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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, and i have a request for reader x lockwood :) what if reader is smart and likes to read and stuff but is super oblivious and can’t make a first move for the life of her? and maybe it’s her first kiss or something idk :D

a/n: ooooh yes this is a cute idea!!! i hope you enjoy <3 this is in spite of netflix cancelling the show. fuck netflix.

warnings: none female reader

Correct Me If I'm Wrong - Anthony Lockwood

You're not sure when the last time you felt truly pretty was.

Most days are spent either in tatty pyjamas that are due a wash, or clothes with a myriad of ectoplasm burns and a permanent smell of lavender that clogs up your nose and makes you need to sneeze, no matter what kind of fabric conditioner you shove into the washing machine. Your hair? Well, it's certainly seen better days.

But today. Today.

Lucy stands behind you, zipping up the back of your dress as you smooth the front of it until some of the wrinkles have flattened out a little. The satin gleams in the hazy light of your shared attic bedroom, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror. When was the last time you dolled yourself up for something?

That's not to say you're overly concerned with how you look on a day-to-day basis, it's just that the ghost-fighting business doesn't really allow for nice outfits. Except for tonight, you suppose.

The Fittes at Fifty Ball is tonight, and you've been dreading it. In all honesty, you would much rather stay at home and get as much research done about the Bone Glass before the members of Lockwood and Co take on a heist to retrieve it, but you've not got much of a choice. You all need to look as inconspicuous as possible seeing as the very thing you need, a book by Mary Dulac, is stored in the Black Library at the Fittes headquarters.

"All done," Lucy says. "Ready to steal from the biggest, most well-protected agency in the UK?"

No, not really, but still you say, "Always."

"I'm going to get our stuff ready." She fiddles with the billowing sleeves of her blue dress. "Want me to pack those biscuits you like?"

"Absolutely, Luce," you say. "Thank you."

When she leaves, you find yourself staring at your reflection for a moment longer and liking the person you see. With a satiny green dress and hair that looks like more than a few minutes of effort have been put in, you look starkly different from usual. It makes you almost yearn for more party heists.

As you're tugging on your boots, there's a knock on the door. The pattern rapped out on the wood is familiar and it makes you smile, and you say, "Come in."

Lockwood steps through the open door and makes his way up the steps into the bedroom. His dark suit makes him look even more professional than usual, and his hair has been combed back neatly, showcasing those mischief-filled dark eyes you love so much. He's carrying something behind his back, making sure to keep it hidden. But the thing you take the most notice of is his tie. It's green.

It likely means nothing. Lockwood wears whatever he wants whenever he wants with little regard for colour - come on, he wears salmon pink socks! - but something about it feels purposeful. You've never seen him wear a green tie. Hell, you didn't even know he owned one. And this is the exact same shade as your dress.

He stops a few feet short of your bed, watching with glittering eyes as you stand and smooth out your dress once more. There's a smile playing on his lips, softer than his usual grin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"How do I look?" you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

Having him see you in a dress, with your hair styled and your makeup done, feels like standing on a stage in front of thousands of people. You're way more nervous than you should be.

For a moment, he says nothing, and you worry that he thinks it looks terrible. Maybe you should've picked the chiffon dress rather than satin, or maybe the red instead of green. You thought you had made your hair look quite nice, but maybe it looks quite stupid...

And then he says, "You look - you look beautiful, (name)."

There's a fluttery feeling in your chest, but you shove it down. You can't let yourself hope for anything that likely won't happen. Friends tell each other they look beautiful. You and Lucy do it all the time! This is no different just because it's Lockwood. Well, maybe it's a little different.

"You, too," you say. Your cheeks flush. "Well, not beautiful. Actually, I mean, if you want to be then sure. I just meant -"

He laughs, and your voice fades off. It's quite possibly your favourite sound, his laugh, because of how light it sounds. After working with him for a few months now, it's easy enough to tell that Lockwood isn't doing great a lot of the time. With his recklessness, the little jokes he makes that aren't really jokes, it's more than evident. So, now, hearing his laugh sound so genuine makes you smile and you feel a little less embarrassed.

"Thank you," he says, his smile becoming brighter. "I, uh, I have something for you. That is if you want it, of course."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Trust me. You'll like this one."

The hand that was behind his back appears, holding what looks to be an old book. The cover is faded, and the pages have browned, but he holds it delicately on the flat palm of his hand. Curiously, you step closer to him and gingerly take it from his hands.

Upon reading the title and flipping through the first few pages, your heart swells with gratitude. "This is a first edition."

"I'd certainly hope so with the trouble I went to finding it."

Your fingers carefully slip through each page, and you smile so widely you're afraid your cheeks might tear. "Lockwood, this had to have cost a fortune! You didn't have to get me this."

His posture is casual, but there's a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that is unmistakable. "I heard you talking to George about it a few weeks ago. It's your favourite book, and your birthday was recently. In all reality, I'd hoped to give it to you then, but today was the day I managed to get my hands on it."

"You -" The words get stuck in your throat, and you can almost feel yourself tearing up. "I've wanted this since I was a kid. I - Thank you, Lockwood. Seriously. This is..."

"You work so hard here," Lockwood says softly, "and I want you to know it doesn't go unnoticed. Besides, you've always been here for me. I wanted to give you something in return."

"I don't need anything in return for being a decent human being."

"Oh, all right. I'll take it back then."

Clutching the book tightly to your chest, you listen happily as he laughs again, throwing his head back a little. It's a wonderful sight, one that has your heart racing, one that makes you itch to throw your arms around him in the tightest embrace you can muster to simply show how grateful you are for the book, for his laugh and his smile and his presence.

But you refrain. Who's to say he won't just push you away?

"Thank you," you say again. "You're the best."

"I hope you're not just saying that because I pay your wages."

It's almost unnoticeable, but he shuffles forward ever so slightly. Already, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and smell the faint scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo underneath whatever aftershave he's put on. Your breath catches in your throat. There's less than a foot between you, but it has you fumbling for something to say or do.

"We should probably head downstairs," he murmurs, gaze fixed on yours. "The taxi will be here soon."

You nod. Neither of you moves.

He looks at you with those coppery eyes of his with a smile that feels distinctly private, and your heart thuds so loudly in your chest that you're convinced he can hear it, too. Words echo in your mind, words you want to say to him more than anything else, but your lips stay firmly shut.

How are you meant to tell him how you feel? That every time he merely looks at you, your heart starts beating as if you've just run a marathon? That you long to be the only person he shares his private smiles with, the only one that ever hears his true, unburdened laughs when you make a joke or make a fool of yourself? How are you supposed to explain that the times you spend with him are your favourites or that you search a dozen different shops simply to find his favourite biscuits to make him smile?

It's easy enough to list it to yourself, to find the words, but to say them to him? It's a different thing entirely, and it makes your mouth feel dry and your hands tremble a little.

"I need to tell you something," Lockwood says, and his voice has become breathier, quieter. "Just in case things go wrong tonight.”

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

He makes to take your book from your hands, and you hesitate. He only laughs, promising that it isn't going far, and slips it onto your crowded bookcase with gentle hands.

Gentle hands that soon reach for yours.

The touch takes you by surprise, but it's welcome. His hands are soft and warm, and they envelop yours. Now he has to be able to feel your racing pulse, surely. There's no way he can't.

"(name)..." He pauses, looking away from you for a moment. When his gaze returns, it's soft, nervous, even, and you find yourself transfixed, unable to look away. "I've been trying to tell you this for a few weeks now, but I couldn't - I couldn't figure out the words, so I resorted to other things. Making your tea in the mornings, asking you to come along with me on errands."

Bright, beautiful hope flickers in your chest, and this time you don't push it down. This time, you nurture it, letting it bring a small smile to your lips. Lockwood sees it, and he straightens a little with confidence. Not much, nowhere near as confident as he usually seems, but it keeps him speaking.

"Ever since you walked through the front door for your interview, I've never stopped thinking of you. Day and night, you're on my mind. The way you scrunch your nose when you're listening for Visitors, or how you become entirely unreachable when you read. How I can ask you anything, and you know the answer to it almost immediately."

His hands are shaking a little bit. You squeeze them softly.

"I like the way you smile, and how happy you are when I remember your order for Arif's. Most of all, I like -"

He's struggling with the words.

"Are you trying to say you like me?"

Part of you doesn't believe it. How could he? He's Anthony Lockwood, a boy from the city who owns his own company that breaks how the system of ghost-hunting works by simply having him be in charge. And you? You're a girl from some tiny town, a nobody whose only virtues are being relatively smart and being able to hear ghosts, though not on a grand scale. In reality, your paths would never have crossed if not for you finding a little clipping in the newspaper advertising for an agent.

So how could he like you? With his admirable Sight, the confidence that you always lack, the charm that could be used to entrance any girl he could ever so wish?

But here he stands, so close to you with shaky hands and faltering words, looking at you as if you've been placed here by some otherworldly forces solely for the purpose of enchanting him. He looks at you as if you're more than you really are, like someone a person could love and cherish.

"No," he says.

And your heart sinks all the way down to the floor, followed by your eyes. Your hands slacken in his, and your skin feels hot with embarrassment. You dread to think of how red you've become, and you turn your face away from him, instead looking at the book he gifted you. Were you stupid for hoping it meant more? Probably.

"I love you."

Three words. Three simple words that have your gaze snapping back to his, your heart rushing to your throat, and your hands tensing all at the same time. Three simple words that spark a blazing fire inside your chest. But, still, there's an ache in your throat.

"Don't kid with me, Lockwood."

His eyes are completely sincere, crinkled slightly with humour. "I'm not."

"You're about to laugh."

"Only because you're funny."

"I -" Your hands slip from his, and you brush your hair out of your face, faltering back a step. "You're being serious?"

With slightly pink cheeks and an almost shy smile, he says, "I am. I wouldn't joke about this, (name)."

"You - You love me? Why?"

"Didn't you listen to that long spiel I just had?" Once more, he takes a step closer. Then another until he's standing even closer than before, close enough that you can feel his breaths ruffling your hair slightly. "Because you're you. Because I admire and adore every single part of and about you."

You have to tilt your head to look at him with him being so close. "Have you hit your head recently?"

"If I have, and this is a dream, then I'm glad you're the girl of my dreams."

"Girl in your dreams," you correct quietly, halfheartedly.

Lockwood smiles. "I love that about you, too. That incessant need to correct me on anything I say."

"Someone's got to."

"Okay, well, correct me if I'm wrong, but would I be right in assuming that you feel the same?"

The words catch in your throat, but you nod regardless, smiling when his smile melts into his wide grin. This grin, it isn't the newspaper one. The infamous Lockwood Grin. This is only for you, something for you both to share solely between yourselves, and it's something you feel eternally grateful for being able to see, never mind be the cause of.

"Fantastic," he says, "because there's something I've been wanting to do for what feels like a lifetime now."

Your voice comes out shaky. "Would it perhaps involve kissing me?"

It does, apparently, because he leans closer until your faces are almost touching. His hands cup your face so gently it's as if they've been created from the air itself, but he waits, searching your eyes for any hesitation or rejection.

He never finds it. When your face tilts in accordance with his, he takes his cue and presses his lips onto yours.

You've never kissed anyone before, so the feeling is surreal. It's as if the very world around you melts away into nothingness until all you're aware of is him and his hands on your face, yours on his chest, his lips on yours. By no means is the kiss long, but it feels like eternity in a single second. Everything feels right and perfect.

When he pulls away, you're a little lost for breath, but you smile at him nonetheless, egged on by his dazzling grin. His hands still cup your face, and you're still clutching the blazer at his chest, but neither of you makes to move. Not when this feels so right.

"I'd do that again," he says softly, "but we have a taxi to get in."

"Who cares? One more?"

And he obliges before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. All the while, you yourself grin. Maybe you should be hopeful more often.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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akatsukirites · 5 months

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Sixth entry for @sweetspicybingo - Sharing Clothes 2ND BINGO! The next three are all gonna be bingos :)))))))) Narutoverse | KisaKonan | G | <600 wrds

Akatsuki headquarters is the only home she knows other than the place they used to live at with Jiraiya. The hallways are unlit to save electricity. Something about the bills being too high or offsetting the pull for Nagato's machines. Konan finds that she doesn't mind the darkness. She stops at a nondescript door and knocks softly. Seconds later, it opens and a shadow with red clouds takes the entire space. The cloak suits him well; high collar shrouding any physical characteristics. He's so tall she can't even see the crossed-out hitai-ate.

"Yes?" He answers in a gruff, but soft, voice.

She clears her throat. "My name is Konan. I've been assigned as your temporary partner for the mission." In a practiced, flat tone.

Kisame tenses, although she can't see it behind the layers of silk. She is a small woman, just barely coming up to his shoulders despite the wedge heels she wears. She wears no hitai-ate, but she's from Amegakure. He can tell by the way she smells– smoke and rain and wet earth. Like a bomb planted in the lake.

"My apologies." He says out of habit. "I was just finishing preparations, Konan-san."

The strong scent of nail polish remover wrinkles her nose. She notices a few fingers still have polish on them; or maybe they're freshly painted. How many times has he re-started?

"I've come to give you something, Hoshigaki-san."

He steps out of the way to let her in. The room is barren. Even though he's lived here for more than a few months, there's almost nothing in it besides his sword in the corner and a plainly made bed. A window is the only thing interrupting the pale-white walls. Although looking out into it doesn't provide much of a view– gray rain pouring down from Akegakure's skies. A variety of items lie scattered on the floor; clothes and money and maps, a jumble of cotton pads and a bottle of nail polish with the standard Akatsuki color. (Madara is such a creep. Making them all wear this shit.)

From the sleeves of her cloak, she pulls out a small, lacquered box and opens it towards him. A seal ring with the word 'South' stamped on a yellow background. Of all the things Kisame is expected to wear as his new uniform, this one is the most annoying. It'll only get in the way of his sword-hand. He looks at her, eyes demanding an explanation.

"It's a long-distance communication tool. You haven't been sent out on a mission yet so it hasn't been made for you until now. The smiths want to know if it fits."

He picks it up out of the box, careful not to smudge his freshly painted nails. It happens anyways, clumsy and inexperienced with it as he is. Kisame has never been careful with his hands. He's not used to it. He tries every finger that Konan will let him, which leaves him his left hand (except the middle), or the right index and ring finger.

Finally, he tries the left ring finger. A traditional wedding finger. Married to the job. Isn't that right? It fits perfectly. He meets her eyes, a glowing amber with nothing behind them.

"I'm good with nail polish if you want help." She offers, seeing how he'll have to start over.

Kisame pulls his hands back.

"It's no trouble."

Konan takes a step back. "Very well. I'll meet you outside when you're ready, Hoshigaki-san." Nods curtly and disappears into the dark hallway.

#sweetspicywinter #[♣️–vdwrites]#♣️–kisame #♣️–konan #naruto fanfiction #kisakonan #kisame #konan #hoshigaki kisame #♣️–challenge #who wants to bet that kisame didn't do a base coat or top coat #i never get to read fics where they're doing nail polish and its serious #like #nail polish scenes but not crack-fic #although who am i kidding lol this is a crack-ship #when i was a kid i spent YEARS trying to find the right color for akatsuki nail polish #and then when i finally found the color i became immediately disinterested

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obeymehasinfluncedmythoughts · 2 years

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Yandere Brothers and Poly! Yandere! MC

The old uno reverse card. My favorite.

I don't know if this is alright but heyyy I did it anyways. I might do the others later too because I really like this scenario, but I need more time bro.

WARNING! THIS IS YANDERE, IT IS NOT LOVE

Lucifer

He might notice your tendencies before the other's do, but he doesn't really think much of it.

It's not like you're going to outwit him if you're lying, but he really doesn't have to worry about about it. You legitamently don't seem like you want to leave.

So he just enjoys life, going on day to day as if you both aren't infatuated with one another, but just regular lovers.

Sure, his more anal tendencies of planning do come up, but it's quiet easy to sway him away from any sort of restraints when you're such a good partner.

He's still incredibly strict though, even if you do manage to wiggle your way out of his more suffocating traits.

Thankfully, making it up to Lucifer is rather simple, it's just that you have to be willing for it to actually work.

Mammon

Definitely doesn't pick up on your shared traits at all.

It's like any red flags regarding your reciprocated affection goes right over his head.

(^^I can't tell if that's for the worst, or for the better in this scenario)

Really though, you can't blame him. Mammon is around you constantly. That means there isn't a chance for abnormal behaviors to be caught, as they've practically been jammed into the relationship since the beginning.

So he pretty much thinks everything you do is normal, and absolutely amazing. There's no complaints here.

Except, for, of course when you grt on him for being overly protective around his brothers.

This is always a topic of fighting in the household.

He doesn't like that you can't be his in the same way that he is yours. It drives him crazy. Especially seeing you get so fired up when a lower ranking demon hits on him, or witches try to kill him, or whatever. He wishes he could defend you, protect you, posses you in the same way you do him.

But instead, he has to share, and he really hates that most of all.

Especially because it's you who says so, and that means you're agree with Lucifer. Gross.

Leviathan

Yeah he probably figures it out really quick.

But, it will take him a while to actually, fully believe it.

(Afterall, how could someone want to be around him after knowing what he does? How could you still desire him after witnessing the envy and utter obsession that possess his bones? There must be something wrong with you.)

He feels bad reciprocating these feelings. Despite you being totally willing, it's almost worse then if you weren't.

At least he can understand your utter hatred for them. He could live with that. This though? It's confusing and he can't tell if he's taking advantage of you or not.

Really, it doesn't make this any easier.

But at least he doesn't have to sneak around to steal your stuff anymore -something Lucifer strictly banned after Mammon and Levi began to stockpile your clothes without your knowledge-. All he has to do is just ask and he shall receive, which doesn't make it any less embarrassing.

Thankfully though, due to your own assertiveness as a yandere, Levi is kinda knocked down a peg. He still has his moments, but there's sort of an understanding; the regonization that you and him are meant for one another, and simply nothing will get in between that.

Satan

He thinks this is so cute.

You're so utterly desperate for his attention that he barely even has to try.

(That doesn't mean he won't, of course. He has six rivals all fighting for your affection. It just goes a lot easier when you're as willing and desperate as he is.)

The only downside in this scenario is he probably doesn't get to use you as much.

You seem to be completely aware of everything happening around you right from the beginning.

There doesn't really seem to be much room to trick you, especially when you seem to be using the same tactics against him.

He does like watching you try to pull these little stunts off though.

Admittedly, it's a lot easier to isolate and control when you're a big scary demon known for your wrath.

Watching you try to make up for that is hilarious... but he must give it to you, using your pact mark to keep him in place really is a good idea.

He'll get you back for it eventually though. Don't worry.

Asmodeus

At first he finds this absolutely annoying.

You're just another one of his adoring fans. Whilst adorable with a wonderful personality, there's millions like you.

Millions that don't break into his room and steal his things.

(Ugh, Mc. All you had to do was ask!)

Fate always has a funny way of working out though, and eventually he finds himself stuck in between confusion and reciprocated feelings.

Love has never come easy for him. Obsession has, but it's more fleeting and sexual. This is different, this is more about you as a person, and figuring out that you feel the exact same way has him beyond overjoyed.

Now, Asmo views himself as much more civilized and romantic then his brothers, so he's going to woo you before he dives into this relationship.

He'll start by picking up on your traits, and specifically catering to them.

(Oh, you like stealing his clothes? Please leave alone the sweater perfectly laid out on his bed. You like the smell of him? It's not like he just put his favorite perfume in your room for a reason! Also those are absolutely his sex toys in your nightstand, he's not going to deny that.)

Asmo is obsessive, but out if all the brothers, he loves to be obsessed over the most.

Beelzebub

He's incredibly protective, so this doesn't exactly make him the happiest person.

(Especially since you do tend to pick fights with people. He really freaks out when you do that)

But, Beel isn't exactly the most perceptive. He just knows what he likes, and goes along with it. That's why he always, no matter how you act, views your relationship as lovingly mutual.

So not much changes, although he does find the fact that you sometimes try to sneak around him to be kinda funny.

Might sometimes let you believe he doesn't know what you're doing, even though anyone would be incredibly suspicious as to where their various clothing items have gone, or why their phone keeps rining in your back pocket.

He thinks it's rather cute, actually, how you obsess over his texts and such.

(He's never been one to do that, but he knows Belphie is, and he kinda accepts it as just a normal relationship quirk.)

Beel will also take any of your concerns and requests incredibly seriously. He feeds your delusion in a similar way that you feed his.

Belphegor

It's nice being in love with someone who acts the same way he does.

He still worries about you. He always will, especially after what he did, but it's not as bad because he knows you've forgiven him, even if he can't forgive himself

Honestly does get a little pissy when you act the same way around his other siblings -excluding Beel- but that's really to be expected.

So he just tries to combat your infatuation with them by increasing your infatuation with himself.

He'll leave his stuff in your room, send you pictures of himself throughout the say, encourage your sneaking behaviors by leaving around little notes congratulating you for finding them.

It's a game to him now.

One that actively annoys his siblings, which is a bonus in his eyes.

Afterall, why should he care what they think? You're the most important thing in the world. If you're happy, especially with him, he can only continue.

#obey me!#obey me asmodeus #obey me yandere #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #yandere obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me x mc #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #poly! obey me #obey me x reader

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from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years

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RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

#i call this fic how many commas can i use in one sentence?#i think this is by far the most crack thing ive written #poor jess #in this house we worship and praise jess the secretary and her thrity second cameo in that ONE scene #if u see a typo no u didnt #the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts

648 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bakugou imagine #bakugou imagines #PLEASE SHOW UP IM BEGGING

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talesofstyles · 3 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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captains-simp · 3 years

Note

Hey!! I was wondering if there’s a chance you could write Angst 4 with situation 4, with Wandaxfem!reader? Thank you so much anywho, I hope you have a great day

I absolutely can and you have yourself a great day too

"Wake up, dammit!"

Warnings: injury detail, near death, thoughts of death and me once again not really understanding how the human body works

2k words

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Being an Avenger required a lot of skills. Practical, physical and mental. You excelled at most of it, your life and that of your teams depended on it. But you had a tendency to let personal matters get in the way.

You weren't the only one guilty of that. You were pretty sure you could name a time it had happened to everyone on the team at some point.

But you and Wanda were much more liable to let that get in the way than the others. You had both made a couple of bad decisions in the past to protect one another's safety. It was hard to control. Your first instinct would always be to protect your girlfriend, as was hers for you.

That was when things were good between you. Things being bad was a new concept, especially the way it affected a mission.

"Clear on the fourth floor C corridor." Wanda said through the comms. You jaw clenched tightly as you withheld the urge to role your eyes.

"I just confirmed that, Maximoff." You said back. Wanda didn't respond to that, not that you expected her to.

You were both working your way up a building that Hydra agents were supposed to be hiding out in. Wanda took the left side and you took the right, there were times where you met in the middle with no exchange of words.

"Thanks anyway, Wanda." Natasha said in an attempt to ease the obvious tension.

You continued to up the stairs to the next floor and tried not to think about the fight you had had the night before. It was a blur the next day, the reason it all started was unknown to you both. You had both been in a bad mood and things had soon escalated...badly. You had both said hurtful things, things you wished you could take back more than anything. The pair of you had formed a habit of giving each other space before apologising, but you had been forced together on the spontaneous mission that has thrown you both off, even more so by the fight being the worst one you two had ever had in your four years of dating. You had no idea where you stood with Wanda.

When you arrived in the center of the fifth floor you and Wanda rounded opposite corners into the main hallway at the same time. You paused when you saw her, she did too.

You were about to say something to her. Something that wasn't bitter or tense. You had the sudden urge to spill out an apology but she spoke first.

"Clear on the fifth floor corridor A." She didn't spare you a second glance, continuing through the building. You nodded to no one and hastily blinked back the tear that threatened to spill.

Focus on the mission. Focus on the mission. Well you didn't have much luck doing that.

"Going on to the next floor." You said steadily. You hadn't done a proper sweep of the floor, but nothing in the building showed any signs of people being there and you needed to put more distance between yourself and Wanda.

You should have waited for her. You knew that. She knew that. No one protested.

As soon as you were on the second floor you let your guard down and leant against a wall to take a moment to gather your thoughts. That was a mistake. A significant one.

You weren't in the right head space for that mission. That become so much more apparent when you when two bullets hit you.

Whether it was shock, panic, being distracted or a most likely combination of all three, you barely registered the first bullet. You saw who shot it though. One single Hydra agent who made a break for the exit behind you.

Just as you raised your gun to fire the second bullet hit you and sent you falling to the ground. You registered him jumping over your immobile body towards the stairs but before he could put one foot on them red swirls surrounded his body and threw him against the wall, knocking him out cold.

Wanda emerged from the hallway and skidded slightly in panic as she stopped to turn your way. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood covering your clothes and hands. You were shaking violently while trying to put pressure on the wounds, but you didn't know where exactly they were. You couldn't feel any pain. Just numbness. And that was terrifying.

"You...no, fuck. M-medical assistance- now. Y/n's...been shot." Wanda stammered in panic as she knelt down beside you.

Natasha was giving Wanda instructions but you weren't paying attention to anything except your girlfriend.

"It's...okay." You struggled to say. Your breathing was laboured and speaking was even harder. The distinct taste of blood was in your mouth but you had to ignore that.

"I shouldn't have let you come up here alone." Wanda scolded, tears trailing down her cheeks as she found the two wounds. She ripped some fabric from her shirt into two pieces and held them against your stomach.

"I probably...would have...bitten your head...of if...you tried to." You laughed, instantly regretting it as pain shot through you. The shock was wearing off and the pain was taking its place in the most unmerciful way.

Tears fell from your eyes and your head fell back against the hard ground as you gasped, struggling for air. Wanda moved behind you and placed your head in her lap while she continued to apply pressure.

"I'm sorry." Your voice broke as you spoke. "I'm... so sorry for...last night." Wanda instantly shushed you and shook her head. Her left hand stayed on your stomach and her right combed through your hair to calm you.

"We both said bad things."

"I didn't...mean it...any of it." You tried to lock eyes with Wanda through your tears.

"Neither did I, we'll talk about this when you're better." Wanda promised, nodding her head to assure herself that you would be fine.

But just as she said that it became increasingly difficult to stay conscious. It was as though there was something in the dark calling to you, urging you to let go. It would be so easy. There would be no pain. But Wanda wouldn't be there.

You put your hand weakly over hers, wanting her to be the only thing on your mind incase it was the last. The feel of her skin against your own, her soothing voice and the accent she tried to conceal but you loved, the way she cared for you like no one else ever had. The thought that you may never experience that again made your heart drop.

The shaking was getting worse and you felt so cold.

Go to the dark. Don't go to the dark. So easy. No Wanda...Wanda.

You couldn't help it. You couldn't stop it. It washed our you like a wave. The sounds around you became distant, as though everything was far away. You couldn't make out what Wanda was saying. She sounded desperate. You couldn't see her either. Everything was blurred. Then it was all gone.

The recurring beeping from the monitor was the only sound in the room. Wanda had always thought she would find them annoying, but the Sokovian never wanted to hear it stop. Not until you didn't need it anymore. Until she didn't need it.

It had been a week since you were shot. A week since she had seen your bright y/e/c eyes. The doctors were skeptical. Wanda vaguely remembered them talking to her about your injuries, the severity of them and how they would effect you if you woke up. Once you woke up. They said it was a slim chance.

Wanda sat curled up in the chair next to your bed watching you, wondering if it felt peaceful to be in that state. She wore your favourite hoodie and had a blanket from your shared bed over her, it was the only thing that brought her comfort.

"Wake up, y/n." She whispered, as though trying to secretly communicate with you. "Please." She raised her voice slightly, thinking it could make a difference. It didn't.

"Y/n." She leant forward in her chair and took both of your hands in her own. All she had been able to think about was your fight. It had been stupid, so so stupid. You hadn't fixed it, not properly. Wanda needed more than than the brief moments on the mission. She didn't get to apologise. She couldn't let you go before she got to apologise. She had done it over and over to your sleeping form. But it didn't count. She needed you to wake up. To look at her again. To smile. To speak. To go on another date. To share another kiss. To sleep in the same bed...to get married. There was so much left to do. Wanda wasn't prepared for it to be cut short. It wasn't fair.

"Y/n please wake up. I'm so sorry." She pleaded as she gripped your hands like a lifeline. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pleaded over and over.

"Wake up, dammit!"

When your eyes finally flickered open you shut them again instantly. It was bright, far too bright. You gave a soft groan at that and tried to shield your face with your hand but found no energy to do so.

Your throat was dry and scratchy and your eyes were stinging from the exposure to the light.

You became aware of the beeping and glanced at the monitor as you tried to adjust to your surroundings, taking a for moments to remember how and why you were even in a hospital bed.

In the corner of your eye you saw movement on your left. You slowly turned your head in that direction and had your breath caught in your throat at the sight of your sleeping girlfriend. Was she still your girlfriend? Your heart dropped at the possibility that she might not be, but you hastily pushed it to the side and appreciated her company.

You had missed her. You had no idea how long you had been out. You had no memory of what it was like. All you knew was the familiar feeling of coming home deep in your chest.

Wanda's slim hand was resting on the bed next to yours and out of pure instinct you laced your fingers through her own, still unable to get over how perfectly they felt entwined together. Would she pull her hand away when she woke up? Would she shout at you more?

Fortunately you didn't have to wait long to find out. Wanda stirred from her uncomfortable looking position on the chair and blinked a few times before her eyes fell to your hands.

She furrowed her brows in confusion at the sight, not remembering putting them together but one look up told her all she needed to know.

"Y/n." She said as a sigh of relief, sitting up straight and gleaming at you.

"Wanda." You croaked with a weak but genuine smile. She picked up on that and with one flick of her tinted red wrist a small cup of water came floating towards you.

"Thank you." You said gratefully and took the cup with your free hand, wanting to hold Wanda's for as long as you could. You gulped the water down quickly and placed it on the bed side table before looking back at Wanda.

"You scared me." She admitted, concern prominent in her shimmering eyes.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head and was quick to speak.

"No, no more apologies from you. I'm sorry. For everything. I-" You cut her off by placing a finger to her lips with a smile.

"Stop."

"I really am though." You knew that, you could see it.

"I know you are." You said genuinely. "And I am too. I don't even know how it..." You trailed off as you opened and closed your mouth, not knowing what you were even trying to say. Wanda laughed and nodded, you had missed that sound so much.

"Are we...are we okay?" You asked timidly, fearing the response so much you couldn't look her in the eyes, only staring at your entwined hands.

Wanda lifted your chin with one of her fingers, wanting you to look at her as you spoke. Her warm smile greeted you like a treasured friend.

"We are. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

"Well then that's going to get confusing really quickly because I'll be doing the exact same." You declared. Wanda laughed again and brought your hands up to her lips to place a soft kiss on them. A smile spread easily across your face at the gesture.

"Come here." You muttered as you moved over to the edge of the bed and pulled the duvet back for your girlfriend.

She eagerly accepted the offer and slipped in beside you, instantly wrapping her free arm around you to bring you close while her other still held your hand.

"I love you." She whispered as she kissed your forehead.

"I love you too." You smiled and held onto her loose clothing and...how the hell did you miss that? "Is that my hoodie?"

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #angst

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classyklancey · 3 years

Text

White Magnolia

Pairing: Keith Kogane x Lance McClain Genre: fluff (pining idiots) Warnings: Keith is so in love it’s gross Summary: Lance convinces Keith to go on a road trip with him to California. Keith struggles to hide his pining Word Count: 3.5k words A/N: this was supposed to be posted for Lance’s birthday but oh well-

Keith doesn’t know why he decided to indulge Lance in such a crazy fantasy. One minute Lance is just rambling about what he misses about Cuba and the next, Lance is driving them both from Texas to California in his blue Tacoma. Keith really can’t find it in him to complain though with the way the sun is shining on Lance’s beautiful bronze skin and the wind is blowing through his brown, curly locks.

What Keith can complain about though is Lance’s terrible taste in music. For some reason, Lance’s road trip playlist—which is mysteriously called ‘Not a thing to do, but talk to you. WE'RE ALL ALRIGHT! WE'RE ALL ALRIGHT! HELLO WISCONSIN!’ and no matter how much Keith asks, Lance refuses to tell him why it’s called that—is mostly consisted of 90s songs. Being the pining idiot that he is though, Keith can’t find it in him to do any more than light teasing in Lance’s direction as he screeches all the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

One song does however catch Keith’s attention, especially since Lance immediately tries to skip it. “What was that?” Keith asks, smashing his pointer finger against the back button on the radio to bring it back to the song that Lance is currently blushing over.

“Nothing! Stop hitting the back button!” Lance screeches as he keeps trying to skip it only for Keith to hit the back button. They do this three or four times before Lance reaches his right hand over to smack and hit Keith. Keith grunts with every hit that Lance lands, not even noticing that the song he’s been trying to skip is finally playing.

When I first saw you, I saw love And the first time you touched me, I felt love And after all this time You're still the one I love, mmm, yeah-yeah

Keith starts to blush along with Lance, his hand smacking Lance’s away and finally bringing the brunette’s attention back to the song playing. Lance hurriedly skips it and looks at Keith out of the corner of his eye, but Keith pretends not to see as he looks out the window. Keith just assumes that Lance is embarrassed for having such a lovey-dovey song playing with Keith here, but Keith can’t help but feel that this is their song.

Keith is a stupid man who has been stupidly in love with someone who will never return his feelings for as long as they’ve known each other. Keith instantly took a liking to Lance despite having never even had a conversation together. Keith had always admired that Lance was so outspoken and friendly with everyone he met.

Well, except for Keith.

No, you see, Lance had somehow decided that Keith was his rival and that Lance would take him down. First, it was little things, like Lance trying to do better than him on quizzes and he’d brag each and every time he’d even get one single point more than Keith. That was annoying but it wasn’t too bad, Keith could handle that. It slowly began to escalate though over time until it turned to them yelling in each other’s faces and having to be pulled away from one another before it got physical. All that ended up doing was causing Keith to shut him out and pretend he didn’t even exist despite the fact that he could barely keep his eyes off of the blue-eyed Cuban. They ended up getting into the same friend group though since Hunk is friends with Lance, Keith is friends with Pidge, and Hunk and Pidge are friends with each other. It didn’t take them long to bring Keith and Lance together, even though it did take a long, long time. The duo eventually started to see each other as friends and became as thick as thieves.

Keith always craved for more though.

Keith is knocked out of his reminiscing when Lance curses because he missed a turn, his frown instantly becoming a smile when one of his favorite songs comes on. Lance goes back to screaming the words which causes Keith’s grey eyes to roll towards the back of his head. Despite his supposed annoyance, his heart is doing tricks in his chest whenever Lance grows focused on driving, which causes his screeching to become light, melodic singing.

Keith is starting to believe that this is what heaven would be like.

Keith’s eyes focus on Lance’s right hand that rests on the gear shift, his fingers tapping along to whatever annoying song he is playing. Keith suddenly has the urge to reach out and tangle their fingers together, to compare who’s hand is bigger and how their skin tones contrast beautifully.

This all repeats for a while, along with occasional chatter, for about eight hours before Lance grows too tired to drive on anymore. They have about twelve more hours to drive and Keith offers to drive while Lance sleeps, but Lance has an odd reaction. He claims he doesn’t trust Keith to drive ‘his baby’ but something Lance doesn’t know is that Keith has become a bit of a Lance expert. If they’re getting food and Lance says he doesn’t want any, what he really is saying is he doesn’t want to make Keith pay since he forgot his wallet. If Lance seems off and says he’s fine when Keith asks about it, what he really means is that he’s not okay but he wants to appear strong in front of everyone.

So, when Lance says he doesn’t trust Keith to drive his car, what he’s really saying is that he wants them to enjoy the ride there together. ‘It’s called a road trip for a reason, Keith.’ Keith doesn’t fight him on it and offers that they get some food before spending the night in a motel.

After getting some extremely greasy fast food and talking until really late, they finally head into their crappy and very worrisome motel. They both stop in the doorway when they find that there’s only one bed, making both of them stare at it in silence.

“I can sle—”

“I don’t mind tak—”

They both go quiet again when they both talk at the same time, both of their bodies turned slightly away from each other. Lance sighs and places his bag onto a small table by the door, starting to unzip it to pull out all his nightly routine items. “Look, why don’t we just share the bed? The floor is absolutely disgusting and I’m afraid one of us would catch something if we even tried sitting on it,” Lance says as he pulls everything out and begins heading for the bathroom. He makes a face when he walks inside of it before turning to smile at Keith and shooting him his signature wink.

Keith sighs and sets his bag on the chair by the table, deciding that he really didn’t want to sleep on the gross floor nor did he want to make Lance do it. Lance would probably complain about it through the entire night and all of his life if he ended up sleeping there anyway. Keith changes into his pajamas right there seeing as how Lance has seen Keith shirtless many times. Not that he ever seems to notice Keith’s shirtlessness…

The same doesn’t go for Keith though. Oh, no no. Keith has become the master at staring at Lance without getting caught. Well, sometimes he does and each time he’s caught, his face erupts in color. Lance always just assumes it’s from their recent workout or being out in the sun too long. Keith thanks God every day for Lance’s obliviousness despite the fact that he’s not religious. Keith catches himself staring at Lance more than the Cuban man does. He can’t help himself though. Lance has the looks of a god, what with his smooth, caramel skin, thick, curly hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, perfectly straight, white teeth, and the list goes on. Keith’s pretty sure he could write a whole book—no, a trilogy—on Lance’s perfect body. The thing Keith hates the most about his stupid crush though is that it’s not just his body that he likes. No, that would make Keith’s life easier and he’s pretty sure that the universe is out to spite him. No, Keith has to like all of Lance. His bad puns, his stupid finger guns, his cheesy pick-up lines, his corny sense of humor, his everything. Keith wants all of him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

“Alright, bathroom’s yours!” Lance calls as he walks back over to his bag, smiling when he sees that Keith is wearing the pajama set that Lance had gotten him for Christmas one year. “No way!” Lance shouts in glee before rushing to his bag to pull out his matching pair. Keith sighs down at his red pajamas before looking at Lance’s blue pajamas.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he grumbles as he walks to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I’m not doing anything!” Lance huffs as he starts pulling on his own pjs. Once they are all ready for bed, they stand at the foot of it in another silence.

“So, uh, what side of the bed do you want?” Lance mumbles. Keith shrugs, not really caring either way what side he gets. “Cool, can I get the left side then?” he continues, already moving onto that side of the bed before Keith can even reply. Keith huffs a laugh through his nose before crawling onto the right side. Both of them lay on top of the covers, too scared of what lies beneath the covers to let their skin touch it. Good thing Arizona is such a warm state cause Keith would think he’d freeze otherwise. Guess it also helps that their AC unit doesn’t work anyway.

Unlike Lance, Keith has always been an early riser, so he’s not surprised when he wakes up before the brunette. What he is surprised to find though is that Lance is laying on his chest softly snoring away. Keith’s arms are wrapped around Lance’s torso and he can’t help but to squeeze him a little tighter, hoping that this isn’t a dream. Keith then finds that the still snoozing dork is sweating buckets, if Lance’s semi-damp clothes are anything to go by. Keith’s nose wrinkles at how gross they are but, of course, Keith’s poor weak heart starts beating faster at the fact that they’re cuddling.

And maybe Keith’s wildly beating heart is what causes Lance to stir and to slowly blink his eyes open. He’s letting out a yawn and beginning to stretch before halting in the middle of it, his eyes growing as wide as plates. He suddenly jerks away from Keith, doing so in such a harsh way that it causes him to tumble to the floor with a scream. Keith laughs and sits up, crawling over to Lance’s side of the bed to look over the edge at him. He finds Lance frowning and glaring up at the amused look on Keith’s face.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles up at Keith, his frown turning into a pout as he sits up. Keith helps Lance up before offering Lance the bathroom first. Lance’s face warms as he stares at where he was once laying, Keith’s brow-raising up at him as he just stands there gawking. He then clears his throat and forces out a bad joke before scurrying to the bathroom.

They both take turns showering and while Lance is taking his, Keith lets his mind wander while he lays on the stiff bed. Keith’s stupid heart makes his stupid brain wonder what it would be like to wake up beside Lance every day, seeing the dried drool on the corner of his mouth and witnessing his sleepy blue eyes come to life the moment they see Keith.

Keith snaps out of his daydream when the bathroom door swings open and reveals a glistening Lance emerging with rolls of steam curling around his body. Keith recognizes the hypnotizing smell of Lance’s vanilla shampoo all the way from the bed, making his heart flutter with the familiar scent.

After Keith takes a brisk shower, they are on the road again. They stop to get breakfast at a diner before leaving the town that they stopped in. It isn’t until they’re in California that they stop again, this time pulling over onto the side of the road. Keith is about to ask why Lance is pulling over when Lance leans against the car and just looks out in front of him. Keith finally takes his eyes off of Lance to look at what Lance has stopped to admire.

When he turns his head, he sees just what Lance is marveling at. Before them are dozens of white magnolia trees that Keith begins marveling at right along with Lance. Keith slowly gets out of the car and leans against it beside Lance, his eyes finding the side of Lance’s face every few seconds. Keith’s eyes widen when Lance suddenly grabs his hand and begins tugging him towards the trees. “Lance! What are you doing? What about the truck?” Keith hollers. Lance just laughs and continues dragging him along without a care in the world, smiling when they reach the sweet-smelling trees.

Lance starts to hum a song as they weave their way between all of the trees, Keith’s heart threatening to beat out of his chest with the way the wind is blowing some of the petals and flowers off of the tree and onto Lance’s hair. They spend quite some time there, their hands still clasped together as they wander around. Keith and Lance end up racing from one tree to another and arguing about who clearly won. Once they settle on that it’s a draw (even though it most definitely wasn’t, Lance), they sit down beneath one of the larger trees to escape the unforgiving sun. They lean against each other and talk about any and everything, Keith’s heart threatening to pop out of his chest when Lance keeps mindlessly playing with Keith’s hands. Lance stops telling a story of something that happened last summer mid-sentence when a whole magnolia flower lands in his lap.

“These are edible, you know,” he says as he picks it up, studying it like it’s one of the greatest wonders of the world.

“What?” Keith asks, not being sure if he should trust Lance or not. This could be revenge when Keith told him that a flower he found on their weekly hike was good and tasted like cinnamon. Lance had been suspicious but ended up going for it anyway and immediately regretting it. Lance just about strangled Keith but Keith had laughed so hard that tears were falling down his face. It made Lance’s job of strangling Keith easier though since his body was so weak from laughter.

“Yeah. They’re actually pretty good. They have a mild ginger taste,” he explains. Before Keith can tell him to prove it, he’s already taking a bite. Keith watches with wide eyes as he chews and swallows, a soft smile coming to his face. Either it’s actually good or Lance is an amazing actor. He offers the flower to Keith and Keith decides to go for it just as Lance went for it when their situation was reversed. Keith found that he was, in fact, not lying.

When Lance finally decides they can leave, Keith stops him with a soft smile. He reaches up, tugs one of the flowers from the tree, and then faces Lance, finding his perfectly waxed brows furrowed together. Keith’s smile grows more as he tucks the flower behind Lance’s ear, causing the Cuban’s face to erupt with color.

Keith has changed his mind. This is what heaven must be like.

Lance finally lets Keith choose some music to play once they continue driving, his hand always coming up to tuck the flower back down behind his ear whenever the wind threatens to blow it away. When Keith plays some of his music though, of course Lance complains about the songs. Keith can tell he doesn’t have any malice behind his words though.

“Do you listen to anything that isn’t loud and dizzying, Mullet?” Lance jabs, turning to look at him with a crooked smile when they come to a stop at a light. Keith scoffs and turns his gaze away from the many shops lining the street to face Lance.

“Do you listen to anything that isn’t repetitive and annoying?” he fires right back with his usual smirk. Lance scoffs just like Keith did before turning his eyes back onto the road, his fingers going back to tapping on the gear shift, which brings Keith’s gaze back to his hand.

When they finally reach their destination in California, the sun is slowly starting to sink towards the horizon. Lance rushes out of the truck stop that they had decided to stop at when he notices it. “Mullet! C’mon! Hurry up! We are going to miss it!” Keith can’t really take him seriously when he’s wearing dollar sign shades that he bought in the gift shop. He’s sure he looks just as ridiculous with his alien eyes shades.

“Miss what?” he asks as he follows Lance at a much slower pace to his truck. Lance doesn’t reply though. Instead, he rips them out of the parking lot before Keith even has his door shut, making Keith screech and holler at him to slow down despite his laughter. He realizes why Lance was in such a big hurry when Lance parks and then flies out of his truck. Keith follows Lance down to the beach, a soft ‘wow’ leaving him when he sees the pretty blue water reflecting the sun that has just touched the horizon. Lance doesn’t seem to think Keith is going fast enough though, seeing as how he snatches his hand up and once again starts dragging him towards the coastline.

When Lance’s bare feet touch the water—wait, when did he take off his shoes?—the biggest smile that Keith has ever seen spreads across Lance’s face. Hunk wasn’t kidding when he told Keith that Lance belongs in the water. Keith smiles and gives his hand a squeeze before turning to look at the setting sun, not even caring that his boots are getting wet right now.

When the sun is gone behind the ocean’s waves, Keith notices they are facing each other with their hands tightly grasped together. Keith isn’t sure how they got into this position but what he is sure of though is that he’s never wanted to kiss Lance more than in this very moment.

“Keith…” Lance suddenly interrupts the peacefulness with a whisper, his eyelids seeming to grow heavy the longer he stares at Keith. Keith is momentarily shocked into silence when Lance uses his name instead of ‘Mullet’ but quickly recovers when he notices Lance slowly getting closer to him.

“Yes?” he whispers back, his voice refusing to get any louder in fear of shattering the dream-like state that they’ve created within the last few minutes.

Instead of verbally replying, Lance leans forward until their noses bump together and their breaths begin to mingle. Keith can taste the spearmint gum that Lance got from the pitstop on his breath, the smell becoming Keith’s favorite scent, second to Lance’s vanilla shampoo. Keith’s heart halts in his chest before going into overdrive when their lips finally touch, Keith’s breath stuttering. As their lips move against each other’s, Keith vaguely listens to the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls squawking.

Keith is once again corrected. This is what heaven would be like.

Keith is knocked out of their blissful kiss when a bigger wave suddenly washes over their feet, causing water to spill down into his boots. He pulls away with an aggravated grunt, looking down at the saltwater that is now brimming his shoes. “Lance,” Keith growls despite the fact that it wasn’t necessarily Lance’s fault. Their dumb banter comes more naturally for them than anything else.

“What?” Lance crows with a look of indignation on his face, his arms letting Keith’s cheeks go to cross his arms over his chest. They fall into the usual repartee despite the fact that now their arms are wrapped tight around the other and refuse to let go. Well, that is until Keith goes ‘too far’ and makes Lance splash him with water. Keith glares at Lance like a murderous wet cat, his claws and fangs starting to show. Lance lets out a squeak before taking off down the coastline, his laughter deafening the sound of the waves that still lap at their feet.

Keith catches up to Lance with ease, seeing as how the tanned man isn’t actually trying to outrun his new lover. Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s waist and snatches him back, making Lance’s laughter cut off with a squeal. Keith spins him around which just ends up bringing Lance’s melodic laughter back.

Keith sets him back down and Lance immediately spins around to face Keith, setting their foreheads together. “We should go on another trip soon, Samurai,” he whispers before connecting their lips for another kiss.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLIST

More with Klance

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Note

hi! hope you're alright! love your writing!! ~

can you do a fluffy sexy one where R and wanda are really close friends (not those secret crushs kind of friend - neither has realized that they are too close to be just friends) until one-day the avengers find out about fanfics and shipps and loose their mind over it cause they are all grown up and didn't know this was a thing, they are all reunited at the living room looking online what are the shipps and, let's say Tony is the one looking while they are all gathered listening, he says like "oh apparently everybody thinks Wanda and R are a couple" and someone -thor, bucky or Sam of course- gets surprise like "they are not dating???" (Wanda is even sitting on R lap and playing with her hair!!) the girls deny and the turns out all team thought they were together, later they are reading some fic about them cause they're curious and its a smut, R gets shy and wanda gets a little turn on about it and says "you know if I was to date anyone here it would be you" so R realizes the same and they eventually get together

I think it has way too much details, sorry

Hello anon! Hope you’re well. This took me long enough i know, but i hope you like it. It’s really short, but it’s all you asked.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - The fandom knows best

Summary: Prompt based “Reader and Wanda are best friends who are one of the popular ships from the Avengers, but they have no clue. It takes one fan fiction for things to work out.”

Warnings: Fluff, humor, brief hint of smut (it’s nothing really), (brief) kissing.

Words: 1.400 k (Drabble i think) // Read on AO3

Marks: @mionemymind @abimess

Wanda Maximoff is your favorite person in the world.

You are colleagues on the Avengers team, and clicked together the very moment you first saw each other.

Everyone on the team knows that you are inseparable and if someone is looking for you and can't find you anywhere, it's because you are sleeping in Wanda's room.

You never really thought about what this implied, so during the Halloween party that Tony planned, you were very surprised when this subject came up.

The avengers were gathered around the table, a few hours had passed since the party had ended, and Tony was beginning to feel bored. So he grabbed the tablet on the table and announced it to everyone:

- I made a very interesting discovery this weekend! - he says with a mischievous smile. - Tell me Avengers, have you had a look at the work of our dear fans?

The team let out a chorus of apprehension. Tony laughed.

- God I'm surrounded by old people. - He comments as he activates the hologram playback function on the tablet on the table. - I found some interesting content about the Avengers. Say, folks, have you ever heard of fanfiction?

The group let out a chorus of excitement, and Tony giggled.

- I should have known you would eventually make us watch porn. - Natasha laughed, making everyone laugh. And then Tony was running through some files, mostly innocent artwork, of the team on adventures or facing supervillains, and you all looked excited. Then Tony let out a little laugh.

- Whoa, I found something interesting. - he says with a mischievous smile. - It has the hashtag "NSFW”.

- What does this mean? - Steve asked curiously.

- You're going to love it, Cap. - Tony retorted, and then there is a not-so-innocent artwork of Steve in the hologram. The shield being the only item he is wearing.

The team lets out a mixed exclamation of surprise and laughter, and Steve turns bright red.

For the next few minutes you laugh and are embarrassed by various more adult art that people have done, and then Tony lets out a wry chuckle.

- Look, this is interesting. - He starts. - The best couples from the Avengers.

- This is going to be good. - Nat mocked, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her beer.

- I am surprised that Potts and I don't come first, it is disappointing to know that people don't recognize a love as amazing as ours. - Declares Tony and everyone laughs lightly. He moves his fingers again, reading something on the screen. - Check it out, Romanoff. Your affair with Banner is in fourth place.

Nat laughs, and Bruce gets a little embarrassed, but he doesn't say anything. Tony continues.

- That is funny. - Tony says with a chuckle. - Apparently all the fans think that Wanda and Y/N are a couple. They are the most popular.

You let out a short laugh, surprised at the insinuation. Wanda follows you, settling better on your lap as she laughs.

- Wait, Tony, what do you mean they think? - Bucky asked with a confused expression. - Aren't you two dating?

You and Wanda frown confusedly in his direction, and you notice that Thor has the same confused expression as Bucky. And then you look around and everyone, except Tony, has the same look on their faces.

- Who else thought we were dating? - Wanda asks and the whole team choruses in agreement. Tony says "I thought you were playing along".

You and Wanda laugh awkwardly.

- Where did you get that from? - you ask in surprise. Then the team shares a wry laugh and you frown.

- Really Y/N? - Bucky replies. - Wanda is literally on your lap! And you've been playing with her hair all night!

You and Wanda shake your heads in denial, laughing lightly.

When you return to your room however, you are thinking about it.

- Hey, stop overthinking it. - Wanda jokes as you walk together down the hall toward your room, and you laugh weakly.

- Stop reading my mind. - You retort without any hint of aggressiveness. You loved to provoke Wanda, and you had no problem if she used her powers on you.

When you arrived at your room, Wanda threw herself on your bed, and you went to find something comfortable to wear.

- Lie down here, I got curious. - She says as you are putting on your pajama pants. When you are finished, you lie down next to her on the bed, stomach down on the mattress, mimicking her position. Wanda is on her cell phone, and holds it out a little to the side so that you can see it. She starts typing something next, and you laugh lightly.

- Why are you researching this? - you ask as you read "fanfic Wanda Maximoff and Y/N".

She shrugs, smiling.

- I want to know what people think we do.

- Wanda.

- Shh, look at that. - She says, holding her cell phone up to her face. She laughs lightly, and then pulls it away showing you a text.

- "Wanda and Y/N have always been in love with each other." - You start reading and Wanda lets out a giggle. - Wow, that is a surprise.

- "In the Avengers tower, they have always gotten along much better than any other member of the team." - Wanda continues reading and you make a noise of agreement with your mouth.

- Technically, I get along with everyone. - You comment and Wanda laughs, pushing her shoulders against you lightly.

- "However, the nature of their relationship changed during a particularly physical training session." - Wanda continues reading and you raise an eyebrow. - That sounds promising. - You laugh half-heartedly, but Wanda continues reading. - "The redhead had been assigned to train with her friend, and during that training she realized the undeniable attraction she felt for the other girl”.

- Oh my god. - You mumbled in embarrassment, trying to snatch the cell phone from Wanda's hands, but she just laughed, moving away. When you insisted, she stood up, laughing lightly as she continued reading.

- "When Y/N made a move that knocked Wanda to the ground, the witch couldn't help but kiss her passionately."- She read aloud and you let out a grumble, getting up. - "Their tongues fought together as Wanda let her hands go up the inside of her shirt to her breasts, making Y/N moan"

Wanda's reading died in a laugh as you tickled her to reach for the cell phone. She threw her body at you next, but you didn't return the device, laughing lightly.

- Stop it, this is embarrassing. - You say with flushed cheeks, dodging the girl's hands as you get back into bed. Wanda grumbles, but follows you.

You sit side by side, and you only hand the phone back to her when you close the page.

- You know what? - She says after a moment, her cheeks slightly pink. You look at her curiously. - If I were going to date anyone here, it would be you.

You blink in surprise, feeling your heart race at the phrase, and look away from Wanda quickly.

It takes a moment, but you finally speak.

- Yeah, I... I would date you too. - You confess, looking forward. To try to relieve the tension, you quickly add. - Maybe Bucky or Nat too, but my first choice would be you.

Wanda laughs, turning to you and ruffling your hair. Your natural instinct is to grab her by the wrists, and throw her on the bed. You laugh for a few seconds, but something has changed. The closeness of your faces makes your breath catch.

- Wanda... I...

- Are you trying to figure out the ending to that fic? - She teases breathlessly, and you laugh, letting go of her wrists. But Wanda uses her freedom to pull your face against her, kissing you softly, and making you sigh in surprise.

- Wow. - You say as you walk away, feeling your lips tingling.

- I know. - she whispers. - Why did it take us so long to do this?

You smiled, kissing her again, properly this time.

When you two parted again, completely out of breath, and with your clothes crumpled, you threw yourself next to Wanda on the bed, laughing lightly.

- I can't believe that the fans knew that you were in love with me before I did! - Wanda then announced.

- And you call yourself a telepath.

You scoffed next, and she laughed as she slapped you on the shoulder. It didn't take long before you were laughing together.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wandaxreader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wandaxyou #wandamaximoffxreader #marvel imagines

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macro-collections · 3 years

Text

You knew it was too good to be true when the frat guys of Alpha Kappa Omega invited you to their house for a “party.” You were definitely a likable and more or less popular guy on campus, but rarely were invited to the exclusive parties by AΚΩ.

When you arrived, the guys were all in their comfortable clothes getting a head start on the drinking games - your typical frat games like pong, flip cup, etc. Most of the guys wore sweatpants, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and a variety of sneakers ranging from well worn athletic type to much more maintained fashionable ones. Not exactly “party” clothes. You also found it strange that there seemed to be nobody from outside the frat there, but figured maybe you were just early. As you shyly walked deeper into the unfamiliar frat house, you get the strange sensation like eyes are locking on you as you pass, only to quickly look away before you can notice. As you examine the room, nothing seems strange. Just a bunch of super attractive college frat guys playing drinking games while consuming an exorbitant amount of cheap beer.

Suddenly, you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. You turn around to see Ryan, the guy who invited you here. His eyes were only partially open, a little bloodshot, and he had trouble standing, but somehow he still had a handsome look about him. He clearly already was several beers and a few hits on a joint in. “Duuuuuude, you made it,” Ryan says in a borderline obnoxious tone. “Yo, guys check it out - look whose here!” One by one the guys leave their respective games and start to make their way surrounding me. They all take their turns casually saying hi. The dull music in the background is upstaged by half-hearted “yo’s” and “sup’s.” As the not-so-genuine greetings go on, it seems the guys share glances with each other - almost like they were smirking to each other?

“Here you go bud - drink up!” Caleb, one of the other guys, says as he hands me a red cup full of beer. “Uh, thanks” I say somewhat weirded out by the whole situation. This is all new to me, so I figured what the heck, drink up and get the party going. Wanting to impress you new friends, you decided to chug the full glass and crunch the cup in your hand. The guys look stunned and shocked as you do this. Their jaws dropped, they looked around at each other and began mumbling things to one another. You wanted a reaction from them, but this seemed to be a bit of an overreaction for just chugging one beer to be honest. Before you could think much more, your stomach feels a sharp stabbing pain and you keel over. You feel like you are going to be sick. Your body gets tingly all over, the same feeling when your leg falls asleep but everywhere. Your vision gets wobbly and dark. There is a ringing in your ear and then suddenly - black.

When you open your eyes, thankfully the pain and tingling is gone. Your vision has returned to normal, except you feel like you may be confused because you can’t make sense of what you are seeing. You see these massive multi-colored things roughly the size of cars moving around you. Stranger still, is that these “cars” have these long narrow things rising above them. If you were being honest, it looked like legs leading down to a sneaker but at that size? It just makes no sense.

“Woah! Dude, look - he’s so tiny! He’s, like, as small as a bug!” You heard one of the guys say, only it was impossibly loud and was seemingly coming from far above you. Then suddenly it all hit you - the tingling, the darkness, the “cars”with things rising out of them. Though it still didn’t make sense, you figured out what had happened - somehow you had shrunk to about 2 inches tall! Those “cars” WERE sneakers - the sneakers of the frat guys of ΑΚΩ! You begin to panic and want to run, but you look up and you see them all - all 10 of them - have you surrounded and are looking down at you. You’re going nowhere.

You hear the guys talking with each other. “Dude how is he so small? I thought this was just a simple prank where we make him just, like, chest height for a while so we could tease him a little. This is way more than that!” Ryan says. “Well I thought he was only going to take a sip! I didn’t expect him to chug the whole damn thing, bro!” Caleb retorts. The guys seem to be a bit concerned. “Let’s change him back and forget the whole thing” one says. “No way! He knows too much now - besides, he is too small to take the reverse pill now anyway!” Another replies. “Shit” Caleb says, noticeably frustrated.

“Guys, guys, guuuys. Chill, bros.” Ryan chimes in with his high-as-a-kite carefree tone. “You’re looking at this all wrong. See, you are seeing this as a bad thing. Where as I, see this as an opportunity. A f*cking awesome one. Dudes, we have our own tiny pet!” The guys all pause a moment, look down at you, and the mood in the room changes instantly. “Yooooooooo that’s sick!” One of the guys relies as the other join in on the excitement of the newfound situation. You can’t believe what you are hearing. PET?

“Ok, ok, ok, but who gets to keep him?” Caleb asks. “I mean, we all want him right?” The others nod. “Alright so I say we play a game of Kings to see who wins him. We will keep the lil’ dude in the middle of the table and whoever wins, gets to keep him. Deal?” The others agree, and suddenly Caleb’s massive hand is engulfing you and carrying you to the table.

The game starts and the guys all take their turns obeying the various rules and taking their respective turns drinking as the game dictates. You see guys staring at you at various points of the game. At one point, when the others weren’t paying attention, one of the guys, Austin, slowly reached his massive hand out and grabs you. His palms are soft, slightly moist, and his finger nails were well-trimmed and clean. His fist closes around you. He slowly pulls you down from the table, and holds you a moment on his lap. Then, acting as if he had an itch, he lowers you down to his grey high-top old skool Vans and slips you into the sneaker, pressed up against his black dri-fit socks and the interior fabric of the sneaker. Austin wore these sneakers all day and every day, so they had definitely been worn in. That was very obvious to you based on the smell, moisture, and heat inside of the sneaker. You could barely breathe, and even when you could, it was filled with the 20 year old frat guys foot stench.

The guys go about their game, almost forgetting for a while the whole reason they started playing in the first place. They clearly have not noticed that you are no longer on the table. In Austin’s sneaker, you manage to position yourself through your squirming to near one of the lace holes. You are able to use that to hoist yourself up and out of the sneaker. Finally, fresh air. Your joy is short lived however as a slight shift in Austin’s foot causes you to go tumbling on the floor under the table. You hear the commotion of the game above you, and you look around to see 10 pairs of sneakered feet. Nike Air Max. Jordan’s. New Balance 574s. Nike running shoes. Black low-top old skool vans. So many sneaker variety’s, all in various stages of wear. As the guys play their game, you had some near-miss encounters with the unaware giant's sneakers. In one instance, you're able to jump out of the way just in time before the dirty sole of a Nike nearly crushed you. Finally, the guys notice you’re missing. “Yo, where is the little dude?” One asks. “Shit, where is he?” You see the sneakers all spring into action as the drunk frat guys begin searching for you. All except for Austin who thinks you are safely in his sneaker. Finally, one of the guys peers under the table, locks eyes on you, and smirks. “Yooooo there you are little man!” He says. "What you doing down there? That’s a dangerous place for you, bro. Besides, you don’t want to be near our nasty fee-“ he catches himself before he can finish. He gets up and you hear whispering from the guys. Then, laughter, followed by a “let’s do it.”

The guys all return to their seats, but one by one they kick off their sneakers revealing their socked feet. Black dri fit, white dri-fit, low socks, high socks, clean socks, dirty socks, each guy had a different sock and different condition from the last. Once all of the guys had their shoes removed, they began to bring them in towards you. You found yourself in the center as these massive college socked feet close in. The heat, moisture, and smell begins to hit you. Suddenly, you have 10 pairs of feet each rubbing over you. You are passed around from foot to foot, rolled and pressed into each socked sole. The guys laugh as they feel you under their rank feet, and they just go about their game. This goes on for quite a while, and the guys get increasingly more drunk. Finally, the feet retract. You think they are finally done tormenting you, but you see that it is about to get worse. The socks are all coming off. Some use their toes to get them off while other reach down and peel them off with their fingers. Eventually, all 10 sets of bare feet are ready, and similar to before begin to close in around you. For a group of college guys, their feet are well maintained. Toe nails are mostly clean and trimmed, the hair on their feet is just the right amount, and their soles are smooth and soft with hardly any callouses. Though the smell and sweat is a different story. Also like before, the guys take their turns rolling you around under their bare soles, forcing your head between their sweaty toes, and adding just enough pressure to knock the wind out of you and maybe even crack a few bones. This goes on for about 30 minutes as the guys continue their game until you feel a set of toes curl around you, and slowly drag you out from the pile towards the frat dude that the toes belong to.

When you get to the bottom of the chair, you look up and see that you are at the feet of Blake, the frat President and arguably the most attractive and most popular guy on campus. Blake has short black hair, deep, warm brown eyes, and a chiseled jawline. He reaches down, picks you up and dangles you between his thumb and fore finger. You are above the table again. “Hey bro-ooos” Blake says in a teasing tone to his frat brothers. “Lookie what I’ve got.” Blake continues with a handsome smile, revealing his perfect white teeth. The others look towards Blake and begin to protest with a sporadic “hey!” or “dude, come on!” Some even reach out to try and grab me, but Blake just pulls me further away from them and laughs. As some get up to try and make their way towards him, Blake lifts you up above his head and sticks out his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah, - don’t come another step closer or else.” The guys pause for a moment and look at each other.

After a brief pause, a voice breaks the silence. “Do it.” Caleb is smirking as he challenged Blake. “He’s bluffing. He doesn’t have the guts.” Caleb says condescendingly. “Oh I don’t, don’t I?” Blake replies. With that, Blake lowers you and places you face first onto his extended tongue. The surface was soft, warm, moist, and smooth. You scream as Blake rolls his tongue back into his mouth, past the row of his perfect white teeth, and closes his lips sealing you in. He begins to taste you, rolling you around and sucking on you like a candy. To the guys outside, they can hear the sucking, slurping and smacking sounds as Blake tastes you. They see a lump appear in one cheek, and then the other. “Still think I won’t do it?” Blake manages to ask, with you in his mouth. “You’re really going to eat a tiny man? Come on dude there is NO WAY you will do it. 10 bucks says he spits him out.” Caleb continues his challenge. Blake simply clinched his lips into a slight frown as he shrugs, clearly trying to play coy with his buddies. Then, Blake closes his eyes, extends his neck some and takes one massive gulp. He swallows hard, and loudly. The guys can hear the *glllckkkk* even over the distant music. They see his neck muscles flex, even showing a slight vein on either side of the neck. His neck thickens as all of the muscles spring into action, and then his Adam’s apple goes up and down. Then, the muscles all relax. Blake’s opens his eyes, and then opens his mouth to reveal that it is empty. He moves his tongue around to show further proof. The guys can’t believe what they just saw - they buddy Blake just swallowed a tiny dude whole! They erupt into comments of disbelief. Blake looks at Caleb, smirks, and says, “pay up, dude.” The others laugh as they watch Caleb hand over a $10 bill to Blake. “Woah, I can feel him in there man. He’s f*cking wiggling around. It feels so weird dude!” The others try to listen to Blake's gut to see if they can hear anything. They all hear the typical sounds of digestion - gurgles and growls - but one swears he heard screaming too. After a few minutes of this, they all get bored and decide to keep drinking, more or less forgetting about you entirely.

From your perspective, you can’t believe you are in the mouth of a 21 year old frat stud. As he tastes you, you are surrounded by the smell of beer on his breath. His saliva drenched you as he rolls you around. The tongue works on you as you as it presses you against his cheeks, into his teeth, and against the roof of his mouth. It’s all disorienting. Though it is mostly dark, there is still some deep red light that manages to shine in through his cheeks. You hear some commotion outside. Blake speaks for a moment causing you to bounce around. You hear more talking outside, and then the tongue pauses, then lifts up. “Oh no. Oh no no” you think to yourself. In one fell swoop the tongue lifts up causing you to slide to the back of Blake's throat. You try to grab on to something - anything - but it is all so fast you don’t have the chance. You reach the back of his throat and are greeted by the uvula. You look up to the dangling muscle above you, and beyond it can barely make out the nasal cavity. The uvula quickly descends onto you and forces your head from where it is in a downward motion. You are now upside down, head first towards the esophagus. You see the flap sealing of the trachea allowing full passage into the esophagus. You barely have a second to notice this before your head is forced into the right opening. The muscles tighten suffocatingly around you, and pull you in a downward motion. You feel the uvula behind you nudging you along the way. The deafening, wet sound of Blake swallowing you surrounds you and you are on your way. You hear breathing and a heartbeat as you descend, finally being squeezed through the tight opening to the stomach. You land in a pool of beer in the stomach. The air is stale and humid and smells like old beer. The walls are slimy and wrinkled. They are already pulsating as it recognizes the new arrival of food. You do everything you can to try abs escape, yelling to Blake to let out as you do. You try and climb out, but there is no way you are getting out. Your skin starts to tingle and burn, the stomach walls squeeze in around you. Beer pours down from above splashing onto you. You hear gurgles and growls around you. More of the stomach juices splashes up from below you, burning you more. You scream. You are getting light headed. After about 20 minutes of this, you are barely conscious. Your last thoughts are "how could it end this way? Just as food for a college frat guy." Then, one final gurgle, a splash of acid, and pressure from the stomach walls, and you fade to darkness as your body disintegrates into a goopy ooze to be further digested as a soupy mix. Blake continues his evening with his buddies, and forgets about you all together until a few days later when he noticed the missing person poster for you. But by then, you and whatever was left of you were long gone.

#macrophilia #male giant #male vore #micro/macro #giant #tongue #mouth #oral vore #feet #soles

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starryhyuck · 4 years

Note

can i request a best friend haechan with a corruption kink?? i love your work 🥺❤️

clueless; 2.4k+

this is so cliché and i love it

hyuck has been your best friend since you were nine. his toothy grin and curly hair practically sold you as he tugged you along for his wild adventures.

you both never strayed far from one another, even as you grew older and met new people.

you shared everything with hyuck except for one thing — your sex life. well, the lack of it actually.

you lost your virginity to lee jeno when you were seventeen, and it was probably one of the worst experiences of your life. it wasn’t jeno’s fault since he didn’t exactly know what he was doing either, but the lack of foreplay really brought you nothing but pain. he apologized after when he realized how uncomfortable you were, but the deed was already done.

hyuck’s had a few girlfriends here and there but nobody really stuck around. you knew he was sexually experienced though from the way other girls would talk about him. let’s just say you’ve heard your best friend is above average in size.

however, hyuck has never asked you about any of your sexual encounters the same way you haven’t confronted him about his. it’s the only thing you two don’t share — that is, until you get wasted on your birthday.

“donghyuckie,” you whine, leaning on him. he laughs and wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady.

“how much have you had to drink?” he asks with an amused expression. you’ve interrupted a conversation with him and jeno. oddly enough, you and jeno don’t speak of the night you lost your virginities to each other. it would just make everything awkward, and you assume he hasn’t told hyuck either.

“jaemin’s trying to kiss me,” you mumble, not answering his question.

“jaemin tries to kiss everybody,” jeno chuckles.

you just sigh. “i need to get laid.”

hyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “excuse me?”

“i’ve only been laid once, hyuck! and jeno was really bad!”

jeno’s face turns beet red and hyuck’s eyes darken.

“what did you just say?”

you don’t get to clarify before you’re being pulled away by renjun, who is insisting you open his birthday gift because he worked really hard on it. after you leave, hyuck turns to jeno with pure anger radiating off of him.

jeno gulps.

—

you don’t remember most of the events from your party other than the fact that you got completely trashed. hyuck is there to help you with your hangover and he doesn’t say anything when you keep complaining.

“my head hurts! why did you make me drink so much last night?”

“i didn’t make you do anything.”

you notice he’s a little more tense and curt with you today, but you don’t comment on it. he’s probably just hungover too.

it isn’t until a few days later when you realize how weird hyuck’s been acting. he hasn’t been hanging out with you often and when he does, he gets really frustrated and leaves. he keeps asking you weird questions like “you tell me everything, right?” and “what do you think about jeno?”

the whole situation’s really odd, and you approach jeno since he seems to be receiving the cold shoulder from hyuck too.

“do you know what’s wrong with hyuck? he’s been acting so weird lately.”

jeno frowns. “y/n, do you not remember what you said at your party?”

you mirror his expression. “no. what did i say?”

“fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “you told hyuck we slept together.”

“i did what?” you hiss loudly, causing jeno to smile politely at anyone who heard the commotion. “no, no, no. no way! i did not do that!”

“yes you did! you even told everyone i was really bad!”

“i mean, you were.”

you both sigh and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “why would hyuck care if we slept together anyways?” you ask him, and jeno rolls his eyes.

“just as clueless as ever.”

“hey!”

—

hyuck can’t stop thinking about you. this is bad. really bad.

he almost killed jeno that night for even touching you. jeno insisted that you two only slept together once and that it was a one time thing. hyuck was still troubled by the idea, and he couldn’t really fall asleep.

he kept thinking about you underneath jeno, moaning and crying for him to fuck you. and as days passed, he imagined it was him instead of jeno. pounding into you, coaxing you to your climax and whispering sweet things in your ear — hyuck wanted it to be him.

fuck jeno.

you’re super inexperienced and hyuck knows it. you get embarrassed whenever a sex scene comes on in a movie and you always grow uncomfortable whenever a random person compliments you. you also confirmed it yourself at your birthday party by saying jeno’s been the only guy who’s fucked you.

fuck jeno.

hyuck can fuck you way better. he wants to ruin you. he wants to make sure you forget everything about jeno — he wants to ram his cock into you until you’re begging for more. he wants to be your actual first, not a placeholder that jeno supposedly is.

fuck jeno.

he can make you feel good. he can show you what a nice fuck is supposed to be like. before he knows it, his hand is pumping up and down his hard cock as he imagines pounding into you. he wants to see you so pliant and submissive underneath him, begging him to fuck you harder and show you how you’re supposed to be fucked-

he groans when there’s a knock at the door.

he angrily pulls on a pair of sweatpants and swings the front door open before he can check on who it is. you stand behind it, a clear frown on your face.

his cock twitches at the sight of you.

“you asshole! why aren’t you answering any of my calls?”

“i didn’t see them,” he grumbles as you storm inside. he closes the door behind you, watching as you observe him.

“i’m sorry for what i said at the party the other day. jeno told me about it.”

so now you’re talking to jeno again. that’s just wonderful.

“it’s fine, y/n. don’t worry about it,” he sighs, moving past you.

you quickly stand in front of him to stop his movements. “i know it’s not fine! you’re clearly upset. i’m sorry i fucked your friend, okay? it was a one time thing. i haven’t even thought about jeno in that way since we did it.”

“y/n, it’s not even that!” he yells and you grow confused. “fuck. why didn’t you come to me when you needed to do that stuff?”

you blink. this was not what you expected him to say.

“what are you talking about?”

hyuck takes a step closer to you and you inhale. “why didn’t you let me show you how it is to get fucked, baby? why did you go to him? you know i could’ve made you feel better.”

you stutter. “u-um, h-hyuck this isn’t-“

“has anyone touched you since then?” he runs his fingers down your arm and you get goosebumps from his touch. “have you touched yourself?”

“i-i don’t really l-like doing that,” you murmur, avoiding his heavy gaze.

“you don’t put your fingers inside your pretty little pussy, baby?” he murmurs, forehead pressing against yours.

“h-hyuck, don’t say things like that!”

“tell me to stop then.”

there’s a beat of silence.

he growls, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your body against his. you squeak. “yeah? you wanna be fucked good, don’t you? wanna bounce on my cock until you’re full?” you whimper and hyuck goes rabid at the noise. he presses his mouth to yours and you reciprocate, not even thinking twice that you’re kissing your best friend. you moan into his mouth when his hands trail down to the curve of your ass.

“i’m gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he whispers against your mouth. “you’ll only think about me from now on.”

he grinds his cock onto you and your eyes widen at the feeling.

“see? see how hard you make me, baby? you’re gonna be filled to the brim with my cock.”

“please, hyuck,” you whine, clutching onto him.

“want me?”

“y-yes.”

he guides you to his bedroom and throws you on the bed. you stare up at him with innocent, doe eyes and hyuck is convinced he’s going fucking insane.

“you don’t know what you do to me, y/n. fuck.”

he shimmies your jeans down your legs and you wish you had worn a sexier pair of panties. hyuck doesn’t seem to mind, taking a lick up your clothed slit. you twitch at the feeling and he smiles up at you.

“so sensitive,” he remarks, pulling your underwear down. you feel bashful when you’re fully on display for him, especially since hyuck is looking at your pussy like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.

“hyuck,” you whine, squirming in your spot.

“sorry, baby,” he chuckles. “your pussy’s so pretty.”

you ignore his compliment, feeling embarrassed by the position you’re currently in. hyuck dives into you, licking and sucking at your folds. your back arches and you cry out, a new sensation filling your body. he holds you down with his arms, pinning you to the bed.

he slides a finger into you and you moan, gripping a fistful of his hair. he groans when you tug at his locks. when he enters a second finger inside your pussy and takes your clit into his mouth, the cord in you snaps. you unravel on his fingers and tongue, moaning his name as you cum.

it’s a blinding experience, something jeno never gave you. you whisper hyuck’s name as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

when you come to, hyuck is kissing your neck. “good orgasm, baby? was it your first one?” you nod, head spinning a little. he smirks against your skin. “that’s right. i’m officially your first.”

he sits up and takes off his sweatpants, letting his cock spring up. your eyes widen at the sight of him. all those girls were right — hyuck was massive. you didn’t even know if he could fit inside of you.

“i don’t think you can fit inside me, hyuck.”

he chuckles lowly. “your pretty pussy was made for me to fuck, baby. i’ll make it fit,” he says confidently, pumping his cock up and down slowly. you watch as precum leaks from the tip. “wanna have a taste?”

“i-i don’t know how.”

he groans, fisting over his cock faster. “i’ll show you, baby. sit up for me.” you follow his orders, falling on your knees and gazing up at him. “good girl.”

you eye his cock and he motions for you to follow the same movements as him. you place your hand on his cock as he instructs, moving it up and down. your hand looks so small on his thick cock and you watch in amazement as more precum falls. you lean forward and take the tip of your mouth, surprising hyuck as he jolts. he shoves his cock deeper into your throat and you gag a little.

his hands fly to the back of your head as he slowly fucks your mouth.

“such a good girl,” he grunts. “suck my cock so well.”

you close your eyes as you take more of him in, saliva starting to drip down the sides of your mouth. you think you’re doing well since hyuck’s making all kinds of noises, going crazy at the sight of you blowing him.

he thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out, groaning when he does.

“i have to fuck you now, baby. have a big load of cum for you.”

you whimper. “but i wanted to taste it.”

he growls, shoving you back down on the bed. “i’ll let you taste it later. i need to fuck you now.”

he pumps himself a few more times before lining his cock to your entrance. he looks up at you one more time.

“you sure?”

this time, he’s not just speaking as a horny teenage boy, but as your best friend. he’s giving you a way out, but you don’t want it. you want to feel his cock in your tummy.

“yes, yes. take me, hyuck, please.”

and that’s all the confirmation he needs. he plunged into you and you wail. you haven’t been stretched like this since jeno, and hyuck is way bigger than him. you can feel the burn in your throat and you sob.

“i’m right here, baby,” he assures you, lacing his fingers through yours. “right here for you.”

the pain quickly subsides into pleasure and you try to roll your hips down on his cock. he grunts and starts picking up his pace, ramming into you.

“wanted this for so fucking long,” he confesses, biting down on his lower lip as he thrusts into you. “feel your pretty pussy clenching around my cock, baby. now you’ll only think about me, won’t you? think about how my fat cock stretches you out? how i ate your small pussy until you fell apart?”

“only think about you, only think about you,” you blubber, mind blank. you’re only thinking about how he’s pounding into you, turning your brain into complete mush.

he chuckles as he watches you envelop yourself into mind numbing pleasure. he takes pride in knowing he’s the only one who can do this to you.

“i knew you were a dirty girl,” he laughs sinisterly. he hoists your legs on his shoulders so he can fuck you at a deeper angle. you practically sob at how hard he’s fucking you. “begging to be fucked. how’s it feel? you like how my cock sinks into you? like how deep i am inside your tight pussy?”

“l-love it, h-hyuck,” you whimper. your eyes roll back at how deep he feels inside you.

you reach your second climax in no time and he groans, hips moving at a rapid pace. you feel like jelly underneath him as you let him use you any way he wants.

he shoots his load deep inside you, moaning at how much he has to give you. you feel warm and filled to the brim with his cum.

he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“good for your second time?”

“you’re my first, as far as i’m concerned.”

he smiles in victory.

#nct smut #hyuck #haechan smut

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homerforsure · 3 years

Text

Whumptober No. 5

betrayal / misunderstanding / broken nose

(Hockey AU)

***

He’d always thought the night Jay took the picture would be the worst of it.

Buck’s hands were clutching the rails of Jay’s iron headboard, where Jay had wanted them, where Jay had placed them after stripping Buck of his clothes, saying “Don’t let go.” His slow, sexy, predatory smile was the last thing Buck saw before the silky black blindfold was tied in place. Jay was gone after that, climbing off the bed, telling Buck how good he looked and what he thought he might do and Buck had arched into the words until he was begging to be touched.

“Be patient,” Jay had purred, appeasing Buck with a single finger drawn shiveringly down his thigh. Buck could feel that he’d climbed back onto the bed, but Jay was too far away and he wasn’t teasing; he just wasn’t there. Stretching out longer on the mattress, trying to find him, he’d said, “What’s going on up there?”

Then the flash went off, the bright light cutting through the thin fabric of the blindfold. Jay swore, “Shit. Fuck,” and when Buck let go of the bed with one hand (one hand because maybe he misunderstood, maybe it was fine, maybe he’d laugh and put his hand back and they’d-)to push the tie away, he’d seen Jay, crouched above him with his phone in his hand.

If he’d asked, Buck might even have agreed. He liked posing. He liked having his body appreciated. But Jay’s expression was the alarm of being caught red-handed and Buck knew, knew with a sinking feeling of dread and betrayal, that Jay wasn’t just taking a memento to savor later. He was taking a picture of Rangers center Evan Buckley, naked, smirking, and vulnerable, to use exactly the way those kinds of pictures get used.

Buck forced Jay to delete the photo, made him prove that he’d done it, and then had somehow managed to get himself dressed and down to the street to get a ride without throwing up. His face burned the whole drive home and for half of the night.

And that was the worst of it until five years later. In a new city. When Buck was finally playing the way he’d always known he could. When he was finally earning the respect of his team and the hockey world at large. When he started thinking he might stay. That was when the anonymously authored post was retweeted and reblogged and shared and gleefully discussed on all corners of the hockey internet.

MY WILD NIGHT WITH AN NHL ALL STAR

The Good, the Bad, and the Kinky

His agent’s was the first text he saw when he got done with practice: “Do NOT respond yet. Call me first.”

It had taken another couple messages before Buck realized what he wasn’t supposed to respond to and in the meantime, the texts kept rolling in. Half of them from numbers he didn’t even have saved in his contacts.

“Dude, is that shit true?”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you know who it is?”

“You dog 😜”

“You never told me you were into that 👀”

“Ignore it, Buck.”

“We’re all with you.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Hey if you need something to take your mind off of it💋💋💋”

“Evan, Mike from the Tribune. If you want to set the record straight, please give me a call.”

From the looks on the faces of his teammates as they tried to pretend they weren’t stealing glances at him, they were getting messages of their own. Hen was the first one to start to approach him with a look of concern, but Buck avoided her, grabbing his bag and sneaking out the door without bothering to hit the stationary bike like usual.

“What the hell did you do to piss this guy off?” Geoff said as soon as he answered Buck’s call. “More importantly, what else does he have on you?”

“Nothing!” Buck answered, nearly merging directly into another car as his hands shook on the steering wheel. “What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know, Buckley. None of my other clients get up to shit like this. You need to get yourself a publicist. I’m going to get in touch with Grant and make sure they’re not already shopping you.”

His agent hung up and Buck’s phone continued to buzz and chime all the way back to his apartment.

There were cameras outside which there almost never were. Mostly only hockey fans cared about pictures of hockey players and the press was limited to the arena and their official events. Maybe one or two regular guys who Buck knew by name. It was just his luck that he lived in LA where there were almost more cameras than there were disasters to photograph.

“Buck! Do you know who the author is?”

“Have your teammates seen the post?”

“Are you worried about other former partners coming out with similar stories?”

Buck pushed past them, but the questions followed him inside. His phone didn’t stop. His mentions were a nightmare on every platform. He shut Twitter as soon as he opened it and saw his name in the trending topics. The statements put out by the Kings and Buck’s agent condemning the piece and the interest in it were drowned out by outlet after outlet picking up the post and sharing it out wider and wider.

Can you guess this NHL player by his sexcapades? (Hint: It’s exactly who you think)

Hockey players used to be the humble, hard working gentleman of sports. What happened?

Should the Kings trade Evan Buckley? Can they?

Nash should make Buckley sit for embarrassing the team like this.

Aw, man, don’t do that. Sitting’s a little tough for Buckley right now

🤣

And I thought it couldn’t get worse than the time he fucked that mascot in Carolina

{This post may contain explicit content}

😵‍💫

🤮

Excuse you, Gritty has standards

[98 more posts]

Whether from a latent masochistic streak or just because he didn’t want to look away and find that the story had gotten bigger while he was gone, Buck couldn’t stop refreshing the pages. He read Jay’s words over and over again as his stomach roiled. If it had all been lies, Buck wouldn’t have spent the morning pressed into the corner of his couch, hoodie pulled up over his head like armor. If it had all been lies, he could have made a fiery statement, condemning the mystery author and condemning everyone who thought they had a right to consume and critique another person’s sex life.

There were some lies, of course, but it was true enough that Buck’s heart clenched with it. True enough that he could remember how he felt when it was happening, during the three times they’d been together before the photo. Soft and desired and joyful. There was a part of him that was still exposed to Jay, that always would be, this man with the sharp wit and the sharp smile who got Buck bare, begging and biddable all to make him a joke. As he read the smug asides in the unforgiving narrative, he could hear Jay’s voice in his ear.

The sixth time he read it, there was an addition.

Edit: Ha ha wow this really blew up. Doing an AMA at 6 eastern if you’re looking for more dirty details.

And for the first time, Buck felt the burn of tears in his eyes. Furious. Powerless.

The buzz of his phone started making his skin crawl so he shoved it between the couch cushions and tried not to think about it. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around, rocking just a little as he felt panic creeping in.

What else could Jay possibly have to say? Would he make up more and more audacious lies as long as he had an audience? Would an NHL team want to touch Buck when he was done?

Were there more pictures?

It was the fourth night, the night that Buck caught Jay. Not the first night with the blindfold. What if? Buck shuddered, sinking lower, deeper into the couch, folding himself tighter and smaller, trying to crush the mounting, hopeless fear. He was there for a long time.

When the gentle knock hit his door, Buck jumped and then crouched tighter into his ball. He didn’t answer. There was no one he could face right now.

The knock came again.

Then the door opened.

Buck was up like a shot, nearly falling over the coffee table as he whirled around toward the intruder. Eddie stood in the doorway, holding up one empty hand and pulling his key out of the door with the other.

“Just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide the fact that he’d been digging his nails into his palms for the last hour.

“Well, you took off. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Hot shame flushed across Buck’s skin. Eddie knew. Eddie had seen the article and the articles about the article and the tweets about the articles and been shouted at by the cameras outside and Buck wanted to sink into the floor.

“Notice you didn’t take the hint.”

The attitude in Buck’s response didn’t faze Eddie at all, “Do I ever?”

And that almost made Buck feel like smiling, because no, no he didn’t. He said, “No. But there’s always a first time.”

Eddie came a little further into the apartment and Buck felt crowded. Eddie always seemed to take up so much space around him. Maybe it was just that Buck felt his presence most strongly than anyone else’s. Especially when he was like this: arms crossed, focused, not letting Buck wiggle out of a conversation that he didn’t want to have.

This time was no exception. When Buck turned and went back to the couch, compulsively refreshing the comments on Jay’s post again as he went, Eddie followed right after him.

“I came by to make sure you were okay,” he said and Buck flinched again, hating that Eddie knew. Hating that the team knew.

“I’m fine,” he answered, keeping his eyes down and away from Eddie. “Coach is going to rip me a new one tomorrow, but my agent hasn’t called me to tell me I’m being traded so yet so I guess that’s-”

“Who the fuck said you were being traded?” His voice was loud enough that Buck looked up, surprised to see the intensity of anger in Eddie’s face.

“THN. NHL Network did a round table on it too, but they didn’t think anyone would take me. Oh, then Kirk Davis did a radio interview.”

Everyone had picked up those soundbites. Even through the heavily bleeped broadcast, the future hall-of-famer’s opinion on Buck had been crystal clear. At least that wasn’t new information for Buck. Davis had all but refused to shake Buck’s hand when he first joined the Predators and was a big part of why his tenure there had only lasted until the trade deadline.

“Kirk Davis is a fucking asshole. There’s a reason they never made him captain.”

“He’s not the only one who said it.”

“Then he’s not the only fucking asshole out there.” When he didn’t respond, Eddie came around the couch to stand face to face with him, noticing the open comments page as he did. “Christ, have you been reading that shit all day?”

Somehow it made Buck laugh. “It’s the same shit I’ve been reading for 8 years. Since I got drafted. Buckley’s a distraction to his team. Buckley’s an embarrassment to the game of hockey. Buckley cares more about getting laid and partying than he does about winning. It’s guys like Buckley that hurt the NHL.”

His voice pitched up as he recited the familiar accusations, staring somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder because Eddie already knew all this about him. Eddie was the opposite of Buck in every way. He would never make himself the center of attention. He’d never do anything to make his teammates ashamed to play with him. He’d never be so stupid as to go home with a guy like Jay.

“Buckley’s finally getting what he deserves.” Buck whispered.

“Look at me,” Eddie said. When Buck couldn’t, Eddie reached out, setting a light hand on his shoulder that got tighter when Buck tried to shrug out of the hold. “Hey. Look at me.”

He moved his head into the space where Buck was staring into the middle distance and waited. Until Buck couldn’t help but flick his gaze to meet Eddie’s. Once he did, he found a furious compassion that startled him.

“You don’t deserve this, Buck. You did nothing to deserve this. It is not your fault. Nobody in our room thinks it is. Bobby doesn’t think it is.”

Buck shuddered under the weight of the words. He wanted to pull himself free and he wanted to step in closer, “My agent told me I should own it. Post a couple thirst traps and a middle finger on instagram and just wave it off like another classic Evan Buckley weekend.”

There was a time when he would have. Times when he had. But this wasn’t a ridiculous paparazzi photo outside a bar, it was… It was private. It hurt.

As if reading his mind, Eddie said, “That’s not what this is. Fire him if he wants to make you pretend this is okay.”

“I just keep thinking if I was anyone else. If I was someone good, they’d all go after him and not me. I didn’t even do anything to him, Eddie. I didn’t-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie tugged him forward and his arms were tight around his back. Buck should have tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help but fall against his chest and cling on. “You are someone good,” Eddie said, making Buck’s breath hitch. “And if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s wrong. They’re wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted him,” Buck confessed into the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I was so stupid back then. I just wanted- I wanted him to like me. And I’m still- It still hurts that he didn’t. How fucked up is that? He did this. And I still just wish he liked me.”

One of Eddie’s hands moved up to cradle the back of Buck’s head. They were swaying, just a little, Eddie rocking them gently. “I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

He managed to keep from crying, but Buck couldn’t stop his breath from coming out in soft, stuttering gasps. Couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Eddie’s back. If he thought about it, he could imagine this post too (Evan Buckley cried like a baby on my shoulder AMA), but Eddie would never do that. The warm heat of him against Buck’s chest was like a blanket hiding him from the world. It was the most vulnerable he’d been all day and the most sheltered.

Eddie didn’t let go until Buck pulled back and even then he didn��t go far, “Have you eaten since practice?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to without throwing up,” Buck said honestly.

“Do you want to order something from-”

The timer on Buck’s laptop shrieked and they both jumped. Eddie recovered quickly, but Buck’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d almost forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Pulling away from Eddie, he turned off the timer and refreshed the post, looking for the link he knew would be there.

“Come on, Buck, really?”

Eddie reached out to slam the laptop closed, but Buck shoved his hand in the way. “I have to, Eddie. He’s doing an AMA. I have to-”

“I’m not going to let you torture yourself reading what a bunch of sick assholes have to say, Buck. No way.”

“I have to.”

“No, you-”

“Yes, I do!” He shouted it, standing up to look Eddie in the eye. “I have to read it. I have to see it now because if- if- if I wait and it gets reposted- I have to know if he has- I have to-”

“Buck,” Eddie said, putting his hands on Buck’s arms, trying to rub calmness back into him even as Buck’s heart-rate accelerated. “What does he have? What could be worse than what he already-”

“Pictures,” Buck yelled. “I have to know if he has pictures.”

A dark, dark look came over Eddie’s face and he stopped rubbing Buck’s arms to squeeze instead. “You think he has pictures?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Buck whimpered. He saw himself as if from above, stretched out long and lewd against Jay’s sheets. He imagined ten thousand other people seeing it. “He took- I caught him taking one. Once. But I don't know if it was the only one. I don’t- I can’t let them get out. If he has them, I have to know. I have to report the post. I have to-”

“No,” Eddie said.

“Yes, Eddie. I have-”

“I hear you. Okay? I hear you, but I’m not letting you do that. I’m not letting you put any more of that garbage in your head.”

“Eddie.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll report every goddamn post.” Lifting one hand, Eddie stroked a thumb softly along Buck’s hairline. “Let me do it. Let me protect you.”

Buck swallowed hard, fear and relief and longing fighting for control of the tears that were building up again. He didn’t want Eddie to see any of that. He didn’t want Jay’s words in Eddie’s head. But Buck really really didn’t want them in his own. He wanted someone to protect him. “Thank you,” he said, falling forward again to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie replied, rubbing his hands firmly up Buck’s back.

Eddie wouldn’t let Buck sit on the couch while he monitored the thread. He fished Buck’s phone out of the couch and made him answer the important messages. From Maddie. From Bobby. From Hen and Chimney. Then he’d told him to order food from the Lebanese place they always ordered from when Eddie came over, asking for extra of the pickled turnips. All the while, Eddie’s fingers slammed onto the keyboard, that sound the only reaction he gave to any of the posts.

It should have been unbearable, letting Eddie comb through the messages. Even without seeing them, Buck knew what they were like. He blocked people every week for the same kind of thing. But Eddie had a defense against them that Buck never had: he didn’t believe they were true. Not even a little bit. He didn’t believe there was a chance that Buck was getting what he deserved for being a show off, for never being a points leader, for being open and soft hearted, for being himself. Eddie believed Buck deserved to be protected and he was ruthless about it.

“No pictures,” he said, a while later, when Jay had finally stopped replying to every comment on the page. “And the rest of it is… well. It’s nothing new.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s done.”

Eddie closed the laptop as if by making that gesture of finality, he could make the words true. Buck, allowed back on his own couch, let himself believe it too. Let himself lean into the safety of Eddie’s arm over his shoulders, breathing in a deep sigh of relief as they caught the Canucks game.

The next morning, Jay’s story was hardly anywhere to be seen. It was replaced. By an essay in The Players’ Tribune. It excoriated Jay. It called out Kirk Davis by name and hundreds of online posters by their bad intentions. It praised Buck’s grace, tenacity, and backhand shot and it demanded respect and compassion and privacy from anyone who called themselves a hockey fan. And it wasn’t anonymous.

#whumptober2021 #no. 5 #betrayal #fic #911 #hanging out at the angst end of the spectrum #911fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hockey au #allison can’t write a short fic to save her life #minimal edits #messy ending #questionable formatting #230 am #😴

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 21

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 21 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story (Part 3)

Yao Qianjin had quite a temperament. When she got back, she didn't even think about eating and went straight to pestering her father to inquire about Chen Bohuan. Although Chen Bohuan was already married, it was done behind closed doors. Who knew about it? Even when their marriage had been arranged, the town never knew about their relationship.

So Yao Qianjin learned that the eldest Chen son "wasn't married yet."

The county magistrate made several inquiries and found that Xiao Chen was capable, gentle-tempered, and his familial situation was good, so he sent someone to talk to the Chen family about the marriage.

Mr. Chen was filled with regret. They politely told the county magistrate they would think about it first. They closed the door and the two old people immediately started to quarrel.

Mr. Chen said: "Look what you've done! The poor scholar died early and his daughter should have mourned him for three years. If you hadn't been in such a hurry for them to get married, our son wouldn't have to regret it now! Look at what happened!"

Madam Chen was also anxious: "You're blaming me? Weren't you the one who wanted to arrange the marriage in the first place? Now there's a better option: the daughter of the county magistrate! Can. . . can Luo Xianxian compare to that?"

The two elders closed the door and quarrelled until they were red in the face. At the end of the quarrel, they were exhausted and panting across the table from each other.

Mr. Chen asked: "What should we do? Should we call back the magistrate?"

Madam Chen said: ". . . We can't do that. Our family is relying on Yao Qianjin's money."

Mr. Chen said angrily: "Then will the daughter of the Yao family be a concubine? Will she? Our son already has somebody, how can we add another? Look at how in love they are!"

". . ." Madam Chen didn't say anything for a while. Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she murmured, "If you think about Luo Xianxian and our son, except for our family, no one knows about them. . ."

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Chen was shocked when he suddenly understood his wife's intentions.

He was trembling, half from panic, half from anger.

"You - you mean. . ."

"If no one knows about it, it doesn't count as a real marriage." Madam Chen said. "Let's try to find a way to get rid of her. We can do whatever it takes. All the surrounding villages think he's unmarried. Do you remember how she stole oranges from us as a child? As long as we all stick to that story, no one would believe her word over ours!"

Mr. Chen strode to the door, confirmed that the door was closed tightly, and hurriedly rushed over. The two people who had been arguing like two chickens in a cockfight were nestled together again, quietly lowering their voices, and discussed.

Mr. Chen said: "This method of you, I'm afraid it won't work."

"What's wrong?"

"Our son won't agree. He's had a crush on Luo Xianxian his whole life. Why would he agree to drive her away for someone else?"

Madam Chen thought for a while. She patted her husband's hand and said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

After a while, Madam Chen suddenly became seriously ill. It was a strange illness. The doctor couldn't explain the reason, but she just would have fits all day and talked nonsense, saying she was possessed by a ghost.

Mr. Chen was terrified so he asked a Daoist priest to come. He carried a whisk on his back and said that there was something negative in the Chen family directed at Madam Chen. If it wasn't resolved, Madam Chen wouldn't make it to the new year.

Chen Bohuan, who was the most filial, anxiously asked: "What attacked my mother?"

The Daoist priest pretended to be mysterious and hesitated for a while. He said it was a "beauty who couldn't see the light of day."

Everyone in the room froze. The Chen family's sons all turned to look at Luo Xianxian standing on the side.

Luo Xianxian also froze.

She has been told many times when she was a child that her life is cursed. She brought tragedy with her. As soon as she was born, she killed her mother, then her brother, and later her father.

Now, she was being accused again, saying that she was going to kill her mother-in-law.

The Chen family was petrified. The sons took turns telling her to leave the Chen family. Besides, no one outside the family knew that she was married and had an innocent reputation. They would give her some money and let her find another good family.

Luo Xianxian was anxious and afraid. She was really worried that she was killing Madam Chen and she couldn't control her tears.

Chen Bohuan was heartbroken. As he watched his mother grow weaker, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want to leave Luo Xianxian, but he couldn't bear to watch his mother suffer. She had lost so much weight in such a short amount of time.

The brothers of the Chen family quit trying to be civil. One day, while their elder brother was away, they sought out their sister-in-law. Luo Xianxian was mixing butterfly fragrant powder in the greenhouse. They rushed up and knocked over her utensils. The fragrant powder fell on her. The pungent aroma seemed to instantly seep into her bones and she couldn't wash it off.

The brothers surrounded her and talked about the most important duties, such as "a woman's virtue", how a wife and daughter should be humble, parents should be respected but Luo Xianxian was very tough. Although timid, she was very stubborn. She cried and said she didn't want to leave, begging them to think of another way.

The second son of the Chen family was impatient so he went up and slapped her. He said: "You're going to kill our mother, you cursed bitch. If there was another way, would your father have died? Would your mother have died? Would your brother be dead or alive?"

As soon as he beat her, the rest of them rushed up, punching and kicking Luo Xianxian, shouting things like "get out", "vermin" and "quick fuck".

These sons had the same idea as their mother. In fact, they had known about their mother's idea for a long time. At this time, taking advantage of their elder brother's absence, they worked together to expel Luo Xianxian from the house. They threatened that if she dared to come back, they would beat her every day. She didn't have a family anyways. If she was beaten to death, no one would care.

It was a snowy night. Luo Xianxian was thrown into the snow covered in bruises and one of the embroidered shoes on her feet had fallen off.

She slowly crawled forward, a muffled choked sob escaping her lips, like the low howl of a dying cub.

It was late at night. Few people would be outside on such a snowy day. She crawled through the vast world, not knowing where she was going, not knowing where else she could go.

The Chen brothers were right.

She had no family; no father, no brother. No one to stand up for her, no one to take her in.

There was nowhere she could go in this white, awe-inspiring world.

Her bones were weak, and she was wearing thin clothes when she was thrown out, so her legs and feet quickly became numb and useless.

Crawling all the way to the outskirts of the city, she came to the earth temple where the Master of Ceremonies Ghost was enshrined. She curled up in the temple to hide from the snow. Her lips were blue and frozen, and her heart felt even colder.

Looking up at the clay statue with gorgeous red makeup, she couldn't stop the tears rolling down her face. It made her think of the rules of the Lower Cultivation World, and how a married couple should have a master of ceremonies to witness it.

At that time, all she had was a red flower hairpin, a beautiful smile and Chen Bohuan kneeling next to her.

Was this closed-door marriage all a big dream? That day, the beauty in the brass mirror was picturesque. Was it just a greedy joy that she had concocted deep in her mind?

She knelt in front of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost, dragging her increasingly heavier and cold body. She bowed three times, crying and laughing.

"Married as husband and wife. No doubt about their love. Rejoice. . . in this. . . tonight. . ."

She started to feel dizzy and her vision was getting blurry.

A thin layer of moonlight seemed to sprinkle in front of her eyes. In the small courtyard from her past, she cried and said: "I didn't steal. I didn't steal. I didn't steal the oranges."

However, three men make a tiger* and everyone was terrified. No one would believe her side of the story.

*(T/N: 三人成虎 - means that the more someone repeats something absurd, the more likely people are to believe it)

To this day, she knew that even if she ran up to every person she saw and screamed that she was Chen Bohuan's wife, no one would believe her. She was still the same little girl as back then, stuck behind the mud wall with no one to share her grievances with.

Nothing had changed.

But there was still that person, looking over the wall, holding a white steamed bun, stuffed into her palm, saying: "If you're hungry, eat a steamed bun to curb your hunger."

Now. . . that person. . . where was he. . .

When he came back and couldn't find her, would he be worried, or would he secretly breathe a sigh of relief because his mother would be safe from her?

Luo Xianxian curled up in the earth temple, eyes dripping with gradually drying tears, and whispered: "Madam Master of Ceremonies, I want to be with him. I'm his wife. . . When we came to the temple, we didn't have a master of ceremonies with us. You're a Master of Ceremonies Ghost. You can't control the living, but I. . . You're the only one I can talk to. . . and I can tell you. . ."

She whimpered in a broken voice, the last sound coming out of her throat: "I didn't lie. . ."

I didn't lie.

The heavy snow was silent, and the long night was quiet.

The next day, the townspeople who passed by the earth temple on the outskirts of the city found Luo Xianxian's cold body.

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#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #chinese bl #bl novel #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #english translation #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan

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bakugohoex · 3 years

Note

Hi babe! Would you mind if I request something for time skip kuroo now please? Idm how you go about it, would love some nsfw content with fluff as well, or whatever is easiest for you 💕 (I can’t deal with angst right now because I’m big sad after reading a fic, my heart can’t take it lol) thank youuuuu and don’t stress too much 💕

“you’re going to take me all”

pairing: tetsuro kuroo x female reader

cw: fluff, nsfw (male masturbation, underwear stealing, finger sucking, nipple play, headboard grabbing, female receiving oral, voyeurism (i think), protected sex)

word count: 2900+

a/n: hey baby, i know you sent the request in today but i was in a kuroo mood so here you are and hopefully you like the nsfw and fluff, but hopefully you liked it my lovely

summary: in which you catch kuroo jerking off to your underwear, both realising your crushes are mutual, you find yourself under him being fucked

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

Kuroo’s eyes fell to the laundry basket, it had been a common occurrence for him to grab your basket filled with dirty clothes and stuff them with his own. He always separated the clothes, remembering the last time you scolded him for putting his red hoodie in with the white clothes. His eyes skimmed back to the clothes in his hands, he had begun separating them, the apartment having its own washing machine which both of you were very much grateful for.

He stared at the clothes, you always did have such pretty clothes, the lace and mesh of some shirts, the tight and loose pairs of jeans that adorned your ass perfectly each time. Then there was the stuff that he had never had the opportunity to see you wear, the lacy bra that he knew you’d hand wash as he put them on the side. He liked how delicate they looked, the sweet innocent bow which would rest between your sculpted breasts.

He had caught a glimpse of them when you wore dresses for nights out or dinner with friends, but the way his mouth salivated at the image of you in the bra between his fingers made him groan in sexual frustration. His hands moved to the last pieces of your clothing, your underwear.

The mixed and matched types between his finger, the cotton texture grazing his knuckles, he could imagine it adorn your ass, cupping at it, he could see how the material would stretch across your body. The little pattern of kittens that would curve into your cheeks, he felt so lustful at the image but worse of all he felt disgusted to be thinking these thoughts.

It wasn’t supposed to be a common thing, but every week whenever Friday night hit, he was able to come off work early. He would always do the laundry, the excitement that came from grabbing the basket filled with your smell made him mind go wild. He’d stay in front of the washing machine, your clothes in his hand as he examined each one, wanting to see something from it. He didn’t know what it was, but the urge that he had every week waiting for ten minutes with your clothes brought him a sadistic joy.

Moving onto the next pair of underwear, he felt the nimble material between his fingers continuing on with the next 6 pairs. Until he reached the last pair, the one you had taken off this morning and chucked at the top of the pile. The cotton red underwear with a lace band, had been on you only a couple hours ago intoxicated him. He moved his fingers from the band of your underwear to the base of it, he loved the last pair of underwear each week.

There was always a little surprise for him within the bottom. The slick that rested across the damp underwear, craving to touch it and bring it to his fingers. You had been telling him about how one underwear each week for the past month had been going missing. He had played it off as the washing machine, but he knew you had gotten suspicious, one last time. This was the last time he’d take the slick filled underwear; this would be the last time. He knew where your underwear truly was, in a rubbish yard somewhere. Every Friday night if you both hadn’t decided to go out, he’d sit in bed, cock pumping in and out until he cummed in your underwear.

Kuroo knew even if he wanted to, this wouldn’t be the last time. He stuffed the underwear into his pocket, already feeling himself get turned on before he chucked his clothes inside and started the washing machine. He saw the clock on top of the kitchen counter, knowing you’d be home any second. It was disgusting what he was doing, he knew it was, masturbating over his roommate, his friend since high school. The sound of the door creaking open, your hand at your ear with your phone resting between the two as you spoke out loud.

You rubbed your eyes, kicking the heels to the side as you gave a small smile to Kuroo before speaking on the other end. “I know, I said I would come and visit but work has been an ass lately.” Kuroo mouthed who it was as you rested the phone on your shoulder mouthing Yaku’s name. Kuroo gave a sign leaving you to the conversation, he stayed at the door towards both your rooms. Staring at how you leaned against the marble island, your ass stretching the skirt material.

Taking a deep breathe he left you, knowing he’d be unable to handle seeing you look so goddamn gorgeous. He grabbed the underwear from his pocket, the lingering smell of your sex across it. He hated how one piece of clothing intoxicated his mind, he never got himself off when you were awake. But the want of being caught by you made him lay sprawled on his bed, he left his shirt on, joggers and boxers moved to his ankles. His head on the pillows that rested upright, he took another sharp breath.

Seeing his hardened cock between his hands, he moved your wet underwear on his cock, gliding it up and down. He needed to be quick, he knew once you finished your call with Yaku, and got changed. You’d come knocking asking if he wanted to share dinner tonight, he always loved when you’d come for him. It felt domestic without the relationship label, as much as he had been crushing on you since your first year together. He had never gotten the nerve to ask you out and now all you saw in him was a friend, a good unfuckable friend.

“Y/n...fuck.” He groaned lowly, continuing to move up and down his hard cock, the precum soaking through your underwear. “F...fuck.”

He imagined how pretty you’d look in nothing except the underwear, how you’d kneel in front of him, hands wrapping around his cock before you licked from the base up to his blushed tip. He gave another groan imagining the innocent eyes you’d have, the way you’d mewl and whimper whilst he stuffed your mouth with his cock. He could see the tears fall, “o...oh….god”, how your lip would tremble as you’d take him further down your pretty little throat.

He continued pumping harder, regulating each pump with his breathing, he closed his eyes, messy black hair sticking to his forehead. He regretted not taking his shirt off, the room beginning to warm up, you had probably put the temperature up wanting to not wear a full sleeved shirt. He could imagine how your chest sat in the tight grey shirt you owned, his mouth watered at the thought, continuing to stretch the underwear across his cock.

“Y/n...please.” He moaned a lot more loudly than he probably should have, but he stopped caring about if you heard. Closing his eyes he wanted you to hear, wanted you to find him disgustingly ruining your underwear. He went faster, imagining how you’d roll your eyes to the back of your hand as you deepthroated him. Every action bringing your scent and slick on his own cock before he felt the hot liquid gush out of his cock right into the underwear. “Y/n.” He belted out as he had let his cum be used to continue his pumping, your underwear soaked with his white gush engrained in it. He wanted a lot from you, but most of all wanted was you to wear his cum filled underwear. Wanted to have your cunt filled with cum, wanted you to have his cum drip down onto your…

“Tetsu.” His eyes shot open; he saw how you stood at the door. Eyes widened and face flushed at what you had said. “I...I’m sorry, I heard my name.” You tried to avert your eyes from his cock, the way he had already cum onto some fabric and was trying to cum again.

“I didn’t.” He whispered but you both just stared at each other, he didn’t know what to do. He had wanted to get caught, but seeing you in the tight grey shirt, the joggers that hugged you tightly. He licked his lips, hand covered in his cum as he dropped your soaking underwear onto his bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

You averted his eyes looking to the side as you continued, “it’s fine, it’s normal, we all do it.”

“We all do it?” He repeated wanting to hear about your own masturbation but knew you’d never confess to it.

“Yeah, I should’ve knocked, I'm s…” That’s when you saw it, the red underwear you had worn this morning. The familiar zigzag pattern that went across it was now covered in a white liquid. Kuroo had realised where your eyes had diverted, how you moved into his room without a hesitance, and ignored the 6-foot 3 man that adorned the bed. You moved past him, he had put his joggers back up, but you had already seen it all. Staring at the underwear, you picked it up without any hesitance, “you’ve been taking my underwear.”

It wasn't a question but a comment, you looked at him, wide beady eyes waiting for a reply, “I...I didn’t mean too, I l…love you okay? And you don’t love me back I understand if you hate me, if you want to move out, but I thought if I couldn’t have you, I could have this. I promise it…”

“Kuroo shut up.” You said staring directly at him, making him look at you in surprise. “I don’t care about the underwear; you should’ve just told me.”

“I’m sorr…”

“Stop fucking apologising, Kuroo I’ve been in love with you since we were 16, fucking hell, you can take all my underwear if it means we could be together.” You had confessed after his own confession, his eyes widened, he had wiped his cum filled fingers onto his joggers. He stared at you before grabbing your face and kissing you with an urgency. You dropped your underwear to the side, knowing it would go in the bin after this all.

He moved you onto the bed, pushing you onto the pillow he had just been on, moving his mouth from your lips down to your neck. “You've been thinking of me at night, baby, is that why your underwear is always soaking baby, you getting wet for me.” He groaned his hand moving under your tight shirt to grab your chest, his fingers rolling your nipple as he pinched at it to hear you moan a response.

“Ye...yes sir, I think about y...ou.”

Kuroo took your shirt off, he had imagined you underneath him. So pure and valuable to him, his eyes looking down at you, a predator ready to eat his prey. His hand continued to rub against your body. “Tell me what you think about.” He whispers into your ear, letting his tongue lick across your neck.

“I think...think about you eating me o...out, your hand around my neck as...as your tongue is inside of me.” You groaned out through his kisses and toying with your nipples.

He moves to meet your gaze, giving a haste kiss before his mouth lingered on top of your own, “want me to eat you out? Go on, tell me you want me too.” He teased lifting his shirt up to get rid of the constricting fabric. His chest and body on show for you as you almost swooned at the man. “Tell me, doll.”

He moved his mouth down your neck, undoing your bra as he swirled his tongue across your nipples, one hand always cupping the other as he worked his tongue to suck and lick at the bud. “I want yo...you to eat me out.” You breathed out heavily waiting to see his next move, he grinned at you. Hands moving to undo your joggers as he saw the pair of pink underwear he had washed last week. The bunnies stretching across your cunt and ass, his mouth felt hungry, he wanted his mouth to divulge into your warm cunt.

“Such a pretty little thing.” He moaned as soon as he had moved your underwear away, his cock hardening through his joggers as he slapped your clit. It made you yelp out a moan and heavy breath as he watched his finger slide up and down your wet clit. “Already so wet for me, naughty girl.”

He sucked his fingers of your slick before moving his mouth down to your cunt, he licked your clit, his hand moving to your breast as his other put one of your legs on his shoulder giving him more access. “Tetsu.” You moaned his nickname, it sent a shiver down his spine, the name you had been calling him for years now had become erotic, seductive even. He groaned before diving his tongue into your warm cunt. He tasted the slick as he felt you arch your back, his eyes looking at your heavy chest.

His fingers nimbly playing with your nipples, he knew you wanted his tongue to go further inside, wanted to feel his tongue glide and strip away all your slick. “Patience baby.” He complied his hot breath fanning your clit before he went back inside your cunt, his tongue easily gilded inside. Your weak moans at how you craved more, wanted to feel his tongue further.

He had complied to your moans, feeling how you gazed upwards, hand in his ear almost pushing him into your cunt. “Plea...please Tetsu, cu...cum.” You were breathless in a matter of seconds and at the sound of you asking to cum, Kuroo came away from your cunt.

“I’m not letting you cum from my tongue.” He mumbled barely audible; your hand tried to reach for his head to go back to your cunt. But was met with nothing, instead you looked up watching him take his joggers off, rolling a condom across his cock. You drooled at the sight of his body, how perfect he looked, the thick cock ready to push you to your limits made you lick your lips. “You’re going to take me all.”

It was no secret Kuroo was packing, the group chats were Bokuto and Kuroo would argue over who had the biggest cock but were too embarrassed to actually show each other in fear one of them was lying. It had led the group chat into having been made to make the guess themselves and it was how Kenma had let it spill that Kuroo was well over 6 inches. You never believed it but seeing it upfront Kenma had underexaggerated heavily.

He moved towards you, capturing your body between his arms as he stayed on top looking over at you, “I really do love you.” He whispers, kissing your jaw, he heard you moan an ‘I love you’ back before aligning his cock right to your cunt.

The way he eased himself inside of you, tightening around his cock, “you’re doing so well baby.” He spoke as he eased himself in and began thrusting inside you.

“F...faster.” You mumbled as your hands moved to his back, nails scratching across his back as your mouth kissed his shoulder and neck. Your drool and saliva falling down his shoulder.

He moved faster, going deeper inside of you, before one of his hands moved to the headboard. He steadied himself with it as he got into a rhythm with it, he looked down at you, the way your legs had wrapped around his waist and hands held his biceps. How could he not fall in love with you, he couldn’t with just how pretty you looked under him. His pretty little mess.

Moans filled the room, the headboard feeling weak under his strong grip, he kept you trapped as he heard you moan and groan some more. “Pl...please…fuck.” Your eyes moved to the back of your head as you arched yourself further into him, wanting him to hit the back of your cunt.

He was reaching there, every thrust getting deeper and further into you. He moved his hand from the headboard, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. You started before he kissed you again, much softer than the first kiss. It was passionate and filled with love and warmth, he continued to thrust, and you could feel the coil build-up of cum ready to splurge right on his cock. “I’m...going to cum.”

“Cum with me baby.” He spoke before going back to kiss you, hand moving your jaw in sync as his thrusts quickened, the pace being much faster than what it had been when you both began. He moved quicker before hearing you moan his name, it echoing throughout the apartment.

“Tetsu.” The white liquid gushed from your cunt and seeped out onto his bed, he moaned continuing to thrust through the liquid.

He watched how your hands moved to his chest, legs still wrapped around his waist letting him continue to thrust until he cummed for the second time tonight, “fuck baby.”

He looked down at you, arms around you as he stayed on top. He didn't expect your next action, your hands wrapping around him, your head moving to his shoulder as you hugged. “I love you so much Tetsu.” It was a tired mumble as you sticked onto him, sweat and sex lingering in the air.

He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck before speaking the same words. “I love you too, Y/n.”

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itsallyscorner · 4 years

Note

Ooooh can I do positions with Sebastian Stan???

Omg hi!!!🖤 Thank you sm for the request, I hope you like it!🥰

Thank you for the requests!! And thank you for the support love! I hope you enjoy this and my other requests (which I need to do soon)!🖤🥰 @its-izzys

💌.

positions

a/n: Decided to switch it up for this one and made the song about Seb’s feelings towards the reader:)

warnings: Some smut for you filthy animals😉

Heaven sent you to me

I'm just hopin’ I don't repeat history

It has been known that Sebastian has poor judgement in romantic partners. Now, that doesn’t apply to everyone he’s dated but there are a few who were just out of line. Everyone knew he wasn’t the best at relationships. His family, friends, heck even his fans could see through the facade of his so called “girlfriends”. He could never tell the difference between someone who’s using him and someone who genuinely liked him. Sebastian was one to be intoxicated with his feelings and loses himself in the moment. Which was probably why he never found anything wrong with the ‘candid’ paparazzi pictures or the constant posting of proof that someone was with him.

You were different from all the other girls he had dated. You were like Spring to his Winter. You symbolized a new beginning for him. Like how Spring would mark the beginning of a new season with its blossoming flowers and the awakening of animals, you brought liveliness to his cold and dark life. You actually terrified him to the core. He was afraid to fall for you because you were well off on your own. In his head you didn’t need him, but he needed you. You kept the grown man on his toes and without you he was not sure how he would survive.

Unlike the other girls, he was scared to loose you. Not only were you the most loyal, selfless, kindest, and caring person he knew. But he knew you genuinely loved him for him. He knew that you could care less about the fame, his social status, or the money. You wanted him for him. You wanted him at his worst, at his best, all parts of him. And it terrifies him that he could fuck it all up in an instant and loose you completely. If that happened he wouldn’t know what to do because he’s never experienced a love like yours. Compared to the others, he wasn’t going to repeat history and make stupid decisions, this time he was going to try and not fuck it up.

Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday

Then make a lotta love on a Monday (Ah, ah)

Never need no (No), no one else, babe

’Cause I'll be

Sebastian would do anything to make you happy. Seeing that contagious smile on your face always gave him butterflies in his stomach that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Hey Sebba?” You asked as you knocked on the wall of his home office one day. Sebastian’s eyes leave the script he had been reading for the past hour and a half as he turned to your figure leaning against the doorframe. You were cladded in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of those biker shorts that made your bum look incredible.

“How was your nap, draga?” He was about to get up from his swivel chair when you motioned for him to stay. You settled yourself onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Resting your cheek against his head you began to play with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck.

“It was good. Except someone wasn’t there when I woke up.” You softly answered as Sebastian pressed light kisses along your neck.

“The bed was cold without you.” You frowned against his hair. The scent of his shampoo filling up your senses.

“I’m sorry, I got excited when the script came and I couldn’t help myself.” He apologized as his squeezed your hips.

“Yeah, I know.” You chuckled as you leaned back to look down at him. He stared up at you with those ocean eyes that you just wanted to constantly dive into.

“Oh! I forgot to ask you.” You jumped in his lap as you remembered the text your mother had sent you earlier that morning. Sebastian nods at you, “What’s up?”

He saw how you slightly shrunk into your body and how your arms unwrapped around him so you can fiddle with your fingers. A little tic you had when you were either nervous or embarrassed. Sebastian comfortingly pressed his large warm hand against your back as the other took one of your hands into his.

“So...um. My mom’s birthday is during the weekend and we’re planning on having a dinner party with the family.” You started as you looked at your and Sebastian’s connected hands.

“My mom said she’d like it if you came along. She wants to finally meet you and she thinks the rest of the family would too.” You finished as you glanced up at him.

You were quick to tell him that it was his choice. You didn’t want to pressure him into suddenly meeting your family. Though it would be nice for him to finally meet everyone, you had to respect whether he was ready or not.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’d love to come!” He immediately agreed, a wide smile on his face that made the sides of his eyes crinkle. Your head snaps up to him in shock. You were expecting to find a playful glint in his eyes but it was nothing but sincerity and joy.

“Wait, you want to meet my family?”

“Of course I do, draga. It’s your family we’re talking about! They’re the most important people in your life and it’d be an honor to meet all of them.” He explained as he gripped both of your hands. Sebastian felt himself smile when he saw the corners of your lips raise to your cheeks.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Seb. Thank you!” You excitedly wrapped your arms around him again pulling him into a suffocating hug. You felt his chest vibrate against yours as he chuckled.

He hummed as he savored the feeling of your limbs wrapped around him and how elated he felt when you were around him. Wrapping his arms around your figure he mumbled into your ear, “Plus, I should finally thank your parents for creating the love of my life.”

Switchin' them positions for you

Cookin' in the kitchen and I'm in the bedroom

I'm in the Olympics, way I'm jumpin' through hoops

Know my love infinite, nothin’ I wouldn’t do

That I won't do, switchin’ for you

The aroma of spices lingered around the house after the delicious dinner Seb had cooked. You guys decided to have an at home date night since the two of you weren’t in the mood to get all dressed up for a restaurant. Plus Sebastian had just gotten back from the airport after months on end of filming in Atlanta.

The two of you were now out on the balcony of your shared apartment sipping on glasses of wine. The two of you looked out towards the city as you leaned against Sebastian’s chest. There wasn’t much talking, just the sounds of the city and each other’s breathing.

“Thank you for dinner. Although, it should’ve been me cooking for you, because you literally just came back from filming.” You turn around in his arms as you admire the man in front of you.

“No, I wanted to cook for you. You’ve been so understanding with my job and the hectic schedules. Plus we had to be apart for so long, I owe you.” Sebastian explained as he moved a strand of hair from your face.

You shook your head at him, “You don’t owe me anything, Seb. You’re just doing your job and I understand that.”

“No, I do. I get that we had our night time calls and FaceTime sessions but it just isn’t the same as being in person with you.” He started.

“You’ve been so supportive and patient with me. While I’ve left you waiting here for so long.” He shook his head at himself before looking down at you. His blue eyes now dark with longing and lust. He leaned down to brush his nose against yours. His plush lips leaving a lingering kiss on your own.

“Let me take care of you, (y/n).”

Perfect, perfect

You're too good to be true (You're too good to be true)

But I get tired of runnin', fuck it

Now, I’m runnin' with you (With you)

Sebastian laid you down gently on the cool comforter of the bedroom. The atmosphere around you two felt heavy as your lips clashed together with desperation and passion. Though the months of not seeing each other were miserable, it began to all feel worth it when you felt his touch for the first time again.

Your hands roamed his body, only stopping when they were hovering over his sweatpants, where a bulge was starting to form. Sebastian pulled away from your lips and took your hand, placing it to rest along his shoulder.

“No, don’t worry about me. This is about you, I just want to focus on you.” His voice was soft and quiet compared to the events that were about to go down between you two.

He gazed down at you for a moment before his palm came up to rest against your cheek. He latched his lips onto yours, nipping at your bottom lips to grant his tongue access into your mouth. Your tongues poked and licked against each other. The heat below you was getting hotter and hotter, making your heartbeat race and a thin layer of sweat to form on your body.

Sebastian moved on to kiss along your jaw and neck. He stopped at your neck, nipping and sucking on the skin until a mark began to form. He helped you take your shirt off, throwing it aside to land on the floor. He watched as your breasts bounced in your red lace bra as you landed on your back again. He sucked in his breath as he looked at you through hooded eyes.

“Take this off, Sebby.” You voice was low with sultry as your nails teasingly dragged on his abs. He yanked his shirt off and threw it to the side. He dived down to claim your lips again, his hands running down to grip your thighs and wrap them around his torso. He ground down on you causing you to softly moan as his clothed crotch pressed down on your mound.

His mouth teased your nipples through your bra. He grazed his teeth along the lace material before sucking on your clothed nipple. He repeated the same action on your other nipple. You pulled on his soft hair as you watched him concentrate on pleasuring you. Your nipples were now peaking against the lace, wanting to be freed from the material. One of his hands flatten on your back and fiddle with the bra until it comes undone. His warm tongue attaches to your breast as soon as they’re exposed, giving them both the attention they needed.

He helps you take your shorts off before removing his sweats. He shifts himself so he’s laying in between your legs with your soaking heat in front of him. You feel his breath against your core causing goosebumps to form on your arms and legs.

“Draga I could smell you all the way here. I’ve been making you wait for too long, huh?” His voice teased you with hints of dominance. He enjoyed the effects he had on you. The way you instantly opened your legs for him and how he was the only one who could make you dripping wet without even doing anything.

You nodded against the pillow and looked down at him. A smirk was on his lips as his nose swiped along your clothed slit. He pressed a searing kiss above your mound as his eyes remained connected to yours.

“Who made you this wet, baby?” He asked huskily against your heat. He felt you clench around nothing as he kissed the wet lace that covered your pussy.

“You did, Seb.” You breathed out.

“Damn right I did.” He pulled your panties off you, the cold air meeting your heat. His mouth was agape as he was met with your heat glistening with arousal. He moaned at the sight and stuffed his face between your thighs. You let out a moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

His tongue flattened against your folds until he found your bud. His mouth latched onto it, sucking and licking at your clit. You emitted a moan, your back arching, as his mouth helped release the tension that was building up in you. He hummed in approval as he brought his fingers to spread your wetness through your folds. His finger teased your entrance before it smoothly slipped in. Sebastian groaned as he felt you clench down on his finger. He moved his finger in and out until he felt you ease up around him. He added a second finger stretching you out a bit more. He made a come hither motion with his fingers as they rubbed against your walls. When his fingers began hitting a familiar spongy area, your toes curled as you hips rutted against him.

He wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you down. You were a mess above him. One of your hands gripping the sheets as the other pulled on his hair. Your head was thrown back, your hair sticking to your face as you moaned at the immense pleasure Sebastian was giving you.

“I can feel you. C’mon baby, cum on my fingers.” He rasped out before his tongue flicked rapidly at your bud. Your knees had came up to your chest as the tension in your body had reached a peak. With the harsh and fast movements from his tongue and fingers, you came with a loud choking moan as your body trembled above him. Your cum spilling all over his hand. Sebastian licked you clean as you came down from your high. He kissed your thighs before coming up to rest his forehead against yours.

“I missed the taste of you. Missed you so much.” He muttered as he licked his fingers. He left some of your cum on his fingers so you can have a taste of yourself. You sucked on his fingers until they were clean of your juice.

Sebastian pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as he lined himself up with you. One hand interlocked with yours while the other led his cock into your sensitive entrance.

“Te iubesc.” He said as he pushed himself into you. Your breath hitched as your walls hugged onto his length. You were filled with him to the brim. You felt the veins along his length and the weight of him in you.

“Si eu te iubesc.” You whimpered as he pushed even deeper into you. His eyes intensely locked onto yours as his hips rocked back and forth. His cock pushing in and out of you. He was dizzy with the feeling of you around him. You were like a drug and he was addicted to you. Everything about you was perfect. He fit into you like a puzzle piece, like you were meant for him, and he didn’t need anyone else. Just you.

This some shit that I usually don't do (Yeah)

But for you, I kinda, kinda want to (Mmm)

'Cause you're down for me and I'm down too

Sebastian would do anything for you. If he could, he would take you around the world to show you new places that you’ve been dreaming of visiting. He wasn’t afraid to show you off. Of course, he was private when it came to your relationship, but when he had the chance to show you off he always took it. He was proud to take you to premieres and introduce you to his friends and co-stars. Everyone could see how deeply in love he was with you. They’ve never seen him so entranced with someone. From the way he looked at you to how his hand was always protectively on you.

Sebastian thanked his lucky stars as he watched you lean against the balcony railing of the hotel you two were staying at in Paris. You were watching the city below you as the wind blew against your hair. The sun shined on you enhancing your natural glow. You looked so relaxed and carefree as if you’ve never had experience a day of stress in your life. He saw a small smile on your face as your fingers skimmed the rail.

You turned around to see Sebastian sitting on a chair inside the bedroom. He was staring at you, a dreamy look on his face. You smiled at him and giggled.

“Get over here and look at the city with me.” You motioned for him to come over as you held your hand out for him. He got up and took your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss on your knuckles. You turned around to lean against his chest as his buff arms wrapped around your figure. His head rested on your shoulder, pressing kisses against the bare skin every few minutes.

He could stay there for eternity. You in his arms as you both silently watched the hues of pink, purple, and orange take over the sky in Paris. You were all he needed, it didn’t matter where he was, he just needed to have you with him.

draga ~ darling

te iubesc ~ I love you

si eu te iubesc ~ I love you too

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