you can't talk back. 
incoherent moans and groans escaped from your mouth as you felt dry orgasms again and again from katsuki reaching your prostate. you were on the verge of passing out till you saw your husband's panting just as hard as you. you could tell he was very close as well. you tried your best to stay conscious and cum with your husbands. 
katsuki let out a loud moan as he cummed inside you. you reached your orgasm too cumming all over yourself. katsuki licked up the cum on your stomach as you slipped into sweet unconsciousness. he gave you a warm smile and patted your head as he took you into his arms and fell asleep with you. 
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shoutogepi · 4 years
Text
Worth the Wait
Todoroki Shouto
word count : 9.2k
[ ☁︎, ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw 18+) ] (v lowkey angst//fluff)
themes : virgin!Shouto, experienced!reader (well, more than Sho anyway lol), praise kink?, lil baby couples quarrel, make up sex, and also he’s kinda hung lmfao idk if that’s relevant 💀
bio : You can’t help but notice that every time things start to heat up with your Pro-Hero boyfriend, he shuts you down. After politely ignoring his initial rejections, your frustrations build up, and you decide to confront him.
author’s note : so this fic was inspired by a conversation with the lovely astrid ( @todoscript​ ), who is becoming my cherished shouto confidante! we didn’t talk about it for very long, and it was awhile ago... but my brain would not move on so… this happened. i figured if i’m going to type so much about him i may as well write a fic. thanks for listening to my constant yelling, hope you enjoiii <3
side note : both shouto and reader are meant to be young adults in this fic!! i was thinking somewhere around 25-30 (i didn’t specify the age in the fic) but i thought i would make note of this as that’s considered “old” to still have your v-card, by American society at least (hence why sho kept that info from reader)
  ─── ・°* ゚✧:* • 。゚:*・☽・*: 。゚•*:✧ ゚*°・ ───
🅃he first time it happened, you tried to play it off as if you hadn’t made a move.
The last few of your friends had finally departed from the Saturday game night you had thrown, leaving just you, Shouto, and the slow, hot tango of your tongues. You hadn’t seen each other all week— with him being busy with his hero work, and you being busy with your comparatively-mundane job, you didn’t get to spend as much time together as you would have liked. Although it was an obstacle for your relationship, you were both young adults as well as devoted professionals, which allowed the two of you to remain on the same page most of the time. It was typical for you to text and call one another for a few hours after work (granted you both had the time to spare) before passing out mid-conversation, your phone screen still lit up and gentle snores exchanged through the speakers. But like any sane girlfriend, having him in person, right in front of you, was always your favorite.
What had started as a peck had quickly evolved into a full on make-out session— Shouto had pulled you halfway onto his lap when you tried to move back from your initially-stealthy kiss, an appreciative hum rumbling through him as his large hands cupped around your face. You didn’t fight him as he brought your lips back to his, and you failed to stop him when those very same hands began to glide down your back, parking just above your ass. His fingers had gradually started to fiddle with the tops of your jeans, thumb running over the denim and dipping down to graze against your skin through your thin blouse.
Yet when your hands slipped underneath the bottom of his shirt, he pulled back from you, heterochromatic eyes guarded as he removed your hands. You had immediately picked up on his reluctance, and threw yourself off of him onto the other side of the couch, embarrassment scorching the back of your neck. Shouto left not long after that, for you had made up some lousy excuse that you were tired and would like to go to sleep, when sleep was really the opposite of your innermost desires.
This would have been all fine and good— because consent was consent after all, and you had no intentions of pushing him to do something he was uncomfortable with— had the same thing not happened just two weeks later. There you were thinking it would be a cute, coupley evening of watching movies and tossing popcorn at each other, resting your head against his shoulder and being content with just that— when then all of the sudden he was pinning you onto the sheets and kissing you til you couldn’t breathe. His hands, once again, wandered all over your clothed torso, palms mapping out each dip and curve as his tongue entertained yours in your mouth.
You were hesitant to kiss him at first, recalling how you had horrifically killed the mood last time, but as his advances became more passionate, you slowly allowed your defenses to slip back, excitement building inside of you. It was only when your legs tightened around his waist, your core brushing up along his thigh and causing you to let out the softest moan did he pull back. That same calm, cool expression was on his face, though his eyes were a bit wider than usual. There was also the tiniest hint of pink dusting his pale cheeks, his lips parted as he gathered himself. It was rather awkward after that— neither of you really knew what to say— so you crawled back to your spot and sat in silence for the rest of the movie, your hands eventually wandering out to hold onto each other. After sharing a soft kiss and exchanging “goodnight”s, you returned to your place, ready for an extra long appointment with your vibrator.
Unfortunately for you, this became a common occurrence. It wasn’t that you hated the steamy make-out sessions with your as-hot-as-they-come boyfriend, no— you thoroughly enjoyed them. The part that you absolutely loathed was returning to your place with your panties soaked all the way through, your sexual frustration meter only climbing higher and higher.
You loved your boyfriend! And of course you respected his wishes. You would wait for however long he wanted, because you wanted your first time together to be special. But fuck, did he have to heat you up just to leave you hanging every time? If he wanted to wait, then fine! But, God, what had you done to deserve this torture? You couldn’t get past first base— you’d never even rubbed your body erotically against his except for that time on his bed, and that was by accident!
And that was what you told the ladies during your Thursday night all-girl conference call, finally needing to vent and get this selfish feeling off your chest. It had been a long time coming, quietly brewing over the many instances of him stunting your advances that you came to a realization.
Enough was enough! You were going to ask him why he wouldn’t go any further with you, and whatever his answer may be, at least you would know what he was thinking! You felt like a weight had been lifted off of you, the girls cheering you on and wishing you luck as you said goodbye, ready to confront him.
— - — - — - — - —
Now that you’re standing here in front of his door, it seems like a foolish plan you’ve made. Your heart is beating out of your chest, thumping frantically against your ribcage as your fist is frozen in the air, knuckle about to connect with the door. Your stomach feels tight and low, throat dry with apprehension as your brain runs through every possible outcome. What would he say once you ask him your question?
Perhaps your breath stinks and it turns him off? Or maybe he doesn’t like the perfume you wear— or is it the way you dress that he doesn’t like? What if the reason he always stops you… is because he’s not sexually attracted to you?
Now that you think about it, you’ve never seen him pop a boner during your tongue wrestling matches, and the realization nearly causes your soul to leave your body. Even though the thought horrifies you, you try your best to reassure yourself that’s not the case. You had caught Shouto checking you out on multiple occasions, his eyes igniting a delicious heat on your skin. Whatever the case, you’re in this too deep to chicken out now. So with that, you let your knuckles rap on the door, steeling your nerves.
There’s a moment of quiet shuffling before your boyfriend opens the door, a pleasantly surprised smile on his face. His hair is wet and freshly washed, shining droplets collecting at the ends and making him appear even more handsome than usual. The gray tee thrown over his broad shoulders has damp spots from the runoff, and you take a second to admire the way his chest looks in the clingy material. “Hey, love,” he says, his voice alone causing goosebumps to rise along your forearms.
You allow him to guide you into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him quietly. “Hi Sho,” you greet back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him.
Shouto chuckles against your eager lips, long arms gathering you into his chest. When he pulls away, he tucks your head underneath his chin, placing another kiss on your crown. “I missed you.”
Your heart throbs, happiness surging through you and butterflies bursting into your stomach. “I missed you more,” you reply playfully, burying your face between his broad pecs and inhaling his warm, wintery scent. The smell of fresh detergent lingers on the fabric, mixing with his clean aroma and making your tummy flip in circles.
“Impossible,” Shouto quips back, holding your waist tight as he dips you backwards just enough for your feet to leave the ground before he presses his lips to yours again, rendering you breathless. He pulls you back upright after a moment, a cheeky smirk on his face as you try to remember what you were talking about before. “Come in, sit down. I was just finishing up some work, I’ll get you something to drink.”
Following his instruction, you move further into his apartment, gravitating toward the couch and inspecting the files laid out on the coffee table before you. The words blur together for you, the foreign hero work forms long and in what might as well be another language. You lean back onto the cushions as Shouto returns, a glass of water in his hand. Frost forms on the glass as he hands it to you, taking a seat beside you with his knee brushing against yours. You smile at his consideration, taking a small sip even though you’re not really thirsty.
“Was there something you came over here for specifically, love? Forgive me if I’ve forgotten, but I don’t believe we had plans?” He’s looking directly at you, eyes locked with yours as his hand comes to land on the top of your knee. Even just an innocent movement like that has you on alert, your breath catching in your throat as he gives a gentle squeeze.
“Uh… no reason,” you answer lamely, crumbling under the pressure of his watchful eyes. “Just wanted to see you.”
Shouto’s gaze lingers on you carefully, and for a second you feel like you’ve been caught in a trap. But he lets it go, his lips forming a soft smile as he lays his arm around your shoulders. “Well, I’m glad to see you too,” he replies honestly. His fingers caress your arm as his hand falls down to your waist, and he leans in to press another kiss to your cheek. You lean into his affection, mouth curving in content. “So, what would you like to do?” Shouto asks as he shuffles the files away into their manilla envelopes, creating a neat pile in the far corner of the table. He leans back into the cushions, fingers fondly stroking at your side. “We could go out to eat? We could try this new bar afterwards, too, it’s across from my agency. If you’re alright to go out.”
You can’t focus on his words, really— you’re too lost in your own thoughts. Why does he have to touch you like this every time, when if you act on it, he’ll only push you away? You’ve been together for a long while now, and still, he doesn’t take initiative to further your relationship. Every bone you’ve thrown his way has been perfectly deflected, with no sign of weariness from him. If he doesn’t want you, is it because he’s not into you anymore?
An ugly thought rears its head in the midst of your anxiety’s dark clouds.
Maybe he never was.
Taking your silence as an answer, Shouto continues on, looking towards the kitchen over his shoulder. “Or we could buy groceries and make dinner. I think I have bok choy in the fridge, but we’ll have to buy some meat. And noodles, if you want those instead of rice. I’m sure I have that sesame sauce you like, I—” He pauses as you grab his hand, your fingers looping tight around his warm palm, sliding them to rest on your thigh.
With the summer just fading into fall, you were wearing something to showcase the smooth expanse of your thighs, and as you guide his hand to touch your soft skin, a delicate blush blooms across Shouto’s cheeks. The flustered expression on his face only goads you on, and you lean in to capture his lips.
A muffled noise escapes him, your hand coming up to touch his jaw and rub your thumb against his chin. It only takes him a moment to recalibrate before his free hand rises and copies your actions, gliding down the back of your neck before pulling your face closer to his.
You run your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he swiftly grants you access as his lips move to follow yours. He tastes like mint and sweet herbs, the tea he was entertaining before you came lingering on his tongue. His hand slips out of yours to curl around your waist, grabbing onto your hip and squeezing. As your kisses start getting heavier and slower, your once-occupied hand moves to land on his chest, your thumb pushing into the tender muscle located there. His flesh jumps beneath your touch, but he allows you to continue groping at him through his shirt, his own hands beginning to knead at you. Before you know it, your knee swings over his thighs and you’re hovering on top of his lap, not sitting down on him just yet as you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.
You can notice the change— you’ve faced this exact scenario many times before. Shouto’s hands freeze up, locking into their current position, and he only returns your passionate kisses, not allowing his body much more movement than that. You try to just keep kissing him, but all the doubts and fears quickly pile up inside of you, and you pull away from him. You can’t even look at him. You’re too scared to speak, and too reluctant to get off of him, only leaning back to create a divide between his face and yours. Trying to hide your face before he can see your defeated expression, you dive into his chest, arms folding tight around his neck.
Shouto’s still frozen in place, but he seems to sense your distress. His arms slowly circle around your waist, fingers moving to trace up and down your spine. He softly exhales against your hair, letting out the breath he was holding in ever since you swung onto his lap. “Y/N? Are you alright?” he asks quietly after a brief pause, his voice soft and low, soothing to your wary ears. “You haven’t been acting like yourself today…”
After a long pause, you sigh, trying your best not to get emotional. “It’s just…” I’m so fucking attracted to you but you won’t let me touch you, you want to say, but you’re too terrified to say it aloud. What can you even say to him that would be better than that?
Shouto’s arms around you squeeze gently, indicating his patience in awaiting your answer. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his lips grazing over your ear and placing a discreet kiss there. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
You let out a soft sniffle and Shouto pulls you tighter into his chest, his heart cracking at your sound of sadness. But his words bring a surprising amount of comfort to you, and you clear your throat before you lean back again, looking into his two-toned irises. His gaze is sympathetic, his eyes holding a visible amount of affection and support. “Well, I…”
He nods slightly, leaning forward to show his encouragement. “Go ahead, love…”
“Are… Are you attracted to me?”
It comes out more high-pitched than you would’ve liked, but at least it’s out— and he definitely heard you, judging from the wide-eyed shock painted across his face.
“Am I— What?” He stutters, his head tilting automatically in confusion. “I— of course I’m attracted to you, I’m… you’re my girlfriend.” Shouto looks at you incredulously, his arms falling to his side so that only his hands remain on your hips. “You’re the most attractive person I know, love. You’re gorgeous, inside and out,” he elaborates. “The whole package.”
His compliments butter you up, a small smile forming on your lips as you shyly look to your hands folded in your lap. “Not the whole package…” you mumble, squirming slightly as his hands come to hold either side of your face.
“Yes, the whole package,” he insists, nuzzling your nose against his. “Beautiful,” he declares as he kisses your cheek.
“Kind.” A smooch to the other cheek.
Your heart beats excitedly in your chest, thumping loudly against your ribs with each compliment.
“Courageous.” A kiss to the chin.
“Witty.” A peck to the forehead.
“Sexy?” you blurt it out just as he swoops in to press his lips to yours.
Shouto falters, pulling back just a hair as he looks at you in shock. “S-Sexy?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but by the way his cheeks and ears are tinged a bright pink, it’s clear your suggestion was a bit too much for him.
The way he stutters out the adjective in confusion has your heart tearing in two. “Y-You don’t…?”
You’re staring directly at him, his wide eyes locked with yours and his body frozen to the couch. His lips are slightly parted, but no words come out of him.
Silence.
This is not how you want this conversation to go— you aren’t prepared for it to go like this. The tears you had successfully fought off before come back with vengeance.
Only once Shouto sees you hang your head in embarrassment, your eyes getting glassier by the second, he springs into action. “Hey, no, that’s not…” he starts to speak, sounding more worried by the second. His hand goes to cup your face, the warmth of his quirk evident in his touch as his finger dries over a fresh track of tears on your cheek. “I… of course I think you’re sexy, love. I’m sorry, you just caught me by surprise… You don’t think I know how sexy you are?”
You can only reply with a lame shrug, unwilling to let his eyes meet yours as you hide your face behind your curtain of hair. You try to slide off his lap, ready to retreat to the bathroom and wipe away your pathetic tears, but Shouto doesn’t let you move away from him, his arms locking tight around your waist and forcing you to lean against his chest.
“Talk to me, baby,” he pleads, nuzzling into the side of your face. His voice is more gentle than you’ve ever heard before, and you hate to admit your stomach is doing cartwheels at how sweet he’s being. “I love you no matter what, and I hate to see you so upset. I’m not good at figuring these things out on my own, just tell me what’s wrong, love. Please?”
He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, his fingers massaging your stiff muscles as you cling onto him. Once you’re confident enough to speak, your words come out barely loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just that… whenever I think we’re about to take it to the next level, you pull away. I want to respect your boundaries, Sho, but I can’t help but feel like it’s because you don’t… want me.” The hands on your body still at that, your boyfriend taking in a sharp breath as you pause, then decide to continue. “I’m just… so attracted to you, Shouto… I want to be mindful of your limits, but I can’t help but want to touch you all the time. I’m— I’m sorry if that sounds indecent.”
Shouto murmurs your name lowly against your ear, his large palm once again rubbing over your spine in an effort to comfort you as he tries to piece together the correct words. “This is…  a terrible miscommunication, and it’s all my fault...” he sighs, his voice dropping lower and becoming quieter, his insecurities leaking into his voice. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel like this… I promise that’s not the case.”
His words are enough to numb your worries, and you lean back so you’re able to look him in the eye as you wait for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before he sighs again, knowing he has to tell you the truth now, but worrying that he’s about to ruin everything the two of you have built over these past months.
“The reason that I push you away every time is… well, I—” he gulps nervously, and it’s your turn to look at him with encouragement. You take one of his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles as he tries to find the best way to explain his reasoning. “It’s not because you’re unattractive, it’s— I mean, if anything, you’re too… too attractive, and I get…” he trails off, his cheeks now a bright shade of pink that you’ve never really seen before. It’s the first time you’ve seen the usually collected man so flustered, and a part of you feels guilty for causing him such discomfort. Just as you’re about to cut in and tell him he doesn’t have to continue, he does. “I… I’ve never been with anyone… like that before.”
You blink at him in confusion.
Shouto just seems to get even pinker, and he quickly starts explaining himself as he takes in your dazed expression. “I know you probably thought I had all this experience because I’ve been a top Hero for some time now, but I just— I never met anyone before that cared about me like this and I just never wanted to do— well, to do that with a stranger.”
“You’re… a virgin?”
Shouto’s red at this point, his hot side nearly catching fire as he buries his face behind his hand, too embarrassed to face you at this point. “Yes, I’m sorry to disappoint you, love. I just… I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and I— I wanted to impress you so badly, Y/N. I… I should’ve told you this from the start, I’m so sorry to have caused you such doubt.”
His voice is just above a whisper now, his fingers clutching onto the fabric of your shirt as if he’s afraid you’ll get off his lap and walk straight out the front door at his confession. “Shouto…” You can’t stop the smile that begins to curl the corners of your mouth. This is the reason he wouldn’t go any further with you? Not because he didn’t find you attractive? Your heart feels heavy thumping against your ribcage, giddiness flooding your bloodstream.
Your boyfriend gapes at your smile, brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you’re not… disappointed?” At the instant shake of your head, his discomfort eases significantly. “R-Really? But everyone thinks I’m, well… kind of a womanizer I guess, I thought you’d at least expect—”
You click your tongue at him, shaking your head as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “When have I ever given a shit about others’ expectations of you, Shouto? I love you for you, Sho… you make me so happy just as you are.”
Shouto melts at your words, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs as he crushes you to his chest. Your sweet scent fills his nose as he kisses the top of your head, and you bask in his touch as you hug him back. “You’re right, love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… I hate that you felt unwanted because of me. I promise, you’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way about, I— I’m so attracted to you as well. I love you so much.”
Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, all the hurt and doubts that built over the last few months dissolving into the shadows. Only the light, warm feeling of your love is left behind, glowing brighter than ever before.
Shouto’s fingers crawl up the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips before you allow him entrance. Your fingers push into his silky hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp and he groans at the action, letting your tongue take control and invade his mouth instead. Your breaths starting to become ragged, you both pull away for a moment to breathe. As you look into each others’ eyes, you both begin to laugh softly, the pair of you equally content with how your heart-to-heart had gone.
“So, you do think I’m sexy, then?” You smirk, pleased with this new knowledge.
Shouto chuckles, nudging your face to the side so he can place a trail of kisses down the column of your throat. “Is that all you got from that?” He teases, nipping at your skin playfully.
You close your eyes, enjoying how his love bites feel on your quickly-heating flesh. “One of a few things…” Your breathing becomes deeper as his lips begin to gently suck on the faded marks he’d just made. “Mmm, Sho~”
He hums as your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, tongue caressing the skin he’s sucked into his mouth. Your thighs twitch on either side of his lap when he pulls away, cold breath cooling the wet, darkened patch of skin on your throat. He swears under his breath as his hands trail down your waist to your hips, thumbs resting on the top of your bottoms.
“Would you, um… want to try something new, then?” You offer, sitting back to look him in the eye, ready to catch any amount of uncertainty in his two-toned gaze. But you find none, for he captures your lips again and nibbles on your bottom lip, another hum or approval vibrating against your mouth.
From there he hands the reins to you, opting to lean back into the cushions of the sofa as your tongue guides his in a slow embrace. Your palms both land on his chest, fingertips starting to massage the thick muscles underneath his t-shirt. Shouto sighs as your hands slide down his torso, and just as they dip underneath he sits up slightly, tearing the flimsy material over his head in one quick sweep. With the fabric out of your way, you try to keep yourself calm, your eyes now feasting on his broad, sculpted chest and abs. Saliva begins to pool in your mouth at the wonderful sight, your tongue poking out to wet your lips as you scan over his physique again and again.
Just as he’s about to make fun of your lustful stare, you move in to place a few light kisses to his jaw and neck, the action making him tense up and flex his gorgeous torso for you. Careful not to leave any marks on his throat, you make your way down his chest, taking a moment to leave a ring of wet smooches around his nipple. The muscles jump again for you, his body sensitive to your foreign touch as you slowly take the bud into your mouth, sucking just enough for him to squirm.
“That kind of… ahh, tickles,” Shouto mumbles as your tongue traces over his skin, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move to the other side of his chest and repeat the action. He sighs as you pull away, welcoming the kiss you place on his lips afterwards. His abs become rigid underneath the slow trail of your fingernails that move south, his eyes opening mid-way through the kiss as your hand grows closer and closer to his pelvis.
Just as he’s about to pull away, you move back from his mouth, your shirt flying over your head and onto the floor behind you. Shouto can barely breathe as he looks at your bare skin, the smooth expanse of your shoulders to your hips on display for him, save for the bra covering your chest. He’s fixated on the tops of your breasts, the round, smooth flesh mesmerizing him completely. Sure, he’s seen your cleavage before, but in comparison to this, that’s nothing.
“W-Wow…” he falters, struggling to tear his gaze off of them. There’s a little bow in the middle of the cloth contraption, and he can’t help but compare the sight before him to a present. Oh, how he wants to unwrap it…
You giggle at his awe-struck expression, your self-esteem soaring higher than it has in months. Just as you’re about to instruct him, he moves a hand to cup one side of your bra, his thumb running over your skin. A whimper escapes you when he squeezes you, his face moving closer so that the tip of his nose runs across your collarbone, his lips ghosting kisses across your chest. You wonder if he can feel your heart racing beneath his lips as they trace the cusp of your bra— how it races when he presses his face between your tits, inhaling the warm, clean smell of you that lingers there. “M-Mphhh, Sho…” you sigh as he sucks a hickey into your skin, his mouth pulling your flesh out from under the fabric cup.
Your hands fumble as they move behind your back to undo the clasp, but Shouto doesn’t have time for that, it seems. Instead, he opts to push the straps from your shoulders, tugging the bottom of the material down your ribs and completely exposing your chest to him without ever moving his mouth from your skin. You still manage to unclasp the confining material, letting it fall to the ground without a care. When he does finally let go of you, he moves back to examine your naked chest, his lower lip disappearing between his straight, white teeth. His eyes are half-lidded, and he dives straight back into your chest, circling around your areola with swift kisses and teasing licks, repeating the same process you had done to him. His warm mouth enveloping your nipple makes you let out a stifled cry, your hips jerking against his lap on their own accord.
Shouto moans at the movement, his hand gently squeezing your other breast as he sucks on the pert bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it with ease. You reposition so your legs are on either side of one of his, placing your clothed core against the rough material of his jeans and beginning to move your hips in slow, wide movements. It only urges Shouto on, for he switches his attention to the other side of his chest and repeats the same ministrations there, one hand coming to cup your ass and move in tune with your slow gyrations.
At this point you can feel yourself leaking onto your panties, your excitement only multiplying as he allows you to grind against him. You’d never imagined he’d be so eager to touch you, after so much time of him rejecting your advances. But you couldn’t care about that now, with your pussy brushing all over his muscular thigh and his mouth attacking your bare chest. The thrill only increases further when you readjust your hips, moving closer to him and feeling the hardness of his erect cock tucked into the front of his pants. You can feel your cunt twitching around nothing, drooling even more for him as you rub yourself against his front, your head falling back as you start to pant.
Shouto whines at the friction, his face falling into the corner of your neck as he tries to gather himself. Was this what he had been missing out on all this time? He sighs as he wonders what you look like completely naked— how you would look with your legs spread for him, wrapped around his skull, or better yet— his waist. The knowledge that you want him is too tempting— he can’t get enough of you, can’t stop himself from shoving his thumbs under the hem of your bottoms. And then you’re standing, letting your clothing hit the floor and leaving yourself exposed for his eyes, save for your panties which have another little bow at the front. His eyes travel up and down your legs— a part of you that has always attracted him, perhaps a bit too much. They look delicious presented like this before him, bare and inviting all along your calves and thighs, then leading to the panties that barely cover your hips. His cock twitches in his jeans as he inspects the marks he’d just made all across your chest, a possessive conscience inside of him murmuring its satisfaction.
“Is this okay?” You ask as you sink to your knees in front of the couch, looking up at him with cautious, yet lust-ridden eyes. The recognition of your desire makes his own appetite spike, and he nods his affirmation to you.
You smirk up at him, moving closer to him and sliding between his legs. He holds his breath as you start to kiss up his thigh, starting from the inside of his knee and moving your way toward your destination. Your hand reaches up to soothe down his chest, your other hand cupping the underside of his thigh and moving in sync with your mouth. Your fingers finally meet the button on his jeans, and he lets out the breath he was holding as you undo the metal zipper. He helps you peel the denim off his thighs, leaving the material bunched at his knees as you inspect his hard member through his tight, black boxer-briefs. You take a moment to thank whatever God there is for blessing you with such a nice cock; you can tell even through his underwear that he’s long, and thick.
The very tip pokes out of the band at the top, him having tucked it up at some point when the pair of you were initially making out. What you can see is dark pink and glazed with a pearlescent sheen of pre-cum, the material at the top of his briefs slightly damp. The legs on either side of you keep tensing and fidgeting, and as you reach a hand for his shaft his hips shift backwards, away from your touch.
“Hey,” you murmur softly, stroking his thigh as you look up at him. His expression is guarded, but you can see the uncertainty that shines through his gaze, the mask that successfully keeps others out futile to you. “Are you sure you want to continue? It’s okay if we stop here, baby.” You push yourself to sit taller using the tops of his knees, placing a long kiss to his cheek and giving him a nuzzle of understanding.
Shouto frowns, leaning into you and taking a deep breath. “No, I want to… I just, I guess I’m a little nervous? I’m not quite sure what to do…” he explains, unsure of himself.
“You don’t have to do anything,” you reply, kissing his cheek again as you continue. “Just sit back and relax, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel so good. Let me know if you want to stop at any time, alright?”
He smiles at your understanding, nodding and verbalizing an “Alright” before you capture his lips with yours. You kiss him with all the passion you can muster, and it distracts him enough to relax into the couch cushions, your hand coming up to cup his sharp jawline. Your tongues are busy tangling together when your hand lands on his abs, which jump under your touch but eventually they, too, relax after a few minutes.
When your fingers wrap around his cock through his briefs, he tenses underneath you again, his hips pushing toward you as your hand starts to move up and down. Shouto makes a muffled noise as your hand finds a steady, torturously slow rhythm, your hand squeezing around his thick shaft through the dark, cotton material. His hand comes up to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling slightly. You move your hand in accordance with the muffled sounds that escape him through your kiss, his hushed moans adding fuel to the inferno in your stomach.
After a few minutes of your slow, over-the-briefs handjob, you move back from his searing kiss, a string of saliva extending between your mouths. Your eyes lock with his, intensity sizzling as you both move the briefs off his legs, his cock springing upright in the bottom field of your vision. His length jumps when your fingers brush against the tip, gathering the silvery slickness of his pre-cum and using it to coast your fist down around his shaft, squeezing just enough to create a pleasant tightness around him.
Shouto swears as you start to jerk your fist around his thickness, your smaller hand creating a different sensation and much more appealing visual than the sight of his own fingers wrapped around himself. He moans when your hand glides over the head of his cock, his grip tightening on your hair as his eyelids flutter closed. You kiss his cheek again, catching his attention as he turns to you and allows your tongue to enter his mouth. You take all the whimpers pouring from his lips and greedily swallow them, your lips dancing with his in tune with your strokes.
Slowly you move away from his face, his lips following yours until you gently push him back to rest against the back of the sofa again. He allows you to move him backwards, heaving for air as your hot and heavy kisses leave him breathless. Once you lower your face to his lap, he tenses up, although his hips shuffle forward eagerly. You make sure to lock eyes with him as you move your mouth towards the flushed head of his cock, and you keep his gaze steady as your lips wrap around the very tip of him.
“S-Shit Y/N,” he gasps, watching as his member gradually disappears into your mouth. You glide your lips down his thick length slowly, trying not to overwhelm him as you start to suck on the tip, your hand beginning to jerk his shaft at the same time. When your lips move down, so does your hand, and as Shouto becomes accustomed to the wet, tight heat of your mouth, you slowly take more and more of him into your mouth, until the head of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Shouto throws his head back onto the top of the cushions, a hand pushing his hair off his forehead and backwards as he loudly voices his pleasure in a cacophony of moans.
The noises that slither out of the man underneath you are delicious, and you can’t seem to get enough as your pace begins to pick up. Your hand is still wrapped around the base of his length, his cock too big to fit all the way in your throat, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to take him anyways. Pulling back just long enough to take in a breath of fresh air, you smile at his wrecked expression above you, tongue tracing over your lips. “Mmm, does that feel good, baby? Do you like when I suck your cock like this?”
“Ahhaaaa, fuck— y-yeah, like that, baby… yesyesyes you feel so good,” Shouto blabbers nearly incoherently as your throat glides around his aching member. Given his stuttered response, you happily service him, content to finally have him at your disposal. His length is too impressive to comfortably fit in your mouth, your jaw stretching to accommodate him as you swallow around him, successfully stealing a broken gasp from him in response. You close your eyes and allow yourself to focus on keeping a steady rhythm for both your mouth and hand to follow. His moans just keep getting louder, a breathless array of oh, fuck, shit, yeah, ahh, and yeses with every bob of your head.
As you’re diligently sucking him off, Shouto is barely keeping it together underneath you. His cock is twitching and leaking pre-cum down your throat, his balls heavy with the need to release. He watches your lips move up and down his length, your hand following suit at the very base. His mind wanders as he wonders where you want him to finish; inside your mouth, on your tits, on your face? He groans as he pictures all three, imagining you covered in his sticky seed, wherever it may end up, has him feeling close much too quick. But he can’t stop himself, and he can’t bring himself to stop you, either— you feel so fucking good on his cock. You’re better than he ever could imagine, and it’s just your mouth that’s wrapped around him— he can’t even imagine how between your legs will feel. He barely manages to mumble your name in warning as he feels his climax coming, too charged for him to do anything to stop it.
Luckily you already know he’s about to finish, for his muscles tighten up and strain as ample warning for his imminent release. You move your lips down his cock, taking in as much as you can before he’s calling out your name and shooting a thick, heavy load down your throat. You choke on his release, not much room in your mouth to begin with, with how long and thick he is already. He’s still gushing cum as you pull off of him, a few ropes of white spraying across your lips and chin while his body shakes in ecstasy.
You sit back and wipe his release off your face with your wet hand, licking the excess off your skin as you watch Shouto’s soul return to his body. He’s struggling to catch his breath, eyes barely open as he looks down at you sitting between his legs. Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he still gathers your arms in his hands, pulling you up onto the sofa to hover over his lap. He sighs as he nuzzles his face into your neck, your soft skin helping to draw him back from the euphoric heaven you had just sent him to. His arms wrapping around you loosely, he starts to kiss your neck, his long eyelashes tickling your jaw as he showers your skin in affection. His attention makes butterflies flap around inside your stomach, and that scorching heat ignites again as his fingers slide down your waist to the band of your panties.
You try to draw back to look at him, but Shouto’s grip on you is too secure, and he won’t let you pull away from him as he just nuzzles deeper into your neck. You can’t help but gasp when his fingers dive underneath the sides of your panties— his palms gliding against your bare hips and digits splaying across your ass. “S-Sho,” you whine as he cups your ass cheeks, pulling your hips to slot above his, his cock already erect again. You whimper when he guides you closer to him, the very tip of his cock catching at just the right angle to brush against the wet patch on your underwear. Hell, the whole underside of your panties is soaked with your arousal, your pussy probably more saturated than ever before. You’re so turned on, you can’t think straight as your hips begin to weakly shift back and forth, rubbing his cockhead along your clothed slit.
Shouto sighs as his hand recedes from your panties, instead moving to rub your dripping slit through the drenched material. You moan at the feeling of his hand through the fabric, your slick in such quantity that when he pulls his hand away, a thick string of your arousal trails after his fingers. He groans at the sight, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to test the viscosity. He makes a mental note that this must be what’s meant when one has a “wap”, or “wet ass pussy”, as he recalls from a certain song. His heart is racing in his chest, the discovery of your cunt so ready for him only making his cock strain harder against your sopping panties.
“So wet…” Shouto mumbles as he touches you again, cupping your core through your underwear and rubbing his palm against your clit. He watches intently as your face contorts in pleasure, and he rolls his palm against your front again experimentally, making a mental note of your increased sensitivity there.
Before he moves any further though, he presses his lips to yours in an intense kiss, successfully distracting you as he slides your underwear to the side. He can feel your pussy twitch and contract against his hand when he lines the tips of two fingers up with the hole that your slick is pouring out of. And he can definitely feel you spasm around him as he slides the digits inside with ease, remembering to curl the tips of them just as the countless guides and videos he had watched in preparation for such activities suggested.
“Y-Yes, ahh my God, Sho—” you gasp at the intrusion, your walls fluttering around the fingers.
His long digits slowly move in and out of you, the tips curling into your spongy walls as they sheath inside you completely. You moan at the sensation of his fingers inside of you, moving a hand to your front to rub your clit. It’s not long before you’re humping his hand, your arousal leaking onto his palm as you seat your hips back and forth on his fingers. Your mouth is hanging open, intense pleasure emanating from his fingertips rubbing that gummy spot located just deep enough for your fingers to be too short to reach. You can feel your orgasm building with each roll of the hips, a slow and steady escalation toward certain ecstasy.
Shouto moans along with you, watching the look of bliss on your face each time you sit back onto his fingers, and committing it to memory. You look absolutely captivating getting off on his hand, but the urge to feel you wrapped around his cock is too strong to ignore. He pulls his hand out of your cunt, watching as the syrupy slick trails after his fingers before severing, the warm, slimy wetness returning to your spread pussy. The sight is too enticing to just look at— he grabs his cock and jerks himself a few times, watching your slick spread across his length. It feels unlike any other lubricant he’s used— spit, lotion, shampoo all nothing in comparison to the sweet nectar your body produces just for him— simply divine. 
If he thinks that’s divine, pressing his cock into you is as if the gates of heaven have been exploded open with dynamite, drowning him in a pool of ethereal ambrosia that he never wants to escape. Your walls stretch around his girth and hug him like never before; it’s wetter, tighter, and hotter than anything he’s ever imagined, and if he hadn’t already cum from your mouth just minutes before, he’s sure he would’ve cum right here and now.
You’re just about there, only a third of his cock managing to push into you before your walls start to clamp, that tension in your abdomen intensifying at an alarming rate. You throw your head back and moan unabashedly as his cock glides into you entirely in one movement, your cunt wringing snug around him as you cum. You’d be ashamed if it were with anyone else, but Shouto’s so thick and long that you just let yourself ride out your orgasm, your cunt pulsing and squeezing him tight. It feels like a religious experience cumming on his cock— he’s by far the biggest you’ve ever taken, and it’s been so long since you’ve had sex in the first place that you’re too turned on to care. A fresh wave of slick begins to leak from deep inside you, the aftermath of your abrupt orgasm coming in handy as you finally come-to enough to move your hips.
Shouto’s holding onto you for dear life at this point, knuckles white as his fingers dig bruises into your hips. He’s never been squeezed so tight before— never felt anything like your pussy, like you cumming on his cock. And even though he’s overwhelmed with the mesmerizing feeling, he still manages to keep his cool somehow, now evening his breath as he begins to thrust up into you. He decides he loves your moans— every noise you make from being impaled by his huge cock is music to his ears, a symphony he never wants to end.
“A-Ahaa ha, Shoutooo~” you cry, fireworks bursting across your nerves. “You’re so big, ah— it— it feels so gooood.”
You can’t seem to close your mouth— it’s too hard to focus on anything besides what might as well be his third leg thrusting into you over and over. His movements are relentless; never allowing you to come down from the high you’d been catapulted into with just one stroke of his cock. He’s so big inside of you, he’s probably the largest you can take while still feeling pleasure instead of pain. You feel like you’re the one losing your virginity here, not him— because, God have you never felt so filled to the brim in your life— his cock stretches and penetrates you so deliciously that you feel like any orgasm you’ve had before this doesn’t really count. It can’t count, can’t compare to this, to him.
Shouto is on the same page as you, desperately drilling into your sloppy cunt as if his life depends on it. It feels so good to be squeezed by your tight little hole, to have your fingernails dig crescent-moons into the skin on his shoulder blades, and hear your desperate cries for him. “Fuck, you— you feel so good, baby,” he pants, letting your pussy fall onto his lap and swallow his cock inside of you. “You’re so fucking sexy, y-yeah… so wet for me, so good for me.”
His praise causes a wave of goosebumps to rise across your skin, a burst of energy surging through you as you start to move your hips in sync with his thrusts. Shouto’s pace weakens as he lets you take control, sitting back and absorbing the pleasure that flows through his entire body at the quick snap of your hips. He feels like he’s in a trance as your hands move to grip the tops of his shoulders, leveraging yourself so your hips swing in a perfect arc that allows his cock to glide in and out of you completely. He watches as your hips swing back, the head of his cock slipping out of you halfway, only to be slurped back inside your tight heat all the way to the base.
Sweat is starting to accumulate and drip down your bodies, but neither of you are paying attention to that— Shouto reaches out and gropes your chest, fingers trapping your nipple and rolling it gently. You mewl at the sensation, your hips working even faster now, the dull ache of another climax forming in the pit of your stomach. You furiously hump his lap, your thrusts becoming off-beat and sloppy as your muscles scream with exertion. Frustration blooms in your heart— your stamina must have reduced in the past few months of abstinence.
“Sho, I’m… gonna cum again, fuck I’m so close,” you whine, pushing your ass onto his lap and stirring your guts with his cock as you swivel your hips.
Shouto hums at your confession, an arm winding around your hips and his hand landing on the plush underside of your thigh. His fingers dig into your flesh as he supports your body with his arm, his hips rutting up into yours with force. Each thrust has stars dancing along the borders of your vision, the power behind his hips much stronger than your desperate humping from before.
“I wanna feel you cum on my cock again, Y/N,” Shouto moans, tongue poking out to flick against your nipple, your tits in his face due to the change of position. “Want you to squeeze me and milk everything out of me, y-yeah…”
You nearly scream when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves with vigor as those two-toned eyes bore into yours. The surprise quickly morphs into bliss, your cunt wringing around his length as you feel yourself hurtle toward your orgasm for the second time. It’s not long before you’re there, ecstasy rushing through your entirety as you clutch onto him tightly, your toes curling and body shaking from the rush.
“Fuck,” he swears, both hands moving to grab your hips and pound his cock into your quivering cunt, delivering another level of pleasure to your orgasm. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes darting between your face and your wet pussy that keeps swallowing him whole. “Ahaah— c-cumming—”
Shouto lets out a loud groan as he pulls out of you, hot, white ribbons of cum spurting across your stomach as he climaxes. Your hand reaches down to jerk him off and he continues to paint your skin with his seed, his body shaking as his orgasm ripples through him. His throbbing length is slick with your love juices, making it easy for your fingers to slide around him.
His head hits the back of the couch as he releases the last of his load, chest heaving while he tries to collect himself. The devastating pleasure of your climax leaves your body feeling weightless and your brain loopy, and all you can do is lean against his athletic physique and catch your breath.
“I love you,” Shouto whispers seriously in your ear, fingers deftly playing with the ends of your hair. He means it; he feels like his heart is so full of happiness, and he’s so comfortable basking in the afterglow of his orgasm with your naked skin on his.
You stifle the laugh that bubbles up in your throat, a small smile playing on your lips. “So sweet~” you tease, cuddling your face into his neck as his hands rub the length of your back. “I love you too, Shouto.”
Shouto hums in content, arms hugging you tight against him for a brief moment before he relaxes again. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he confesses softly, nudging the side of your face with his nose. He can feel your lips turn into a grin against his chest, and he smiles at your content.
“You’re being so sappy right now,” you point out, unable to stop smiling as you turn to look at him. “I really like this side of you, I’m happy to see you like this.”
“I’m happy, too,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against yours in a sweet and short kiss. “I kind of wish we did this sooner though…”
You laugh at that, and his soft smile turns into a grin that he doesn’t bother to conceal. “Mmm, I think it was worth the wait,” you disagree, snuggling closer to him and rubbing your skin against his affectionately.
Shouto looks down at you resting against his chest, examining your blissful smile and eyes closed in content. Yes, he thinks.
You were worth the wait.
  ─── ・°* ゚✧:* • 。゚:*・☽・*: 。゚•*:✧ ゚*°・ ───
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wow that ended so soft pls excuse me im on my period and so emotional at the moment lmfaoooo... okokokok but post coitus snuggly sho is KILLING M E ... anywAYY lol let me know if you enjoyed!! this was kinda different from the usual smut i write so! i’d love any feedback i could get :) 
as always, thanks for reading! 💗
➥ masterlist
𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.
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i-just-like-goats · 3 years
Text
Miya Atsumu x Female Reader
Warnings: none
Summary: The Inarizaki team have all placed bets on when you and your longtime best friend Atsumu will finally get together. Kita is close to losing the bet, time for him to step in.
It is known to all students at Inarizaki High that Atsumu was a lady’s man. Sure he wasn’t a womaniser or a player, but that didn’t stop him from breaking hearts everywhere he went. His mere dismissal of a girl would lead that girl to burst into tears, straight up rejections even worse. His casual flirtatious comments did not at all help with his reputation, leading oblivious girls to believe he actually held interest in them. How wrong they were.
Whereas you. You deemed yourself nothing special. Nothing too flashy, unlike a certain someone. You didn’t stand out in a crowd, and most certainly never attempted to shine or take the spotlight. You left that to your best friend.
Miya Atsumu.
“Hey could you-“
“No.”
“Will you please put in a good-“
“No.”
The first two girls had left, their hopes crushed, you felt relieved they had gone to class until another girl replaced them and effectively disrupted your short lived peace.
“Y/N!” She said, her voice oozed with fake sweetness.
“Do I know you?” You asked bluntly.
“We sit next to each other in chemistry, silly. Don’t you remember?”
“And?”
“So I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”
“If it’s homework we had none. If it’s class work I’ll send you my notes. If it’s anything else; leave me alone.”
“I just need you to give this little gift to At-“
“Not interested.”
With that you swiftly walked away, which left the unnamed girl open mouthed with shock. This was the daily routine you had to put up with. Reject all of Atsumu’s fan girls who approached you in order to reach him. Truth be told it was extremely tedious, but you couldn’t really complain - after all you were the one who befriended him. It was a small price to pay for being friends with him.
“Hey I was wondering if you could set me up with Atsumu?” A different girl asked.
Scratch that it wasn’t small. At all. It was a big price to pay. Very tedious. Very irritating. Very time consuming. By the time you reached your first class - English - you were already exhausted and plopped yourself into your seat.
“Don’t you look wonderful?”
“Well you wouldn’t look so hot either if you had to fight off Atsumu’s admirers in the space of one morning.”
Osamu noticed your sharp tone and held his hands up in mock surrender. You shook your head at him and started writing down what your teacher was saying.
Lunch came around and you made your way to your usual table next to your best friend.
“There’s my favourite best friend!”
All eyes were on you as you made your way to Atsumu. Some looked with contempt. Some with envy. Others with anger. All harboured ill feelings towards you. He had that certain look in his eye when you walked over to him, like you were the greatest thing in the world. His smile widened once you took the seat across from him, Atsumu’s eyes sparkled with joy as though it was his first time seeing your face again. Suna scoffed at his expression, not before taking a sneaky picture of proof about how much Miya Atsumu was whipped for Y/N L/N.
“Where were you all morning! I missed you so much,”
“I was dying,”
Silence. Atsumu tilted his head in confusion. Next to him, his twin stifled a laugh.
“Bro, your girlfriend here was busy fending off the wild animals that make up your fan club. She had no time to see your stupid face, and the last time you saw her was yesterday,”
Everyone in proximity of your table tensed up at Osamu’s words. From the table next to yours, Atsumu’s fan girls glared daggers at you.
“Yesterday was ages ago,” Atsumu whined.
“That’s what you focus on?” You ask incredulously.
Instantly Atsumu’s demeanour changed and he glanced to his left.
“Way to go Osamu, now Y/N’s on their hit list,” Atsumu said dryly.
“Well if you didn’t flirt back none of us would be in this mess,” Kita kindly passive aggressively informed his teammate.
Ever since Atsumu’s first official match, girls had been flocking to Atsumu like a swarm of bees to their queen. Every day the Inarizaki volleyball team had to deal with squealing fan girls gushing over Atsumu’s talent for volleyball, essentially distracting the players and disrupting practice. At first Atsumu shamelessly flirted back, basking in the attention, now he, as well as the others were fed up. In short, Kita was tired. Tired of the fan girls. And most importantly tired of the fact that you and Atsumu weren’t dating yet. At this rate Kita would lose the bet that Osamu and Suna had coerced him to take part in. He had bet that you and Atsumu would be dating by the end of the month, which was this Saturday, and the way things were going between you two, he’d probably have to ask you out himself for Atsumu in order to win the bet. On the other hand, Osamu bet that Atsumu would ask in their third year, Aran bet that you would actually ask instead of Atsumu and Suna bet that Atsumu would ask at the end of next month. It was decided that the losers would do what the winner wanted for a day, with no complaining whatsoever. A whole day of getting the team to do what he wants without complaints. A dream come true for Kita.
“It’s the end of the month on Saturday. Two days,” Osamu sing songed.
“So?” You asked.
“Oh, nothing,”
You dropped it and shrugged. Opposite you, Kita sent a saccharine smile towards Osamu, while the latter playfully smirked back. Kita had a plan.
Two day passed as usual, nothing significant happened; that is until the end of the second day. As usual, you made your way out of Physics with Atsumu; your best friend filled in the silence with his cheerful chatter. Unusually, Kita stood there at the end of the corridor.
“Hey cap! What brings you here?” Atsumu inquired.
Kita seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, for his face returned from his previous scrunched expression to his more neutral expression.
“Hm? Oh I came here to speak with Y/N. If that’s alright with the two of you?”
You nodded, though intrigued as to what Kita wanted to talk to you about, Atsumu on the other hand stayed silent. Before you left with Kita, he crushed you with a hug and sent puppy eyes at your retreating figure, walking next to his captain.
During the walk out of school grounds, Kita mentally prepared himself to convince you to ask Atsumu out, allowing both his and Aran’s plan to work, so that the pair won the bet - Kita was too engrossed in his thoughts. A while passed before you and Kita spoke; you were already halfway home before you confronted Kita.
“Kita?”
“You have feelings for Atsumu, don’t you?”
Kita panicked at your sudden dialogue and spoke the words that first came to his mind. His panic was not conveyed through his steady tone of voice. Truth be told, it was more of a statement than a question, it certainly caught you off guard. The latter half of the sentence seemed to be added hastily as though to soften the bluntness.
“What makes you say that?” You answered evenly, and turned your face away from him, a small blush settled firmly on your cheeks.
“Answering my question with a question I see,” he teased, “Everyone knows, the both of you don’t hide your feelings very well, it surprises me that you two aren’t dating yet,”
“I know he has feelings for me, I’m not an idiot, I see the way he looks differently at me and I see how he’s more clingy towards me than the others. I’m not an idiot,” you repeated.
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know,”
“I think you do know. Idiot,”
You pouted and let out a huff.
“Fine. Fine,” you finally conceded, “I’m not an idiot but I am a coward. I guess - as cliché as it sounds - I don’t want to ruin our friendship. What if it doesn’t work out and we end on bad terms? Years of friendship would be wasted and gone in an instant. I just. I just don’t want to risk that happening,”
“What’s life without a little risk,”
At Kita’s attempt at lightening the mood, you scoffed and shook your head.
“Sorry, that was unlike me. What I meant to say was you won’t know until you try. Sure there is that possibility that the relationship may end badly and the precious friendship between you and Atsumu would probably be lost, but there is also a chance that this relationship will end happily, with no heartbreak. I can’t guarantee that everything will be peachy; obviously there’s going to be some problems along the way but knowing your stubborn personality I am confident that you will fight for you and Atsumu, because I know you care way too much for him to let him go,”
Kita’s speech surprised you, this was the most encouraging thing he had said to you. Ever. You smiled.
“Thanks Kita. I really needed that,” you said as you finally reached your house.
Kita made his way to his house, waving as he walked down the steeet. He left you with a lot to think about.
Later that evening you called Kita again, and talked until he decided that it was time to go to sleep.
That morning you walked to school with Kita in a comfortable silence. Once you reached school you spoke.
“Ok I’m going to do it,”
“Yes you will,” Kita encouraged.
Confidently you walked up to your long time best friend, then suddenly turned the other direction.
“I can’t do it,” you cried out.
Exasperatedly, Kita shook his head and forced a strained smile.
“Y/N do you want to do this or not?”
“I do,”
“Then go get him,”
“I’ll do it while we walk home,”
Anyway, the school day passed, honestly you couldn’t remember what happened, it was all a blur.
“Atsumu?” you called.
“Yup?”
“Do you want to walk home together?”
“Yes! I’m still kinda annoyed you walked with Kita, Kita of all people instead of me,”
“Sorry about that ‘Tsumu,” you replied bashfully.
With that you both made your way out of school. Little did you know Kita, Osamu, Suna and Aran followed you both from a distance. Osamu and Suna because they just wanted to go home. Kita and Aran to make sure you confessed.
“Get ready to do what we want for a day,” Kita stated.
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Suna questioned.
“Kita and I formulated a plan,” Aran answered cryptically.
“Guys shut up Y/N stopped walking,” Osamu whisper shouted.
You had indeed stopped walking, leaving Atsumu to carry on walking and talking. You had been quiet the whole walk, which wasn’t unusual, as you normally let Atsumu talk, while you listened. You were just too lost in your thoughts.
“Y/N?”
Atsumu had finally noticed that you were no longer by his side.
“Hellooo. Earth to Y/N,”
“I like you,”
Atsumu was taken aback. That was not a reply he was expecting.
“I just really like your smile, your personality even though you can be quite big headed at times, I like your laugh, I just like you for you, not in the way that those girls like you for your looks and skills. I like everything about you even your flaws,”
“Whoa, for real?”
You glanced at his expression and burst out laughing.
“You look like surprised Pikachu!” you wheezed out.
Atsumu joined in with your laughter. The two of you continued laughing for several minutes.
“I like you too,” Atsumu said once both your laughter finally died down.
You turned your gaze towards his eyes. His beautiful eyes that held all the stars in the galaxy.
“That’s a relief,” 
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missmorosis · 3 years
Text
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sick manager :)
-> feat. sugawara and kuroo
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part 1 with bokuto, oikawa, and tsukishima here!
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genre: fluff!
synopsis: y/n, the manager of her school’s volleyball team, finds herself sick after days of hard  work, yet she still goes to school to support her team~ 
warnings: the reader is sick, and she passes out in kuroo’s scenario :))
pairings: sugawara x reader, kuroo x reader (separate!!)
total word count: 1.5k
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a/n: OKAY SO HAHHSLKDFJ RIGHT WHEN I WAS WRITING THIS CHAPTER I GOT SICK W/ A FEVER- I THINK I JINXED MYSELF OMG
i tried to make the scenario KINDA different, but with the same idea hehe
anYWAYS i’m so sorry if this makes like zero sense AHSLDKF- i wrote a lot while i was sick SO ill blame it on fever delusion if it flops 😌
OH AND THIS IS FOR @haikyuuheartsclub ty for reading the first one and asking for a part 2 hehe <33
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You getting sick was inevitable.
You knew that you were bound to get sick with all of the work you had been doing and all of the late nights you spent preparing volleyball strategies, planning practice tournaments for your team, or studying until your eyesight blurred.
Being your school's volleyball team manager was not only hard, but it was ridiculously time consuming. Not to mention that you were bombarded with schoolwork, and you had exams coming up. Your stress levels had never been higher, and you were practically living off of caffeine with the amount of sleep you were always lacking.
So when you woke up with a sick feeling and the worst headache, you weren't completely surprised. Annoyed would have been a better word.
You knew that your team was getting ready for an important tournament, so you would have to stay extra long for practice. Groaning as you got ready, you weren't sure you could make it through the day.
You sluggishly pulled on a hoodie and brushed your teeth, taking note of how warm you felt as you washed your face. Grabbing a thermometer, you quickly measured your temperature.
100.4 Fahrenheit. Not too bad... just a low-grade fever. You tried to shrug it off and ignored how disgusting your body felt. You slung a backpack over your shoulder and walked out the door, heading to school.
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You waited at the bus stop, shaking your head to try and make the sickness go away. When the bus arrived a while later, you plopped down onto the closest seat and you couldn’t stop your eyes from closing. You were just so... tired...
You drifted off to sleep, the soft sound of the bus driving across the road comforting you.
...
“Uh, Y/N?” Someone was shaking your side, and you immediately lifted your head from the bus window you were leaning on. It seemed like you just closed your eyes a second ago... where were you now?
"Mm?" you hummed sleepily, blinking slowly. You rubbed your eyes as the sunlight filtered through the window, and it made you feel warmer than you already felt.
"Hey, sorry to wake you, but we’re already at school." You looked outside, and he was right; you saw Karasuno in the near distance. 
Your brain processed the fact that Sugawara, a third year from Karasuno’s volleyball team, was sitting next to you. You saw his blurred figure lean next to you, and he brushed some hair out of your face. His fingers grazed against your forehead, but he quickly froze. 
"Y/N- Y/N! Why is your forehead so hot?" He studied your face with concerned eyes, noticing how tired you looked.
"Hm? No, it’s not. It wasn’t that high when I checked... probably the sunlight..." you mumbled, leaning on the back of your bus seat behind you. You put a hand on your forehead, and it confirmed that you were indeed burning up; it was considerably warmer than earlier in the morning. You groaned and got up.
"You don’t look too good, don't you think you should go home-" Sugawara started, but you interrupted him.
"No, you need your manager today, you guys have a game soon," you said, your tone tired but strict. Sugawara eyed you anxiously, but you waved him off. "I'll be fine," you reassured him. Grabbing your backpack, you got up from your seat, heading for the bus’ exit.
Woah.
You knew you were sick, but you didn't think you would be this dizzy. Everything seemed to sway to one side, and you put one arm on the seat of the bus, leaning on it for support. You rested your head on your arm, and you felt Sugawara’s arm wrapping around you for support.
“Alright, now you have no choice. You’re taking a break, whether you like it or not, clearly something’s not okay,” he told you, and you were too lightheaded to argue. You just nodded along and he helped you back into your seat. 
You clutched your head as you tried to make everything go away. Sugawara went to talk to the bus driver in the background, and miraculously, the driver made an exception for you.
“We’re ahead of schedule anyways,” the bus driver reasoned. He turned the bus around, heading back towards your house.
“Okay, now that that’s done, you can sleep if you want to. You could probably use the rest, I can only imagine how tired you are...” Sugawara said softly, and you gave a small nod. You scooted further down into the seats, making enough space for the boy to sit next to you. He gladly obliged, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you drifting off to sleep. Your head subconsciously drifted onto his shoulder, but he didn’t mind.
“Hey, Koushi?” you mumbled, your voice coated with sleepiness.
“Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing... I just wanted to thank you.” Your eyes remained closed, and Sugawara couldn’t tell if the blush on your face was from your fever... or something else? 
“You need to take breaks, you know. You work really hard, it’s a wonder you haven’t dropped dead yet,” he said, half jokingly. “Thank you.” You smiled, and finally fell asleep.
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Kuroo found you in the classrooms; your head was down, and your headache was terrible. You were almost asleep; you were trying your best to stay awake, and you weren't sure how long you could keep it up.
He was walking down the halls, casually glancing into your classroom to see if you were finished, and he softly smiled at the sight of you.
"Tired, Y/N?" Kuroo asked, smirking as he tapped your shoulder.
"Hm?" You lifted your head up, surprised at the unexpected touch. "Oh- Kuroo, shut up," you replied, rolling your eyes as you stretched. He laughed and grabbed your backpack for you, slinging it over his own shoulder.
“Ready for practice?” he asked, looking down at you. You nodded, and the two of you walked to the gym.
Your head was killing you with every step you took, but you had no choice but to ignore it. You looked to the distance, trying to ease your headache. Kuroo’s voice was slowly melting into background noise. 
Suddenly you froze and stopped walking, earning a curious glance from Kuroo. You were forgetting something...
“Wait- where’s my... backpack?” You spotted it on the boy next to you, and you shook your head. “Sorry, forgot that you had it,” you said, with a sheepish laugh.
“Something wrong?” he frowned. “You’re acting distracted... more distracted than usual, anyways.” You shook your head, deciding to keep your sickness to yourself.
“I’m good, just tired,” you assured him. He nodded slowly, and walked into the gym, you following close behind.
Only you, Kuroo, and the coaches were in the gym; you were early. You flashed a quick smile as you waved hello.
"Great, you guys are early. I have a couple strategies to discuss," the coach said, gesturing to a whiteboard in front of him. The two of you nodded, and he began to explain.
"Alright... if we're going to win this next match..." he started, but you couldn't make yourself pay attention. The only thing on your mind was how your head wouldn't stop hurting, everything seemed to echo, and just overall how sick you felt.
"What do you think, Y/N?" Kuroo asked, quirking an eyebrow in your direction. You snapped out of your sleepy state at the sound of your name.
“Wha-” You blinked, looking around at all of the eyes on you. You tried to remember what the others were talking about... oh. Strategies. Right. "I just think we... we need to..." You looked at thr whiteboard, but you couldn't focus. You swayed to one side, blinking hard. The world really seemed like it was tilting to one side... "Woah, sorry-" you tried to say.
"Y/N?" You saw Kuroo reach out towards you as you slowly lowered down into a fetal position, resting your head on your knees. "Hey, Y/N? You okay?" You swallowed.
"Yea- yeah. Just... give me a second," you breathed. You felt Kuroo kneel down next to you, and you were right; someone's arm wrapped around you for support, and you knew it was Kuroo's. You knew you were safe as you lost consciousness, falling further into his arms.
...
You awoke, and the first thought was how bright the gym lights were... they weren't this bright before...
"Oh- Y/N! You're awake," Kuroo said, rushing over to you. He put the back of his hand on your forehead. "You're still burning..." he said with a frown.
"Sorry," you muttered. "I don't know, I've been sick all day and I guess I couldn’t handle it..."
"Why didn't you tell me you weren’t feeling well?" he asked, concern clear in his voice. You smiled softly.
"It wasn't important... besides I have manager duties to take care of," you said with a sigh.
"Not if I can help it." He picked you up in one swift motion bridal-style, smirking as you struggled to get down. "I'm not letting you down; I'm taking you home and getting you some proper medicine for this fever of yours. Health is more important than volleyball." You huffed and flopped into his arms in defeat.
"Fine." You leaned closer into Kuroo's chest, and he smiled, satisfied with your surrender.
"That's my girl." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but smile.
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A/N: THESE WERE NOT THE BEST- I ADMIT BDHDDJNDJEW
hopefully these weren't too bad though-
haikyuu taglist: (send an ask to get added hehe) @floralkawa <3
MWAHH THANK YOU FOR READING!!
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hopelesshawks · 3 years
Text
History of Us Part 13- Your Fathers’ Children
Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.
If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou
Warning for canon typical violence
Masterlist Kofi
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“Don’t tell me I gotta compete with Shinso now too,” Sero groans as he leans over your shoulder. “Aww, scared of a little competition?” you tease him. “No but if you could be a little less alluring that’d be great. It’s hard enough trying to compete with Denki,” Sero jokes. “Who even said Shinso is a suitor? Maybe he just wants to be friends.” “A suitor? Don’t make this sound like the 1800s or something and we’re fighting for your hand in marriage.” “Don’t act like it and I won’t!”
Shoto watches you joking and laughing with Sero from a few rows behind, something angry simmering in him. Sero’d been beaten by Kirishima in the round of 16, so now he’s free to flirt and joke around with you as much as he’d like between your rounds. Denki is currently holding his own against Bakugo but after their battle concludes he’s sure Denki will similarly hover around you. The more he thinks about it the more it annoys him. A small voice in the back of his head reminds him your distrust of him largely stems from his own actions whereas Sero and Denki have done nothing wrong. In fact they’d reacted to the news of your father exactly the way he should have all those years ago. Round after round starts and ends and Shoto pays no attention to any of them except for yours, too caught up in looking at you and wishing he was the one making you laugh like that. His own matches are a blur, even when he faces Midoriya in the semi finals. By the time he’s been declared the victor he realizes he can barely remember any of it. As he helps his friend up off the ground, Midoriya gives him a concerned look. “Are you ok Todoroki? I haven’t seen you that pissed since our first year,” he asks. “Yea, I’m fine,” Todoroki lies, determinedly not looking at the stands.
He doesn’t want to risk looking up and seeing you laughing with the others instead of watching him.
The next round is you and Bakugo and you’ve already descended to the tunnel by the time Shoto’s returned to his seat. Watching you and Bakugo once you begin is mesmerizing in its ferocity. You both respect each other too much to hold back and the amount of firepower you both are executing in your own ways is devastating. Shoto can’t help but wince when you hit the ground particularly hard and he’s sure you must’ve broken something but before Bakugo can land on top of you to pin you down you roll out of the way and stagger back to your feet, giving just as good as you got. It’s too bad the two of you met up in the semi finals in all honesty. It’s a devastatingly close match through the end but Shoto sees the exact moment both you and Bakugo realize you’re going to win. Cementoss looks like he’s a second away from calling a halt as you pin Bakugo down, your forearm to his throat as he attempts to blast it off, looking almost feral as you use your quirk to hold yourself down on top of him. It’s the longest five seconds anyone in the stadium has experienced. Finally the airhorn blows to signal the end of the fight. You ease off immediately, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You stand back up gingerly before reaching down to help Bakugo up. Shoto expects the blonde to smack the hand away but to his surprise Bakugo accepts the hand up and only manages to scowl at you for a moment before he gives you an almost feral grin, saying something that makes you laugh although it’s impossible for Shoto to hear it from where he’s sitting. You wince as the laugh aggravates one of your injuries and Bakugo rolls his eyes before helping you off the field.
Nezu announces that you’ll be given twenty minutes to recover before they have the final. After about five Bakugo comes back up to the stands. “Damn Kacchan didn’t expect to see you knocked out before the finals,” Denki teases. “Shut the fuck up Pikachu, (y/n)’s the only one of you idiots that had a shot against me,” Bakugo scoffs. “Is she good?” Mina asks and to everyone’s surprise Bakugo barks out a laugh. “Oh she’s fine but she’s pissed,” he snickers. “What why?” Jiro asks. “They’re letting the kid help recovery girl with injuries and she accidentally rewinded (y/n)’s hair back to its natural color too. The two finalists are gonna match,” Bakugo explains, causing several heads to swivel to Shoto as if trying to picture what you’ll look like with half white hair. “I’m going to prepare,” Shoto says, quickly standing and leaving his classmates and their gazes behind.
Time passes quickly and before Shoto knows it it’s time for the finals to start. He walks out to the cheers of the crowd and moves to the start. Shortly afterwards you emerge from the opposite tunnel. He sucks in a surprised breath when he sees you. A memory surfaces of the two of you being six and begging Fuyumi to take a photo of the two of you before your fathers returned from work. You had insisted on standing on Shoto’s right side. He can practically hear you whining “Sho-chan our white sides need to be touching! The mom sides!” He’s shaken from the memory when he notices you’re not looking at him but behind him. He turns to see what could possibly hold your attention right now and sees you’ve locked eyes with his father who’s standing at the railing with his arms crossed. The melancholy the memory had brought forth was swiftly and suddenly swept away by a burning rage. The moment “start” is called Shoto lashes out with his left side, scorching flames shooting in your direction that you just barely manage to dodge. “Of course you started with your flames,” you scoff as you retaliate but he manages to dodge as he begins to close the distance between the two of you. You prepare yourself for an ice blast but are surprised as he instead chooses to tackle you, you’re quick to make sure he doesn’t have you pinned, both of you rolling along the ground. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he spits out as he tries to freeze you in place. “Excuse me!?” you reply incredulously finally managing to push away from him before launching your own counter. “You heard me,” he responds, his voice sounding almost lethal despite his even tone. “How, pray tell, am I a hypocrite?” you question as your quirk responds to your growing outrage at the accusation. Shadow and fire meet and begin to swirl around the two of you, creating a vortex that whips your hair around your face. “You go on and on about not wanting to be defined by your father yet you have done nothing but define me in terms of mine since you got here,” he accuses. “You chose to align yourself with him, not me!” you spit back. “Bullshit!” “Fuck you!” You both dive at each other, the sports festival all but forgotten to you both as you each continue to lash out. “I am not my father,” Shoto bites out. “Nor am I!” you fire back. “I have never once thought you were!” “Then why were you afraid of me!” you finally sob out. “What?” Shoto asks stunned. You’ve got him pressed flat against the dirt beneath you but the vortex continues to swirl around, hiding you both from view as Shoto stops fighting back. “Is that what he told you?” Shoto presses. “I mean it was understandable I guess but I just.... I thought if anyone would know that my father being a monster didn’t make me one, it would be you,” you confess. “I have never been afraid of you,” Shoto tells you and as your (y/e/c) eyes meet his blue and gray ones you can see the honesty there.
Only then do the two of you seem to realize how much your quirks have spiraled out of control. Your arm is burning where it touches Shoto’s left side which has been burning consistently since the two of you had started your shouting match. The black veins have expanded well past your forearm, up your neck, and onto your face. You realize Shoto’s overheating, if the sweat pouring down his face is any indication. Both of you have tears on your cheeks, although you can’t be certain when either of you started crying. As your emotions calm down and you both process what’s been said the swirling vortex slowly dies down and dissipates. The countdown starts as the two of you finally become visible to the anxious audience but Shoto makes no move to push you off. Instead the two of you just stare at each other as all of the hurt and anger finally drains out of you both. The airhorn blows to signal your victory but neither of you notice. “I’m sorry,” you breathe out, chest still heaving from exertion. “I’m sorry too,” Shoto responds and next thing you know you’re both laughing incredulously with relief, as if a thousand pound weight has been lifted for the first time in a decade. You roll off of him to starfish out next to him on his right side as you’re both racked by the laughing fit. Considering the display of violence you’d both just presented it’s probably a disconcerting sight, but neither of you can help it, too giddy with relief. When the laughter finally subsides to hiccuping giggles you both turn your heads to look at each other.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too Sho-chan.”
A/N: When (y/n) and Shoto were trapped inside the vortex everyone was freaking out cause they couldn't tell what was happening. Cementoss thought they should end it before things escalated any further but Aizawa told him to just let it be. Present Mic then questioned why all the feral students end up in Aizawa's class and Aizawa just kinda grinned in response kjhbadvehf
Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut
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deepperplexity · 3 years
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That’s Your Patronus?! [Pt.2]
Title: That’s your Patronus?! [Pt.2] [PART 1 HERE]
Pairing: Lucius x Female!Reader
Setting: Hogwarts, Seventh Year
A/N: Since some wanted a part two of this fic I figured I should get going with it xD So, here is part two and let me tell you, THIS WAS HARD TO WRITE… I hadn’t planned for a second part of this fic as I was leaving it open for you to decide (and I lowkey just wanted to write about the patronus O.O). But, but but but, since you guys wanted more I had to do my best to give you a continuation ofc ;) <3 
+A/N: This one is especially for @lainphotography​ , @marvelschriss  and @elizabeth-baelish​ for wanting a part 2 of this fic. I hope you will like this dearies! ^^ <3  
ABBR.: | Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name | 
Word Count: 4537
Warnings: Angst, Feels, Hurt/Comfort(kinda), Physical Injury, Bullying, Kissing
Ending Recap: When the kiss was broken and you both panted while you looked at each other he reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don’t understand,” you murmured as you worried your lip. He tilted your head with a finger under your chin. “You do not need to understand.” “But-” “Always smiling and yet when I kiss you, you cry,” he said to cut you off and you felt a smile tug at your lips. You couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” you apologized and he raised his brows in a harsh way. You wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Do not apologies, I feel rather special,” he admitted and you could have sworn that his cheeks were taking on a tinge of red for a moment. It made your heart flutter again and somehow you found your courage and pulled him in for another kiss with absolutely no clue as to what was happening or how it would be after you left the secret room. But if this was your moment with him, you would make the most of it...
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He had ignored you for several weeks. Even at times when he should have usually thrown some slur or derogatory words at you he had simply ignored you. As if you did not exist, weren’t even worthy of bullying any longer. You kept on smiling, kept on studying, kept on going to class and reading in the library to keep away from as many of your bullies as possible. Had it really meant absolutely nothing to Lucius that you had kissed? Then why had he even bothered to do so at all? You didn’t know, but what you did know was that his indifference hurt worse than the angry attention he had shot your way before. 
You sighed and kept scribbling notes as you poured over book after book about charms. You did your best to ignore the ache in your chest and the rumbling of your tummy. You had missed lunch as you were hiding from the group of Gryffindors who had beaten you all those weeks ago and it was still an hour left until dinner would begin. You bit your bottom lip in concentration and kept on scribbling until you could no longer sit still. I need some air, you thought as it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. So you cleaned up the mess you had made and headed out. 
You didn’t make it far though. As you rounded a corner you stiffened. The Gryffindor boys were loitering about while joking about some poor girl they had apparently covered in slime a moment ago. You shivered and were just about to turn around when the leader of the gang spotted you. Toby Prodington was a horrible boy with sandy brown hair and a nose that had at some point been broken. He glared at you and then a wicked smile crossed his lips. You shivered again and started to walk away at a brisk pace to take another route to get out of the castle. But the gang caught up to you in no time, all four of them against little you.  
Your heart hammered as your body remembered the pain you had endured last time. “Where you going?” Prodington asked on a menacing chuckle as he grabbed your arm and spun you around, “can’t just walk away from us like that you little snake,” he snarled and you tugged to get lose from his harsh grip. “Let me be,” you said in a low voice as fear crawled through you. You didn’t want to make them angry but at the same time, it didn’t matter what you did. You were a prime target. No Slytherin friends to back you up, no Gryffindors to be brave and step in, no Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws to fetch a teacher or even walk with you through the echoing hallways. You were alone, always alone. 
The boys laughed as Prodington tugged you closer. “Nobody’s gonna save you, little snake,” he whispered in your ear as his grip around your arm tightened to the point it would leave bruises. “Please,” you pleaded, “leave me alone,” you continued but you had no time to do anything else as the boy’s knee came up and jabbed itself into your stomach with force. The air left your lungs from the impact and your knees buckled. Prodington’s hand was the one thing that kept you halfway up as you gasped for air and felt tears that stung your eyes. You couldn’t understand why you were being bullied in such a horrible way. You had never done anything to garner their hate, apart from being a Slytherin they had no reason. No reason at all to hurt and harm you. 
You coughed and tried to hold back the tears that stung and threatened to leak. “Fucking snake,” Prodington growled with hate as he let go of your arm in such a harsh manner it forced you to the ground. Your knees and hands took the brunt of the fall but that pain was nothing to what came after. Your ribs were slammed harshly with the sole of a shoe as Prodington stepped down harshly on you. “Fucking Slytherin bitch, even hated by your own peers. Disgusting,” he growled with more hate in his voice before he kicked you even harder in the stomach. You cried out as the tears gushed and you curled up in a little ball. 
“PRODINGTON!” The roar that echoed through the corridor came from Lucius and in the next moment, a flashing light came and was followed by the sound of a thudding body. “Malfoy! Fucking hell-” you heard one of the other boys shout in anger. “Want a taste?” Lucius asked with a steely voice that dripped with venom. “Let’s go,” another of the boys said hesitantly and you heard them walk away as the steps of Lucius came towards you. You curled up more as your stomach and ribs ached something terribly. 
His hand landed on your shoulder and you jolted a little bit at the touch. “Go away,” you whimpered as his avoidance from the past weeks filled your mind. The hurt and the pain came more swiftly than the warmth you felt as you remembered his hand around yours, his lips against yours. “(Y/n),” he said, “Are you alright?” There was worry in his voice and it confused you to no end. He didn’t care about you, that had been made painfully clear, so why the worry in his beautifully strong voice? “Come, we need to get you to the hospital wing,” he continued and you found yourself in his arms a moment later. 
You hissed as he carried you up the stairs towards the hospital wing. The bouncing steps made your ribs ache something fiercely. His arms tensed around you and his steps smoothed out a bit. It eased the pain but did nothing against the burning you felt where he held you. Did nothing against your pounding heart or the tears that now leaked because if his closeness that you knew you could not keep. He would drop you off in the care of the madam and then you would be mere dust on the wind for him yet again. 
He gently placed you on one of the beds, without saying a word, as the madam asked questions about your state and what had happened. As soon as his arms had left you he straightened, you looked at him through your tear-filled eyes and the blond hair shined in the light of the torches and candles about the room. As beautiful as ever, you thought as you watched him through your blurred vision. Right as you were going to thank him for helping you to the hospital wing he simply turned and left. Without another word. That ripped you open all over again. 
“Miss (y/l/n), tell me, what has happened this time?” Your eyes turned to the madam. She had that strange look across her face, the look that told you she expected yet another lie about your injuries. You had not received the help needed before, it had only made the bullying worse as you had been labelled a snitch when they started to torment you years ago. 
“I fell off a broom, landed on the stands,” you mumbled and the madam seemed resigned to not dig any further as you never changed your stories. Once you add said something you stuck to it. “Very well, I will examine you and see what the damage is. Clothes off.” You nodded but felt oddly numb. Your eyes kept wandering towards the door, the door Lucius had left through. Usually, you hated the undressing and the examining but you felt disconnected from it as there was pain much worse inside your chest. That of a broken heart. 
“Well, we will have to keep you overnight. Your rib is fractured, some internal bruising as well. You really should not be walking around in this state. Good of Mr Malfoy to help you get here.” You nodded at the madam’s words. You couldn’t really say anything to the woman and you definitely didn’t want to say anything. “I will get a houself to bring you dinner, now stay put.” You nodded again and tried to ignore the aching in your body that was slowly softening with the help of a potion. It warmed and eased the pain ever so slowly. After a moment, you drifted off to sleep. A dreamless kind that was not good or bad. 
It was dark when you woke up, disoriented at first. But then you remembered the events that had landed you in the hospital wing, again. You sighed and was just about to turn to try and grab a few more hours of rest when a noise grabbed your attention. Or, more correctly, a voice. “It’s Prodington, and a few other boys from Gryffindor.” “Well, let’s go then.” you knew both voices. The first had been that of Professor Slughorn and the second had been the madam who was in charge of the hospital wing. Prodington? What’s he up to now? 
A few minutes passed and then the doors opened again, you had been to awake to go back to sleep and how lucky was that. Several feet were heard as the madam directed what appeared to be several people to varying beds. The unmistakable sound of unconscious bodies landing in beds was heard and then the madam thanked the other people who swiftly left. “What a night,” the madam sighed out and you could picture her annoyed face with a wrinkled nose, “better get to work, sorry lot this is.” 
You laid awake, listened and waited for the woman to be done with whatever she was doing so you could take a look at what was going on and who had been added to the hospital wing. It took nearly half an hour before the door closed and you could sit up. You slipped your feet in your slippers before you left the bed and pulled away the sheet that separated your little nook from the rest of the wing. You gasped. 
Four bed were occupied by the Gryffindor boys who had tormented you, bullied you, tortured you both physically and mentally. You sneaked up to Prodington’s bed first. His face was swollen and bruised - by physical assault or a jinx you couldn’t say. He was unconscious and breathed heavily. But you were still afraid in his presence. So you took a step back and glanced towards the others, they were all in bad shape. Not as bad as Prodington but still in bad shape. Could- did- no he wouldn’t, why would he? I’m nothing to him, but… 
Your thoughts swirled as a ridiculous part of you hoped and dreamed that Lucius had avenged you, retaliated for what the boys had done to you. It was a bad thought, that you were cause for harm but at the same time, you smiled. Not the regular smile you always carried but an actual smile, a warm smile, a conscious smile. A smile that perhaps, just perhaps, were a tad vicious. Perhaps it was rightfully so. It felt good and bad to be happy about someone else’s misery and that was not you, not in the slightest but your pain was too palpable, too raw, to be ignored. Whatever the reason, it serves them right. 
“Happy?” You jolted and gasped as you spun around on the spot. Just a step in front of the closed door stood Lucius. His face was harsh yet there was a definite smile across his lips. A twinkle in his grey eyes and a small cut across one of his eyebrows. You had not heard him come in so his presence shocked you for a split second. “Did you-” He nodded slightly, casually, as if it were nothing. But to you, it was everything. 
Except, you did not understand at all. He had done nothing but ignored you since you last kissed. He had seen the torment you endured verbally from your housemates, from other students, from most really. He had done nothing. Yet now, he harmed four people for your sake? It didn’t make sense. But sense and apparently left you as your body churned with warmth from his gaze and proximity. Your heart pounded when you looked at him and your pulse rushed from the sound of his voice uttering a single word. 
“Why?” you asked as you turned fully towards him. He looked confused for a moment. But then he walked over towards you in measured steps. He placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head so he could gaze down on you. “Why? I thought that to be quite obvious?” “Not to me,” you whispered as his skin against yours made you burn and ache. Your mind scrambled as memories of the kisses you had shared weeks ago bubbled up. Your face warmed, a blush crept across your chest and throat, all the way up to your cheeks. 
His arm came around you, tugged you closer gently. His thumb stroked your bottom lip gently and your breath hitched. You tried to remember how he had treated you but the only thing your brain screamed at you were hormonal acts of indecency and your body simple reacted to his touch by melding with his hold.  “(Y/n),” he said in a low tone, “I do believe I made it quite obvious how I felt about you. Last time, did I not?” “You did, and then you changed.” 
Where you found the courage to say such a thing you could not understand, but you did. He raised his brows ever so slightly. “I did tell you, I need to make you stay away from me. I can’t stay away from you. You drive me insane, I’m going mad as you just keep on smiling through everything.” “Except when you kiss me,” you whispered. “Except when I kiss you, then you cry.” You lowered your gaze at those words, he pressed a bit harder with his arm around your waist and made you look back up. “If I remember correctly, it made me feel rather special.” “You mentioned that,” you answered as your heart hammered harder. You wanted to smash your lips against his but something held you back from doing so. 
“Why did you do this?” you asked. “Retaliate for you?” You shook your head, that was not what you had meant. “Why kiss me and make my dreams come true only to crush me, shatter me, by ignoring me. Why?” His face hardened, his cold grey eyes softened. “You would be broken in my world.” “I do believe you’re the peacock and I’m the tyrannosaurus rex. No?” You surprised yourself with yet another surge of courage despite the situation you were in and he smiled. It was a panty-ripping, heart-shattering, will-crushing smile that was pure perfection in your eyes. “True, that thing is quite astonishing.” “Your peacock is beautiful.” “Not as beautiful as you, sweets.” Your heart tugged at the pet name he adorned you with as well as his thought about your appearance. 
“You’re smiling, always smiling.” his voice was harsh and condescending, but it sounded more as if it were because it was so ingrained rather than anything else. And he was right. You were smiling, like always. Always smiling. “I know the world won’t be a better place for it-” “My world is.” Your eyes widened at his words, even if you wanted your head to remind you of how he had acted and what he had done by doing nothing, you could only think about kissing him again. But before you had time to consider it, his lips were firmly pressed against yours. 
He tasted wonderfully good. The warmth of him against you was welcome in all ways. You pressed yourself into him, his arm around your waist tightened as his hand moved from your chin to cup your neck firmly. He commanded your attention and he decided how the kiss went. You were merely there for the ride, a passenger as he was the driver. You felt blissfully secure in that role. 
Your hands landed at his hips and you grabbed fists full of fabric harshly to tug him even closer. He responded by kissing you more deeply and a slight hum escaped him. Your knees were weak and tears slid down your cheeks as your love for him were so overwhelming it had to leak out of you in that salty liquid. He held you more firmly and you ignored the protest of your aching ribs. Desperate to be as close to him as possible despite it all. 
You were breathing heavily as you parted after a few moments. Slightly dizzy, slightly disoriented, but heavenly warm and happy. “Crying, again,” he muttered before his warm thumb stroked away your tears. “I can’t help it,” you whispered as your lips turned into a smile once more. “Is that so?” You nodded. “How come?” The question made you hesitate for a moment but you had not spent years pining after him to simply give up the chance of telling him. He obviously liked you too, he had said so last time and now he had retaliated against your bullies and kissed you passionately - again. 
“Lucius, I’m-, I love you.” He stiffened at your honest words and you could barely force down any air in your tight lungs. His fingers stroked gently from your eyebrow and down along your cheek to your chin before he cupped it. His lips were smashed against your in the next instant. As if he were starving and you were a buffet. You clung to him as he embraced you. “As I do you,” he whispered between breaths while his lips were still against yours, “your smile, your way to be in the world. You, just as you are.” “Be with me,” you whispered back as you were desperately clinging to the hope he would be yours and you would be his. “I will ruin you,” he whispered and his voice was laced with hatred, anger. New tears leaked from your eyes as you quelled a sob as he kept on kissing you. “I don’t care,” you whispered, “I love you, I want to be with you. No matter what.” “And how will I live with myself when you are broken and ruined, destroyed?” 
After those words, he broke the kiss. You looked into his cold grey eyes that seemed to shimmer and shine. His handsome face, framed by his beautiful hair, was in a league of its own for you. He was not comparable to anyone else. You had, time and time again, told yourself you did not know him and could not love him for only his looks. But you knew more about him than you cared to admit. Front eh way he held his fork to the distinct sound his steps made, from the way he tied his hair up to how he spoke depending on the person he addressed or spoke about. You knew his favourite food, colour, tie - all of it - simply because you cared enough to notice. What you had failed to notice was his feelings for you. You had failed to see the façade. 
“I think you are managing just fine,” you whisper as you force yourself to take a step back from him and in doing so you forced him to release his arm from around your waist. “It doesn’t seem like it is that difficult for you. Just ignore me and I am not a problem, right?” Your voice was low and the smile had faded as you felt yourself shatter all over again. “Wrong,” he stated harshly, “wrong in all ways. I’m going mad, look at what I did for you.” 
His hand swept over the Gryffindor boys that were laying in beds around you. You shivered. “That’s different,” you breathed out. “How?” “You punished others for what they did towards me, without owning up to the fact that you have hurt me more than anybody, ever.” He hissed at your words and recoiled a step. You looked at him and for once, just once, you allowed your mask to fade. 
Your smile completely vanished, your shoulders lowered, your hands relaxed and hung without purpose by your sides, you allowed your face to release the forced muscles that portrayed happiness and the entirety of you turned into the sad, lonely, hurt and pained girl that you were. Broken, shattered. 
Lucius took a deep breath as you literally transformed right then and there, in front of him, for him to see you as you were. Not who you portrayed daily. “(Y/n),” he breathed out and just as you thought he would leave you and let go of the possibility that there could be something between eh two of you his body was smashed against yours. So harshly you nearly lost your breath. He held you, firmly, with a small tremble to him that vibrated into you. “I had no idea,” he whispered in your ear with a cracked voice, “I’m so sorry, sweets. So sorry.” Your arms came around him and for a moment it felt as if you were home; like you were where you were meant to be. In his arms. 
“I didn’t know, I didn’t see, I’m so sorry,” he repeated a few times as you melded with his body and breathed him in. Something inside of you healed at that moment, as something else grew and a third thing broke. It was complicated, messy, hard. But you loved him and wanted him, desperately, to love you back. He had nearly said as much, but not completely. 
For a little while, it felt as if time stood still and all other things simply stopped existing. The hopeless feeling inside of you was drowned out by his warmth. The ache in your chest from deep within your heart lessened and then went quiet. The thoughts that screamed at you to pretend, to be happy, to smile and forced you to live as if you were in paradise went silent. It was bliss, for a moment. 
The embrace was eventually broken and both of you leaned back. You stood utterly still in the middle of the hospital wing, surrounded by boys who had been bruised and battered by your love's hand in retaliation for what they had done to you. But when the light of day still shined outside it had been nothing like that. You had been alone, lost and broken. Shattered. More by his doing than anything else. That did not just simply go away because of a few words, a kiss or an embrace. Not even for an apology. But you wanted to forgive him and be with him, if he would be with you. 
You wanted to leave it all behind and move on, with him by your side. You’d rather walk in rain by his side than in sunshine on your own. You would rather die than feel so shattered and be all broken inside. If he knew or not, he held your heart in his hands and you were prepared to never see it again. For better or for worse. If you could not give it to him, you did not want it. Even if you had tried to protect it, mend it, heal it. It belonged to him, irrevocably. For all time to come. And, really, who could live without a heart? 
His hand came to your face. You were silently crying without even realising it. You were close to just letting it all go but his gentle touch brought you back to reality, back to him. “(Y/n), sweets, please. Forgive me for it, please.” You leaned into his touch while you closed your eyes and took a shaky breath before you could look at him again. “It’s not that simple, even if I love you. There, there needs to be more than a forgive and forget. I, I think I deserve more than that, Lucius…” The words pained you to say but they were true. “You are worth everything. If you’ll have me, I’d like to give you everything.” 
Epilogue
Everything was different. Everything had changed. With Lucius by your side you were no longer alone or unsafe. You had love, friendship, safety and a place where you belonged. Right by his side. A place you planned to remain forever as Lucius made sure to make good on his word. He gave you everything he could, even if there wasn't much you wanted beside him and his love.  
It had taken quite some time for him to realise that you just wanted him, to be with him and love him. Be loved by him. That had eventually changed something within him. As if he had not known love before. True love, love beyond the surface and the physical. Your heart had ached when you realised he was unfamiliar with such emotions, such experiences. It had only made you love him more. 
It hadn’t been easy in the beginning. People talked, stared, took jabs at you and at first nothing really changed. Until realisation hit everyone, you belonged to Lucius Malfoy and he belonged to you. There was nothing more to it. You were a couple and if you were mistreated, he made sure the culprits paid a hefty price for it. You didn’t really like that but at the same time, you did not want to change him. It was who he was and a tiny, hidden, selfish part of you felt cherished when he reacted in such strong ways. When he took to violence and dark magic to protect you and keep you safe. 
After a while, nobody bothered you anymore. You were still just ‘Lucius Malfoy’s girlfriend’ but that was all you wanted to be, for now. In the future, you wanted more. If that were possible or not was left to discover. You were a muggleborn and would never be accepted by his family. You were never to be fully accepted as you were among the purebloods. Maybe, in the future, things would change but you dared not believe that. It was more of a fantasy than anything. But you understood what Lucius had meant by breaking you. Sure, the problems were different, smaller even, but they meant more than the bullying at school. It was about who you were and what you wanted to become in a future that seemed so uncertain that you feared it. 
But he loved you. He cared for you. He was with you, just because you were you. Even if he received hate and spiteful words about it. Even if some of his friends abandoned him and turned silent towards him. Even if his family berated him and threatened to disown him. He stood with you, held your hand, kissed you and loved you. He was, quite frankly, your everything and not a day went by without him showing you that you meant just as much to him. 
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[Mar:2021]
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hii you said that requests were open so i was wondering if you’d want to write an iwaoi sick fic? like it’s a middle of a practice match agaisnt some school and oikawa feels sick but doesn’t tell anyone beforehand?
Hello and thank you for the request!! I hope this is kinda what you wanted. I tried :) sorry it took me a minute!
An Off Day: an IwaOi Sick fic
Pairing: Sick Oikawa, Caretaker Iwaizumi
Words: ? (I didn’t get a count sorry—longer though)
Warnings: fever, passing out, cursing
————————
It was a dull day.
Oikawa sat in class, his head resting on his palm, and everything just felt faded. Existing as a human today seemed like entirely too much work.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but his entire day, his surroundings, his overall demeanor— none of them were as vivid and bright as usual. Things were just...off.
He felt off.
A lethargic and overall blah feeling clung to him like a thick winter coat, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe and leaving his head muddled. He didn’t know what was going on with his body and it was incredibly frustrating.
Oikawa scoffed to himself, ignoring the curious side eye from the girl next to him, and resolutely decided to ignore the dull, blah feeling. Surely if he willed himself to feel less blah, then that would put the pep back in his step. Besides, this was his last class of the day and then it was time for practice.
They were playing some no-name, no-skill team in what Oikawa deemed a “charity” practice match. For the other team, it would be a learning experience. For Seijoh, it would be another victory to add to their running total.
Class finally ended and he stood up to head to the club room. Immediately, his knees buckled and black spots danced in his vision. A small hand grasped his upper arm and held him steady. Once the spots cleared, he saw the small girl who sits next to him looking up at him, concern etched into her face.
“Oikawa-san? You look pale. You should go home and rest. I’m sure they’ll be okay without you at practice today.” He shook his head.
“I just got up too fast. Thank you for helping me out,” he smiled and she hesitantly let his arm go. She nodded, grabbed her bag, and left the classroom.
Oikawa, much to his dismay, was still dizzy though. He placed his hands on his desk and ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut while he waited for it to pass.
In the club room, he met up with Iwaizumi and chatted with his other teammates here and there, resolutely ignoring the fatigue thay plagued him.
Warm-ups came and went and their coach went over the rotation for the practice match. All the while, the lethargy he felt never went away like he thought it would. In fact, it seemed to be increasing and there was now a dull, consistent thudding in his head. Maybe it was more than just an off day? Maybe something was wrong?
He didn’t get much time to explore the new thoughts, because the other team arrived and their practice match began. Oikawa was right; the other team wasn’t a challenge in the slightest. The fact that it was any easy game didn’t make him feel any better about his complete lack of game.
Nearly every single one of his sets was wrong. Too high or too low. Too far left or right. The ball wasn’t settling in his fingers the way he needed it too and it all irritated him to no end.
He couldn’t concentrate. Every now and then, the court tilted dangerously sideways and he had to consciously ground his feet to bring it back to equilibrium. He was starting to feel weak. His limbs weighed about 1,000 lbs, making every lift of his arms to set the ball or movement of his legs to cross the court a Herculean effort. All he wanted was to curl up on the ground and take a nap.
“Hey, you okay?” Matsu walked up to him during a break between serves and put a hand on his shoulder. He was frowning. Oikawa glowered at him.
Was he okay? No. Of course not. He was 98% sure that he had a fever. Would that stop him from playing? No. Of course not. This was an easy team to beat. If he couldn’t push through this, then he wasn’t worth anything to his team.
“Yeah. Fine.” He snapped. Matsuhana put his hands up and backed away. Play resumed.
It was just a cold. He could shake this feeling if he just pushed through it hard enough. If Oikawa was confident of anything, it was his ability to ignore negative feelings and punch through bad moods.
That confidence slowly drained out of Oikawa along with any energy and focus he may have had the longer the game continued.
The two teams switched sides of the court and Iwaizumi appeared at his side.
“Hey, what’s the deal? You okay? We should have taken this set a long time ago,” he grumbled, his usual grumpy tone setting all of Oikawa’s already frazzled nerves even more on edge. His lip curled as he glanced over at his best friend.
“Thanks, Iwa-chan, I didn’t realize,” he sneered. Iwa’s eyes widened and he blinked comically. Oikawa would have made a joke if he wasn’t feeling so shitty.
“Don’t take it out on me, Trashykawa,” Iwa’s eyes narrowed, “your sets have been off all match.”
Oikawa felt like he was slapped in the face because he knew that. Of course he was more than aware that not a single one of his sets hit their mark yet. It was eating away at him and it made his stomach churn. He could do this though. He would not let his team down.
“I know,” he muttered. Iwa’s face changed again, but Oikawa’s vision blurred and he couldn’t make out what expression the ace had. He walked away.
“Oi, come back here a seco—“ Iwa started but was cut off by their coach.
“Iwaizumi! You gonna stand around and talk all day or are you gonna let us resume the match?”
He glanced one more time at Oikawa before getting into position. Oikawa thought maybe he looked concerned or upset or something, but he honestly didn’t have the energy to figure it out. It was all he could do to stand up right.
The set continued and each passing second was an eternity to Oikawa. Black spots popped up more frequently and he had to squeeze his eyes shut quickly and exhale to keep himself from passing out. It was a losing battle.
The dull thud in his head grew into a steady pounding that took up residence behind his eyes, leaving him vaguely nauseated. It was getting harder to breathe, even though he wasn’t running around like he normally would be. The gym swirled and he blinked several times, but it wasn’t going back to normal. The sounds of shouting and squeaking shoes faded away, replaced by a strange roaring sound.
Oikawa realized very quickly that he was in serious trouble.
“Oikawa!” Wataru’s shout cut through the roaring and sent a sharp pain through his head. As quickly as it left, the roaring in his ears returned and with it, his vision completely blacked out. It took all his effort to call out for help.
“Iwa-cha—“ the sound got caught in his throat and his body crumpled to the floor.
The next thing he knew, Oikawa was staring at the ceiling. He blinked a few times and groaned. The lights beaming down on him reminded him of the migraine he definitely had and he shivered. Why was he on the ground?
“Tooru? Oh thank god,” Iwa’s face entered his field of vision (and blocked the light, thankfully). His voice was shaking and desperate, adding to Oikawa’s confusion.
“Iwa-chan?” He said feebly.
“Are you okay? What hurts? Fuck, Tooru. You scared the shit out of me,” Iwaizumi was frantic, his hands cupping Oikawa’s face, making the sick boy cringe. Touching was no good. He didn’t want that right now.
The corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth pulled down and his eyebrows scrunched. He moved one of his hand’s to Oikawa’s forehead and the other to his own. His eyes blew wide.
“Holy shit, Tooru! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick, dumbass?”
Oh. He’d been caught.
“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?” He smiled weakly up at his best friend, who scoffed in return.
“Idiot,” he mumbled before turning his head towards somewhere above Oikawa. The lights pierced Oikawa’s vision and he moaned when his head pulsated. He tried to curl up, but Iwaizumi was already trying to get him standing.
“Coach, he’s got a fever,” Iwaizumi shouted across the gym and Oikawa’s knees buckled. Luckily, Iwa’s arms were securely around his waist.
“I’m gonna take him to the club room and call one of our moms to come pick us up. Do you need me here?”
“No, go take care of our idiot captain,” their coach responded, his arms crossed over his chest. Normally, Oikawa would’ve squaked at the insult, but it was taking all of his attention to stay awake.
“We got this man. Go handle the child,” Makki snickered.
“Mean, Makki,” Oikawa managed to whine as he and Iwa stumbled out of the gym.
By the time they got back to the club room, Oikawa was sweating profusely, panting, and leaning almost all of his weight on Iwaizumi.
Iwa led them to the back of the clubroom and guided them down to sit against the wall. Oikawa shivered and immediately curled into Iwa’s side.
“How the hell did you let it get so bad, Shittykawa,” Iwa questioned. His tone held more concern than malice and it settled Oikawa’s nerves ever so slightly.
“Mmm, so warm Iwa-chan,” was all Oikawa could respond with. Iwaizumi scoffed, but threw an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder and pulled him closer anyway. The setter smiled.
“Yo, who should I call?” Iwaizumi asked, his tone still lacking its normal gruffness.
“Everyone in my family is working right now, Iwa-chan. No one is going to pick up,” Oikawa said. His throat was getting sore now. That means he’s sick sick. He frowned. Another shiver shot up his spine.
Iwa sighed, “okay. I’ll call my mom. She won’t be able to get here for at least half an hour though. Will you be okay until then? We can take the bus if you want.”
Oikawa nuzzled into Iwa’s shoulder. The smallest hints of his cologne were still present, despite getting sweaty from practice.
“No. No bus. We’ll want for Auntie, if that’s okay with you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll call her.”
“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa yawned. His eyes started drifting closed. Man, did a nap sound perfect right now.
“Don’t apologize, Tooru. Just scared me,” Iwa muttered and Oikawa felt the ace’s nose nuzzle into the top of his head. He relaxed further, in spite of the chills running through his body.
“Get some rest. I’ll wake you when my mom gets here,” Iwa whispered and Oikawa couldn’t remember the last time he sounded so soft. At least towards him anyway. Iwaizumi pulled Oikawa down gently so the setter’s head was pillowed on his lap.
Oikawa fell asleep to Iwaizumi’s gentle hands carding through his hair.
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searchingwardrobes · 3 years
Text
Not the Type: 5/7
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The muse has awakened! I feel awful for keeping ya'll waiting so long (5 months? seriously?!) for an update on this fic. I actually decided to split this chapter up once it reached 2k because I didn't want you waiting any longer for another chapter. So, this will now be 7 chapters plus an epilogue. Much thanks to my beta @hookedonapirate​ for untangling my awkward wording and making me sound so much better! You have a way of getting what I'm trying to say and making it flow. What would I do without you? Thanks to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ mods for being so patient and understanding when I had to put this on the back burner. And finally, thank you to my dear friend @snowbellewells​ for helping me get the muse kickstarted again on this fic. You rock!
Oh, and fun fact: The part in this chapter about Ruby’s cheer injury really happened - to me when I was a cheerleader long, long ago . . .
Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she’s not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn’t ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that’s actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.
My loose Captain Swan AU of the movie Bring it On
Rating: T
Also on Ao3
Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockwhovian​ @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna
Chapter Five
“You’ve got to let go of me for one second,” Emma giggled, her tone and the fact that she was simultaneously wrapping her free arm tighter around Killian’s waist completely contradicting her words.
“Do as I say, not as I do, hm?”
“I’m trying to get the mail!”
“So?”
“So you’re kissing my neck.”
“Hm, so I am.”
He flashed her a dazzling smile, his blue eyes slightly dazed, like he was drunk on love or something. Love? Emma wriggled free of his embrace as the word penetrated her lust filled, teenage brain. They couldn’t be in love or anything like that. This wasn’t a 90's rom com or something.
Killian was unfazed by her sudden distance, his hands still finding purchase on her elbow and hip; her hair still tickling his nose and mouth. She reached into the mailbox, pulled out an unusually thick stack and started flipping through it as Killian snaked his arms around her waist from behind and propped his chin on her shoulder. Emma wasn’t surprised to see college brochures; they had begun coming with increasing regularity now that she and her brother were juniors. One white envelope with blue writing gave her pause, however. It was addressed to her, and this was no brochure. It was a very official looking letter. Emma’s hands trembled as she tore it open.
“What is it?” Killian mumbled the question, far more interested in her neck at the moment.
Emma scanned the contents of the letter, and the more the words sank in, the more she trembled. So much so that the rest of the mail went fluttering to the sidewalk. Killian was finally pulled away from his obsession with her neck and spoke his next question with deep concern.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . I, um,” she swallowed hard as conflicting emotions swirled in her brain. “The University of Kentucky is interested in recruiting me for their cheerleading squad.”
“That’s amazing, Swan!”
“You have no idea,” Emma said softly as she sank down onto the front step of her apartment building.
Killian gathered up the rest of the mail, then came and sat next to her. “Then continue in my cheerleading education, love.”
Emma chuckled, though she was also touched by the obvious interest he held in her pursuits, even if they weren’t necessarily in line with his.
“UK has the best cheer program in the country,” Emma explained. “They’ve won an insane number of national titles, probably more than any other college. You don’t just make the squad, you get a full ride. They’re that good.”
Killian lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “See? I knew you were bloody brilliant.”
Emma returned his bright smile with a shaky one of her own. “You’re so sweet.”
“You’re not excited about this?”
Emma bit her lip, staring at the letter in her hands until the words started to blur together. “I am. It’s just . . . this means they’ll be sending recruiters to our competitions. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.”
Emma’s lips lifted in a half-hearted smile. Her head collapsed onto his shoulder, and he brushed his lips against her forehead.
“A full ride . . . “
She let the thought fade into the air. How could she screw up an offer like this? It would help Ruth out so much, and her brother, too.
Yeah, no pressure.
*******************************************************
“Hey, Em!”
One of Ruby’s dirty socks bounced off Emma’s head and landed in her lap. With a disgusted grumble, she batted it to the floor.
“Rubes, that’s gross!”
“Well, you’re sitting there, staring into space. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly embarrassed to put that thing on in front of everybody.”
Emma looked down at the sports bra still clutched in her right hand. They all learned early on that there was no modest way to squeeze your boobs into a sports bra, so the squad basically had to get real comfortable around each other real fast. And contrary to every teen movie ever made, there was nothing sexy about it. It was just athletes being a team in the locker room.
You know, like male athletes.
“Oh God, she’s contemplating sexism in sports again,” Ariel groaned.
“She is!” crowed Ruby. “Look how she’s staring at that sports bra!”
“You mean this torture device?” Emma quipped, waving the garment in the air like a feminist about to burn something.
“She isn’t wrong,” Mary Margaret put in.
“Well, I for one am thankful for the torture device,” Jasmine piped up.
“Here we go again,” groaned Tiana.
“It’s true!” Jasmine cried out. “I don’t want the girls flopping around. It hurts!”
“While this discussion is incredibly enlightening,” a voice said dryly from the doorway, “I’d prefer we start running our competition routine, if you ladies don’t mind.”
They all mumbled apologies to Coach Ava, along with promises to get out of the locker room as quickly as possible. Emma shed her blouse and regular bra, then struggled her way into her sports bra before slipping a cheer camp t-shirt over her head. She paused before one of the cracked mirrors that hung above a row of ancient porcelain sinks that dated back to the 1950s. Being a girls’ team that didn’t really bring in any ticket sales, the cheerleading squad was relegated to practicing in the old gym. It could've been worse, however. The seniors remembered their freshman year, before the new gym was built, when the cheerleaders were forced to practice in the atrium at the front of the school. The atrium was great for painting bust-throughs, but Emma couldn’t imagine having to practice there.
As Emma tugged her hair into a messy ponytail, she thought of the letter she had shoved in the front pocket of her backpack. She'd planned on showing it to Ruby and Mary Margaret, but for some reason, she'd lost her nerve. She sighed as she made her way out of the locker room. Letter or no letter, she had to get her head on straight.
As usual, the girls started off running a mile around the gym, and just like every other practice, Emma started off keeping pace with Ruby and Mary Margaret. Her mind was still a million miles away, however.
In Kentucky, she supposed. The bluegrass state. Was the grass really blue? I mean, it couldn’t be. How can grass be blue?
“Hey,” Ruby panted, leaning over her knees when the run was over, “what’s with you?”
“What’s what?”
Emma’s brow furrowed as she did a calf stretch. She was always getting charley horses in the middle of the night during competition season. Ruth kept bugging her to eat a banana every day, but she despised bananas. They were so mushy . . .
“Earth to Emma,” Mary Margaret laughed.
Ruby snapped her fingers in Emma’s face.
“What happened to the Emma we know and love?” she asked. “You know, the one who leaves us in the dust every practice, laughing her ass off the whole way?”
“It’s not my fault you two do a leisurely jog instead of a run.”
“Running is what you do when you’re being chased,” Mary Margaret countered. It was her usual argument.
Ruby narrowed her eyes at Emma. “You’re avoiding my question.”
“Lunges, girls, across the gym floor!” shouted Coach Ava, saving Emma from responding. She lined up with the rest of the squad along one side of the gym, then stepped forward with her right leg, her hands on her hips.
“Is it Killian?” Ruby hissed at her left.
“No!”
“Just drop it,” Mary Margaret snapped.
“Yeah,” Emma grunted as she lowered herself into another lunge, “it’s kinda hard to talk and do these at the same time.”
“Tiana, I wanna see a right angle on those lunges!” their coach called out. “Ruby, you might be able to keep your balance if you stop exercising your mouth!”
Emma laughed loudly as Ruby wobbled and almost went down. “Yeah, Rubes, I’d concentrate if I were you.”
And just to rub her friend’s face in it, Emma sped up her lunges, reaching the other side of the gym first.
“Excellent job,” Coach Ava praised her. “Smooth, with speed, and you didn’t lose your form.”
Ruby practically growled when Emma threw a smirk her way.
They did a few more drills, warmed up their tumbling with a few simple passes, then gathered on the mats to go through their routine. Coach Ava was still making a few simple changes, but for the most part, it was now all about committing it to muscle memory. They needed to be able to practically do the routine in their sleep by the time December rolled around. And that was only five weeks away.
The girls got into position, and the music started. They were opening with a tumbling peel off. The girls in the front did a standing back handspring, the girls in the middle a standing back tuck, and then . . .
Emma got to shine as she kept going. Out of a standing back tuck, into two back handsprings, and then finally into a full twisting double back as the music crescendoed. Usually, Emma’s adrenaline had her ending the pass with a huge smile on her face, but today she under-rotated and almost landed flat on her face. She tried to shake it off, but in the team’s first pyramid, she started to lose her balance, almost taking the rest of the team down with her. Emma chastised herself to get it together as her stunt group moved into position for their next stunt - a twist up
Their “theme” this year was hair. They whipped their ponytails a lot in the dance portion, and every song had to do with hair. In the next stunt, Emma had to pull up on her ponytail while she twisted up into an arabesque, as if she was pulling herself up by her hair.
It was a little like patting her head and rubbing her stomach at the same time, which was incredibly frustrating to Emma. The stupid hair pull was supposed to be a cool bit of choreography, not rocket science. Yet, once again, Emma seemed to get her arms, her long hair, and her legs tangled into a mass as she twisted upward. What happened next, Emma was never entirely sure. Ruby yelled, Emma felt herself tilting sideways and she panicked, making a rookie mistake - she attempted to jump down from the stunt. Her fist was still gripped in her hair, which she almost yanked out in the fall, and she kicked her spotter away - another rookie mistake. Thankfully, Coach Ava was able to dart forward in time to catch Emma. Behind her, she heard what she swore were skulls crashing together.
It was a pretty accurate description.
Ruby was swearing loudly as she clutched her chin. A little blood seeped between her fingers. Ashley covered her mouth with both hands, and Emma was alarmed to see a lot of blood rolling down the blonde’s chin and staining her shirt. Ava abandoned Emma to check on the two bases, barking at Mary Margaret to run and get the first aid kid.
Emma felt like the worst human being in the world. She clutched at her middle and kept whispering “I’m so sorry” over and over again, but no one paid her any attention.
Ava cleaned up the blood pouring from Ashley’s mouth enough to ascertain that all of her teeth were still intact. She just had a busted lip, something many of them had endured in the past. It was crazy how badly a mouth injury bled. As for Ruby, she didn't even need a band-aid once the blood was cleaned away with an antiseptic wipe.
“Watch it carefully for infection,” Coach Ava advised.
“Why?” Ruby asked with a furrowed brow.
Ava winced slightly before reluctantly explaining. “They're bite marks. Ashley’s teeth collided with your chin.”
“WHAT??” Ruby screeched.
The rest of the squad crowded around to see as Coach Ava tilted Ruby’s chin up for a better look. Sure enough, there were two teeth-shaped puncture marks, like she’d been attacked by a wild animal. Practically growling in irritation, Ruby shoved her teammates aside and rushed to the locker room for a better look.
Ruby’s scream moments later had all of the girls collapsing with laughter.
“Well,” Ava sighed, “I suppose we’re taking a little break before we run the routine again.”
*************************************************
“So Ruby has bite marks on her chin?”
Emma snort-laughed through her nose at the look on Killian’s face. “Yep. And the rumors about how she got them get more and more unbelievable as the day goes by.”
Killian rolled his eyes before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Bloody gits”
It was too cold now to sit under the trees in the school courtyard, so she and Killian were tucked into a hidden corner in the school atrium. They had to whisper, though, because sounds reverberated against the domed ceiling. Emma couldn’t imagine cheering in this space. How did the seniors not go deaf?
“It’s not really a sexy place for bite marks though,” Emma said as she licked Cheeto powder off her fingers.
“Yeah, I can think of far kinkier places.”
She smacked him in the chest as he waggled his eyebrows at her. She wanted to be indignant at his innuendo, but instead her cheeks burned as her mind plunged straight into the gutter. She already knew a little bit of what Killian could do with his teeth . . .
“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting gears faster than she would have thought possible, “I don’t mean to be an idiot like all the rest.”
Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear. She practically melted at the way he could so swiftly go from irrepressible flirt to sweet boyfriend. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Emma crumpled up the Cheeto bag and stuffed it into her lunch bag. She handed the wad of trash to her boyfriend sweetly, batting her lashes exaggeratedly. Killian took her trash, chuckling as he stood up.
“You don’t have to use doe eyes to get me to do things for you,” he told her before walking to the trash can beside the front doors.
“I don’t?”
“Never,” he answered as he returned to her side. He sat back down on the floor, his back against the wall, and pulled her snug against his chest.
“So you’ll just wait on me hand and foot?”
“Like the princess you are.”
“Wow, I should really take more advantage of how whipped you are,” she joked.
Killian retaliated by tickling her in the ribs. She wriggled and laughed, but made no attempt to pull away from him. She glanced around, saw no adults, and then pressed her lips to his.
He kissed her back, sliding a hand into her hair. They kept it brief, not wanting to get caught. Storybrooke High gave demerits for PDA. Emma was tempted to just take the demerits so she could kiss her boyfriend thoroughly, but Coach Ava would pull her from the competition line up if she got one more demerit. So Emma just sighed and snuggled against Killian’s chest. He began to idly play with her hair.
“How many demerits do you get for PDA?”
Emma craned her neck to look at him. “How did you know I was thinking that?”
He grinned down at her rakishly. “I didn’t. But how many?”
Emma frowned. “It’s not bad, but it’s still too many for me. I’ve already gotten five demerits and six will get me cut from competition.”
“Scandalous. How did you get five demerits, love?”
Emma grumbled as she shoved a stray hair out of her eyes. “The first two I got because I argued with Mr. Gold about a paper he unfairly gave me a C- on. Then he wrote me up just for questioning him about it!”
“The bastard. And the other three?”
“That was me being stupid. I used the vending machine after noon.”
Killian’s laughter shook his chest, making Emma smile.
“That’s a stupid rule anyway.”
“I know, right? I forgot my lunch!” Emma tightened her arms around Killian. “Principal Mills did let me keep the chips, though.”
They were silent for a moment. Killian was still playing with her hair. She felt him take a deep breath and release it.
“Have you told the squad yet? About UK?”
Emma sighed. She figured he would ask her this eventually. “I will.”
“Emma -”
“I will.” She knew she needed to. Her friends could tell something was off, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted at any more practices.
Or any competitions.
Of course, if she screwed up this badly at a competition, The University of Kentucky might change their minds.
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earliebirb · 4 years
Note
Hello. So about the "send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a drabble"... These are all perfect and I kinda want to ask for every single one for stony but I don't want to be that greedy XD How about 32 - “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”. It seems perfect for Steve and Tony. Love you!
Hello! Thank you for the prompt. Sorry for the long wait, I hope you like it!
weather the storm
steve/tony, hurt/comfort, getting together, 1839 words
(32 from this list)
Everything hurts. Breathing hurts.
“I really thought we could make it, you know. We had a decent chance of making it out—”
They are stuck under the remains of a collapsed apartment building. Fortunately, the wreckage seems to provide a small cocoon for them to sit in without being crushed, with a small amount of sunlight finding its way through the cracks between the debris and into the small space they are trapped in. Not so fortunately, JARVIS’ calculation has told him that the suit has taken a considerable amount of damage and that even if it had been running optimally, there would still be no way for them to blast their way out of there without risking certain death.
“Stop talking,” Steve grunts, but how can Tony stop talking when Steve’s face has lost its natural complexion and instead has taken on a deathly pallor that makes it look like he is the one that has a piece of rebar running through his abdomen instead of Tony?
Oh, that’s right. There is another unfortunate aspect to their situation: the fact that some time during the destruction of the building, Tony has somehow managed to get himself impaled on one of the steel bars underlying the building’s structure. 
“I’m fine, Steve. It’s all going to be okay,” Tony says, every word an exertion. His wound smarts with every breath. 
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Steve spits out angrily, his voice cracking on the last syllable as he presses his forehead to Tony’s temple, cradling the heavy weight of Tony’s suit-clad body in his arms. 
Tony smiles weakly up at him as black spots appear in his vision. Just before he asked Steve to help him remove his helmet, the HUD of the suit had notified him of the fact that his vitals were failing and that without serious medical attention within two hours, he might not make it. That was maybe around half an hour ago, but he doesn’t know anymore; it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything but the torturous pain his body is in. 
He raises one of his hands, offering it up to Steve. The simple movement jostles the rebar in him and he grits his teeth at a wave of pain so intense he is on the verge of blacking out. 
“Hold… my hand?” Tony asks and Steve complies readily, holding Tony’s gauntleted hand in his. 
“Hey, Steve.”
Steve stays silent but Tony feels his gloved fingers tighten around his gauntlet. He lets the silence stretch out between the two of them for a few moments, listening to the sound of their harsh breathing. Absentmindedly, he admires the way the dust motes rising from the debris seem to dance under the rays of sunlight. 
“You want to know a secret?”
Steve speaks his words against Tony’s hair. “I want you to stop talking.”
“I think… I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
Steve stills against him, muscles locking up with tension. Tony feels drops of something warm land on his face even as Steve continues to say nothing. Steve is crying. 
Tony tells Steve that he loves him and Steve’s response is to start crying. Of course, because he is Tony Stark, he manages to find a way to hurt other people even in his dying hours. Tony wasn’t going to ever let Steve know about how he felt about him but life is a funny thing full of surprises. With the prospects of him making it out of this disaster alive becoming increasingly unlikely by the second, he has found a surge of courage he doesn’t think he would have found otherwise. 
“I’m sorry. For this. For everything,” Tony says breathlessly. He continues to speak even as the act of doing so renders the already exhausting task of breathing that much harder. “I know that you probably don’t want to hear this—”
“Shut up!” Steve roars, his voice hoarse. He rests his chin atop Tony’s head, just above Tony’s hairline. “If you say another word,” Steve chokes out, “I’m going to kill you myself.” 
Tony falls silent at that, closing his eyes. He has told Steve the one thing he needed to tell him and now that the job is done, he feels very tired, like his bones are turning into liquid. He feels himself sink deeper into Steve’s arms and he thinks he hears the sound of Steve whispering what might be a litany of pleas into the skin of his temple. 
As he lies in the arms of the man he loves, the last thing Tony thinks of before his senses are engulfed in darkness is that there are worse ways to die.
***
Tony wakes up alone in a hospital room to the sound of the steady beeping of machines. 
At least, he thinks he is alone, until a voice speaks up:
“You can’t do that again.”
He startles and looks around the room before finding Steve, seated in a chair situated in the darkest corner of the room, arms crossed and eyes looking right at him. 
“Steve,” Tony tries to say, but his dry throat morphs the word into a series of coughs. 
Steve stands up from the chair and walks to his side, handing him a glass of water and holding the straw up to his mouth. Tony takes a few sips gratefully, letting the liquid soothe his throat.
“Thanks.” Tony sighs, leaning back against his pillow. Steve sets the glass down on the bedside table and proceeds to stare down at Tony with unblinking eyes.
“How long was I out?”
Steve continues to gaze at him wordlessly, expression unreadable. 
“Steve—”
“I wasn’t going to forgive you.” 
Tony blinks. “What?”
“I wasn’t going to ever forgive you if you had—” Steve breaks off abruptly. He doesn’t finish his sentence. All the while, he is still staring down at Tony with steely blue eyes. The non-expression on Steve’s face and the way he holds himself makes Tony think of a rubber band that has been stretched taut, liable to break any second. 
Hearing a creak, Tony turns his head to see that Steve is gripping the metal handle bar of the hospital bed’s headboard and that the metal is giving way under the strength of his hand. 
“Steve, you need to let up—”
“You can’t say you love me and then leave me alone,” Steve says. It’s like he is not hearing whatever is coming out of Tony’s mouth, like they are having two entirely separate conversations. The way Tony is still unable to discern an ounce of emotion in his voice or on his face would scare him if he didn’t have an inkling as to what kind of emotion is simmering behind Steve’s apparent stolid indifference.
It’s fear, he guesses. Cold, all-encompassing fear that numbs you to your bones. Tony remembers feeling something similar one December night twenty-something years ago, remembers hearing the words “car accident” and then nothing else. He remembers feeling nothing. No anger, no sadness, just… nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He doesn’t say what for because there are too many things he is apologizing for. Sorry for not being better at calculating the odds. Sorry for being a constant burden for the team. Sorry for springing an unwanted love confession on Steve when he least needed or expected it. Just an endless string of apologies. 
“You should be,” Steve says, still in that unsettling monotone that is so uncharacteristic of him. 
“Just forget what I said.” Tony stares down at the white rumpled sheets of the hospital bed. “And… I promise to recalibrate the suit so I can perform better on the field. I’ll try my best to make sure that this kind of miscalculation won’t happen again.”
Tony nods decisively to himself before holding out a hand to Steve with his best attempt at a smile. “Now, are we good?”
Steve just stares down at Tony’s hand impassively for a few moments before looking up at Tony. 
He proceeds to ignore Tony’s hand entirely, leaning down and—
Steve is kissing him. 
Steve is kissing Tony, one of his hands gently cradling Tony’s cheek. His lips caress Tony’s softly, and then eagerly with increased frenzy, like he is kissing Tony with the intent to bruise his lips. 
Then Tony tastes salt. At the same time, he realizes that Steve’s breath is stuttering against his lips. “I can��t— You can’t— Damn you—” Steve whispers brokenly into his mouth and that makes Tony pull back in alarm, gently pushing Steve back with a hand on his chest. 
He gets the briefest look of Steve’s face—his red eyes brimming with tears, lips quivering and teeth gritted like someone withstanding torture—before the dam breaks and he watches as Steve buries his face in Tony’s chest, sobbing loudly into it like someone letting out years worth of bottled up agony. Steve’s throat sounds raw and his tears seep into the fabric of Tony’s hospital gown. Both of his hands are trembling as they clutch Tony’s arms for dear life, nails digging into Tony’s skin.
Tony feels his own eyes sting with tears, his vision blurring, because Steve sounds like he is falling apart because of Tony. 
In the end, it takes quite some time for either of them to calm down. Tony and Steve end up lying together on the small bed, having carefully arranged themselves in a position that allows them to look at each other. Tony stares softly at Steve who in return is gazing intently at him, eyes still wet and face red from crying. Tony’s hand is cupping Steve’s cheek.
Steve absolutely refuses to let go of his other hand, fingers intertwined with his. He still looks upset. He also looks incredibly exhausted.
“Go to sleep,” Tony whispers, thumb methodically tracing one-way strokes across Steve’s cheekbone. 
“I’m scared,” Steve rasps. His eyes remain trained on Tony, the intensity of their gaze unchanging. 
“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Tony promises.
Steve blinks languidly. Once. Twice.
“Can you say it again?”
“Say what?”
“Say you love me again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“...Again.”
“I love you.”
Steve closes his eyes. “One more time?”
Tony smiles, closing the small distance between them to capture Steve’s lips in a tender kiss. He lingers there for a while, making it last, making sure Steve knows just how much Tony loves him.
“I love you, Steve Rogers.”
Over the next few minutes, he watches Steve drift off slowly, the fight going out of him like Tony’s admission is all the permission he needs to fall asleep. When his breathing evens out, his grip on Tony’s hand goes lax. Tony doesn’t let go.
Tony is scared, but Steve is, too. 
Maybe it’s okay. 
Maybe they can be terrified together. 
He lies there in the quiet, listening to Steve breathe for a long, long time because he can, because he survived, and because somehow—by some stroke of miracle—Steve is in love with him, too. 
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