#kisses his bony little murder-hands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cybercl0ne · 10 months

Note

not sure if u do requests but I found ur blog recently and have been OBSESSED. I was thinking if you could do an arrange marriage fic for aizawa. I would absolutely DIE if u did. It can be any AU i wont mind since whatever u write will be amazing! I know it 💗💗💗

Will do! I love you so much. I wrote this trying to best fit my other pieces of work, so I hope you like it and I'm sorry I took so long to reply but I'm here now *plays graceful music*

Summary: Your father sells you to a man that knows you from UA.

F/M (she/her)

A/N at the bottom!!!!

TW: Abuse, mentions of Abuse, Fathers a massive dick (again), massive Angst, 18+, slow burn, porn with plot, murder, Aizawa is Yandere

You tried to keep your head down. You wanted to speak. You felt the words you wanted to say bubbling up in your throat, desperately trying to simmer.

"Don't disappoint me Y/n." You fathers booming voice bowelled. His intense aura making you feel smaller than you already were compared to him.

"Yes father." You spoke, still trying to maintain a put together face. You were slightly confused as to what was going on but would never voice it as you learned where talking out of line got you. Your mind hissed at the memories of the endless nights of torture your father would put you through just so you would never talk 'out of place' again.

Unimpressed your father scoffed, watching as the car rolled to a sudden stop. He let himself out, leaving you to bear the responsibility of fear. His assistant opened the door, his heart sharing the same hole as yours. "Good luck miss." He whispered, cheering you on knowing that this tiny act of kindness could get him killed. You gave him a warm smile innocent but filled with bloodshed, wanting to be in his shoes, even as a assistant for a man like your father. At least he could escape. At least he wasn't wasted down by the overbearing responsibilities you bared.

His shoes were different from the feet you walked with. You quickly and quietly made way to catch up with your father who still ignored your existence for as long as possible. He stepped through the sleek sophisticated door, you behind his large frame.

Life has never been fair to you or your family. When you were born your mother fell ill causing her to be hidden from the outside world. Sometimes when you’d have nightmares you’d curl into the warmth of her bony chest, watching as her warm arms wrapped around you. She’d reassure you countless times, kissing your temple. But now those days were gone. You no longer could run into your mom's touch, watch her smile glow up the room full of iv drips and medicine.

"This is Y/n. Shes the one that you will be betrothed." Your fathers familiar booming voice declared. You stood shell shocked, not wanting to believe what your eyes had soaked in. "N-no...H-he didn't say that." You blinked a few times to make sure you weren't stuck in some messed up nightmare but found you were very awake.

Your father nudged you as he placed his hands on your shoulders and activated his quirk, burning into the cloth of your clothes. You wasted no time, bowing before the strange man. "She might be a little untamed but I'm sure you'll figure it out." He said, throwing you at the man that stood before you.

Your face was nothing but mortified as you saw your father walking out of the room, still sharing the same uninterested look at you as when you were born. "F-father?" You scampered towards him, scraping yourself and ignoring the man that you fell into. He shared nothing but a simple scoff.

You blanked as your world flipped on its side. You saw your father looming over you as if he had put something rotten in his mouth. The glint that he shared between you sent your body into hives and shivers.

"I am not your father. Don't call me that." "If it were up to me, I would've never had you." "I would've sold you off to some man any day, but it appeared he was the only buyer."

"So, play nice now."

As soon as he spoke your body reacted with the only reaction it could. You hauled forward, your body rejecting everything. As you threw up all over the poor man's floor you noticed the sleek black shoes your father always wore disappear behind the black door.

You desperately reached for his long-gone presence. tears and snot uncontrollably free falling in front of you. "P-please father!"

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me behind! I-I'll be good!" Your heart wrenching words dissipated into thin air as it would never reach your targeted audience. The only man in the room however rushed to your side, immediately comforting you.

You watched as the world went black.

You woke up with a heavy migraine, your brain trying to forget the part where your father basically admits to hating you at birth. You hold your stomach as you try to muster an emotion other than grief and freedom mixed but you find yourself unable.

You look around realizing that your environment was completely different from what you knew. The spacious room overwhelmed you and the man that laid across from you spoke danger. You quickly huddled up into your legs as the strange man stirred in his sleep, transitioning to a woke state. "W-where am I?" You spoke, your voice faint and hoarse. You cringe at how little words fall from your mouth. "My house." The man utters.

You decide to take a good look at him, taking in his gruffy patch under his chin, his eyebags and his ragged black hair.

"Shota? -"

Both of your faces light up upon remembering a distant name from the past.

"Hi y/n." He breathes a breath of relief. You grabbed him immediately, embracing him tightly as he stood stunned, unsure of weather to hug you back and risk never letting you go.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Aizawa Whispered softly afraid you might float away from how light you felt in his arms. You let go, examining his face once more, fighting the urge to pepper it with soft kisses.

"Oh Aizawa..." "I-I'm so sorry..." You stuttered. You felt immense guilt as he talked his worry of you onto you.

"I had to leave UA. I wanted to be like you, a teacher but my father..." You choked, not sure if you can even call him a proper father. All he ever knew was pain.

"Don't worry. You'll be ok now." He reassured, lightly stroking your head. You whimpered into his chest, carving small circles.

For the first time in a long time you could feel yourself breathe. It was like you no longer had to cover your mouth, or act like you were stepping on pins and needles. You were free.

——*a few months later*——

You thought you’d hate the idea of marriage. Being tied down to a lover, or whoever your father would put you with in the end. But Aizawa was determined to erase any mark that monster had placed on you, and that started with the roots itself.

Since Aizawa was a pro hero he was fully aware he could never kill the villains he pursued. But the more Aizawa held you at night and watched you wriggle and mewl in your sleep made the reasonable thoughts broil. He knew he just had to do something. He stepped downstairs at after finalizing his plan, seeing you downstairs preparing him another beautiful breakfast that he felt a little bad that he wasn’t gonna eat. But there would be many great meals that he’d enjoy with you after he got rid of the lingering problem.

You looked so peaceful with your hair tied up and idling in one of his t shirts, never failing to look like a supernova even in the groggy mornings. He couldn’t resist and had to feel you from behind if even to just get the smell of you in his mind. “Hey baby” Aizawa’s groggy and rasped voice croaked. You startled, jumped as he wrapped his arms around your waist, rocking you side to side to let you know it was him.

“Hey honey. You ready to eat?” You asked, spatula in your hand but your attention all on him. He loved the way you’d fill his stomach with butterflies like he was a teenager again when you looked up at him with trust.

“No sorry sweets, I’ll pass but I’ll be back to eat later.” He didn’t fail to miss how you deflated a bit but perked back up after he hugged you tighter you perked back up.

“Well alright. Just be back in time for lunch or dinner.” You nagged like a wife. You caught yourself on the words, visibly flashing a hand to your mouth. He laughed, thinking about how little you changed through the years, even through high school you were shy and reserved but around him you loosened up unintentionally. It made him feel like he had done right. He’d been told by many peers and other of his students that he was scary, but deep down Aizawa cared, just was very used to acting like he doesn’t.

He planted a wet kiss on your face, exiting the warm feel of your embrace, looking back at you one last time for a fond memory until he gets back from doing a little “errand”.

He watched from afar at his victim. He watched as he left in his black car that had been in his rear view. Aizawa watched as the tall buff man exited the car and into his esteemed home with no car in the world. He looked as if he had no concern. It made Aizawa want to erase him even more. Aizawa followed close behind posing as a pro hero just put on patrol. He banged on the tall door that assisted the tall lowly man.

The door shot open as his tall stature sank to the front door. “What?” His booming voice rang. Aizawa could tell why this voice hurt and scared you so much but Aizawa was determined to make sure you never wind ear of a melody as broken as his. The man was visibly puzzled when he saw no one was standing at his doorstep. Shrugging it off and grumbling back inside his domain. Aizawa, already one step ahead, was inside his house without anyone or anything hearing/noticing. He promised the job would be clean and quick, all so he could have as much time with you as he wanted for the rest of both of your lives. He watched as the man sat in his office with a state of the art tablet, focused on whatever shady business he was indulging in. Aziawa made no effort to hide any longer revealing himself to the perpetrator that taunted the love of his life for so long under the radar. “What are you doing in here? Who let you in?!”

“Y’know you should do your research a little better.” Aizawa spoke, ignoring his past comment. Aizawa quickly and hastily poked the knife he placed at his knee to the grown man’s neck. And without second thought he slashed. He made sure the cut were clean and watched as blood splattered from his neck. He made little to no noise. Only choking on his gurgles of blood.

He quickly dipped out of the crime scene leaving nothing behind. He was aware that your father had ties and Allies, but with those allies were his enemies. Enemies that hated him with a diehard passion. Some of his Allies were backstabbers anyway, but your father was blinded by his power that he failed to even realize that you were what was keeping his business up. With you being there and as his weapon made him powerful but alone his quick could be quickly outmatched.

Aizawa shrugged, concluding that he’d fall down the ladder sooner or later but just decided to speed up the process. By now it was late and he knew that he probably had a worried wife at home waiting patiently for his arrival home. His heart fluttered, leaving behind the murderous acts where they belonged.

As soon as he stepped through the door he was happily greeted by you jumping at him wrapping your arms around him. “Where have you been?” You asked worried. You scanned his body for any marks of harm but when you found nothing you warmly hugged him again. “Sorry I’m so late honey.” He whispered into your head. He picked you up holding his lips to your face. You scrambled under him to put you down.

“Aizawa! Put me down you maniac!” You laughed, clutching onto him as he walked to your bedroom. “But I missed you so so much darling.” He teased, placing you gently on the bed to pepper your face with kisses. He towered over you showering you with deep love.

You both paused to look at each other, both lost in the way the other looked. He gently lowered into you, his eyes intoxicated with a potent that had you falling deep into his lips. You both share a loving kiss Aizawas hands not knowing if they should roam down your body. You grab his hand after breaking the kiss and bring it up to your left breast.

“It’s ok Aizawa.”

“I trust you.” You clearly spoke into his ear. You watched as his face shared a bright dusk of blush as he slowly allowed his hands to travel down every curve and slope of your body. You shivered under his touch, mewling and mumbling under him.

He found his way to back to your breast, playing and toying with the hard nipple that formed from his touch.

“So fucking beautiful.” He muttered. You tended up as the words registered to your ears. You noticed the bulge that grew in his pants as he kissed down your stomach, his eyes pleading for permission. You nodded as he pulled and teased at your already wet panties that now fled attention to the floor.

“You’re so fucking wet for me princess.” You hid your eyes as he played with your slick that was soaking his fingers as they played with your entrance.

“No, no, no sweetie, don’t look away. Be good and look at your man playing with your sweet cunt.”

You reluctantly opened your eyes to see his two fingers coying with your needy cunt. You watched as his fingers lodged their way inside of you. You quivered at the new feeling of something wriggling inside of you. “So damn tight for me baby.” He whispered as he fixated all his attention to you pussy. You wiggled and moaned as he stretched and prodded at your needy hole.

“p-please”

“what princess?” He stopped, looking at you. You lifted your leg to brush against his raging bulge. You felt it twitch against your touch and watched as Aizawa seethed with pleasure.

“Tell me what you want” He demanded.

“Y-you.”

Aizawa clicked his teeth, freeing his cock from his pants. You saw how it laid out on your stomach. You imagined how easy you’d tear from how big he was. You were completely new to this, and a little intimidated by the girth and length of his twitching cock.

He pumped his member testing and readying it at your entrance. “Don’t worry baby, it’ll fit.” He soothed playfully. You flushed at how he petted your stomach as he stabled himself inside you.

You both seared with how tight everything felt. You felt the world spin as pain and pleasure mixed beautifully. You greedy pussy pushed for more of Aizawa’s cock as he paused to let you breathe.

“You’re doing so well for me princess” he kissed your teary face. “Is it all the way in yet?” You whimpered. He lightly chuckled, and shook his head softly.

“we’re not even half way darling.” He spoke. You felt yourself stretching and clamping around him as he thrusted his way inside you. You felt how his cock crawled into your cervix and deep inside your womb. You felt the way your pussy throbbed for harder movements.

“P-please keep going.” You voiced.

At that moment Aizawa lost control and started pounding at your womb. You felt your ass shake as skin collided with one another. You watched the small bulge in your stomach disappear and reappear every time he rammed in and out. Soon you start to feel the sensation of your stomach coiling around him. “Aizawa i-I’m gonna-“

“don’t worry I’m going to cum to baby.” He grunted. You watched as your cunt slicked more and more as his thrust became deeper and stronger. You grasp onto his back, leaving your own special mark on him as you screamed and moaned his name.

“That’s right baby, my name is the only name you need to know.” He panted. You felt the coil in your stomach snap as you started spasming around him, coating his cock with your cum. Not too long after you Aizawa chases his own high, nearing his climax.

“g-gonna fill you up. Gonna breed you with my children baby.” He said as he thrusted.

Your mind started going blank as he kept pounding your soaked and overly sensitive pussy.

“Y-yes please fill me up w-with your lovely cum.” You panted as you both stared eachother in the eyes.

You felt his cock explode and coat your womb with his load. You felt how his cum traveled its way inside you, some of it overflowing out of your twitching womb.

The room was filled with moans and pants, the room smelling of fucked out sex and the feeling of hot bodies touching each other.

Aizawa laid against you for a moment before pulling out, gaining a whimper from you and how the empty pop of his cock leaving your pussy made you shiver. He placed you in his chest, you still feeling weak and your legs still shaking. “I love you y/n.” He said, breaking the silence. He planted a kiss on your head, when he heard no sounds or reply he glanced and saw how you were peacefully sleeping on his chest, bundled up and face beautifully resting.

The next morning you woke up and next to you, Aizawa resting peacefully, arms around your waist. You kissed his nose and watched it scrunch up as he moved in his sleep. You quietly giggled while trying to escape his grasp. You went to the bathroom to clean the sticky sensation from yesterdays ‘nightly activities’.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, clean and new you traveled back to the bedroom to throw your clothes away when Aizawa’s rustling made his presence.

“Where are you going honey?” He asked groggy with his eyes still closed.

“sorry to wake you baby.” You kissed his forehead, waking up from the sudden movement of his love trying to get out of his embrace too early.

“Come back to bed.” He whined. You indulged him, laying back into his needy embrace.

He rocked you and wrestled you around and soon you both were play fighting in the bed.

“Aizawa stop that!” You playfully cried out as he tickled you. “Stop? Stop what? Oh this?” He tickled again over you. You kissed his lips and you both fell into a deep make out session. When you both break the kiss Aizawa just takes a second to watch you. Look at the love of his life. “Y/n please marry me.” He spouts. Your eyes glow as he hugs you waiting for your reply.

“Really?” You stuttered.

“Of course, you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’ve actually wanted to marry you since high school.” He admitted.

“Really?” You flushed, soon you two were having a conversation on how you both like each other in UA but never acted on the feeling. It was like you both were in high school again. Your heart felt fulfilled as you watched him ramble about how he was so into you and you never knew.

You cuddled up into him listening to him call you his wife.

A/N: hey y’all! Thanks to these two people who sent me a message! When I saw them I literally felt so fulfilled that I started on this last night. Sorry it took so long but it’s not done I still gotta do part 6 of Falling for a dead rose so see you then.🫡

#boku no hero x reader #bnha #fanfic #cybercl0ne #yandere #yanderecore #mha fanfiction #aizawa smut #aizawa fanart #shoto aizawa #yandere aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #eraserhead

222 notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 23 days

Text

Little Lamb part. 2 || Arthur Shelby x Reader x OFC

Summary: You discover that Arthur is already married when you are faced with his wife. Worst, she seems to already know about you. Did she see you flirting with her husband? (Yandere! Arthur Shelby x Reader x Yandere!OFC)

TW: (for the entire short series) Toxic dynamic, polyamory relationship, murders, torture, graphic depiction of violence, heavy allusion to smut, obsessive behavior, possessive!lovers, angst and horror. Inspired by the song The Things I Do For Love by Bludnymph.

Words: 1.3 K

Notes:

✞ 0 proofreading, it's also prolly bad written but it's just a little something I write for fun.

✞ Heaven in Reader in the ongoing Arthur x You series Heaven in Your Eyes.

PREVIOUS PART

Six months ago.

She hasn't stopped crying since they came back from the doctor's office. With his long and bony fingers lost in her wild silver mane, Arthur gently massages his wife's scalp in a desperate attempt to chase her troubles away.

"It's goin' to be okay, love." His usually loud baritone voice had turned into a tender hush. Gathering all his protective nature to remain the reassuring one, he presses a kiss on top of her head,

"No, it's not! What's wrong with me?!" She roars through her sobs, her fists weakly hitting Arthur's chest in frustration as her pain blends with a self-targeted rage. Usually, Heaven Shelby is not the emotive kind — quite the opposite, the young French girl's tears were as scarce as the most precious stones, only falling from her aquamarine eyes when the situation was truly catastrophic. Arthur himself could hold count of the few times she cried on a single hand. Yet, she seems unable to stop, her face hidden in the crook of her husband's neck and her salty tears dampening the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't fucking say there's someth' wrong with ya." Trying his best to remain gentle, Arthur shifts a little before cupping her doll face and then forces her to face his stern steel-blue eyes. The look she gave him, filled with inconsolable sorrow, broke his heart into pieces.

How he hates watching her in pain — it makes him feel powerless and boiling from the inside because, this time, there is literally nothing he can do to fix it. Nothing his fists can destroy, nothing his kisses can heal. All he has is words, and God knew how bad he is with them. "I don't care if ya can't have a baby, what matters is you. Only you." Still, he tried, wiping her tears and the remnant of her mascara with a soft caress from his thumbs. “Please stop crying…”

"But you've always wanted to be a father." She said through gritted teeth, her fleshy lower lip trembling and her eyes overflowing once again as she fought against another wave of uncontrollable sadness, "The night of our wedding I promised I'll give you a family and look at me! Look at me Arthur! I can't even be pregnant! This is... This is fucking unfair..." Her voice cracked. Unfair that John could spawn a whole football team. Unfair that Tommy got Grace's pregnant after fucking her only once when she came back from America while she couldn’t for the life of hers. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils before wrapping his arms around her waist again, forehead pressed against forehead and eyes locked together in a tender embrace.

"Listen, little one. I don't care about babies. Don't care about anything in all this fucking world as long as you're by my side. If you can't have children and wanna grieve about it well it’s fine with me, but if you do want one we'll find a way. I promise we’ll find a way.”

"Arthur told me about you." No matter how patient and calmly she expresses herself, you can't help but feel each of her words like painful razor blades.

Discreetly behind the bar, your grip clenches around the wooden counter for you are convinced your legs wouldn't handle your weight if you let go of it. "Made me curious about this new pretty barmaid, even though the last one ended up dead and cold. Gun wounds in the chest area are pretty deadly. I truly hope you'll last longer."

As you stand there, eyes wide open and face dropping a few shades paler, an overwhelming wave of terror crashes through your body and leaves you petrified. Every muscle tenses, locking you in place as your heart pounds furiously in your chest. You don't know what it is about her — the frozen beauty, the frightening discourse, or the faulty contact in her eyes when she smiles — but it made cold sweat trickle down your spine. . "Oh, eeerr... I—" You try to speak but your brain just doesn't cooperate and your breath remains stuck in your throat. All the confidence you've built these past few weeks is destroyed in one batting of her doe lashes.

She notices it.

Hell, you're so obvious that everybody does.

"Hey," She says, her creepy smile withering and the ice of her iris melting, "I was just messing with you, little Lamb." Nimble, she leans over the bar and reaches for your face, her sly fingers offering you the most gentle caress you've ever felt grazing your skin. Her flesh is cold, smooth like marble, but despite everything the physical contact sends warmth into your soul, and in consequences your body quickly retrieves its ability to move, "I'm sorry, I knew I was terrible at making friends but not that much." The white-haired doll winks before stepping back to give you more space to breath, concluding her sentence with a little candid chuckle.

"Oh no, it's my bad!" You quickly replied, a sense of utter guilt washing over you for having thought she was being a bitch by trying to scare you, "I haven't got much sleep lately and it makes me quite sensitive. You've done nothing wrong." With a grateful exhale, you close your eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of safety as well as the fragrances of her refined perfume that envelop you. A shy smile finally enlightens your face.

"I wish I'd look as pretty as you when I'm sleep-deprived but unfortunately, I turn into a goblin when I don't have my beauty sleep." Her joke sweeps away the remaining tension and snatches genuine amused laughter from you. Heaven finally offers you one last smile before making her way to Arthur, who was sitting further, far too busy talking with John and Finn.

"Hey! Your glass of wine!" You call her.

"It's yours! Cheers, babe." She replies cheerfully, almost singing as she leaves your side.

You've tried to hate her, you’ve really tried, but you couldn't.

She didn’t make it easy either.

During the same evening, each time you came to the Shelby table to refill their glasses, you ended up quickly distracted from the pain of seeing her all snuggled up against Arthur's chest by how kind and bubbly she was when you were around. Always complimenting you and eager to chat with you — little insignificant and transparent you. So much that a part of you felt horrible at the thought that you have been flirting and planning to get involved with her husband. When they left the pub late at night -or rather early in the morning-, you found a ridiculous amount of money on the table, and under those banknotes was a little bracelet made of daisies, their stems carefully intertwined together by skilled fingers.

Did you wear it? Of course, it was made with love.

In the days that followed this unexpected meeting, Arthur's wife came to the Garrison and always left a homemade something for you to eat since you had told her that you struggled with eating more than one meal a day due to your financial problems. The food wasn't just good, it was certainly the most delicious dishes you had ever tasted. France, they say, has one of the finest gastronomy in the world and you learned the veracity of this statement the best way. It didn't take long for both of you to become friends first, then inseparable after some time.

Alongside this very unexpected friendship, Arthur's demeanor toward you hadn't changed the slightest — which didn't help forgetting about him. Every slight touch, every smile, and every word exchanged made your heart race in your chest the same as before, if not faster.

Lost and torn by the conflicting feelings of a friendship you genuinely cherished and your growing affection for your best friend's husband, you felt like your own reflection in the mirror was judging you. But if there was something you weren’t it was wicked.

Maybe that was why this battle between desire and loyalty had led you to stutter the following statement to the white-haired and crystal-eyed angel:

"Heaven, I'm so sorry. I think I am in love with Arthur."

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia0000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @justrainandcoffee @kishie8 @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @he6rtshaker @bemyqueenofdarkness @cljordan-imperium @cjarbo @rysko @red-riding-wood

#arthur shelby #Yandere x reader #arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x oc #Arthur shelby x you #arthur shelby jr #arthur shelby x y/n #Arthur shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #Arthur shelby x ofc #Heaven Shelby #peaky blinders x reader #Paul anderson #oc x reader

51 notes · View notes

gorgeousgreymatter-x · 1 year

Text

CW: descriptions of blood and violence, period typical homophobic slurs/language, possessive behaviors. Maybe a little bit dark!Steve because he’s not sorry about the violence lol

For @thorniest-rose my beloved

It’s not like a switch that’s flipped when they make it out, when Nancy gets them all out. When Steve carries Eddie, pulse barely thrumming but still, somehow, gloriously alive, through the gate. When he remembers feeling like he was practically holding Eddie’s insides in until they’d made it to the hospital. When he saw Max lying there in that bed. Dustin’s broken ankle. The ugly bruising on Robin’s neck he sees on his own throat in the mirror for days afterwards.

He doesn’t remember ever thinking it, let alone saying it — enough. Something about it though. Something about after. It changes him. Steve’s been in fights, has rarely run from them in the last four years, even if maybe he hadn’t come out victorious too many times. But this time it’s like something breaks. Turns him feral. Makes it impossible for him to walk away, turn the other cheek, do all the things he knows he should probably be doing now that he’s firmly in the ranks of the town freaks.

But he can’t do it anymore. Can’t ignore it when he hears the whispering about Eddie when he’s finally cleared and free and at least able to limp around the trailer without falling over. When someone gives Robin and Nancy a dirty look when they’re sharing a milkshake while sat together in a booth at the diner with Steve and Eddie on the other side. When he hears those words. Those familiar, ugly words that taste as bad as Upside Down ash in his mouth:

Dyke. Queer. Fag. Murderer. Freak. Freak. Freak.

The first time someone spits at Eddie, Steve’s got them on the ground in seconds, fists pounding into soft flesh, blood roaring in his ears and staining his knuckles. He doesn’t stop until Dustin and Lucas physically pull him back, and even then he’s thrashing and swinging until his vision clears.

The other boy, the asshole — he ends up with a broken nose and two black eyes, a split lip and a healthy fear of King Steve (the guy still crosses the street when he sees Steve coming, when he’s trailing behind Eddie as they walk down the street together like his personal guard).

There are two more incidents in the weeks that follow, one of which ends up with Steve in cuffs and Hopper bailing him out of jail.

Charges are mysteriously dropped when Hopper finds out that the guy with the shattered orbital socket had said some choice words to Will and El before Steve had finally snapped.

It’s stupid and reckless and probably doesn’t fix anything in the long run. Steve knows that. But he also doesn’t care. Because for the last four years he’s seen too much of his friends’ blood on other peoples’ hands. He doesn’t want to see it anymore.

“I just can’t do it anymore, Eddie,” Steve explains one night on the floor of Eddie’s room, his hand braced on the older boy’s bony knee while Eddie winds bandages around Steve’s bruised knuckles for what feels like the hundredth time this summer.

“Do what?”

“Let it go.”

He can’t really explain it anymore than that.

Eddie’s brow furrows. “I know — I mean, I can guess why them. The kids. Nance — Robbie. They’re — they’re yours. I think I get it now. But why — why me? Why are you always doing this shit for me?”

That. That one’s easy, Steve thinks. “Because you’re mine too,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. For whatever reason, to Steve, it kind of feels like that. Maybe it means something bad that the revelation barely even rattles him at this point.

It feels different though from the others. That much is sure when Steve’s eyes flutter shut when Eddie leans forward and presses a simple, nervous kiss to Steve’s bruised lips.

When Steve’s hand comes up to cradle Eddie’s jaw, it’s as gentle as ever, even though when he finally licks into Eddie’s mouth, he tastes blood.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #dark steve harrington #cw blood and violence #cw slurs #cw homophobia

329 notes · View notes

osakiharu · 2 years

Text

00:01AM : haruchiyo sanzu

content : gender neutral reader, fluff, mentions of blood, attention to injury, swearing, cleaning sanzu’s wound yas, someone trying to give sanzu a taste of his own medicine idk they were tired of his katana antics, sanzu being romantic in his own way… idk he’s a little crazy what did you expect

wc : 533 — ik its short but it’s good i promise :(

notes : i’m really happy with this i hope y’all like it hehe :0

he was in pain, you could tell; his irregular breathing, the way he bit and chewed at his lip in discomfort when you brought the cloth back to his torso, the hand grabbing at your waist, squeezing from where he sat on the couch, head back, hips forwards. trying not to think about the throbbing gash running across his chest.

yet he still managed to force out an almost devilish chuckle. “what’re you giggling at?” you whispered, still sniffling slightly as you placed the cloth back on his skin. “’m gonna kill that fucker, y/n… gonna make ‘im swallow his own teeth… might even give you his head on a fuckin’ stick.” the only thing stopping him from doing so was you, settled in his lap keeping him grounded in his place on the couch. it was a struggle to actually get sanzu to sit down in the first place, with him being livid over not executing his opponent. “mikey and kakucho said you need to stay home and rest, haru,” he groaned, leaning his head back further and gritting his teeth, as you applied more pressure to the cut, fuck, “you could’ve been killed y’know? you’re lucky it wasn’t any deeper than—”

“god, what a fuckin’ greek tragedy that would’ve been, honey.” he drawled, sarcastically. you only sighed, not surprised that sanzu was more concerned with the fact that he hadn’t been able to beat his opponent — something that seldom happens. your sigh must have brought him back out of his murderous thoughts, as he lifted his head up to look at you. “what’s the matter, hm? you getting tired of being my little nurse all the time?” his hand rubbed up and down your thigh, soothingly. “i worry about you, haruchiyo,” you brushed his wild, tousled hair away from his pretty eyes, and gave his forehead a quick kiss, “i don’t want you getting killed or something.”

“don’t be silly, angel, the only way ‘m gonna die- ah! fuck me,” he laughed dryly, “the only way i’ll die is if you kill me. won’t die by anyone else’s hands but yours, ‘kay?” he slipped his bony fingers under your much smaller ones occupied by cleaning the remaining stains and splotches of crimson from his body, and raised them up to his lips. you expected him to cringe at how he began to paint and smear his rosy lips with his own blood, but he never once appeared to be phased, too fixated on kissing your knuckles and the tips of your fingers as if you’d fought a worse battle than his own. “okay? y/n?” sanzu’s voice was far sterner than usual, especially when speaking to you. he was serious. “m-mhm, yeah, ‘course, haru.” you said with a slight smile; you’d hardly even processed what he said, let alone came up with a reply. sanzu, however, grinned at your answer.

“hmm, that’s what i like to hear.” he leaned in to press a delicate kiss to your lips, despite his still being covered in crimson splotches, all while running his thumb back and forth along the bumps of your knuckles. “so good to me, baby, gonna have to reward you, ain’t i?”

reblogs appreciated <3

432 notes · View notes

megidonitram · 2 months

Text

Ao3 | Ask | Other

Baldur's Gate 3 Fics

My Tav(s): Lydia Silverwarden

My Durge(s): Xenia Bellona

Everyone's Running From Something

Rating: M

Alternate Universe: University Professors

Main Paring: Bloodweave

Trope Tags: Friends to Lovers/Coworkers to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

Additional Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, M!Tav/F!Tav, (Past) Gale/Mystra, (Past) Astarion/Sebastian, (Past) Astarion/F!Tav

Summary:

Balduran University is a small school in a sleepy little town. People choose it for the small class sizes and the peaceful campus life. Astarion liked it because it was far away from home and the people he'd rather not think about anymore. He had a good thing going for himself for a while: a job in his chosen field, students to terrorize, and admin staff he could pick fights with when things got too boring. It was a lonely life, but at least it belonged to him. Gale thought it would be a good place to find himself and his passion again after clumsily exiting a relationship that had dominated the majority of his adult life. Perhaps they end up with a lot more than they bargained for when they are forced to share an office and end up unlikely mentors to a troubled young student with a dark a brutal past.

**Content Warnings**

This is an M-rated fic that deals with sensitive themes and subject matter. While most things tagged will not be directly present in the narrative, the reader is encouraged to use their own discretion.

Adoption Trauama, Child Abuse, Childhood Torture, Death of a Side Character, Disordered Eating, Grad Student/Professor Relationship, Hypersexuality, Involuntary Commitment, Institutional Discrimination, Mental Health Breakdown, Murder, PTSD, Self Harm, Sexual Coercion

Ao3 Link

Chapter List-

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5

The Pale Elf & The Silver Teifling (Series)

Rating: M to E

Pairing: Astarion/F!Tav (Lydia)

Ao3 link

Intimate

“Astarion, there is so much more to like about you than just the sex.” Lydia took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against him. “You’re charming… you’re intelligent… you’re funny… you’re thoughtful in your own strange way...” She punctuated each statement with another kiss until there were no more words, just the warmth of her lips against his over and over again like a declaration of the many thousands of little, nameless things that made Astarion worthy of love.

Summary: A loosely related and out-of-order collection of different intimate moments between my Tav: Lydia, and Astarion. As horrible and wonderful as it always is to grow to know another person.

Ao3 Link

Just Dessert

"though I am starting to wonder how much trouble you're really in, darling?” Astarion asked. His fingers trailed up her side to stroke the ticklish spots along the bony ridges of her ribs, causing Lydia to squirm in his grasp. “I mean, you haven’t even tried asking me-or whatever’s holding you captive- to let you go. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted this.”

Summary: Alternately, Astarion and Lydia are fooling around after a night out. (sequel to ch. 4 of Intimate, Dinner and Dessert)

Ao3 Link

Blackberry Wine & Summer Mead

“If you want to try something like this again, we can always start smaller- when you feel ready for it, of course. You might feel more comfortable if it’s just you, me, and someone we trust.”

“Hmmm…” Astarion leaned back to study Lydia's expression while he mulled over the suggestion. “… I might be interested, depending on who you had in mind.”

Summary: After their encounter with the Orlith twins doesn't go exactly as planned, Asterion and Lydia try again in a safer, saner context.

Ao3 Link

The Blade of Fronters & The Bane of The Gates

Rating: M to E

Pairing: Wyll/F!The Dark Urge (Xenia)

~✨coming soon✨~

#Mat-write #master list #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #baulders gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

distopea · 6 months

Note

Maxin reaching out to grab Ezra by the throat, though it would seem violent, if it wasn't in bed and himself on top, leaning down to devour the very mouth of his lover finally home and at his mercy. Holding a wrist at mercy upon the bed, knees tight around hips and his tongue deep in their teeth - the cannibal drooled and drank their lovers taste to his very core. Eager to reignite the passion in the long wait for their return here.

Only when he was finished, did the Russian sit up straight with a mere beam upon his features and move to stroke down Ezra's chest to stop at his stomach. "Welcome home."

@nvrcmplt

“I’m home!” Gambit was delighted to say as he entered his apartment, pushing his glasses back onto his nose to be sure he wouldn’t miss Maxim. His sight was definitely bad, and with the freezing weather outside, there was still a lingering cloud of mist covering his specs. He looked around, uncertain if he had missed that Maxim might be away today. Perhaps he had been called for a job, but usually he would receive a text to let him know. No one in the kitchen... No one in the living room... He felt that familiar anxiety blooming, a frown crossing his features, while he didn’t even leave his coat.

Where was he?

The more the anxiety was building and the less Ezra looked like a decent human being. There was a smile curling his lips, ugly in every way possible, as he grabbed his phone and started to head to the bedroom to make a few phone calls. “This little… This little fucker, so that’s how he plays with me? I’m going to find him… I’m going to find him and he’s going to pay. My baby boy… I’m going to make him pay!” He cursed, ready to send men to find his lover. Oh, and then what would he do? His heart was bumping hard within his chest, his needs and urges for violence becoming erratic and uncontrolled, to the point he didn’t notice Maxim in the room… At least not until he was plastered onto the bed and straddled.

“B…Bony?” Ezra muttered, his glasses falling off his nose to slide down his cheek, almost shocked that his lover hadn't betrayed him in the end. He blinked before he found his answer with a passionate kiss offered by the cannibal. Yet, as he was losing himself in this greeting, he felt his entire body trembling with the urgent rush of violence and murder intentions. He kissed him more harshly than before, until their saliva met the metallic taste of their blood. He clipped his hands hard onto the other one’s hips, unable to escape his own, but here… Here for sure, he felt at home.

“Ah…” Gambit gasped for air when his mouth was free, his chest going up and down, his green eyes unable to look away. “Oh my baby…” He said, moving his thumbs into his thighs in a loving way. “I thought I needed to put a contract on your head. I wanted to kill you.” What a relief…! Maxim was still his. Ezra patted the bed to find his glasses, before he fixed them onto his nose. “What about some squash soup for tonight?”

#; nvrcmplt #⌇dialing the void ( 𝘼𝙨𝙠 )#⌇the king of figures ( 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩 | IC )#⌇a cash machine of blood and bones ( 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩 / 𝙈𝙖𝙭𝙞𝙢 )#; LMAO I guess this is their own level of cuteness here??#; I love how they are just both so unhealthy and toxic #; but they work so miserably well

3 notes · View notes

diyabloko · 1 year

Text

i've got somethink yk.. spicy. goldrose boys are precious and i love to write about their playful and unholy things.

improvised tags: rhys is imaginable, s4 post-canon, a bit of joe/kate is there.

18+, i guess.

Joe reaches out, closes his eyes, hoping to immerse himself in these sensations that teeter on the edge of reality. Seeing Rhys's face is very satisfying, looking into his eyes dissolves constructive thoughts, but hearing his giggles and feeling his hand on his hips is a particular kind of exquisite pleasure that he can afford in a spacious bed after a day of work. And then tiredly watching something with Kate, sharing a bored libido and lingering fatigue. But she's a businesswoman, and Joe is a crazy man.

"Rhys." His hand almost slides from Rhys's shoulder to his back, but Joe only digs his fingers in harder, hoping to keep everything in its usual position. He opens his eyes slightly, looking at the face from under his eyelashes in anticipation. Who could doubt that the best partner is your own thoughts? Especially when they're so beautiful, with their hair in disarray and their eager expression. And with a black shirt, rolled up sleeves, an exquisite watch, bony fingers... That are happy to go under the clothes.

"You know, you should think less about my name when you're horny. Your girl will have questions if you kiss her with the name of a murdered London mayoral candidate. But I'm curious to see how you'll get out of this, Goldberg," he turns away a little and looks at his hands. He thinks as he undoes the buttons on Joe's pants and stares at his underwear for a while, finally caressing him gently through it. "You know I'm not the best counselor, but I'm a very, very good gloater from the sidelines."

"I should have found a less talkative person to be my companion."

"How polite of you to suggest that I should shut up. But who among us doesn't know how much you enjoy my conversations?" It's hard to question his remarks. Not only because the image of him skillfully lubricating his fingers flashes before eyes, but also because it's hard to find even a shred of lie in them. If Rhys didn't exist (what a miracle, so he does exist now? Who's you trying to decieve?), all that Joe would have to do is listen to old videos, listen to the timbre, catch phrases and keeping them in mind, be content with his imagination. False and cruel, because now-dead-Rhys stories about his favorite lunch would not work at all, unlike his dirty, mundane conversations about dirty, mundane affair. He wants to reproach him in order to encourage him more - and he knows this because he knows Joe. That is, because he is Joe. But it doesn't matter that much anymore. Especially when the feedback becomes more like a whimper through closed lips. Especially when his fingers are getting in the Joe, not waiting in vain. "Actually, you made two mistakes. You couldn't have chosen anyone but Rhys. One, you pervert, only bite at big fish. And secondly, you always choose yourself as a companion, my friend, only this time you have a skillful repeater for your silent head. And a realizer. And anything else you need and I can give you. Be a good boy, don't strain so much, I still need to adjust to you."

"We don't have a lot of time. You can just..."

"I'll decide what I can do," he touches fingers to Joe's cheek, gently tickling the stubble, as if to offset the harsh tone with care. Joe only needs one eye contact to straighten up, his muscles doing a great job of outlining the position of Rhys's fingers. Rhys only whispered a reassuring whisper as he moved his lips to Joe's. Kissing him while slowly moving his fingers as if trying to get used to the bizarre stringed instrument. Eventually, Joe also makes sounds, hiding them among his sighs. At first uncertain, but eventually rhythmic, sharp, and rapidly fading away when Rhys wanted to slow down or speed up.

Eventually, the position changed to a more horizontal one, and Joe couldn't resist the urge to lie down, letting the persistent, caring movements take over. Along with silly comments that surprisingly did not spoil the mood. Probably because Rhys, no matter what he says, deserves to be heard. And felt. And in some moments, time seemed to freeze in space.

"What did you say?" his voice sounds demanding. Mocking. Joe isn't sure if he said anything. But since everything happens in his head, maybe he haven't such need at all. But Rhys is the ruler in his head, and he knows better. His touch brings back memories to the beat of his heart. The partner realizes this as he approaches. "How is this, 'Further'? Explain it to me."

"Are you going to limit yourself to your fingers?"

"I'm sorry, do you see anything else of yours that I can use? Keep in mind that my fingers are your fingers, and your dick, with all due respect, can't reach desired point. Unless I'll separate it. But I assure you that you don't want that," he stutters, biting his lip. He waggles his eyebrows. - "You're the one who gets along with genital torture, between the two of us. It's a personal insult."

"Don't mock me. You know how it works better than I do. І... You know exactly how to... How to make me believe it."

"Like in my hands? Your hands. Like my kisses? Your imagination. Like anything that's mine? It's not mine, Joe."

"What's your point?"

"Give me something that is mine. Figuratively. We'll get something," he whispers the last part against Joe's ear, eventually kissing his cheek, teasing him with movements as he watches the stomach twitch with sharp breathing. "Or do you only use sex shops to plan murders? We can make up something perverted, then, if it helps. Come on."

"And how would that be yours?"

"Not a figment of your imagination about me. Just a controlled element of it. By me, of course."

"No. It's still my decision in the end."

"Oh, yes. I like to think it's your decision even more. Stay with the thought of sex in your mind and decide what you want to happen next."

He kisses him, and when he lets go, Joe looks ahead of him and fills with his usual confusion. He's gone. Just like he always does. He will reappear soon, making a joke about a lonely and intense orgasm, but for now he is somewhere secretly lurking in the depths of the unconscious.

And within minutes of Goldberg catching his breath, the door opens. Sturdy heels clack a little, and he doesn't even realize how he's jumping up to meet Kate. She's stunning. And pleasantly tired. With some kind of package and slightly furrowed brows. But as soon as she sees the guy in the hallway, her face quickly softens. She leaves her coat at the entrance and, stepping toward him, manages to look around with interest, as if looking for signs of changes in some of the interior details.

"There seems to be hot in here. Why are you so red?"

"You can tell? I..." he gently touches her hand in greeting, but eventually shakes his head. - "I was moving the wardrobe in the room. I overestimated my strength."

"You rascal," she giggles, touching his neck caringly. He leans in to meet her, and eventually barely hugs her with his free arm. - "You overestimate yourself in many ways. Would I be the first to say that you are a terrible liar?"

"Well, then she bites horribly at your horrid lies, y'know?" Rhys appears as if from behind her, passing through the partners to the open space in the aisle. "The poor girl doesn't know much, and chooses not to know much. You have to appreciate her for that."

"Hey. Joh... Joe," she snaps her fingers in front of his face, and eventually follows the trajectory Rhys had mapped out to put her things on the table. Rhys only looks at the packages with interest, spinning in place. "You don't have to make up excuses for jerking off. It's not like I'm keeping a record of our sex life."

"She should have. Listen, you have to tell her about your 'further'."

"I'm sorry. I still didn't catch my breath yet," Goldberg adjusts shoes as he enters, looking concentrated, just to avoid making eye contact with anyone present. Or absent. It depends.

"Don't tell me I interrupted you. Because I definitely won't be able to help you with that," she catches herself from continuing. She stops talking. She sighs. As if she wants to say something, she lets Joe recover. "I bought your cereal. You can thank me."

"How thoughtful. Joe, don't be an asshole, thank her."

"Thank you."

#smut #joe x rhys #you netflix #you s4 #you spoilers #you #rhys montrose #goldrose #joe goldberg #joe x kate #drabble #fanfic #fic

5 notes · View notes

babydillpickle · 2 years

Text

a wip fragment

Of all of Ronan Lynch’s strange and eclectic talents, cooking might be the most unexpected. Adam has a talent for stretching his grocery haul, but Ronan moves through his childhood kitchen as if on pure instinct, adding mysterious dried herbs and spices here and there, measuring and mixing with his hands, looking sometimes at an orderly, handwritten recipe book.

“I’ve never seen you touch a stove before,” Adam tells him, “I didn’t even think you could make toast.”

Ronan gives him an unimpressed look from the counter, where he’d been skewering chunks of chicken with a vicious glee.

“Dick kept the fridge in the bathroom,” he says, “I couldn’t make a fish stick in that place without breaking some kind of law.”

Adam can’t help the snort he lets out. “Oh, so you’re worried about law breaking now?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Parrish, I’m a fucking saint.”

He’s batting his eyelashes.

“Try it on someone who didn’t help you frame your Latin teacher for murder.”

“Well, he fucking murdered Latin, so he had it coming.”

“You know Latin's a famously dead language, right? I’d call that a pre-existing condition.”

Ronan bares his teeth, “Stop saying Latin’s dead. Everyone speaks Latin in here.” He knocks a fist against his own buzzed skull.

Adam throws up his hands, “Fine. Latin’s just asleep. Happy?” He’s not prepared for Ronan’s answering smile, an agreement that speaks louder than any words he could’ve used.

Adam hops up onto the counter beside him.“How long are those cooking for?”

“Until they’re done,” says Ronan, then—seeing Adam’s face—“Uh, 15?”

“C’mere, then.”

Adam reels Ronan in, kisses him soundly. Ronan holds his hands out to his sides, careful not to spread the chicken juice around, so Adam gets to run his hands from Ronan’s back to his shoulders uninterrupted, can grip the back of Ronan’s head as he moves his lips to the tips of Ronan’s tattoo, just peeking out above his collar.

“Ah- Adam. Wait just - just let me wash my hands.” Adam releases him with a parting bite, to Ronan’s muffled “fuck.”

Ronan carefully washes and dries his hands before holding Adam’s wrists between them. It's sweet, in the way he’s come to recognize as Ronan’s affection—consideration shown by someone who would run over someone’s foot before swerving from his path. An exception made.

“How much time on the clock, Julia Child?” Adam asks, eyeing Ronan’s apron. It has little ducklings cross stitched on the hem, following a mother duck around Ronan’s legs, and a lacy bow at the back. It’s so absurdly cute that Adam wants to squeeze Ronan until he pops.

“Shut up, it’s my Mom’s.” They’re both silent for a moment, considering the curious weight of the present tense. Ronan brushes his thumbs over the prominent, bony knobs of Adam’s wrists. “We’ve still got ten minutes.”

Adam grins, reels Ronan in by the patterned apron strings, “It looks good on you,” he says, and kisses Ronan’s startled mouth again.

When Opal tumbles in from the woods the next morning, she finds them cross-hatched by the sun streaming through the curtains, a quilted potholder protecting the honey-coloured wooden table from the steaming kettle between them. Adam has a book open in his hands, though he isn’t turning the pages. Ronan is sorting bolts and washers by size, his fingertips turning black with grease. She’s short enough that she can see their feet tangle together under the kitchen table.

She darts forward and snatches a few of Ronan’s bolts, shoving them into her mouth before he can even reach for her.

“Christ on a fucking bike, Opal, I’m not gonna dream you new teeth,” he barks.

Opal smiles big, showing off her mouthful of strong, perfectly intact molars.

“Is Adam staying?” she asks.

“Yeah, I have today off. You want to go work on the tractor or something?” Adam has given up his pretense of reading his book—it has an interesting spooky cover, though, so maybe he should pay more attention—and is giving her his little smile, the special one that’s just for her.

“But are you staying,” she says, “You should stay. You can’t have my room, though, that's where I keep my rocks.”

Ronan hisses and shoots her the pointy look that tells her to shut up. She ignores it, as usual.

“Maybe you can have the big room,”

“Opal—” Ronan’s voice is a warning, now.

“Or you can share with Ronan!” she says, and skitters out of the room as fast as her hooves can carry her, leaving a trail of washers behind.

Ronan watches her go, then puts his face into his hands and heaves a ridiculously teenaged sigh. He doesn’t look at Adam, not even when he speaks.

“Did you...want me to?” Adam’s voice is careful, and his hands are fidgeting with the handle of his mug.

Between Ronan’s feet, Adam’s foot twitches, just a tap to remind Ronan of his presence.

“Parrish, c’mon. Don’t make me say it.”

“Where I come from it’s polite to wait until someone asks you before you decide move in.” Adam’s voice is carefully neutral.

“But you already know-”

“Know what?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Adam, you know I always want you. Here. You know I always want you here.”

“I—” Adam closes his eyes, takes a deep drink from his mug. Puts it back down on the table. “I didn’t know that.”

Ronan scoffs, gestures to the breakfast he’d made, to their entangled legs, to his own face. “How could you miss that, Magician?”

“Just because I maybe thought, or, or guessed. It ain’t- that’s not the same as knowing. You have to say it.”

“I’m seventeen. I live in my dead family’s barn with a wild dream daughter and no fucking clue what I’m doing. Obviously I want my boyfriend around!”

Finally, Adam’s head snaps up and he meets his eyes.

“I’m your boyfriend?”

“You’re too stupid to live, is what you are.” Ronan pins Adam’s ankle firmly between his own.

“I know you are but what am I?” Adam mutters, but he can't look down fast enough to hide his smile.

#adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynch #the raven cycle #trc #trc fic #into the abyss #my writing

23 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

Hi Steph! Would you happen to have any fic recs that involve John meeting the Holmes family? I always think that's such an interesting dynamic to see! Also, I think this goes without saying but I love your blog and appreciate your contributions to the fandom! Thanks!

Hey Nonny!

Ah, thank you! I’m glad you enjoy my blog!

Oooo! Yes, I love that dynamic too!! ANNNNND!!! You’re giving me the chance to make a part 2 for a REALLY OLD LIST!!! So YAY!!! I found a bunch on a text doc I haven’t posted yet, so HERE WE GO! Hope you enjoy, and as always, everyone please add your own!

PARENTS AND FAMILIES Pt. 2

See also:

Parents & Family

Meeting the Family With a Fake Relationship

Do You Love Me? by whitchry9 (K, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Epic Bromance) – John asks Sherlock perhaps the most important question.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he's been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

The Only Available Transportation by blueink3 (T, 5,379 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Sherlock, Caring John, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Birthday, Family, Misunderstandings) – It’s possibly the desperation that’s seeped into his voice despite his best intentions, or perhaps it’s just a mother’s intuition, but she knows that whatever he’s calling about is Serious, hangover be damned. “What’s happened?” she asks, tone soft and as comforting as a hot cup of tea on a cold winter’s night. “Mummy,” he begins, voice catching. “I think John may be moving out.”

On the Steadfast Approach of an Oncoming Darkness by 2bee (T, 7,772 w., 1 Ch. || Apocalypse, Minor Character Death, Sort of Parentlock) – The world is ending. Not fast, but slowly, like falling asleep with a fever.

The Name Game by ItsClydeBitches221B (K, 8,958 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Family, Platonics / Friendship, Sort-of Parentlock, John/Mary, Mary is Nice, Five and Ones, Baby Watson, Mycroft Loves Baby Watson) – The names that baby girl Watson comes up with for her extended family. Or: how everyone—Watsons, Holmes, and others alike— just learned to give up and embrace their weirdness.

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a "normal" family. It's easy enough to pretend when all you're doing is dropping the act.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w., 4 Ch. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Where The Ghosts Have Voices by HappyJuicyfruit (M, 37,691 w., 12 Ch. || Supernatural AU || Ghosts, Magical Realism, Light Horror, Fluff and Smut, John Can See Ghosts, John Whump, Emotional Manipulation, Dark Magic, Coma, Injury Recovery, Blow Jobs, Anal, Happy Ending, John’s Past, Mr Holmes, Powerful John, Holmes Brothers, Sherlock’s Past, Past Viclock, Drug Abuse, Hair Pulling) – John has lived his whole life as an outcast. It is only when he meets Sherlock, that be realizes being a freak might not be such a bad thing, and that the curse he has lived with his whole life may be a gift after all. (TO READ)

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) – A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Hand Jobs / Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #parents and families #meeting the family #Anonymous

146 notes · View notes

writersrealmbts · 3 years

Text

Diamond Tears and Little Wings: Part 6

Description: You’re a fairy, taken in by BTS. You need lots of love and care, otherwise your light will fade and you turn to stone. Between the seven of them, you should never feel unloved. Right?

Warnings: N/A

Posted: 02/25/2021

Tags: bts x reader, ot7

Fluff: 1,412 words

A/N: One of these days I’ll get back into the swing of Clearwater Springs. Anyway, this is part 6 of 7, so we’re almost done! Yay!

There was some activity inside, but a few moments after you entered the staff started excusing themselves.

At first the boys didn’t seem to notice, gathering their things and talking about nonsense things as though nervous. Anticipating.

Emotional.

Then you heard a gasp.

And Namjoon was whipping around, rushing away from the mirror, and hugging you tightly, his breathing labored but completely wordless.

The others were quick to pull the two of you further into the room so that there was room for all of them in the group hug.

Finally breaking out of the group hug, Namjoon gently kissed you on the lips. “We missed you so much, baby.”

You just sobbed in response, letting yourself be turned into Jin’s firm embrace.

Then Yoongi’s gentle hug.

Hobi’s tight hug, with little kisses pressed into your hair.

Taehyung, with a soft peck to the lips and a promise to never lose you again.

Jungkook, fierce and protective, holding you until Jimin made a desperate sort of choked noise.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Jimin choked out, wrapped completely around you, face nuzzled in.

But when you were out of their embrace, they could see the bruising where the makeup had wiped away.

You stutteringly explained everything that had happened, and that Alena was the family of a fairy friend who had taken you in so that they wouldn’t blame her. You told them about hearing their CD’s and changing Cupcake’s name to Keyowo, the fairies at the market figuring out who you were before you did, and the family you had lived with.

Hobi’s mouth was a triangle.

“Now can we plan murder?” Yoongi asked, glowering at the floor and trying to discretely wipe away his tears.

“Aish,” Jin sighed, closing his eyes.

“That wasn’t a no,” Taehyung commented.

“No murder. Just take me home,” You intervened when you saw Hoseok was contemplating it. You weren’t going to let your sunshine dim himself with that sort of guilt. Or any of your boys for that matter. “Please? I just want to be home.”

Jungkook pulled you back to him, pressing a kiss firmly to your lips, and sighing in relief when he pulled away. “I thought I’d never get to do that.”

Then you were drowning in kisses from the three youngest boys, and you were totally drunk on it.

“Alright, enough, we don’t need her to have a mental implosion like last time,” Jin basically shoved Jungkook onto the couch and elbowed his way between the other two. “Let’s finish getting cleaned up, then she can tell her friend that she’s going back to the hotel with us tonight and we’ll pick up her stuff tomorrow. She’ll stay in Jimin’s room tonight—”

Taehyung and Jungkook and someone else started protesting but Jin quickly cut them off.

“—But only because he’s been doing so poorly and they could both do with some extra cuddles. She’s been gone a while so we can’t overwhelm her with an abundance of love right off the bat. She’s already looking a little overwhelmed.”

“Hyung is right,” Namjoon chimed in, sounding hoarse. “We have another concert tomorrow, too. We should get back and get some rest.”

The boys reluctantly agreed and started gathering their things.

You were usually holding onto one of their hands, not willing to let go for anything.

Alena was completely understanding, and the boys asked a couple of the security guards to walk her to her car for safety.

Then you were in the van with Jimin and Jungkook, and you kept wiping Jungkook’s tears with your coat sleeve so it was quite damp by the time you arrived at the hotel, and your shoulder was damp from Jimin crying on it.

But things were calmer after Jimin had showered, and eaten (something you did with him because you were honestly worried), and then you cuddled up with him in bed much earlier than he probably would have normally gone to sleep.

Jimin sighed shakily as he held you tightly. “I kept thinking I could find you. You couldn’t be far. If I just searched long enough I could find you and bring you home and everything would be okay again. I wasn’t really in my right mind for a lot of it. I had a bad fever for a few weeks and they had to put me on some medicine for a while. I’m better than I was, don’t worry, I just…it took me a while to work through it all.”

You kissed his shoulder since it was all you could kiss in the tight embrace, then gently pushed away, and you blew a little sleep dust at him—just as you had given each of the other boys a little sleep dust to use when they were in bed—to ensure that he would sleep well.

And in the morning, you made sure Jimin ate breakfast, feeding him each bite because he liked that and you completely understood why. But you needed to see him eat because he had felt so bony all through the night.

All of the boys were awake (though the level of awareness varied quite widely), and all of them insisted on going with you back to Frida’s house to get your things.

None of them were very happy about your bruises, especially since they were far more visible without any makeup.

But they were very kind to Alena, Agnar, and Frida, and they cooed over Keyowo, apologizing again that you couldn’t bring him with you.

Agnar didn’t look at all sorry, even though he also apologized about you not being able to take Keyowo. But he also promised to take good care of him, and that was enough for you.

You had your boys back.

Then you were back at the hotel, in pixie form, resting in Yoongi’s room until it was time for their concert, then you were in Jin’s room, playing games because he had his computer and you were not about to subject yourself to a second concert. You’d barely survived the first one.

But it wasn’t bad for them to be gone from you. You knew that their love for you was greater than what a few hours separation would constitute.

That night they were all gathered in Jin’s room, catching you up on everything that had happened since the moment they had taken you away. How the company came around, how badly the boys fared themselves and had to catch each other before they all crumbled. You could tell there were things they were holding back, especially given what Jimin had already told you.

Then they approached the topic of the rest of the tour.

You quickly assured them that you were fine with them finishing it as long as you could be with them. “Home is where the heart is, right? Well, you guys are my heart and you’re here. I couldn’t break your hearts just because you wanted to give me what I asked for and take me back to Korea. Korea is just a place. It just happens to be the place of the people who love me enough that I’m able to love them in return.”

And then Hoseok was crying again.

You flew over to him, in a smaller form because it had honestly been weeks since you were small and now you had to work your way down again.

He cuddled you close and pressed little kisses to your face and hair, upset but not able to voice the reason. Not that there was much mystery regarding the reason.

When he had calmed down some, you cupped his face in your hands and gently kissed him, not missing the way his breath hitched or the tiny sound he made. The last to have a real kiss, your poor sunshine.

And all of you spent the night together, because apparently the boys were out of willpower—though they still needed some magic sleeping dust to get to sleep at a decent time.

Yoongi easily claimed a spot beside you, and Taehyung was quick to claim your other side.

Jimin huffed and ended up laying on top of all three of you.

Jungkook was pressed against Tae’s back.

Hoseok slept next to Jungkook.

Jin backhugged Namjoon and took him down, essentially initially forcing him to cuddle Yoongi, but the two switched places and Jin slept with his back against Yoongi’s, holding onto Namjoon.

Your lovely boys.

–

Previous ~ Next

Masterlist - ot7 Masterpost

Tagging: @alex–awesome–22, @bryvada, @missmoxxiesworld @subzerobts @forvever-ddaeng @vividwoosan @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @minmeowmeowcuddles @kpopfictrash @castlewolfsbane @scatkpoptrash @knjhe @i-dont-even-know-fck @soulphoenix1618 @kerikaaria @sea-nevermind-enthusiast @reinaxans @mcusuperfreak

If you would like to be tagged: DTLW Taglist (please make sure you can be tagged, I’m no longer hunting people down, ALSO PLEASE NOTE THERE’S ONLY ONE PART LEFT)

#fairy au #bts fic #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #ot7 #ot7 x reader #fairy!reader #diamond tears and little wings #diamondtearsandlittlewings fic #namjoon #jin #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #suga #jungkook #jimin #taehyung

158 notes · View notes

decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, dirty talking.

A/N: This chapter is shameless smut, you are warned. Minors do not interact. go and read a book or something.

Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 14 / Chapter 15

Lovers ever run before the clock.

Overhaul really is just an uptight pretentious asshole, but Tomura lets his insulting remarks slide, trying his utter best not to snap.

He was supposed to be in a good mood today, but by the time Chronostasis puts the gun against his white locks, he swears that he will do anything in his power to completely ruin Shie Hassakai for this mess, already struggling to keep his temper at bay.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”

He’s never one to get distracted but it is difficult to stay focus when he cannot erase the feeling of her thighs caging his hips, her words rumbling inside his brain like a prayer for him to come back and take what’s already his.

It enrages him far more than he would like to admit, but he can’t go back if he gets killed, can’t he?

Luckily for them, Tomura kinda lacks that self-preservation impulse at the face of danger, so he stays there completely stoic and delightfully petty between Chisaki and the gun. The thought of her crying because he got his pretty brains scattered all over the Shie Hassakai immaculate floor makes him realize that he has yet another reason to hate Overhaul.

Really, what’s the matter with these people? they just keep adding points to their list, but sure, he will work with what he has (as always) by sending Toga and Twice into their ranks to gain some reliability after Chisaki told him about this ridiculous plan of curing society of quirks like it’s an illness.

And he thought que was an extremist.

It’s a dumb concept, really. People decide to be assholes, to be heroes, villains and such. There is a choice in excluding those like him from society meanwhile hero violence is idolized. But quirks? People don’t get to choose. Shit just happens. You can develop a cute little nice quirk that allows you to make bubbles or something ridiculous like, dunno, destroying everything you touch; but people can help it, it’s just the way it is. Nobody asks for it. Not even Overhaul, not even him.

And, even when Tomura can understand what Overhaul is saying about society being unfair based on quirks, his plan still sounds pretty nonsensical to him, who wants to destroy everything with his own hands, after all is that why he was born with such deadly weapon at the reach of his fingers. It would be nothing short but hypocritical and, despite the irony, he likes to think of himself as an honest person. His goal clashes directly with Overhaul’s, so no, he will keep the league interests to himself and for now will trust Toga and Twice to do what they do best without rising any suspicion about what he’s up to. Chisaki is more stupid tan he looks if he thinks Tomura will make blind eye to the audacity of his challenge and his continuous lack of propriety.

Oh, poor Overhaul. He doesn’t know it yet, but he already lost.

In the meantime, he’ll keep himself busy on more important and exciting matters. Hating Overhaul is something he can use as a motivation for more than just inner monologue, because you see, Tomura has a revenge to plan and a truck to steal.

_____________

Things are different next time he sees you. Something primal and strange born from a sick sense of belonging that fills your interactions after the night you slept together, soothing his temper and bitterness into something warmer and far more intense that pulls and twist and burns to be close to each other.

It's been four days since they left the apartment to prepare the backhand against Overhaul and Tomura is sure that by that hour tomorrow Overhaul will have failed, leaving him as the great winner of his sensei’s title. (Not that he ever needed to prove it, but if Overhaul wanted to pick a fight, he would not be the one to deny his wishes.)

Tonight, however, has nothing to do with all that, not when he’s finally back.

You’ve been waiting for his return by the window, searching for his frame in every shadow, a mug of chocolate warming your hands as the soup simmered over the stove. A warm meal made for him every night in case he decided to return, guessing he would be hungry and cold, wondering if it isn’t too much (but you care for him, so you do it anyway).

A supposition that turned out to be true, but Tomura had another solution in mind.

He’s a starving dog all hunger and demand, a wild vicious thing that looks at you feral and maddened, dripping with want and something far scarier that you don’t dare to name (but you do know, don’t you?).

You are no better than him, not when your fingers had traced patterns with his name across your body, spelling dreams and fantasies from your lips, remembering the way his fingers filled you and you wonder if he touched himself thinking about you too. The answer comes rather messy the moment his jagged mouth whimpers how much he missed you between whispers and moans that to you sound like poetry.

And he takes and takes and takes with deaf hands and sharp teeth, leaving bruises with the shape of his fingertips burned all over you as he bites and scratch and pull-out whimpers and pants from your mouth that echoes the frantic tune of his heart slamming against his ribs because he missed you so much it was painful.

So, he had kissed you feverish, stomping you against the wall desperate and needing for your attention until you had pull him by the neck of his shirt to drag him into the bedroom, his brain completely forgetting about Overhaul’s existence the moment you push him to the edge of the mattress to sit in his lap, pulling the hem of his shirt for him to take it off, too focused in the heat prints your hands leave on his pale shoulders as something roars inside of his chest urging him to imprint his existence on your skin and possess the being that lives inside your bones.

Tomura paints a plethora of purple kisses over your neck and chest as a mark of his touch and your belonging. Something dark and twisted reverbing inside his ribs, inside his brain.

Mine; his mind repeats over and over again until he’s dizzied from the words, drunk in touch as your hands slither all over his sides, his chest and shoulders. His eyes marveling in the way skin holds together every angle of your flesh and the parts where your bones show from inside of your figure when he finally takes off your dress.

So soft, so beautiful and all his.

His kisses become raw and sharp and painful like the electric bond that ties you together by the ribs, all roughness and need, bruising lips and sinking teeth. Your moans and pants mixing now and then with some pained yelps and hisses of his name to call out on his harshness, but he chooses to make deaf ears to your pleas, too busy trying to gorge on your taste.

His teeth sink on your skin leaving marks like crescent moons that he kisses after you cry, pleasure and need pooling between your thighs, a tightness that burn inside your belly as you tangle your fingers in his hair, thinking briefly between the fog of your thoughts that it has grown, that it looks painfully beautiful on him like a crown of silver and moonlight.

Soon enough your legs lock around his bony hips, the choir of soft mewls and pants has become something far more animal; cries filling the room with each touch. White underwear remaining as the last barrier to your skin, leaving a wet stain over the fabric of his jeans.

The room turns unbearable warm as your kisses become more slopy and open, letting him take your mouth just how he likes it as he registers the way the skin of your torso presses against his bare chest, your warmth spreading over, suffocating him.

Hooking a finger on your bra cup, Tomura pulls down and reveals the flesh hidden under the layers of lace, deciding already that this is his favorite image of you. Covered in love marks, wet and underwear ruined, your bra tucked under the curb of your breast. Something obscene and desperate about it, more crude than mere nakedness and it’s exactly how he likes it.

It looks lewd, it looks nasty. It looks like everything he wants to make of you, so he tightens his hold on your waist, making your back curve a little up to latch his mouth to your breast, sucking hard enough to draw a loud moan from your lips as you dig your nails on the muscle of his arms, delight shooting through your spine.

“Ow…fuck…” you pant with each pull of his mouth, and he chuckles darkly against your chest, amused and smug because he has you and he knows it, a sinister part of him (the vengeful scary one that wants to kill and maim and destroy) screaming that you belong to him from now on, that you’ll never leave, that he’ll never let you.

Mine, and mine alone he thinks and the thought sounds jarring and loud inside his head as he leaves bruises all over the skin that surround the buds of your chest, making you gasp over his lap.

“What? Wanna say something?” Tomura teases watching your expression, your eyes going wide the moment he slides your panties to the side and press his fingers inside you without warning.

“T-oh…Tomura…fuck…ow” you try to articulate but the words come out as blurred whispers.

“No bickering now?”

“Oh god…Tomura…please” you cry trembling, mouth watering with every touch of his palm over your nerve.

“Please what.”

You hide your face on the crook of his neck to bite him hard enough to make him bark an excited laugh, rejoicing in the fact that you are marking him too, before hooking his fingers inside you to make you moan loudly; hips moving automatically as one of your hands reach the hem of his pants and unbuttons his jeans to touch him back.

“I want you inside.”

He lets out a pretty hiss the moment your fist close around his length, caressing him tentatively until finding a pace, giving you a little victory over his rough teasing.

“I wanna tear you apart” he growls reaching deep inside of you, a wolf like grin slicing across his face baring his sharp teeth “you are a mess. All wet and begging for me to fuck you.”

“Tomura…”

“Fuck…you are so wet, all for me…my good girl, my good girl.” The words pour out of his mouth in feverish tone as his other hand clear the hair off your face before catching your lips on his again.

“Tomura, please…”

He snaps, turning you onto the mattress to climb over your body, throwing his jeans to the floor before leaning between your thighs as his hardness brushes over your clothed center. His patience has run thin though, so he yanks the panties by one side, closing all five fingers over the piece of fabric that flews to the floor before transforming into dust.

He lines up with your center, feeling the intimate touch before thrusting deep into you, ripping out a high moan that makes your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving scratching marks all over his pale skin in an attempt to steady yourself as your walls burn with the stretching.

No, he isn’t gentle this time, he just can’t bring himself to be soft when he feels like the awful infatuation he’s been harboring inside is about to tear his ribs open, pouring out for everyone to see the bloody mess you’ve made of his heart. So, he thrust hard like punishing you for it, snaping his hips fast and deep into you, trying to leave a bruise mark inside as well as one of his hands tangles between your hair, pulling and making you scream to the rhythm of your creaking bed.

He bottoms out the moment his arm hooks under your knee, as you tangle your other leg over his waist, giving him deepest access into you, his tip planting kisses against your cervix, rough friction and raw closeness sending you over the edge because he’s fucking you hard, making sure your screaming can be heard from the hall of the building.

It's brutal, yet you give him everything he wants and more because you like it like this, you like it because is him. The warmth of his body covering yours and you wonder if he can feel it too.

The terrific need of holding onto his body, his wicked smile, his bruised heart. The horror of your attachment to a person like him and what this represents, at the brim of ruining your life for love…

Love.

You are so in love with him.

“Look at me” he demands pulling your hair, a feral snarl across his sharp face darkening his features before kissing you hard, his tongue filling your mouth in lewd motion. “Fuck, you are so tight…I wanna split you in half.” His voice is a coarse and maddened sound against your lips, so close and intimate it’s scary because he’s sinking so deep it feels like he’s trying to rearrange your insides and his words do nothing but intensify the heat.

“Fuck…Tomura…it hurst…you’re so rough…so rough” You manage to blurt out, eyes boring into his.

“And you love it, don’t you?” he snarls tightening the grip on your hair. “You like how it feels…like I’m gonna split your pretty cunt in two. Huh? Say it, say it…”

“Fuck…yes…yes”

“Yes what.” He barks in a particularly harsh thrust that makes you scream like a wildling.

“I love it…fuck…like that…I love it…I love it.”

“You are mine…you hear me?” he prays over your mouth half ordering, half begging for you to go down with it and say that yes, that you’ll never leave him, that you’ll stay with him “All mine to fuck, mine, mine, mine, MINE!” he growls with every thrust as the bed slams hard against the wall until you are a babbling incoherent mess.

His brutal pace and words get you quiet soon, too much to even make a sound and hardly even allowing you to breathe, too concentrated in the feeling of his length and him smashing into your ending wall as the overwhelming touch of his hips and his abdomen on yours burns your skin.

The brush of his hair and ragged breathing fanning over your cheek is the only compass of time while the tightness in your belly threatens to snap the moment your teary eyes meet his, mouth on mouth without even kiss, but you smile to him, your warm hand caressing softly the skin of his jaw as he tears into you, feeling incapable of telling him what the voice of your mind has been playing over and over again.

I’m in love with you.

Like sensing your thoughts, his hands abandon your hair. Four trembling fingers cuddling your cheek, carefully and almost scared before closing his eyes, letting his forehead rest on yours as he whispers sweet words of praise only for you to keep, still forcing himself in and out of you. His mouth watering to the sight of your bouncing breast still trapped by your bra.

“ow…I’m gonna..Tomura…I’m gonna…”

The snap of his hips become erratic when finally you come undone on him, eyes rolling back and a cry that tears your throat open when your walls clench around his hardness making him moan as he keeps thrusting in and out, reaching his own end soon after; his hand closing tightly into a fist over the mattress as he grunts with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, filling you warm and slick until he goes soft inside of you.

Tomura pulls out and rests his head on your chest, his heart hammering against your belly, still trying to catch his breath; his fingers tracing mindless patterns over the shape of your waist, as your hands slide between the tangled locks of silver, lips laying little pecks over his crown.

Time slows down, minutes passing and quiet settles, he notices.

Quiet inside of him.

This is all he wanted from the moment he crossed the umbral of your door months ago. The insufferable itch silenced by the calming thump of your heart, fluttering softly behind the gate of your ribs and he wonders if maybe you’d have a room by your core where he could lay his bones to finally rest for a minute from all the rage and hate that burdens him.

Maybe you do have one, hidden and unspoken, a mirror of the one you occupy in the graveyard of his chest where he holds you beautiful and bright and…everything he doesn’t get to hate.

Yeah, he thinks you do. After all, he’s lying in your arms, isn’t it? You had caressed his face and marked his neck and back, all teeth and nails, to then crown him with a wreath of kisses, your body soft and still under his weight, while your hands brush carefully through his scalp.

He knows the feeling, he’s not stupid…but he doesn’t get to speak its name yet.

Is not that bad, after all. Being attached to you and the lullaby of your heartbeat could make him better, smarter, stronger. You could be another reason to fight and destroy. After all, in a society as rotten as this one, you’ll never be allowed to walk by his side if not by putting a bounty on your head too.

What the media would say about you? Would they catalog you as an S class villain? since your quirk is as deadly as it gets, you would be feared and hated. You can practically kill by just looking at someone and he’s not even sure if you really need to look to your target, after all.

And yet you are the kindest person he knows. If someone of the hero commission knew about this, you’d be hunted down despite your service as a doctor, despite your resolution to help whoever needs it, despite caring for those rotten and downthrown. And since you are critical of the system, you’d be reduced to just another animal to put down. Just like him.

Tomura swears he’ll decay every single person on the world before let that happen.

“Tomura…”

He rises his head to look at you, a question drawn across his face.

“Can you…move a little? My bra is killing me.”

“Ow…sorry about that.” He apologizes, curious eyes over the mark that the elastic has left over your skin as he sits by your side.

“Can you help me? I can’t reach the clip…”

“Sure…”

You bend over to give him better access to your back, feeling his fingers brush over your skin carefully, before liberating you from the elastic straps incrusted on your flesh.

Tomura leans forward, placing soft kisses between your shoulder blades, letting his forehead rest over your spine and the touch is so sweet that it makes you wonder if maybe he does feel the same as you.

You get your answer when his hand moves forward to cup your breast, middle finger carefully up, as the other slides down between your thighs, making you sigh, feeling his hardness brushing your hip.

He nuzzles against your cheek, until you turn to kiss him deeply, warmth pooling between your legs again as his fingers play lazy between your slick entrance and the bundle of nerves. This time though, you take your chance and turn over, sitting on top before taking his wrist to lay kisses over the soft skin of his pulse.

Your quirk flares alive and before Tomura gets to catch on your intentions, his hands stand secured high against the headboard.

“What the…ow fuck!” He moans the moment your hand close over his length, pumping until he’s losing his breath, a ragged laugh scaping his jagged lips “fuck…you are an evil woman.”

“I should be proud if you say so.”

You accommodate over him, lowering until he fills you, pushing his previous release deeper into you.

Your pacing is torturingly slow and intense, soft moans and sweet whispers between languid kissed. Tomura watches hypnotized how your hips ride over the place you two connect, his crimson eyes half lidded as he lets you take him, before finally releasing your hold.

He touches you carefully this time, palming over the curve of your hipbone and your belly, index finger up as he wonders how deep is he, trying to feel himself from the outside, before pushing down to sink deeper into you, hitting the fragile spot where he makes you cry.

“I like you like this…” he speaks softly, looking you up from behind his eyelashes as you ride him slowly.

“How” your word is a whisper against his lips.

“Bare…” he rasps, his voice luring you into his embrace, spilling sweet nothing into his ear as he mumbles over and over again.

“My good girl…you are so good for me…”

This time you reach your peak softly. A sweet thing that fills you gently; walls fluttering around his oversensitive length while you keep rocking him until he stuffs you again, finally both falling back into the mattress side to side, already drifting into sleep, both tired and content.

A light touch catches your attention before falling unconscious. Tomura´s pinky hooks on yours as a silent plea, so you spill a peck over his shoulder before resting your temple on it, a sweet gesture that makes his heart tremble with fear and excitement for all the right reasons.

So, he does what he wants, sliding his arm under your neck and moving your head to rest on his chest. Over his heart he lays a fist for you to grip gently by the wrist before finally crowning you with soft kisses as the steady beat of his heart lulls you to dream.

Chapter 16 (soon)

#shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #bnh fanfic #self insert #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #shigaraki x you

38 notes · View notes

letsfluxshitup · 3 years

Text

we're like a family of divorce (ao3)

Techno dragged up the metal tub from his basement, setting it in front of the fire. He filled it with warm water, setting out clean warm pajamas and a towel on a chair. He laid out all the fancy soaps he had, gifts from when he first arrived.

He saved the shampoo and conditioner, setting them aside for later.

Tommy entered the house, loud and abrasive and a lot.

"What's up, Big Man?" He shouted, tugging at Techno's loose braid, poking at his tusks, forcing Techno to witness him.

He was always so high energy, demanding attention, positive or not. Techno didn't understand it but it made Tommy happy to be the center of attention, something Techno more frequently than not shied away from.

He blinked back into the present, gesturing vaguely at the tub.

"You stink." He deadpanned, and it wasn't necessarily true, but the kid needed to sit down for a second.

He'd been high energy since he arrived, and seemed perfectly fine. But Techno knew Tommy, knew his quirks and his tells. Saw the dead look in his eyes, the way he flinched away, his fear and sadness.

Techno didn't know what happened, but he knew something did, and he needed to protect him and care for him.

So he guided Tommy towards the tub, nitpicked at him about his hair, and disappeared upstairs.

"Do you need a haircut?" He called from where he was sitting in his rocking chair, glancing through a book Philza had handed him when they last met.

It was a potions guide, and he was quietly happy that Philza had taken the time to carefully draw out visuals and diagrams, tucked into the book at relevant intervals.

He glanced towards the stairs, catching the tail end of a mumbled response.

"What?" He called, looking at the stairs so he wouldn't get distracted again.

"Are you gonna cut it?" Tommy shouted back, punctuated by a splash. Techno flinched, there was no way the kid wasn't making a mess down there.

"No." He responded, looking back towards the book.

Quackity could cut short hair, he knew. They weren't exactly on talking terms but surely he'd set that aside to help out Tommy?

Maybe? Probably?

It's not like Techno couldn't just make him cut Tommy's hair, but threatening him was probably not the best fix for their already rocky relationship.

"Then why'd you ask?" Tommy shouted again, "And where's the shampoo?"

"I have the shampoo," Techno said, eyeing the bottle where it sat across from him, "and Quackity can cut your hair."

"Quackity? Isn't he trying to kill you?" Tommy's voice sounded muffled, sloshing denoting him getting out of the tub and Techno cringed again thinking about his floor.

He wasn't sure what to say to that, actually.

"Are you… Ok with Quackity coming by?" He asked instead, maybe it wasn't the best idea to invite someone with so much... Violent intent into his home with the kid.

"Big Q's great! I mean, he tried to kill you and stuff but I'm not, like, scared of him. As long as you're ok, y'know?" Tommy fumbled up the stairs, hair still dripping and fluffy pajamas noticeably damp.

Techno didn't comment on it.

"You don't have to worry about me, Tommy," he said lightly, hoping his tone conveyed comfort.

Tommy really shouldn't have to worry about his brother's potential murderers, he was just a kid and Quackity wouldn't try to start anything if he was around.

"Anyways, I'll message Quackity, see what he says, alright?" Techno pulled out his communicator, picking at the layers of stickers on it. Tommy had helpfully redecorated it after his previous one had gotten destroyed in his execution.

Attempted execution, that is.

It didn't take much to convince Quackity to come over. It didn't take anything, actually.

Quackity? Techno typed, and almost instantly got a reply.

Tommy needs a haircut

fuck off

You remember how to get here?

yes

"Well? Where's Tommy?" Quackity huffed, shivering as he rubbed his arms. He should have worn a heavier coat but he didn't have any because he didn't live in the middle of the fucking Arctic.

"Big Q!" Tommy shouted as if on cue, barreling down the stairs at full speed. Quackity's wings flared out to steady him as he caught Tommy, squeezing him tightly.

He didn't say anything about Tommy's clinginess, chalking it up to the exile and the only other source of comfort around being Technoblade.

Fucker probably didn't even hug Tommy.

He was almost instantly proven wrong when Techno cleared his throat slightly, the hug lasting a second too long, and Tommy disappeared from his arms and tucked himself under Techno's.

He firmly reminded himself it was stupid to be jealous of Techno's little brother, but also he was really fucking cold and he knew Techno was really fucking warm.

"So!" He hoisted his bag, "You need a haircut?"

It took some finagling but he finally got Tommy to sit in front of the sink properly, and went to work on washing his post haircut hair.

The water was a soothing backdrop as Quackity lathered shampoo into his hair, absently asking Techno for a hairbrush.

Tommy was quietly amazed at how easily Quackity bossed Techno around, his brother instantly responding to any command.

He'd successfully bullied Techno into handing over one of his capes, at Quackity's insistence that it was fucking cold. Techno was now tending to the fire at Quackity's request, and it seemed almost natural.

He knew Techno was more than happy to help the people he cared about, but he'd never really considered that Techno cared about Quackity.

"Are you and Quackity broken up or something?" Tommy blurted out without thinking, interrupting Quackity's soft chirping.

Quackity made a choking noise before accidentally dumping water on Tommy's face, sending him into a fit of painful coughing as it went up his nose.

"Sorry, Toms," Quackity cooed, carefully running his fingers through Tommy's wet hair.

"Is fixing people's hair like a bird thing or some shit?" Tommy asked, leaning into Quackity's hands, "Philza does the same thing and he's like a bird."

"Yeah, kind of. I think so." Quackity stuttered slightly, straightening Tommy's pajama shirt and dabbing away the spilled water on his face with a towel.

Tommy's face scrunched up in concentration for a second, before he let out something that sounded pretty close to a happy coo.

Quackity cooed too, and they cooed back and forth. Techno couldn't help his pleased snort, happy they were getting along and safe and content.

Tommy's head snapped towards him, instantly reciprocating the snort, and while still unnatural for him he managed to replicate it a lot better than the coo.

Techno watched, vaguely amused, as Tommy nudged his head against Quackity's chest. Growing up around hybrids gave him a weird mix of behaviors, but Quackity was quick to catch on, and he lightly nudged Tommy back.

As Techno set up for dinner Quackity and Tommy sat at the table, heckling him and generally being a nuisance.

"You're burning the fucking bread!" Tommy shouted, far too loud in the small space, but his energy seemed slightly more subdued. Less manic, more... Genuine.

Techno rolled his eyes, tugging open the oven door.

"No, see, look it's fine." He squinted at the bread. It did look a little too brown around the edges but he definitely wouldn't tell Tommy that.

Instead, he reached into the oven and grabbed the bread pan with his bare hands, smirking slightly at twin panicked shrieks from behind him.

"Techno what the fuck! You're going to burn your fucking hands, dumbass!" Quackity appeared in front of him, snatching his hands to check the damages after Techno set the pan down.

Quackity blinked at his unharmed hand in confusion, wings settling from where they'd flared in his panic.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Techno deadpanned, prompting Quackity to look up.

They were nearly nose to nose and Quackity was staring directly into his eyes. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable, but didn't look away.

"Are you two going to kiss?"

Trust Tommy to ruin the peace, Techno thought as Quackity shrieked.

"No we're not going to fucking kiss!"

Quackity was leaning against the arm of the couch, Techno sat on the other side, Tommy flopped across the two of them, trapping them.

"So, you're in exile, right, Techno?" Tommy said, lifting his head slightly from Quackity's lap.

"Yes," Techno sighed, shifting slightly under Tommy's bony legs.

"Huh." Tommy said, before saying more quietly, "I like exile with you a lot more than when I was with Dream."

Techno tried not to let his expression shift, he'd picked up bits and pieces of his exile but nothing concrete. He still didn't know what happened.

"Oh?" Techno said, voice carefully even.

"Yeah." Tommy responded, tilting his head away from Quackity to stare at the fire. "He- I- he wasn't as nice as you are, y'know?"

Techno didn't, didn't think he'd been doing a good job of taking care of him, but he nodded anyways.

"He..." Tommy sniffled suddenly, furiously scrubbing at his eyes.

Quackity quietly ran his fingers through Tommy's hair, a comforting croon soft in the air.

"He was a real dick, y'know?" Tommy said, desperately high energy, like he could forcibly will away his bad feelings. His voice gave him away, though, thick with tears.

"Tommy?" Techno said, voice soft, "what happened in exile?"

And Tommy broke.

He flung himself into Techno's arms, burying himself in his arms, as he babbled about what had happened, incoherent and a mess.

Quackity tucked himself against Techno's side, curling his arm around Tommy's back and stretching a wing out to cover them both. He pressed himself close, face carefully neutral, but Techno noticed.

Noticed the twitch of his eye, the tension in his shoulders, how he barely held back a snarl.

Finally, Tommy cried himself out, face tucked into Techno's neck as he fell asleep. Techno carefully scooped him up, Quackity a step behind him as he walked up the stairs and laid Tommy in the bed.

He tossed Quackity a pair of pajamas, and before he could turn away to change into his own Quackity grabbed his arm.

There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other, dying fire throwing Quackity's features into sharp relief, fury evident.

"You'll help me take down Dream?" Quackity said finally, leaning closer.

"I owe him," Techno warned, voice soft as he studied Quackity's face.

Quackity blinked, then leaned ever closer, noses touching this time.

"When it comes down to it, no matter what Dream says or asks for, you'll be on my side? On Tommy's?"

Techno sighed, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

"When you put it that way, how can I say no," he deadpanned, arms coming up to wrap around Quackity's waist, comforting and solid.

Quackity snorted, holding up a pinky.

"Pinky promise?" He murmured, and Techno linked pinkies with him, foreheads pressed together, swaying slightly in place.

"Are you two actually going to kiss now?" Tommy whispered loudly, voice slurred with sleep.

Quackity jerked away, startled, as Techno snorted loudly.

Tension dispersed Techno quickly got ready for bed, putting out the fire and flopping onto the side closest to the stairs. Quackity was forced against the wall, Tommy sandwiched between them.

Techno fell asleep with Tommy's head tucked into his neck, his arm thrown across Techno and his gangly legs sprawled across Quackity.

#technoblade #quackity #dream smp #dream smp spoilers #if the formattings bad im Sorry im on my phone smfh #flux writes #ok to reblog

104 notes · View notes

ignisnocturnalia · 3 years

Text

Hehehe I lied, but it is here now! Had a crisis about being done with my Band director's bull and wanting a grade on something really bad, did the former and decided to simply disintegrate once Friday hit. Drifter HCs will follow this, also may I say Caiatl. That is all.

Nokris x Reader

“You are a child reaching for a flame; the Taken Queen would not have you burnt.”

You were on point during the Strange Terrain strike, but you had never thought you would run into Nokris again. Granted, you realized, his death was on the physical plain while his Throne World still stood. Considering he never directly addressed you, you assumed that he either didn’t remember you or he chose not to, as oddly disappointing as that would be. The timbre of his voice unsettled you, but it was not as wracking as Xol’s; in fact, it was rather pleasing to hear.

The proposition itself was unexpected, and against Eris’s previous warnings you stopped to listen to what the Hive heretic had to say. Trekking quietly along the broken path of the distorted realm, you stopped occasionally to stare at blights littered over walls and floating in the air to see if you could catch a glimpse of the desecrated prince. The telltale sign of Taken emerging from their portals filled the air, and you genuinely prayed that you’re next decision was a wise one.

Your ghost was probably screaming on the inside as you placed your guns to the floor, bringing your hands into the air while staring into the gleaming eye of a Knight. Grabbing your arm roughly, it tugged you through a massive doorway leading to a room that was strikingly similar to the Court of Oryx back at the Dreadnaught. The portal at the center of the room shimmered invitingly as the bony bastard himself came out; even in death, he appeared to be in his prime.

“I see you have heeded my advice; come, hope of the Light, see the Darkness.”

His claws are cold as he grasps at your shoulders despite the solar flame surging over his arms. Feeling bold, you let your own solar light extend past your body, lying comfortably across his neck with a warm glow. As a creature who worships the Darkness facing a servant of the Light, he reasonably withdraws with a hiss at your gesture

You won’t say it out loud because he obviously carries himself with extreme pride, but you can’t help but feel bad for him. How can one person be an exiled son, heretic, servant, and now puppet?

“I won’t serve Savathûn. But I think I wouldn't mind spending time with you.” Before he can question you, you are promptly pulled from the realm by Eris.

Cue Vanguard interrogation once you return to the Tower. The talk is so egregiously long you make a move that would make Cayde damn proud: “GuArDiAn, We’Re NoT yEt FiNiShEd WiTh ThIs DiScUsSiOn!�� Hopefully your shining reputation will save you from any dire repercussions...

Tracing your steps back to where you first met, you look around suspiciously following the lack of noise inside the Hive breeding grounds. You had cut your comm ages ago, the constant ping of Commander Zavala’s hailing grating your ears. The ground beneath your feet crunched wetly with every step, and distantly you heard the first Hive screech. Turning in a guess to the source of the sound, you set off in a quick pace, gun in your hand.

Upon entering a new chamber, you froze in surprise as you saw Nokris lifting a Knight by the throat. Taken magic pooled in his palm and raced over the armor of the smaller Hive, the bone turning black and a bright white glow shimmering across its legs. Still gripping the soldier, Nokris slowly angled his head to look down at you.

“Little. Light.” Dropping the Knight with no grace, his imposing form closed in on you with haste. Before you could take a step back, his claws came up to close around your jaw and upper neck. The rough of his talons dug into your armor, and for a moment you worried he would pop off your helmet and let your blood boil throughout your body in the harsh atmosphere. Instead, he pulled you closer to his face and brought up his free hand to grasp your forearm.

Nokris easily dwarfed you; even if you stood on your own shoulders you wouldn’t be taller than him. Passively, your thighs rubbed against each other at the realization. A detail he decided he would catch. Teasing mirth danced in his three eyes, hidden malice swimming just behind small organs. Internally, you were probably going to pop your helmet off yourself if you got kink shamed by a Hive prince of all things.

You squeaked quietly in surprise as he lifted you off the ground, the hand on your lower face readjusting to your hip. His hand, quite literally, engulfed your midsection as he brought you closer to him for inspection. This close, you could see every imperfection on his face. Second hand leaving your arm, you shivered as the prince ran a digit up the side of your leg and continued his way up, stopping thoughtfully at the junction of your jaw.

Staring into the glowing green embers of his eyes, there was no mistaking the murderous glint in them. At the same time, curiosity had made its home among his more dangerous faculties.

"You found me once, you came to me twice. Find me again, at the other side in the field of ash under the dark tower.” Letting you to the floor, Nokris turned his back and departed to Traveler knows where through the portal with the long forgotten Knight. Sinking to your knees in stunned silence, you looked down as a nearly imperceptible squeal broke the quiet. In front of you, was a Hive worm.

“No.” Before you could even speak, your Ghost gave its earful.

“I can’t not take it! I probably need it to find him. Either way, I told you one of these worms would be coming home eventually, look at its wittle face.” Your Ghost made gagging noises as you fawned over the wriggling creature you held between your hands. Tucking the three eyed larva under your arm, you set out to find the way back out.

____________________________________________

The next week felt like hell. The worm continued to get bigger with every mission you went on and keeping it a secret from the Vanguard was close to impossible. You had been wracking your brain for the answer to his riddle, and to be completely honest, it made you feel inadequate that you couldn’t figure it out. You knew the other side meant the Ascendant Realm, but what was the dark tower? Where was the field of ash? You had initially thought it was at Skywatch, what with the Hive ship jutting out of the ground and the small pile of chitin inside the cave not too far away, but there wasn’t enough ash for it to be a field, nor was it under the ship point.

It wasn’t until a light snow dusted the Tower one evening that it all clicked. He didn’t mean ash ash. He meant snow!

In a rush to the hangar, you waved a hasty goodbye to Holliday and transmatted into your ship, pulling out a layer of blankets to reveal your now cat sized worm. The grub squeed and reached its head up to your palm, crawling sluggishly into your hands. Holding the worm to your chest, you settled down in the pilot ship and gave your Ghost to plot a course. There was only one place on Earth constantly coated in snow with a structure that could be considered a dark tower.

“Ghost, set course for the Plaguelands. He’s at the Doomed Sea.”

You hadn’t been to the ravaged lands since the Siva Crisis; the whole territory gave you heebie jeebies. And yet, you were returning because one of humanity’s imminent threats wanted a chat that, realistically, ended with your head rolling on the floor.

The closer you got to your destination, the more restless the worm in your arms got. In fact, you could swear it was whispering something. Your skin crawled for a moment as you felt the phantom brush of his claw up your leg.

The moment your feet touched the ground, the world around you stuttered as the colors faded into grayscale, giving way to the Ascendant landscape. Below you, there was no mistaking the keen whispers of the worm. Its words were encouraging in a macabre way, praise and blatant lies; speaking of how well you fed it, talents being wasted on a god that heeds you not, urging you towards the ominous building looming over the shoreline.

Dust swept across at a rapid pace, as usual, in the warped realm. Coming up to the alcove, you saw him with his back turned to you. In a smooth turn, he faced you at last. Beautiful, blazing emeralds.

Relationship HCs

His idea of a relationship has wildly different parameters than any normal human would put up with

No matter where you are, or what you're doing, you can feel him at the back of your mind like a fog; it's a bit disconcerting to hear him talk in your head at first, but it becomes normal and he's actually quite helpful when you're out on missions

He expects you to help him study thanatonautics since you can die and be brought back within moments, but that's up to if you have enough charisma to convince your Ghost to let your bone boyfriend crush your skull repeatedly to see what you can learn about death

The relationship feels more like a symbiotic one rather than a romantic one, but you occassionally catch him practicing human gestures you've seen couples perform in public if he's feeling particularly good on a day

You're probably the only person who listens to him talk about all of his schtick and is able to give viable feedback; he is more thankful than he will let on about this fact

He does not like it when you try blocking him off from your thoughts and will demand to know everything you've done in the day when you see him again. In his perspective, he thinks you're trying to leave him behind like everyone else has

Will not handhold, because his hand can literally fit around your torso and because he thinks it's weird. He will, however, carry you places if you're going the same direction

He also thinks kissing is weird, but will (surprisingly!) actually let you give him kisses on his teeth; the sensation of soft flesh on his cold bones is unusual, but something he finds utterly riveting. Not that he'd let you know

Also doesn't like the amount of straight barbarity you inflict on the battlefield, but can appreciate your efficiency with your job; this is him silently worrying about your safety but refusing to acknowledge his crush on the flame throwing ape

His communication regarding affection is terrible, and if you couldn't tell shame on you. His favorite thing about you, that you will never hear from him or anyone else, is your face. He likes the way it changes into different expressions, the life in your eyes, and your lips because Hive physically cannot emote as expressively as humans do; you are an open book he has yet to read, adding new pages everyday

Nsfw 👁👄👁

First off, however you get the size difference to work, congratulations. His height over you is something he enjoys immensely when you two get into it, and it goes without saying he also likes how you "hug" him

He will fuck anywhere, literally anywhere. The floor? Yes. Against the wall? Yes. Hope you're somewhat of an exhibitionist, because he is not ashamed if any of his or Savathûn's troops walk in on you and will keep going

He bites a lot, and is not afraid to make you bleed because your Ghost can just patch you right up

Likewise, he will scratch you everywhere but he does stop to play with the softer spots

He is rough and fast, going after his own release rather than yours; however, he has high stamina so chances are you'll be overstimulated before he finishes

Absolutely a dom, he will not meet in the middle about anything of sexual nature

If you don't actively fight for your life during his build up, he will take that as the go ahead. He may be a Hive heretic, but he has standards

You don't really have the opportunity to find his sensitive spots as he usually restrains your arms, holding them above your head or pinning them down at your sides

He rarely makes actual noises, but he does hiss lowly whenever he makes particularly hard thrusts

He knows that copulation won't result in little Hive/Human hybrids running around with his blood in their veins, so 9 times out of 10 he will hilt himself and come inside you

Fluff

Uhhh, a w k w a r d

Anything that's fluffy is strictly delivered by you, and occasionally returned by Nokris since he doesn't get the point of such pleasantries

If you're fast enough, he will never get upset if you can sneak up on him for a smooch

Whatever he is doing, if you are available he much prefers having you by his side to have an extra set of eyes to help him observe (at least that's what he says)

Since his physical marks are healed quickly, he gifts you odds and ends from old planets his people have pillaged and little items you can wear on noticeable places

Hides it very well, but is extremely thrilled when you come to him when you want to do or learn something new

When you're particularly frustrated by something, he will comb his claws through your hair to his best abilities

Whenever you're with him, his demeanor is typically calmer; Savathûn's presence and influence over him is highly diminished in the face of your Light

The one thing he will willingly do with you that's remotely romantic is stargazing; not because of the romantic element, oh no, but because he wants to catalogue any changes and is very invested in teaching you about space faring

Has nicknames for you like Little Light or >Insert any game seal<

#destiny 2 #relationship headcanon #nokris #nokris x reader #eris morn #oryx the taken king #commander zavala #savathûn

75 notes · View notes

ginemrys · 3 years

Text

soldier on

read on AO3

a small jily/james drabble i wrote and posted on AO3 a few months ago, small heads up that its pretty sad and mentions parental death

---

There was a shift in the air the moment the letter landed in front of him, his senses had heightened. He could hear, smell, feel everything around him as time seemed to slow. He heard the rustle of parchment as he slid the letter out of the envelope. Heard the soft laughter echoing down the long breakfast table. Smelt the eggs and the bacon and the hot porridge. Saw the dried black ink spelling out the words that he had been dreading. Felt the cold ice of fear and heartbreak rush down his spine. Felt his body moving before his mind could catch up, the letter dropping into his porridge as he clambered off the bench.

He felt his feet pounding against the hard stone floor while he heard the yells of his friends behind him, heard the small intake of breath as Sirius read the letter. He felt the cold pellets of rain hitting his face, soaking his clothes to his skin as he raced out of the castle. Stone floor turned to sodden grass as he ran. The rain turned to tears on his cheeks, the saltwater mixing with the fresh as he gasped a rough sob into the autumn air. He tasted salt on his tongue.

He felt his hands and knees crash against the wet earth, not caring as mud caked him. His body was ice; but he was numb from the cold. Numb from everything. They were gone.

They’d contracted the pox right before he had left for Hogwarts for his last year, he’d hardly been allowed to say goodbye for fear of contagion. The healers had forced him and Sirius, promising that everything would be fine, they’d recover within a matter of weeks.

But dragon pox could be fatal, if caught by the right person. Or people. His parents had been old, in their mid-forties when James had arrived. And now they were gone. Lives extinguished by a stupid virus. And James hadn’t said everything he’d wanted to, hadn’t prepared himself for this.

He sucked the cold air into his lungs, trying to remember how to breathe. But how could he keep breathing now when they didn’t anymore? Their hearts no longer beat in their chests, their kind eyes would never smile at him again.

James wasn’t alone, he would never be alone. His family extended far beyond his parents. He had three brothers, one was legally his brother now. He had a friend he likened to a sister, he had a team that looked to him as captain. He had teachers that respected him and he respected in return. And he had her. He had Lily.

She liked him now, maybe she even loved him. She’d asked him out for the first Hogsmeade weekend in October, had kissed him there in the middle of the street. She held his hand in the corridors, stole secret kisses in broom cupboards and empty classrooms when they were supposed to be doing rounds. She let him rest his head in her lap in the common room, her fingers stroking through his hair. He was hers and she was his.

So it was no surprise when James felt her warm hands against his ice cold skin, fingers hooking beneath his chin to lift his head to meet her gaze. Like him, she had tears on her cheeks.

Lily Evans never failed to amaze him, in how deeply she felt. To call her an empath was an understatement, she truly experienced everything that the people she loved was going through. She had cried with Remus when he had told her about his lycanthropy. She’d moped with Sirius after he’d seen Regulus hanging around with the blood supremacists. She’d sat with Peter after his mother’s surgery.

She had never met them, only smiled as James told her stories about them. Yet she still cried with him, mourned their loss in the rain with him. Her eyes were sorrowful, her heart on her sleeve as she kept one hand on his cheek whilst the other moved to prise one of his from the mud. She didn’t care about the dirt.

And James loved her for it. Loved her so much that he let her tug him from the grass, lead him up and onto his feet. Let her wrap her arms around him and tell him it was alright. Let her pull him back up into the warmth of the castle, past Filch who looked murderous at the mess they were bringing in. Let her take him all the way to the Headmaster’s office, sit him down in a chair opposite Dumbledore’s desk beside Sirius.

Her love let him listen to what the Headmaster had to say, to accept that he was allowed to return to the house he now owned for a week with Sirius, for the funeral, to grieve. His hands reached for Lily once the conversation was over, but she was gone. So he fumbled instead for Sirius’ hand, feeling the shakiness there that mirrored his own.

The two of them spent a week drinking, crying, falling asleep in bursts in one of their beds in the house that had once felt so alive. Now it was just empty without Euphemia and Fleamont. It was agony being there. James saw his mother in the kitchen, making him a hot chocolate to ease his pain. He saw his father in the study, surrounded by books and parchments, teaching him something new about history or potion making. He saw all of them on the grounds, stretched out under the stars as Fleamont pointed out constellations, or in the air as Euphemia taught him how to ride a broomstick. The house was full of ghosts, echoes, imprints.

Returning to school felt almost easy. James threw himself into studying. He spent long hours holed up in the library when he should have been at dinner or sleeping. He no longer acted out in class, instead he usually just stared out of the window or at a random point on the blackboard.

He yelled at the team at Quidditch practice, threw his anger and rage into flying and throwing the Quaffle. He had to end the session when he made his Seeker burst into tears under his wrath.

Autumn had melded into Winter, not that James had noticed in his grief. He rarely ate, his Quidditch-borne muscles withering, his broad shoulders turning lean and bony. Sleep evaded him, bags growing under his eyes, his cheeks turning sallow and gaunt.

Most nights he found himself in the clocktower, the thud of the pendulum behind him as he sat against the wall, looking out of the large circular window that overlooked one of the many courtyards. The hours passed with that constant thud, the hands of the clock clunking every minute.

Most nights he was alone, some Sirius joined him. But Sirius healed faster, or maybe he burrowed his pain deep down inside him, letting Remus’ arms console him. But James couldn’t move past it, couldn’t hide his pain.

But one night, a month after, Lily found him in the clocktower. It was cold, he’d not cared to close the window. His eyes were closed, his head against the wall.

He sensed her before he saw her. He heard her tentative footsteps against the floorboards. He breathed in that soft, gentle scent that always surrounded her, a fragrance that always reminded him of sunshine. He heard her quiet, nervous breaths as she approached. He felt the warmth of her body as she settled herself down next to him, and heard the quiet rustling of her pyjamas.

“Hi.” She said quietly.

His eyes opened and he looked at her then and almost felt himself break as he looked in her eyes. Soft green dappled with gold. He felt his heart beat then for perhaps the first time in a long time. He remembered how much he loved her, remembered how patient she had been with him over this month. Patience when he fell into his own head, patience when he yelled at her and their friends.

“Hi.” He replied, his voice cracking a little.

His heart beat again when she smiled at him, when her gentle fingers brushed his hair out of his eyes. When they adjusted his perpetually crooked glasses. When they slid down his face to rest on his cheek.

“Please.” He whispered, staring at her. And he knew she knew what he was asking, begging for what he knew she would give him. And she didn’t hesitate.

She pressed her lips against his, letting him soak in the pure ecstasy that was her kiss. His hand moved to rest on her waist, his body leaning instinctively into hers as he kissed her back, matching every nip and tug, every swipe of her tongue against his. She tasted like hot chocolate and sleep, and he knew she had ventured down to the kitchens when she’d woken in the night for a cup of her favourite drink.

Maybe she had needed this as much as him. She whimpered into his mouth, her body moving until she was sitting in his lap, their chests pressed tight together. Her hand moved from his cheek to run through his hair, while his arms wrapped around her to hold her impossibly closer.

They were panting when they were done, foreheads pressed tightly together. They were breathing, their hearts were pounding. And James knew that maybe he would be okay, knew that even though his parents were gone, he would be okay. Because there were more people that loved him, that looked after him. He had a family beyond his parents, and while their loss stung, he would be okay without them. They were in a better place now.

“I love you.” He whispered to Lily after a time, when her mouth had moved to pressed gentle kisses against his neck.

“I know.” She mumbled back, biting gently against his shoulder that led to a small gasp falling from his lips. She pulled away, smiling as her fingers traced over his cheek again, her thumb swiping over his lower lip. “I love you too.”

He would soldier on. For her. For them. For everyone. For Lily.

#james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #marauders fanfic #peter pettigrew #lily evans #jily #jily fanfiction #james and lily #harry potter #jily angst

26 notes · View notes