#they’re gonna turn on me and come to my house and steal my bones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jackrrabbit · 2 years

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[excerpts of upcoming works.]

so as i discovered on @dream-theory the other day, i have over 63,000 words of wips right now??

i'm trying to rev myself up to post more, so here are a few excerpts from some of my favorite unfinished works, ranging from smut to fucked up smut! if anything here looks interesting to you, lmk so i'll be extra motivated to finish it ♥︎

pairings included in this post: [BNHA] Hawks x reader ✧ [BNHA] Todoroki x reader ✧ [BNHA] Overhaul x reader ✧ [BNHA] Shigaraki x reader (iwcb p4!) ✧ [KNY] Sanemi x reader (x Rengoku).

cw for all works: 18+, f!reader, all characters are adults. (btw these are the usual shitty first drafts, please have mercy 😭)

[BNHA] Hawks x reader /// Champagne Room

Summary: A petty thief gets more than she bargained for when she tries to take advantage of a pro.

Warnings: stripper!reader, love-drunk Hawks

Status: 2.5k words written out of ~5k total

You wouldn’t call yourself a villain, but sometimes you get jobs. At first it was all anonymous: letters in your mailbox with no return address, voicemails from blocked numbers. A time and a date, a name, a list of questions. And a number. Your reward. You ignored the requests at first, but then the numbers got bigger and bigger—and hey, if they knew your phone number and your address you were already screwed, so…

You made it happen. You did your thing (seduction, interrogation, et cetera) same as usual, except this time you did it on command. It was just one time, and then then two times, and—wow, the money was good. Way better than what you were getting skimming cards. You’re saving up for a house now. You’re gonna retire early. Maybe all the times you got called a tease or a slut or a bitch in high school because of your quirk were worth it, because now the newspapers are starting to call you Heartbreaker. For a villain name, it has a nice ring to it.

Hawks isn’t a job like those, though. He’s more of a vanity project, an impulse target. You’ll go easy on him—you’ll just get his savings account info and take a few rent payments out of it. No harm, no foul. Won’t even make a dent in his hero income, you’re nice like that.

“So…Keigo…do you trust me?” You rub your ass against the stiff bulge and trace fingers down the rigid bones at the top of his wings. You’re laying your quirk on so thick you can almost smell it in the air, you can almost taste it. So can he.

Hawks breathes in and his whole body trembles. “Course I do, angel, of course…fuck, I…” He blinks quickly. You can see it bearing down onto him, pushing away his self-interest: your influence, your charisma. Your quirk. The lights change and the melted gold of his eyes is slashed pink-purple-blue in the reflection. Wings curl around you, closing you in like an embrace.

“Can you do something for me?”

“…sure, if you want…?” Anything you want, anything for you, his hands say, hovering, almost touching your thighs, but Hawks won’t touch you until you give him permission, he can’t.

“Anything?” you ask, staring deep into his eyes like this is a romance novel and not a private room where you’re about to steal from the #2 hero. It’s like hypnosis, to be honest. Needs a connection.

“Anything, angel,” he breathes.

[BNHA] Todoroki x reader /// Experience

Summary: Todoroki knows his relationship with his boss will only work as long as there are no strings attached, but the arrangement gets a lot more complicated when her ex comes back into the picture.

Warnings: office relationship, alcohol mention

Status: 5.3k words written out of 8k (??? who fucking knows) total

They’re both laughing now, giggling like schoolchildren testing out curse words for the first time. The look on Todoroki’s face must not be as neutral as he wants it to be, because Kaminari notices—turns toward him and asks, “what do you think, Todoroki?”

It’s harmless. Todoroki knows that, knows Kaminari and Ashido don’t mean anything by it. It’s the same thing the other students do in university with good-looking professors and TAs, the way they’ve always done. And even though Todoroki doesn’t really understand the way they see you (hot for teacher? ice princess?) he can’t really admit he disagrees.

“Todoroki? You okay?” Ashido frowns and waves her hand in front of his face. “You’re totally zoned out tonight.”

“…I should go,” Todoroki says, standing suddenly and collecting his coat from the seat next to him. Ashido and Kaminari protest (“it’s early! you’re not even drunk yet!”), but he ignores them. “I have to go back to the office.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re going to work even more,” Kaminari moans while Ashido nods ruefully along with him. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Todoroki doesn’t need to work. He needs one of the account files for a deadline this weekend, and that’s what he tells them while he calls a car to take him back. He could get it tomorrow, Saturday—which is what he was planning to when he left this evening—but he wants to be there now, for some reason…it’s past 9PM on a Friday, and there’s no reason that you’d still be there, but…

There you are, sitting alone in your office, facing the view of the late-night skyline through your window. The sky is flat purple-black—there’s too much pollution to see the stars here in the city, Todoroki knows that—but the surrounding buildings are shimmering in the dark. You turn when you hear the door to the office open, and the expression on your face is like you’ve been caught in a private moment, something you didn’t intend for him to see.

“…Todoroki.” Your mouth moves around his name like you’re testing it. “You’re back.”

“I need to pick up the Steubens file,” he says slowly, hoping you can’t hear any hint of uncertainty in his voice. He didn’t drink much (two, two and half maybe, and his tolerance is always better than people think it is) but he doesn’t want you to think he’s been irresponsible.

“You should take a break this weekend. Don’t worry about the deadline, I’ll take care of it,” you tell him, letting your gaze flick over him. You frown a bit and he wonders what you’re seeing—his dress shirt unbuttoned under his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up past his forearms; his hair a little rumpled out of the style he puts it in for work. “Were you out with the interns? You didn’t need to come back to the office.”

Todoroki pulls long fingers through his hair and you follow the movement. “I don’t mind.”

You have this way of looking at him—always appraising, evaluating him against some secret standard that he may or may not measure up to. Kaminari’s theorized that it’s an intimidation tactic. It makes the other interns squirm, but Todoroki doesn’t have trouble holding your gaze. “If you insist,” you say finally. “But you shouldn’t work too hard. You should enjoy life while you’re young.”

The file is in the cabinet at your right, exactly where Todoroki knows you keep it. He should just take it. He should leave the office and go home, go to sleep. He should stop—standing here, in front of your desk, looking down at you, wanting you. Your hands, your voice, the soft bow of your lips… Maybe he’s less sober than he thought he was. He wants to touch you. He wants to be touched.

“(Y/N),” he says. It isn’t supposed to sound like it does, like a sigh. “I’m sorry…I’ve been drinking.”

You’ve already turned back to the screen of your computer, but you still shrug. “Why are you sorry? You’re an adult, what you do on you own time isn’t any of my business. As long as you’re getting your work done…”

“Not for that,” Todoroki says. “I’m sorry for this.” And he leans down, folds his hand under your chin, and kisses you.

You’re stiff for a second—he can feel the surprised intake of breath with your mouth against his—but he pushes closer to you and you relax, fraction by fraction. Your mouth tastes fresh and sweet, like peppermint. His hand finds the desk—bracing himself, he feels like his knees might give out—and the edge of one of your documents bites into the side of his palm. Let this be real, he thinks. Don’t let her move.

Closer, he has to be closer to you.

Todoroki kisses you harder.

[BNHA] Overhaul x reader /// do no harm

Summary: He'd forgotten what it feels like to want something this badly. (—over the course of his imprisonment in Tartarus, Chisaki develops a fixation on a young researcher sent to rebuild his arms.)

Warnings!!!!: prison setting, ableism, mentions of injury and unethical medical/prison practices, mentions of drug addiction, Chisaki's mental state is not healthy, this one's gonna be pretty fucked ngl

Status: 1.8 words written out of an infinite amount total...seriously I have no idea for this one, it's been marinating in my head since I first created this blog :x

Red—

Lights, cold. His eyes are already open. In the exam room. Someone’s speaking, not the doctor, not one of the nurses, someone else.

Someone else?

White, white. Someone’s hand hovering over his shoulder, latex gloves brushing his skin. Not a doctor. You don’t feel like a doctor. You keep— skimming over his chest, too nervous to really touch him. Your hands are warm in the center, cold at the fingertips. You touch him like you’re afraid. You feel—

He can—he can smell you. Everything here smells sterile and chemical and he got used to it, let it fade into the background until the millisecond of metallic blood smell after they take the needle out of his leg makes him ill. Overhaul breathes in and smells you, smells the soap you washed your hair with. Something—something sweet? He can’t— he can’t— why are you so close? You want him to lie down. Why are you touching him? You’re not a nurse, not a doctor. He feels dizzy breathing you in.

Your voice. You’re telling him to lie down again. He’s trying to ignore you like he ignores everything here but your voice is—

softer, lighter. Different. Don’t look. Don’t listen. Close your eyes, Overhaul thinks to himself, ignore her.

“Please,” you say. “Chisaki.”

You’re touching him now, getting ready to push him flat on his back like an invalid, and with the phantom limbs he can feel sometimes itching and aching in thin air, he wants to wrap his fingers around your wrist and break it.

You pleaded. You said his name. He hasn’t heard his own name in—a year? Two? How long has it been?

He lies down.

He wants to sleep again. He knows what they give him—he knows the name of the drug cocktail and all the chemical compounds that make it up and he knows the effects it can have when taken long-term. It’s a sedative, it makes him feel numb and sometimes if he’s numb enough he can even manage to enjoy it. But if he’s not he feels himself lying there while the drugs crawl through his circulatory system and into his brain, eating away at the parts of himself that he used to think were worth keeping. God, god, it feels filthy. He would purge himself—rip himself to shreds and put them back together clean—if he could.

He wants to sleep, but the smell of your soap—

“Chisaki, do you know why I’m here?”

I don’t know, he thinks. I don’t care.

“It’s about your arms.”

Overhaul doesn’t have arms. The prostheses are controlled externally by people who think Shigaraki should have finished the job. He can barely feed himself without assistance, can’t even piss without getting permission from one of the penal officers to activate the bionics. They’re not his arms.

“I’m here to see if I can…fix them.”

Overhaul closes his eyes. Black.

[BNHA] Shigaraki x reader /// it will come back [pt. 4]

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Warnings: mentions of injury, pain, fear, this is an extremely rough draft ngl I really need to edit :/

Status: 5.2k words written out of maybe 8k total

His bedroom looks like you would’ve thought it would look like if you had ever thought about it. Nice computer with two monitors, some books, lots of gaming stuff. A map above the computer pinned with documents, newspaper clippings, pictures, some of which extend past the wall and onto the ceiling. Serial killer shit. Fitting. The window is blocked out with heavy curtains, and the only light in the room comes from the purplish gleam of the monitors. Tomura sets you and your bag down on his unmade bed and pulls your ankle into his lap along with some ice cubes in a towel, a roll of Ace bandages, a white plastic pharmacy bottle that rattles when he drops it on the mattress.

“Um—I can do that,” you say, but Tomura ignores you, peeling your sock down and wrapping the bandages around your ankle. “You don’t have to—it doesn’t have to be that tight.”

He ignores that too. You’re almost glad that you’re in pain. It’s giving you something to focus on besides his hands.

“Why were you at the bar?” Tomura asks.

“I…don’t know, I got lost on my way back from work.”

“You don’t get lost.” He coils the bandage around one more time before tucking the edge under to hold it in place. “Were you looking for me?”

You inhale, counting out three beats to make sure it doesn’t sound too fast. “It was just a coincidence.” He doesn’t look convinced, so you shrug, hoping you look more nonchalant than you feel. “Really.”

Does he know?

He couldn’t. There’s no way. Stop talking, don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know. Stop thinking about him killing kids.

Tomura’s done wrapping your ankle, but he’s not moving away from you. “You shouldn’t go out in the rain like that. You could get sick.”

“You’re…you’re one to talk.”

“You’re different than me. You break so easily.” His grip moves up from your ankle and his hands are cold from the ice. Your ankle feels stiff, achy. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain.

How much will it hurt if Tomura touches you? You can’t take your eyes off his hand, stark white and threaded with blue veins against the dark fabric of your skirt. You saw the cast Aizawa was wearing, the gauze taped on his face, the way he winced a little bit whenever he moved quickly back at the hospital. You can’t even imagine how that feels…to have your living body flake off into dust, from your skin all the way down to your bones.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god. Don’t cry. You’ll get out of this. He’s not going to hurt you. Just play along.

Tomura runs a hand over your ankle again and a sound comes out of your mouth that you can’t even categorize. “Is it really that bad?” he asks, and it’s almost worse to know that he’s asking out of genuine curiosity. God knows what he’s been through in the past week—the gunshots. the infection—must have felt a thousand times worse.

You try to slow your breathing but you’re having a hard time remembering what it’s supposed to sound like. “I think I need to see a doctor."

“You’re acting weird.”

You let out a high, tense laugh. “It really hurts, Tomura, what do you expect?”

“No…you’ve been acting weird since I called you earlier.” Red eyes narrow into slits and move over the strained look on your face. “Maybe you did get sick.”

“Sure. Maybe.”

Tomura lifts the back of his hand to his own forehead and then reaches out to you to compare your temperature to his, only—you don’t see that. What you see is the leader of the League of Villains with his hand out, so close to your head that you can make out the dirt under his fingernails. You see the police sketch of his villain costume from one of the articles you read, those grey embalmed hands trapped in rigor mortis around his limbs and his face. You see the news photo of the kids from UA. High school first-years, but some of them looked younger. Like the green-haired kid…you would have guessed 13 years old, 14 maybe. They did an interview with the girl—the cute one with big eyes and a frog quirk? The one he almost killed? She said she could smell the dead hands on Shigaraki’s costume when he was two inches away from her face: chemical antiseptic almost like perfume, layered over something rotting.

Tomura’s not wearing his costume now. He’s never worn it in front of you. But you almost feel like you can smell it anyway.

[KNY] Sanemi x reader x Rengoku /// to the hilt

Summary: After an injury that ends your career as a demon slayer, you struggle to adjust to your newfound vulnerability and the protectiveness of the the two Hashira who consider you their responsibility. (—Sanemi makes threats, and Rengoku enforces them.)

Warnings: protective/patronizing behavior, mentions of injury, dependent reader, possibly coercive vibes??, Rengoku doesn't make an appearance in this excerpt (he shows up later)

Status: 2.8k words written out of 6–7k total

"How many times do I have to tell you you’re not strong enough to be using your hands?” Sanemi's voice is thin with anger, and he lets you hear it. Of course he’s angry. It’s like you’re doing this on purpose, making yourself sicker, forcing him to force you to give up already. The flash of pain that passes over your face is almost enough to make him feel guilty, but you should know better by now. What’s the point of trying to go through the motions? You’ll never fight again. “You don’t need to be useful.”

“I know! I’m not… I know I’m not healed enough, I get it. Do we have to talk about this?”

He glares—do you really understand?—but he lets it go. Settles back, keeps the peace, for your sake. For now. “Just keep eating.”

You oblige gratefully, digging into the food that’s left as quickly as you seem to be able to. Sanemi watches and keeps his mouth shut even when you fumble. He’s too angry with you, too pushy sometimes. He knows. But how else is he supposed to keep you from making your injury worse? If you didn’t need him—him and Rengoku, at least—you’d just leave. Sanemi’s never suggested it himself (to be honest, he doesn’t even let himself think about the possibility of you leaving the dojo), but you could. You’re here because you want to be. Because you’re not strong enough to set your own limits, follow the boundaries you’ve been given in order to heal. You need them. You need them to keep you safe.

Through the window, the moon is rising little by little, saturating the courtyard outside with watery light. There’s a lamp in your bedroom but it’s unlit—seems like you prefer the dim light of the outdoors and the faint glow of the hallway through your door. Were you just sitting here in the dark before he came?

The image comes to his mind too easily—you sitting at the window in your thin kimono for hours, staring blankly as the world outside dips into night. It doesn’t fit you…or at least it doesn’t fit the person you’re supposed to be.

(the person you were before.)

“Why is it so fucking dark in here? It’s depressing,” he asks, stacking your discarded dishes and setting the tray to the side once you’ve finished. The only thing left is the sake bowl, which you lift to your mouth very carefully before patting your lips dry and offering it back to Sanemi.

He takes it, still waiting for your response, but you wait for him to drink before you answer. “It isn’t that dark with the moon out like this.”

You’re right, in a way. By now Sanemi’s vision has adjusted enough so that he can see everything from the moonlight alone—weeds poking out from the stone slabs outside, rippling movement from the wisteria flowers, and…

…the unbound hair unfurling like a halo around your face, your rumpled kimono baring a little too much of your throat, the shadows that your eyelashes paint down over your cheekbones when you close your eyes. Sanemi exhales, shifts back and takes another sip from the bowl. “Are you tired? Did you want to sleep?”

“No, I—“ you turn to the side, looking deeper into the bedroom so your face is caught in shadow for a second. Like after all of this, you can’t look him in the eye when you say it. “You’re leaving for a mission tomorrow, aren’t you? I thought…maybe you would come. And we could have a drink.”

Ah…she doesn’t want to say it. That’s fine. Sanemi knows what you need.

You extend a hand out for the bowl that the two of you have been trading back and forth, but your fingers don’t meet the ceramic—he’s already reaching out for you, pulling you in toward him, and when you bite your lip and nod he lies you down until your back meets the tatami below. Here, right here. Your body underneath his, the only place where he can really convince himself you’re safe.

You fumble to untie the sash of your kimono, slipping awkwardly over the bindings every time you try to get ahold of them, but Sanemi settles himself over you and pins your wrists down and forces your trembling hands into stillness. “Let me,” he says.

if you reached the end of this post, thank you for reading!! please tell me if there were any wips you liked/want to see more of :]

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

#bnha 305 #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #shimura nana #ofa the first #banjou daigorou #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #'deku. sweetheart. your other vestiges and I just want what's best for you'#'have you tried... *not* saving people?'#only to backpedal SPECTACULARLY when he was all 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT SAVING THEM'#yeah okay guys #you're not fooling anyone #but it's okay I still love you

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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

more than ready | myg

⤑ series: be my baby

⤑ pairing: rapper!yoongi x mom!reader

⤑ genre: smut!! nd fluff.

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 5.6K

⤑ warnings: here we goo... cursing, dirty talk, neck kissing, hickeys, slight biting, oral sex (f. receiving), oh my god spitting, squirting, yoongi has an impreg kink, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, cum inside, unintentional cock warming (he’s gotta get it in there), multiple orgasms.

⤑ A/N: so hi! this was only supposed to be just that first scene... but then i got sad that it was ending so i added more :( - so yeah ,. it took longer than i expected . but i hope you guys really like this!! i can’t believe it’s over omg :( i’m gonna miss them sm .

⤑ impreg dialogue credit goes to @taetaewonderland, go check out her work, she’s soo talented!

JUNE 5TH, 2020 | 16:09 – TWO WEEKS LATER.

It had been a long day, spent lifting boxes and reorganizing your things into Yoongi's house. Not sure who was more excited about the move, Hyunki or Yoongi but both of them couldn't stop going on about how much fun they'll have now that they'd be together all the time. You were happy too, of course, felt right to be redecorating the room that you'd now be sharing with Yoongi.

Yoongi. Your man, your boyfriend. Yours. It only made sense that way. Being with him, happy with him. The two of you were made for each other and now you could finally be together. As a family.

And you didn't want it any other way.

He's laid sprawled out on his bed, watching with hooded eyes and a large smile as you arrange your clothes in his closet. All while organizing the messy clutter that came with the way he tended to carelessly toss his clothes in once they were washed. Happiness settling in his chest, paired with the domestic feeling from watching you.

Not done up like how you usually liked to walk around. Fitting sweats hanging off your round hips, one of his plain shirts swallowing your figure. Hair effortlessly framing your bare face. He felt almost privileged to get to see you like this, knowing that not many people have.

“How many of these shirts do you need?” You're asking with a slight laugh, lifting the plain white FG shirt for him to see. The shirt identical to the one that you're wearing now and the other four you had just put away.

Yoongi only shrugs, lips twitching into a smile. “They're comfortable,”

A simple roll of your eyes is your answer, folding the garment before reaching for the black one. Tiny feet pad into the room, Hyunki silently climbing onto the bed with a pout on his face. Sitting up slightly, Yoongi prepares to ask what's the matter – but Hyunki is beating him to it.

“Daddy! The batteries keep falling out.”

Even if you hadn't been watching them, you could perfectly picture the large smile that took over Yoongi's features at hearing his son call out to him. The same smile that broke onto his face each time Hyunki was referring to him as 'Daddy' as if he was hearing it for the first time each time.

“Here, let Daddy take a look.” He speaks softly, pulling the toy from his son's hands. It's an easy fix, the back of the toy needing to be tightly secured. But Hyunki is looking at him as if he had just figured out world peace. Thanking him loudly before taking his toy back into his room.

The triumphant grin doesn't leave his lips, the entire time he's watching you walk around the room. “Did you see that?” He's asking you and you're only now realizing that he had been waiting for you to comment.

“See what?” Playing dumb while leaned over his body on the bed, attempting to fill the bedside table with your undergarments.

An arm swiftly wraps around your waist, tugging you down a bit so you're directly over him. “'Daddy, the batteries keep falling out',” He mimics his son's voice, smile shifting into a large one that shows off his gums. “I think I'm his hero,” He's concluding and you can't help the laugh that slips past your lips.

“You might be,”

His eyes shine at your agreement, head tilting to crash his lips onto yours. The kiss sweet, slow, all of his love and adoration being poured into every movement of his lips. He's holding you close, hands resting lightly on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin.

It's not until his lips are slipping from yours, finding your neck does the mood shift. Teeth and tongue marking up your skin, soft giggles falling from your lips, and filling your bedroom. He's pulling away only to tug down the collar of your shirt, revealing more of your neck to his greedy lips.

Fingers knitted in his hair, you're tugging at the strands slightly – eyes rolling at the soft scrape of teeth against your skin. His fingers have crept underneath the fabric of your shirt, sneaking their up toward the wire of your bra.

“Daddy! It happened again,” The screech breaks through the haze of desire that started to fog up the room. Yoongi's mouth pulling from your neck with a pop. Hyunki's call ringing from his room. “Daddy, come look!”

There's not even a moment of hesitance before Yoongi is pressing his lips to yours quickly before lifting his body and exiting the room. A huffed, “Daddy's coming, buddy.” Falling from his lips as he exits.

Had wanted to stay in there with you, continue to the obvious place his wandering kisses were going – but duty as a father calls. And he was more than ready to answer the call. The sound of them playing together fills your ears, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you stand from the bed.

Going back, you listen to them together – happiness filling your heart from the sound of their laughter. And you're sure nothing would ever sound as good as them.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi's voice rings from behind you. Stood in the kitchen, after putting away your clothes in his room. His arms snake around your waist, head finding your shoulder, watching as you slice out bite-size pieces.

His lips have started to suck soft kisses into the back of your neck, fingers toying with the band of your leggings. “Making a snack,” You answer, nonchalant. Trying to act like his simple touches weren't driving you insane.

“You're a snack,” He replies lamely, teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder. And you're convinced you're in love with this man because there's no other explanation for how a phrase like that could turn you on that much.

But of course, his ego didn't need to know that. “Aren't you supposed to be entertaining your son,” It's hard to mask the breathy tone of your voice, body reacting to the feeling of his lips on your skin, his hips pressed into the curve of your ass.

“Animal Planet came on. And after the third time he shushed me, he told me to come see what you were doing,” The snort of laughter that comes from your nose is automatic, amazed how alike the two of them were. Couldn't help but wonder if he noticed it too.

Although, his mind is somewhere else. Tongue now rolling hotly against the shell of your ear, gently sucking the flesh into his mouth while his fingers tease their way down past the elastic band. “Think I can eat my snack in the room?” Words murmured into your ear, sending a pang of arousal throughout our veins.

Your giggle is obnoxious, but you can't help it with how giddy this man makes you feel. Head tilting slightly so you could see him, catch glimpse of those lust-filled eyes. Not a lot of time granted to admire them before he's covering your lips with his in a hungry kiss. Twisting your body easily, so your back is now pressed against the counter.

“Yoongi,” He's meeting your panted moan with a grunted curse of his own. Cock stiffening in his pants just from the sound of you saying his name. He loved to hear you say his name.

There's no need for you to say much else, his hands grasped around your thighs to easily lift your body onto his. If this had been four years ago, he'd be fucking you on the counter without an ounce of hesitation. But he takes the moment to walk you toward your room, lips never detaching from your neck.

Hard cock grazing over your crotch with each step. Lowering both of your bodies onto the soft mattress, after gently kicking the door closed. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you can feel every ridge and curve of his dick through the thin fabric.

“Take those off,” He pants, leaning back just enough where he's able to remove his shirt from his torso.

Only allowed to a moment to admire the dips of his collarbones, the browned pink of his nipples, each indent that nicely outlined his abs, a trail of hair traveling from below his belly button and disappearing underneath the waistband of his boxers.

He's stealing the image from you, ducking down to tug at your joggers. Hastily, he's pulling them down your legs, cutely grumbling to himself about your endless staring. But, could he blame you? When he looked that good over you like that?

Hooded eyes follow his hands, grin growing as more and more of your smooth skin is revealed to him. You're sighing at the delicate way he lifts your foot, tugging the fabric from around your ankle, before placing a soft kiss to the bone. Tongue just barely grazing over your flesh, painting blotches of saliva all the way to your knee.

Squirming underneath him, needy to feel him where you wanted him most. Each swipe of his lips has a fresh gush of arousal heating up your core and he was ignoring the way your sweet scent tickled his nose.

Breathing picks up at the feeling of his mouth marking up your inner thigh, teeth determined to create a bruise and you're so concentrated on the movement of lips that you don't notice the hand that has crept its way between your legs. Not until the tips of his fingers are brushing against your covered clit and your body is jolting.

“So sensitive,” He murmurs and you can feel the stretch of his grin against your skin. Head lifting to watch your fingers move between your legs, loving the sound of the soft moans he's able to pull soft whimpers from the back of your throat. “So wet too, baby. Bet you taste so sweet.”

Even through your panties, a clear string of slick connects his fingers to your mound as he pulls his arm back. He watches with fascination, taking his time to break the connection before he's pushing his those same fingers into his mouth, wantonly sucking your juices from his fingers.

You'd guess he was just putting on a show for you, wanting to make you as delirious as possible while watching the way his tongue caresses his fingers. But you'd be wrong, especially with the way his cock twitches underneath his shorts. He was enjoying this just as much as you.

“I want to feel your tongue, Yoongi.” Knowing him well enough to know that he wasn't going to give in until you were asking for it, sometimes holding out until you were full-on begging for a bit of relief.

It's like a switch was flicked inside of him, the smirk that takes over his features as his hand drops. Wet fingers latch onto the thin string of your thong, pulling it down until he's able to discard the wet bundle elsewhere. He doesn't waste a moment with diving in.

The first initial swipe of his tongue has your hips lifting, a hummed moan leaving your lips, your fingers tangle into the roots of his hair. So long since you've felt his mouth on you, you're way more sensitive than usual. Yoongi isn't complaining about that in the slightest bit.

His tongue parts your folds, the sweet drops of your arousal quickly coating his tastebuds. Lips quickly wrapping around your clit as a moan slips past his lips from the taste of you, the sound sending a vibration throughout your core. “Shit, Yoongi.” Voice hushed, vaguely remembering to keep quiet.

Yoongi's eyes are darting up to catch the expression on your features, how fucked out you look already and he's just getting started. Just barely, you feel the curve of his smirk against you, the suction behind his lips getting harder. Hips push down against his mouth, offering more of your dripping cunt to his tongue.

“Fuck, I don't remember you being this sweet.” He groans into your heat, tongue traveling down to lick into your entrance. A large hand lifted to set on your mound, thumb finding your clit. “I love this pussy,”

Whether it's the desire that coats his voice or the words he's saying to you, your walls are clenching around nothing. Throbbing for release already, a drawn-out moan falling from your lips as his mouth latches back onto you. His tongue moves much quicker into you, breath trapped in your throat while your fingers tighten in his hair – keeping his face pinned between your legs.

He can't take his eyes off you. Your head lulled back, your hips desperately grind against his face. Chasing the orgasm that you know is close, speeding to the end that he's more than ready to bring you to. “I-it... feels so good,”

Yoongi's humming into you, arms looping underneath your thighs to pull your body closer to his face. Stilling them in their frantic rolls, he shifts into pressing wet kisses onto your clit. “You like that, baby?” Tongue flicking against your sensitive nub quickly. “Want me to make you cum?”

“Please, please! I need-” He's cutting your begging short, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking down harshly. With little to no warning, his fingers are slipping past your folds, curved so he's instantly meeting that rough patch of skin buried inside of you. Walls clench in response around his fingers, protesting as he draws his fingers back.

A gasped moan breaks through your lips as he's pushing back in, pressing deep inside of you before pulling back again. He's fingers are quickly falling into a steady pace, head lifting and his eyes lock with yours. “You gonna cum?” He only holds your gaze only for a moment before his attention is flickering back between your legs.

Watching in fascination as his fingers disappear inside of you. He's still waiting for your answer, eyebrow raising when it doesn't come. Breathless moans the only thing that falls from your lips. “Hm?” He prompts.

Pink tongue pokes out between his lips, coated with his spit. You watch as he lets it roll off the tip, landing directly on your clit and he's lifting his thumb to rub it in. “You close, baby?” A strangled cry emits from the back of your throat, nodding frantically as you begin to shake underneath him.

“Yes, yes! P-please make me cum,” Words fighting their way out of your mouth when you feel his fingers start to slow. He's grinning at the sound of you begging for him, lowering his body back between your legs. Fingers slowly sliding out of you to be replaced with his open mouth, wet digits easily finding your clit. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me,”

It's as if your body was waiting for his command, pulsating, and arching in pleasure. Hips pinned to the bed and you have to muffle your scream as your orgasm leaves your body in waves. Splashing his lips and your thighs, soaking the sheets underneath you. Your eyes squeezed shut, the wetness clumping your lashes.

Yoongi's groans are muffled by your pussy, lapping up your juices like a man starved. His eyes are on you the entire time, watching as you ride out your high until your body is falling limp on the mattress heavy breaths lifting your chest.

All at once, he's lifting his body to hover over you, nose nudging against yours slightly and on instinct, your mouth is falling open. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips before he's opening up his mouth, a mixture of his spit and your cum trickling down his wet muscle and landing onto yours.

You're swallowing it down with no hesitance, dark eyes never leaving you, and only growing darker when you're parting your lips to show him your empty mouth. His lips are attached to yours in an instant and you're welcoming his tongue and the warm wetness that comes with it. Swallowing that too.

“You're so fucking perfect,” He groans, fingers tracing over the softness of your stomach. “Take everything I give to you,” His eyes flicker down to watch the movement of his fingers and you follow his gaze. Not missing the painful-looking strain at the front of his shorts, one odd move and he'd be bursting through the fabric.

He's reaching lower, spreading your legs apart so he's able to fit his body in between them. Groaning at the unintentional friction over his cock. Slowly, his fingers walk their way back to your stomach, brushing over your skin delicately. “Should I put another baby in you?” His cock twitches against you at the mere mention of it, but he pays it no mind – keeping his glued to yours.

“Please,” Something changes in his eyes with your agreement, turning dark as your legs lift. Toes hooking into the waistband of his shorts, pushing them the best you can with your angle. “Want you to fill me up,” You whine and the growl that leaves his throat can only be described as primal.

His hands are quickly wrapping around your ankles, tugging your body into his before pushing his shorts down the rest of the way. Cock bouncing against your folds the moment his clothes are out of the way. “You want me to?” Lowering himself onto you again, his hips roll; coating his shaft with your arousal.

“Give you a little girl this time?” He's more turned on then you've ever seen him. And it only deepens as he continues speaking. Egging himself on. “Can't wait 'til you're all big and swollen with my baby. Want that?”

Head bobbing in a nod, a breathy 'yes' leaving your lips followed by a string of like sounding ones. A single hand wraps around his shaft, squeezing out a dribble of precum before he's lining himself up with your entrance. Teeth cutting into his lower lip, eyes fluttering as he slides into you inch by inch.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He huffs once he's bottomed out, your walls clenched tight around him. “Always so fucking tight,” Yoongi whimpers, like actually whines as he pulls his hips back. In one swift movement, he's pushing forward, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

Head bowed, he watches his cock drag in and out of you. Your moans filling the room as the strength of his thrusts grow. His hands set on your hips, fingers bruising into your skin as he fucks you into the mattress. He's groaning out your name, lips close to your ear, and you whimper when he's catching it between his teeth.

“Gonna get you nice and pregnant. Fuck my baby deep inside you,” Yoongi's gasping out against your skin as you clench around him. Cock twitching against your walls. He's close, already. And you have a feeling it has everything to do with the thought of filling you up.

His hand fingers are quick to find you clit, rubbing frantic circles against it as his grip tightens around your waist. “God, I can feel you trying to milk me... you gonna cum again?” Nodding, breathless moans fall from your lips. Hips lifting to meet each one of is powerful thrusts.

“Yoongi, fuck-” Words breaking on a sob, clit being pinched between his knuckles. Your lashes flutter, hips lifting off the mattress as your walls squeeze tight around him. He's urging you on, mumbling dirty things into your ear that only prolongs your orgasm.

And the moment your body stops shaking, Yoongi is fucking into you with a newfound strength. Face buried in the crook of your neck. The power of his thrusts makes your tits bounce, pebbled nipples brushing against the fabric of your t-shirt.

He's delirious, it seems. Incoherent mumbles about how pretty you'll look with his baby. How he's ready to fuck you over and over again until you're full of him. And you moan in response, wanting everything he's offering. Yoongi's teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder, hips stiffening before he's spilling his speed into your womb. Strong hands keeping your body in place and whines fall from your lips at the feeling of his warmth coating your walls.

The tiniest of orgasms wash through your body, walls clenching around him, attempting to milk him of every last drop. And he doesn't move until he's empty, pulling out slowly despite the protest your pussy puts up. His cum dribbles out of you, toes curling at the familiar feeling.

Yoongi's quick to push it back in, using the tip of his cock as a shovel. Dazed eyes glued to your core and you're sure he's barely thinking when he's sliding back inside of you. Arms wrapped around your shoulder as his face nuzzles the crook of your neck. “Gotta get you nice and pregnant,” He's mumbling before his body falls slack.

It doesn't take you long to realize that he's fallen asleep, the intensity of his orgasm getting to him. A giggle falling from your lips, fingers running through his slightly sweaty hair. “Really hope you do,” Voice barely above a whisper, you press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Holding him as he falls deeper into dreamland, his soft breath tickling the side of your neck. And you let your mind wander, thinking about how different things are now... how they're the same. How they'll change three years from now.

More than ready to grow your family with him.

JUNE 8TH, 2020 | 11:27

“I just can't have anyone working for me that my girl doesn't trust. That I don't trust.” Yoongi sits at his studio desk, a nervous looking Jiso stood in front of him. Sort of knew what the ordeal was when he was calling her into his studio in the serious tone he almost never uses.

Of course, you weren't keeping it to yourself just how you were finding out about Yoongi's addiction. And while it worked out in the end, having someone who was so willing to share his business on his team... just couldn't happen.

Despite the apologies, her promises to never do something like that again – he couldn't budge. Not someone that could be trusted, not to mention the sly attitude she had toward you. No way would he keep someone like that around, working so close underneath him.

“Mr. Agust, it was just a mistake. Do you really think I'd intentionally wrong you?” Long eyelashes batted at him, pouted lips pouted in his direction. He uses to consider her pout cute, especially when she first started out and was constantly making tiny mistakes.

Never something he acted on. Jiso was his assistant and that was it. But the guy wasn't blind. A good looking girl and that had a lot to do with why he kept her around, ignoring his bosses when they told him to hire someone better. All she did was make mistakes.

“I know you weren't trying to hurt me. You were trying to hurt my girl and that doesn't sit well with me.” It's automatic, how her eyes roll at the mention of you. A soft scoff falling from her lips.

But the hard stare that Yoongi gives her, daring her to say one thing wrong about you keeps her mouth shut. Realizing that her cute pout won't get her anywhere in this situation, Jiso allows her shoulders to slump. “Okay,” She sighs, “Thank you for the opportunity.” He almost feels bad for the girl, because it's his fault.

Entertained her crush for a bit too long. Never made advances, but he never corrected her flirting. Acted as if it was okay, never set her straight. And now here they were. Jiso turns with a sigh, heavy steps taken out of the studio and into the hallway.

Not paying attention she almost tumbles over Hyunki, who's running full speed down the hall. You're a few steps behind him. He stops short before his face is smacking against her knee, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Sorry, Miss Jiso!” She's quick to tell him it's alright, gaze lifting to find you had caught up to them.

Her stare turns cold. “Hope you're happy, I just got fired.” Arms crossed over her chest, the weight shifting onto one leg, popping her hip out. Was she serious? You don't even bother to mask the laugh that falls from your lips at her ridiculousness.

“You're a shit employee,” Gentle fingers run through Hyunki's soft hair. “Baby. Go tell your father it's time to go,” With a quick nod, Hyunki is back to running at full speed. On his tiptoes he taps in the code he's seen you both punch in a ton of times. The door clicks open and he's rushing in.

Jiso only offers an annoyed scoff, before she's brushing past you. Heels clicking as she leaves the corridor, mumbling angrily to herself.

“Daddy! It's time to go!” In the middle of rerecording the spoken bit of his song, Hyunki's voice overlaps. He's stopping the track, just as he steps further into the room. Hitting play, the sound of his son calling for him echos throughout the room.

Hyunki gasps. “That's me!” A hand clamped over his mouth as his eyes go wide. Yoongi lets out a laugh, turning in his chair so he can fully face him. “I think we should keep it, what do you think buddy?”

Something of an intro as the beat starts. “Yup!” Not needing any details before he's agreeing. Small hands tug on Yoongi's large one, attempting to pull him from his seat. “Mommy said she was very hungry.” He allows himself to be pulled to his feet, arms reaching down to lift Hyunki onto his side.

“Ooh, we better hurry. Mommy's grumpy when she's hungry.” Hyunki's head is nodding quickly, eyes widening slightly as he tilts his head to look at his dad. “And she talks too much too,” Despite the laugh that breaks through Yoongi's lips, he's quick to remind Hyunki not to talk about his mom like that.

A tiny huff leaves his lips, hand lifting to rest on his cheek. “You said first,” He says, but mostly lets it go. No doubt saving it to get him in trouble later on. Sometimes it shocked him how alike they were.

JUNE 13TH, 2020 | 20:39

Yoongi enters the room, damp shirt sticking to his stomach. A bright smile brightening his features, his eyes landing on your body curled up under his sheets. His heart pounds, the way it always does when he sees you. Basically skipping over to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Nearly stuttering when he sees the smile that pushes onto your lips.

“See? Bedtime is not that hard.”

Pretty eyes roll at his words, fingers dropping to graze over the wet fabric of his shirt. Peaking down to admire the bit of skin you can see through the material. “Yeah? Your shirt's all wet. He splashed you, didn't he?” Eyes finding his, soft strands of hair bouncing as he shakes his head slightly.

Yoongi steps back, putting a bit of distance between the two of you so he's able to pull his wet shirt from his body. You watch him shamelessly, in silent awe as he carelessly reveals more of his skin to you. Acting as if you hadn't seen him like this a million times before.

“I don't know who he thinks he is,” He strips down until he's in his boxers, ruffling his hands through his hair before sliding into bed beside you. Body turning at once, he doesn't hesitate to tuck you underneath his arm.

Lips finding the soft skin just below his jaw as you settle into his side. “He's literally you,” Your laugh vibrates against his neck and now it's his turn to roll his eyes. Mockingly, he repeats your words. Playfulness coating his tone

His head shifts, body twists until he's able to crash his lips down onto yours. A satisfied hum leaving his lips as his mouth moves over yours. Slowly, lovingly. Taking his time with the way he kissed you as if you had all the time in the world. Because you had all the time in the world.

Gentle teeth tug at your lower lip, easily pulling your lips apart enough so his tongue can slide past them. And you accept him without a moment of hesitance, fingers curling into his hair as your wet muscles roll and push against each other. He's holding you close to him, hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt. Pleased to find the only thing keeping him from the warmth of your skin is the lace of your panties.

Seemed to be your uniform in his bed. His shirt, preferably one that smelled most like him, and a pair of panties. It was his favorite thing to see you in. Right next to nothing at all. Slowly, Yoongi's letting his lips part from yours. Kissing away the clear line of saliva that keeps your lips connected.

“Can we have another one?” His fingers toy with the lace of your panties, no doubt poking holes into the already holey material. Still on your birth control the night he had been so determined to put a baby in you, so deep in the moment that it had slipped your mind.

But the next day you were making the appointment to get it removed and now you were physically ready to grow your family. As well as mentally. “Yes,” His grin groans, nose nudging your head to the side so he's able to press his lips to your neck.

“Right now?” His words are muffled by your skin, flesh sucked between his teeth. His hands are sliding underneath your panties, gripping the flesh of your ass in his palms. Kneading and molding the flesh as if he could shape it.

You're laughing loudly at the giddiness hidden with his tone, hands reaching back to bat his hands away from your butt. “No, not right now.” You're turning in his arms easily, back pressed into his chest. He doesn't lift his hands from your body, instead allows his fingers to dance over your soft belly.

The tips of his fingers brushing against the slightly raised scar on your lower belly. Face nuzzled in the crook of your neck as his index finger runs over the long line leading from one hip to the other. His fingers repeat the motion, gentle kisses planted on your neck.

You don't notice the way your body has gone tense against him. Not use to the feeling of someone touching your scar. Always politely ignored. Yoongi's picking up on your rigidness instantly, fingers stilling.

“It hurts?”

Hand coming down to meet his, your fingers intertwine with his. Urging yourself to relax. Just Yoongi. There was nothing to worry about. He had already proved to you time and time again that things like this didn't mean anything to him.

“No, just... no one has touched it before. Feels weird,” He's nodding in understanding, lips planting one last gentle kiss to your neck before he's lifting his head to set his chin on your shoulder. “I like it,” Yoongi is deciding after a momentary silence.

The feeling that washes over you can only be described as happiness. “Really?”

“Of course. It's what got our son here. I think it's pretty... I think you're pretty.” Body leaning back into him, your head finds his shoulder. His fingers continue to rub against the scar, feather-like kisses placed over the side of your face; slowly making their descent lower on your body.

Along with his hands.

“Your hands seem to be going a bit low there, Mister.”

The laugh that leaves his lips shakes your back and warms your heart. Subconsciously spreading your legs for him, hips pushing back into his. “Are they? I didn't notice...” The tips of his fingers dip underneath the band of your panties, crawling their way further between your legs.

You open up your mouth to speak, words caught in your throat as the sound of your bedroom door slamming open fills the room. “I'll sleep here!” Hyunki shouts, and Yoongi is quick to pull his hands away from him.

He runs at full speed into the room, slowing only to climb onto the bed. He stands on the edge for a moment, a mischievous look in his eyes as he grins. Two bends of his legs and he's SuperMan jumping directly onto Yoongi's chest. “I'll sleep here!” He screams through a laugh as Yoongi's arms wrap around him.

You're turning onto your side so you can face them, smiling at the way he's spread himself on his dad's stomach, using him as his own makeshift mattress. Elbow propped up on the bed, you rest your cheek on your palm. “Do you not like your big boy bed?”

“Sometimes no.” Hyunki shrugs. His arm wrapped around Yoongi's torso, cheek smushed against his chest. “Daddy makes me sleep,” And if the sleepiness in his tone wasn't proof enough, you had no idea what would be.

Yoongi is grinning proudly at his words, arm reaching out for you. He's easily tucking you into his side. “Let Daddy make you sleep too.” The happiness in his words has your heartwarming, an arm wrapping around both of them you settle into his side.

You're falling asleep instantly in his arms. Feeling as happy as he sounds. Positive that you've never felt this content. This at peace with anyone. Yoongi. Hyunki. Your family. You loved them. Not realizing you had spoken out loud until Yoongi's smiling lips are finding your forehead.

“I love you too.”

— when the love of his life suddenly vanishes, he drives himself mad looking for her. seemingly erased from the world, he’s forced to pick up the pieces of his life and move on… fast forward three years and someone who looks a lot like the woman he lost is being spotted, holding a kid with an oddly familiar gummy smile…

⟲ masterlist ⟳

⇝ taglist: @randomkoalablog @smoljams @dee-ehn @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hehehehahahohohuhu @sw33tnight @butterflylion @withlovestudyblr @soulstaes @bangtansonyeondayyyum @samros95 @korkanswers @houseofarmanto @marifujioka @tae165 @uxwi @jinhitwhore @preciouschimine @yeontanie21 @aa-ronpa @taefect94 @lee-karliah @codeinebelle @mochibabycakes @diminieshoe @fuddyize @soloikeadates @0xmysticx0 @bbyjoonies @amoreguk @tricethecharm @diminieshoe @jayyayyy17 @softlyjins @bangtan-noona @fan-atic-blog @fuck-expectations-people @paradisetaemin @nyamjinnie @lilacdreams-00 @vsugakookie0104 @koostime @la-evforia @betysotelo18 @chocobetterknot @simplysanha @delicategukkie @kookieswithtaeq @jeon-ggukkie @angjeon

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. to be added to the taglist, send me an ask !! feedback is highly !! appreciated, it’s the motivation i need to keep the fic going nd fun for you guys!!<33

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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

Text

One Year ❣︎ Seven: Never Ask Friends for Help

Chapter Summary: As San expected, he caught a cold after your little prance through the storm in Hallim Park the previous day. Luckily, you're fine, which gives you the wonderful opportunity to look after him and the even more wonderful opportunity to let your chaotic nature shine.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, (this chapter is pure fluff and crack) Word count: 3.2k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Six For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Silence filled your room when you woke up the next morning. It was strange, since San had said he would be waking you up, and there you were, still lying in bed by the time noon rolled around.

It wasn’t as if you were waiting for him to come and get you, but you just wanted to take advantage of the time in such a warm blanket. Yeosang often joked about how you became a cold-blooded reptile whenever you felt sleepy, body temperature dropping and your tongue sharp like that of a snake.

Basically, it was his long-winded way of calling you a cranky, heat-stealing bitch.

Not that you minded at all, since Yeosang was a cranky bitch himself when sleepy.

But then half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of San. Throwing the blanket off your form, you slipped on a pair of slippers and got ready for the day, finding him becoming the very next thing on your agenda.

And the state you found him in was certainly laughable--to you anyway.

“Did you seriously get sick after a little storm?” you chuckled, eyes taking in San wrapped in the covers as if he was a baby, sniffling every few seconds.

“Oh, shut it,” he glared at you, speaking with a nasally voice.

You took a step into his room, one looking fairly similar to yours, with little pictures or much personalisation in general. Must not have stayed here often then, or had many memories he wanted to keep.

That thought... it made you feel a little sad.

Once you reached the edge of his bed, you sat down beside him, noticing just how sickly-looking he was. Skin paler, hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, flush cheeks and nose, uneven breathing, soft whimpering.

Your smile faded slightly. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since last night,” he coughed, brushing away your hand as you reached out to check his temperature. “Don’t touch me, I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Clicked your tongue at his response and did so anyway. “Holy shit, you’re burning up. More than you should be. Has anyone seen to you yet?” Instantly, you brushed the hair from his eyes, simultaneously wiping away the sweat. Was pretty gross, but you didn’t mind at all.

San relaxed under your gentle touch, finding it cool and soothing against his muddled senses. “N-No. I texted Hongjoong to tell everyone to leave me alone. Clearly didn’t do a good enough job if you’re here.”

Lightly hitting his chest over the blanket, you scoffed. “You’re happy I’m here, don’t lie.”

Grinning, he sighed. “Can’t hide anything from you, now can I, Hun?”

“Nope,” you huffed as you got up. “Now, I’m going to prepare something for you to eat since you probably haven’t had anything since yesterday.” On cue, his stomach grumbled painfully loudly, making the man visibly cringe as he was about to decline your offer so you would stay with him for a little bit longer. “Looks like Mister Tummy’s already answered for you.”

“Mister Tummy doesn’t know shit.”

“Mister Tummy knows more shit than you do. In fact, it processes all of your shit for you.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Mister Tummy’s gross. But full of wisdom.”

“You know what, just go. Leave me be for a bit.”

Evil chuckling reached his ears. “Now that you’ve said it, I’ll just be here to annoy you as much as I can. But before we do that, keep yourself bundled up and make sure you’re sweating buckets. It’s the most effective way to break a nasty fever like that.” You began wrapping him up in the thick blanket like he was a burrito.

With that, you left for the kitchen, calling Seonghwa’s number. As the ringing continued, you looked around, noticing how there were few guards and servants around the place. Not even Wooyoung, Jongho, or Hongjoong could be seen in your trek to make food.

“What do you want, troll?”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that. Whatever happened to ‘hello’? Too mainstream for you?”

“...Hello, troll. What do you want?”

Narrowing your eyes ahead of you, smirk pressing against your lips, you tried to look around for the chef. Not there either. “Much better. Now, can you give me a recipe for that soup with ‘magical healing properties’ you used to give me?”

“Bone broth?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m on adventure to nurse a sociopathic cuddle-demon back to health, now are you going to give me the recipe or am I going to get Yunho to drag it out of you? Because I know very well that he will.”

Seonghwa’s sigh was loud enough to be audible through the phone.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Just text me the recipe, thank you, love you, byeeeeee.” Immediately ended the call, looking in all the cupboards, the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer. This place was stocked to the brim.

Shortly after, your phone began buzzing, Seonghwa requesting to video call you. Swiping the green button, you were met with a (slightly laggy) picture of Seonghwa’s chin, hearing him yell off screen. “--UNHO. MINGI. I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE I SHOVE IT UP BOTH YOUR ASSES.”

You could make out the response, “Hehe, kinky.” Most likely Mingi from the very nature of the comment.

“What do you want, troll?” you echoed his words back to him, catching his attention--the other boys most likely long gone into the depth of the house.

“Well, well, well, how the tables have turned,” he smirked, moving the camera so you could see him better.

“It’s ‘how the turntables’.”

He looked at you with an unimpressed expression, not pleased with your Office reference, and carried on to ignore it. “So there is no way in hell I’m sending you the recipe through text, since people can easily hack that--”

“And by people, you mean--”

“Yeosang, yes, who else? Little rat bastard keeps trying to steal my recipes.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“As if he hasn’t heard it already about a million times.”

You chuckled in response, knowing how true it was. “Fair enough. Now spill your secrets and bless me with the ability to cook.”

One word to describe the last hour of your life would be... Well, you couldn’t really think of a word. It was purely of Seonghwa screaming over the phone and you screaming back. And panicking. Both of you definitely panicked.

But all in all, the bone broth was made and tasted fairly decent--a worry you had after fucking up so many times in making a simple recipe.

With a pale and dreary look upon his face, Seonghwa looked at you through the phone, narrowing his eyes on you pouring some of the hot mixture in to a bowl. “You’re actually gonna feed him that? Sure you’re trying to nurse him, or was this a master plan to kill him after that ordeal? Because if it’s the latter, then there were much easier ways of doing so.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, whispering prayers in your head that it would actually help San’s fever. “And goodbye.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Is that it? You’re gonna use me and then lea--”

You hand pulled away from the phone screen, after having pressed the red button. Chuckled to yourself with your comedic timing, completely forgetting the earful you’d get of the elder the next time you call him.

Gathering a tray, you placed the bowl of bone broth on top of it, as well as a packet of painkillers, a glass of water, and some turmeric tea; why San has it, you have no idea, since he seems to be a hot coffee-kind of person.

Would’ve added a flower, because you felt like being extra, but that would seem more like a romantic thing than a... well, whatever the hell you two were right now.

This situation wasn’t exactly common enough for it to be given a name.

Wafting away the thought, you grabbed the tray and walked quickly to the mobster’s bedroom. Didn’t need to worry about any spillage since you’ve had years of practice being quick and precise with movement.

Holding one hand beneath the tray (feeling a little heavy, but again, you’ve had practice), you used the other to open the door, finding San still swaddled in his blanket, sweating like a pig.

“Y/N...” he whimpered, an eye opening at the sound of you entering. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state was different to how he usually was--and you weren’t sure if you liked it.

“I’m right here, San,” you replied in a soft tone, brushing back his hair once more as soon as you placed the tray on the bedside-table beside you. “Brought you some food too. Can you sit up for me?”

Letting out soft whines, he tried to lift his body up, but was too weak and too caged in to get his back even a centimetre off the mattress. You saw the issue, and pulled the covers apart slightly so he could move a little more, both hands pulling gently at his shoulders so he could sit up properly.

Never had you seen someone this unwell from a simple fever. Sure, you’ve felt like shit before, but San’s condition was a little worrying. “Is there some private doctor I can call?”

“What,” he huffed, a smile etching onto his face as he looked into your eyes, “makes you think I have a private doctor?”

“Oh, I dunno, you’re a rich asshole?”

Chuckling, he let his head flop to the side, neck suddenly too weak to hold it up properly. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Annoying, but funny, but sarcastic, but beautiful.”

“Okay, do you wanna continue with that word vomit or are you gonna eat?” You cocked your brow, head tilting to match his posture. “Also, you’re not gonna flatter me by calling me beautiful. That shit doesn’t work on me anymore.”

It had slightly upset San knowing that you had said ‘anymore’--upset him knowing that there were others complimenting what his. But he couldn’t blame them. You really were beautiful in his eyes, even if he hadn’t thought so when he initially laid eyes on you.

“Don’t wanna eat.”

Sighing, you fixed yourself and picked up the bowl, mixing it as you blew to cool it down a little. “You’re not well, you gotta.”

He looked at you with big wide eyes and a small pout--and you couldn’t help but think it was a little cute. “Don’t wanna... unless you feed me?”

Okay, maybe it was a little less cute.

You exhaled, still stirring. “If I do, then you’ll have it all?” He put his hand over his heart, nodding with a sincere look on his face. “Fine then.” You lifted a spoon full of the bone broth to his lips, which he look into his mouth promptly--eyes glued to yours as he did so.

San hummed earnestly. “It’s...actually pretty good.”

Eye twitching, you lightly pushed him. “Why? Did you expect it to be shit?”

“I mean, I heard faint screaming and what I assume was swearing, which could have only come from you because I let everyone have a day off for today. So, yes, forgive my assumption that it would murder me,” he chuckled, opening his mouth once more, in which you carefully put more broth in.

“Be happy that I’m doing this much for you.”

“Because you feel guilty for getting me ill?”

“No, it was your fault for not taking a hot shower when we came back, like I told you to--and your immune system for being so shit.”

“Okay, first of all, I can’t help it if my immune system wants to act out. I usually don’t get this ill.” You sent him a ludicrous look, continuing to feed him. “What? I really don’t!”

“Tell that to the rain.”

“I-- nevermind. But the second thing is that I offered to take a shower, but you said no!”

“That’s because you wanted to shower with me. No way in hell I was gonna let that happen!”

“You have the shower room for it!”

″Yeah, and I've already passed on my grievances to you yesterday about that hell-room!”

“Well, at least with me with you, you don’t have to worry about--what did you call it? Oh yeah--’Casper the fuckin’ Perverted Ghost’.”

“I’d take a ghost over you any day.”

“You won’t be saying that in a year.”

“Bold of you to assume that I won’t be choosing Casper over you. After all, I’ll be spending time with him as well.”

San scoffed, slightly amused but annoyed at the same time. “Are you actually trying to get me jealous of something that doesn’t exist?”

“Who said Casper doesn’t exist?”

“‘Cause ghosts don’t exist.”

“Tell that to Casper. You’ll find him in my shower room.”

Amidst the conversation, neither of you had noticed how the bowl and cup was now empty, their contents now residing in San’s stomach. But when you did, you got up--ready to walk to the kitchen and put everything away--until his very warm hands wrapped around your elbow gently.

“Please don’t go. You can put all that stuff away later. Just... stay with me.”

Sighing, you decided to listen to him for once an put the tray down before tightening the covers around him again--making him whine. “Noooooo, I wanna hold you.”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?”

“I’m ill, stop taking my muddled brain so seriously.”

Your brow cocked up, amused while you looked over his flushed face. “So you’d be willing get me sick too?”

Another pout formed on his face. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “You know what, you’re right. You can go.”

He avoided looking at you, instead fixing his saddened gaze at the window. Your natural scepticism told you that he was just faking it, only putting on an act to get your attention and affection. Yet, for the first time in a while, doubt began to seep in.

Maybe... maybe you could give in. Just this once.

Sighing, you slipped off your slippers and lay down beside him, an arm and leg wrapping around his body to bring him closer to you. A stronger tint of red covered his face as he looked at you, flabbergasted, as he tried to wriggle out of your touch. “What are you doing, you’ll get sick--”

“My immune system is much stronger than yours, I’ll live. Besides, you look cosy,” you muttered, nestling your face into the soft blanket. Even his blanket smelled like a garden in the rain, despite the amount of sweat that’s probably seeped into it.

Truly, he did, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to hug the human burrito.

San had, instead, found you cute, cheek squished against the fabric surrounding him. Let his mind wonder to the image of you pressed against him--without the covers coming between you two.

Again.

Would you look this peaceful, sleeping on his chest, on a regular day--he thought.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you gonna get some rest?” San could feel your voice vibrating through the covers despite the thickness of it.

“Hard not to stare at you, ya know?” he relaxed himself, despite feeling like he was baking beneath the blanket, and let his head rest on the pillow, cheek pressed against your forehead.

“Goddamn, you’re hot. Did you take any medicine while I was cooking?”

“Oh, Hun, there’s no cure for sexiness,” he coughed, a smirk pulling at his lips from the joke he made.

Another sigh was pulled from your throat as you got up to look for any painkillers he could take. Sane began to whine once more, rolling over since he could barely had enough energy to move with his arms when he was this tired--a full belly of warm broth and tea not helping what so ever.

“No--wait. Come back...”

“You need painkillers.”

With a straight face, he stared deep into your eyes, slightly glossy and sparkling under the dim sunlight coming into the room. “But you’re my painkiller.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get you some meds,” you deadpanned, scooping up the tray to leave the grown-ass mafia boss whining and rolling around, throwing a tantrum.

After some hard thinking and remembering that Wooyoung had given you his number, you called him up as you stood in the doorway, looking at San’s calm state of sleeping.

“My dear sister,” you heard a voice finally say over the phone, “what requires my assistance?”

“...Wooyoung?”

“Yes, dear sister?”

“What in the world has possessed you call me your ‘dear sister’?”

“Because you’re gonna be my friend’s wife some day, so I need to get used to seeing you as my sister-from-another-mister.”

Rubbing the bridge of your nose, you decided to not comment on his outlandish claims. “San’s not feeling well.”

“Is that why he sent us all away?” he laughed, somehow finding this situation amusing--since this is what his best friend tends to do; finds his weakened state as vulnerability, and if there was one thing San hated, it was feeling vulnerable.

But if he truly hated that, then why pursue this why you--when he know that it would force him to bring his guard down?

“I think so. No one was here when I came out of my room. Not the cooks or the maids or even the guards,” you said, taking another gander as if there might be someone roaming the halls to disprove your statement.

There wasn’t.

“Okay then. You want me to give you our private doctor’s number?”

Chuckling to yourself because you knew you were right (immediately confusing Wooyoung), you hummed, “yeah, that would be great.”

“O-Okay. Lemme text it to you. But do you need anything else? I know from experience San can get a little clingy when he’s not in his right mind,” he said, a boisterous giggle passing his lips.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You let your gaze brush over your captor’s figure. “Just send me the number and I’ll take it from there.”

“Okie dokie then, dear sister. I’ll leave you to deal with that enigma.”

“Alright, Wooyoung. See you tomorrow?”

“Call me ‘dear brother’, then maybe I’ll hang u--”

You shoved your phone into your back pocket after ending the call, thinking that it would take him a few minutes. Proving you wrong, the phone buzzes to life within the next ten seconds, Wooyoung sending you a couple of messages.

Wooyoung: Well that was a rude Wooyoung: No matter, I still love ya, dear sister Wooyoung: Probs should clarify that it’s platonic in case San sees it and gets all jelly Wooyoung: Anyway, here’s the number Wooyoung: XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N: Thanks, bro

Wooyoung: 🥺🥺 You called me ‘bro’

Smiling a little, you called the number--which had indeed taken you to a doctor’s clinic. After hearing of his exact temperature and other symptoms, the woman over the phone had concluded that it was as you first suspected--the common cold.

She told you to keep giving him painkillers and he should be fine within the week. Ending the call with a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, you left to get San more broth and medication, and hopefully you’d lay down with him again.

Which is exactly what you did for the rest of the day, opting to stay with him for the night too in order to make sure he really was okay. Thankfully, the worst of his fever had passed by the time morning came around and he was feeling much better.

You, however, were exhausted after looking after him, deep in your slumber as you shifted closer to San, who had broken free of his blanket prison and wrapped it around the two of you. The sunlight peeking through the window paled in comparison to the faint smile of glee San had adorned when he saw you.

Cheeked pressed up against his shoulder, and arm and a leg draped over his body like a koala clinging to a tree.

Just like he had thought the day before.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby , @sparklychangbin , @shawkneecaps If you wanna be tagged, feel free to ask!

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marigoldsandbuttercups · 3 years

Note

Pick a few skels. Now, imagine said skels manage to find a deal of a house when they get to the Surface. Whoops! Turns out the house was H A U N T E D~! (No wonder it was such a steal). How do they react to events such as their socks winding up in random spots and the lights flickering on and off?

Tips for when you buy a house!

1: Check the history and be sus at all times-

Haunted House Things™

Puts on a tough guy act and ignores whatever that is, but they jump everytime the door opens in its own. Will probably tell the ghost off about having manners smh: Papyrus, Chestnut and Blue.

Cusses the ghost out every instance it bothers them, and gets more angry when said ghostie doesn't listen to them: Red, Edge, Black

They'd get spooked real fast and anytime they wanna enter a room they'd ask for the ghost to be nice to them-: Stretch, Coffee, Aster.

They've met ghosts, this doesn't faze them, get effed, weirdo: Rus, Thistle, Wine.

"cool, can ya put my sock in the basket for me?" somehow, they're able to annoy the ghost into leaving the house: Sans.

"Who ya gonna call? ghOST BUSTERS-" so hyped up cause there's a ghost and he can film this and go ghost hunting. Is also scared shitless everytime he hear the ghost sigh and books it like the demon's coming for his bones every time: G

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tinytonysnark · 3 years

Note

Hi Nisha love, Stevetony for #40 (Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh) in the 50 wordless ways to say I love you prompt list if you're so inspired? <3

40. Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh. 2.1K words, stevetony, fluff, tw: Howard Stark’s A+ Parenting

six

The first thought Steve ever has about Tony is, he looks sad.

He’s making his way into the school by himself, cause he’s grown now — his Ma’s car is still at the drop-off where he can see her still blowing kisses at him through the window, but who’s gonna know — when his eyes land on them.

There’s a man standing in front of a boy who looks smaller than Steve does, something he didn’t even know was possible — and the boy looks sad, shoulders hunched in and staring at the ground while the man seems to be scolding him, like his Ma does sometimes when he gets into a fight with the boys down the road.

But unlike Steve, the boy doesn’t stare back and let it be known that those boys had it coming for talking like that with his chest puffed up because he’s mad — and not at all because he’s pulling in big gulps of air.

Steve can’t see what the man’s face must be like since his back is to him but he imagines it must be angry and that just makes him angry cause the man seems like a big old bully and Steve hates bullies.

If the man wasn’t a grown up Steve might have just gone over there to tug the boy away and yell at the man about maybe picking on somebody his own size, but he promised his Ma he wouldn’t get into trouble — well, not on the first day at least.

So instead, he sticks his tongue out at the man, blowing a raspberry at him that he doesn’t hear.

But the boy does.

He looks, eyes darting up and around the man to stare at Steve who must have a silly look on his face because the boy looks a little shocked and his ears go red but there’s a smile, there and gone before he quickly looks back down at his feet.

Steve decides then and there that this boy is going to be his friend and he waits for him, the man leaving with a dismissive wave as he walks over to his very shiny car.

The boy watches him leave before making his way over to Steve, shoulders still hunched but not staring at the pavement anymore. “Hi. You - you didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Course I did,” Steve says with a shrug. “You and me are gonna be friends. I’m Steve Rogers,” he says, sticking his hand out for a shake.

The boy stares at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it with sweaty hands, “I’m Tony Stark and I - I really want to be your friend.”

“Well good, cause we’re going to be best friends,” Steve says confidently, dragging Tony through the front doors. “Come on, we can’t be late on our first day.”

[continue on AO3] or

***

twelve

“I’m just sayin’ that if you don’t come over for blueberry pie after Ma specifically baked it with you in mind, she’s gonna throw a fit,” Steve tells him, feet swinging under him because these benches were so high.

Not because he’s short.

It’s not.

Tony’s hands are fidgeting, his fingernails plucking at the skin of his nail beds and Steve doesn’t even think about it when he reaches over to pry them apart.

Tony just moves on to biting at the skin on his bottom lip. “Howard will be really mad if I miss dinner. He says the people coming over could really make or break the the company and he wants to make a good impression.”

His laugh is derisive when he tells Steve, “We have to be the picture perfect family complete with the great businessman but who’s also a loving father, the doting wife and mother with me staring as the golden son. What could possibly go wrong?”

Steve’s face must have morphed into the strange expression he does whenever Tony mentions anything about his home life because when he looks up from the plate of fries he’s not eating he gives a snort of laughter which only makes him embarrassed, covering his mouth like that would force it back in.

“Shut up, you didn’t hear that,” Tony says, cheeks going pink.

“Hear what?” Steve grins, swiping a handful of fries.

“Hey!”

“What? You’re gonna come over to eat my food so now I’m stealing yours,” Steve tells him. “Listen, you’re coming over today. Ma can be scary when she wants to be and not even your dad can stop her.”

Tony goes back to chewing on his lip.

“Hey, trust me,” Steve says, grabbing at Tony’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Tony looks down at their hands before looking right at Steve. “Okay.”

It doesn’t occur to him until much, much later that he and Tony held hands all through lunch and neither one had said anything.

***

fourteen

They’re sitting in Math class — and why Tony is even in this class confuses Steve considering how smart he is — when he realises Tony isn’t paying attention to a single thing Mr.Vanko is saying.

He’s staring at his phone, hidden behind his open textbook and he’s taking a selfie that Steve is just going to assume he’s sending to Rhodes because —

Because the other option is assuming he’s gonna send it to Stone who is a senior and all around jerk and Steve kinda wants to bash his head in whenever he sees the douche hanging around Tony and — well, Tony seems to enjoy Stone’s attention but there’s something not right about that guy and Steve —

Steve is not biased. He isn’t.

He makes a face at the camera when Tony angles the phone again and Tony doesn’t even notice until he looks at the picture.

He stifles a laugh into his hand but Mr. Vanko’s hearing is scary good and he always seems to have it out for Tony anyway so he turns away from the chalkboard to glare at where Tony sits.

“Something funny, Mr. Stark?’

“No, no, just that you wrote out the equation wrong,” Tony says, shutting his book, his phone wedged between the pages.

“I doubt it,” Mr. Vanko sneers before looking at the board then scowling when he realises Tony is right.

Steve tries not to roll his eyes because of course Tony is right.

When he checks his messages later he sees that Tony had sent him the picture, with Tony front and centre but the perspective makes it look like Steve is popping right up from his head with a goofy look on his face.

He makes it his screensaver because really — who’s even going to know?

***

seventeen

Steve says the only reason Tony tries out for cheerleading is to be a rebel and to effectively drive Steve insane.

Tony tells him that he does it so he can stay in shape since now he has to keep with Steve’s insane growth spurth over the past year and so he can be flexible and Steve — well, Steve tries not to go completely red at the implication in Tony’s tone.

For all the years they’ve been friends, for all the dancing around they did about how they felt for each other — this, this is still new and real and Steve is completely terrified of messing this up.

Losing Tony - that’s not even something his brain can comprehend.

But when he shows up to practice, already making his way over to where the cheerleaders are to say hello and maybe steal a kiss, he thinks that Tony is trying to put him in an early grave because he’s standing there wearing the cheer uniform just —

The crop top and the skirt are fitted so well.

For some reason, Steve’s brain latches onto the fact that Tony’s belly button is out.

He’s an innie.

Steve must look an absolute fool right now because the cheerleaders burst into giggles around him, Tony included, who walks up to him and sweet jesus -

He shaved his legs and Steve thinks maybe there’s glittery body oil on them because there’s no way —

“Hi, handsome,” Tony smiles up at him. “You’ve got a real dumb look on your face so I’m assuming you like the uniform.”

Steve tries to say something back but his mouth just feels bone dry at the moment and he has to clear his throat to choke out a simple, “Yeah, baby. I really, really do.”

Tony kisses him, hard and fast -they’re lucky their teeth didn’t clack together - before pushing him off to the field. “Go on number 29! I can’t cheer for you if you’re terrible.”

“Thanks for that,” he says before hauling Tony in to kiss him once more, deeper and leaving him dazed before he runs back to his team.

He gets a pom-pom thrown at him.

***

twenty-two

There’s a Taylor Swift song blasting from the speakers to commemorate Tony’s birthday but Steve — Steve can’t find Tony anywhere in this strange house he got off-campus that Steve is nearly certain is haunted because why else would it be so cheap it practically a robbery.

Rhodes had mentioned to check the workshop but that had been the first place he looked anyway and he’s gone through the whole house at this point.

He’s standing by the kitchen before it comes to him and he’s off like a shot up the stairs, nearly bowling people over in his haste.

He gets to Tony’s room, places the bag on the table and climbs through the windowsill when he spots him, sitting cross-legged on the roof. “Tony?”

The surprise on Tony’s face honestly makes the 4 hour long journey entirely worth it.

“S-Steve? Ohmygod, Steve!” He yells, jumping up to crash into him and they nearly go skidding off the roof.

“Why don’t we head back in -”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony interrupts, “Let’s just sit out here.”

Steve isn’t really one to deny Tony anything, let alone on his birthday and definitely not when he’s beaming like that.

He tugs Steve down, his back to Steve’s chest. “I - I got worried when you didn’t call. Thought maybe you forgot.”

Steve frowns, “Forgot? Baby, in these last 16 years I have never not once forgotten the most important date on my calendar and I ain’t gonna start now.”

He brings Tony’s hands up to him and places a kiss on the palm, “There was a slight hold up. Just, wait here.”

“There’s only one exit.”

“You say that like you haven’t rolled off a roof to prove a point before,” Steve tells him, reaching through the window to snatch the bag before coming back to sit in front of Tony.

“Courtesy of the best bakery in New York,” Steve tells him, holding out the cupcake. “Bucky’s kitchen.”

He lights the candle he brought with him and sticks it in the middle. “Make a wish, Tones.”

Tony stares at him with a look so full of love with the flickering of the flame reflecting in his eyes that all the air rushes out of Steve’s lungs.

He blows out the candle before then promptly taking it out and smears the cupcake into Steve’s face that frosting goes up his nose.

Tony laughs so hard when Steve just stares at him that he nearly does roll off the roof.

Tony makes it up to him by licking up all the frosting though.

***

twenty-seven

Steve’s hands can’t stop shaking.

He can’t believe that after months and months of planning, they’re finally here.

That in just a few short minutes, he’s gonna get to call Tony his husband.

The doors open and Steve thinks his heart might have just stopped as he watches Tony walk towards him, resplendent in his tux and he just knows that the camera is recording his slack jawed expression because Tony is grinning at him as he makes his way down the aisle.

When they’re declared husbands, Steve kisses that grin right off his face and the camera catches their stupefied expressions.

***

thirty

Tony drops the blanket, yelling out, “Peek-A-Boo!”

Peter, completely amused, claps his tiny little hands from inside the crib.

“The betrayal I feel right now is overwhelming,” Steve calls from the door of the nursery. “This is my favourite game.”

He crouches down next to Tony, both hiding behind the blanket before dropping it again, making silly faces.

“Peek-A-Boo!”

Peter’s shriek of laughter can be heard all through the house.

#stevetony fic #steve/tony #marvel #stony #tony stark #steve rogers #stevetony #stony fic #anon you inspired me to write 2k words of pure fluff wow that's amazing #i kinda cheated a lil tho #blink and you'll miss it #also...nisha love...the softest endearment...i could kiss #ficlet #nisha writes

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smokedstorybara · 3 years

Text

I have so many bnha fanfic ideas, they’ve just been popping into my head every few days for weeks now

So I’m just gonna share them all on this one post instead of making a million new fandom posts out of nowhere (ok, it’s closer to, like, ten - but still!)

If any of y’all want me to actually write any of them, don’t hesitate to say so - or if you just want to ask questions and talk about the ideas I’d be totally down for that too

Also, if any of them inspire you to write or draw something, please send me a link when you’re done!

(under a readmore cause it’s long and also there’s spoilers)

Fae courts AU

Nedzu - Spring King

U.A. / The Spring Court - also known as the Court of Lost Children, all members of the Court were once human children or children of one of the other Courts and they view it as their duty to care for the lost, neglected, and abused children of the world (one of two child stealing Courts)

All Might - Summer King

All For One - Winter King

Objectively, the Summer and Winter Courts are not as different as they like to believe - a Summer fae is just as likely to trick or turn on you as a Winter fae, they just prefer to play at benevolence while Winter fae make no secret of their nature

Shie Hassaikai / The Autumn Court - used to be more like a lesser version of the Summer and Winter Courts, until Overhaul put the King to sleep and made his research into humanity the Court’s focus - they’re now the second child stealing Court

Eraserhead was once human but has made enough deals over the years - most notably with Nezu himself - that he’s practically fae now

Deku and Kachan are human children who were taken in by the Spring Court, though Deku only after catching the attention of All Might

Endeavor - High Fae in the Summer Court - wants to become Summer King but knows he’s not powerful enough to overthrow All Might, married a High Winter Fae in hopes that combining their powers would make one of their kids powerful enough

Dabi fakes his death and eventually becomes a High Fae in the Winter Court

Shouto seeks sanctuary in the Spring Court’s halls

(I don’t actually have a plot for it, but I’m enjoying figuring out the world and stuff)

Evil All Might AU

The underworld knows that young Yagi Toshinori is a con-artist, and a very good one

The kid’s quirkless, and from a bad neighborhood, so of course he gets involved in shady dealings to get by

But he never ever gets caught

See, he’s mastered the eager, innocent, “I know I’m quirkless, but it’s my dream to be a hero! To fight crime! To be someone people can look up to, put their faith in! To be a… a symbol!” act, he’s been running that con any time he’s found in the wrong place at the wrong time since he first started walking - no one with even a single good bone in their body ever questions it

He gets involved with AFO, who’s like “I could give you one of my lesser quirks in exchange for your loyalty, or you could do a long undercover mission for me and get one of the most powerful quirks in existence out of it”

His mission: pulling his signature con on Shimura Nana, being given One for All, becoming a hero, becoming the Number One Hero and Symbol of Peace and the singular pillar holding up hero society, maintaining that status for long enough that everyone grows a little complacent, finding a weak and manipulable child to pass One for All on to, setting them up to fail, and then retiring

(I’d either have this one be All Might-focused and end with the reveal, or have it be Izuku-focused and give it a happy ending where All Might totally chose the wrong kid, cause nothing about Izuku is weak)

Commission analyst Izuku au

Member of the commission overhears him muttering/catches a glance at his notebook while watching a hero fight, strikes up a conversation

The commission tracks him down, shows up at his home with a similar offer to the one they gave Hawks - but instead of a hero they want him to be an analyst for them

Like Hawks, they take away his name, only calling him something like Eagle Eye or something (I’d go with Hawkeye but Hawks already exists so it might be weird?)

(Basically this fic idea is just an excuse to have Izuku and Hawks as the ultimate team, and helping each other get out from under the commission’s thumb - maybe revolutionizing hero society along the way)

Canon rewrite w/ Monoma as main character, somehow

All I have for this one so far is just:

Monoma copies afo, uses copied afo to steal afo, AFO is now defeated

After getting better at controlling her quirk, Eri rewinds Kurogiri back into Shirakumo Oboro

But he’s the age he was when he died

So he joins the current class 2-A

As in Izuku’s class

Basically it’s just his old best friends having to teach him and him making friends with all Aizawa’s problem children

Time travel

(I have multiple cause I really like time travel)

Aizawa-centric time loop fic

Loop stretching from day before Oboro’s death to towards the end of the liberation war (diverging from canon in at least the first loop cause he fucking dies during the fight)

At first he thinks maybe he just, like, dreamt up those 14(?) years

But then things are happening the same way and so he starts changing things and he dies and wakes up the day before Oboro’s death again

He experiments a lot with the loops, figuring out that they’re definitely not time based - unless it’d loop back at the end of the liberation war even if he survives? Requires further testing

Details he changes throughout the loops (culminating in a loop in which he successfully changes all of them):

Oboro’s death

Shimura Tenko being taken in by All for One, All Might’s injury(?), Izuku accepting One for All, and more I haven’t fully decided on

Time travel fic where Pro Hero Deku accidentally time travels back to just before Aizawa’s first year as a student at ua and somehow gets hired as a teacher

Gonna be a two-parter

Part one: Izuku has to teach teen versions of his old high school teachers, channels their future selves a little

Part two: Aizawa, Yamada, and Kayama have to teach the teen version of their old favorite high school teacher, and end up channeling his future self - in different ways

(I’ve come across a couple different “Izuku gets accidentally sent back in time to when his teachers were students” fanfics and they keep making me think about how Aizawa & co would react to meeting him in canon timeline after meeting him in high school and then I took the natural step forward from there to “let’s parallel their nostalgia, make him their high school teacher so it can really hit hard”)

Izuku is related to rooftop trio aus

(I’ve come across a bunch of “Izuku is the biological son of at least one member of the rooftop trio” aus but only one acknowledges that in canon he’s only 15 years younger than them and that one has a very angsty explanation, so I wanted some that fit with canon and also aren’t too heavy - cause like, sure you could go with the complex extremely angsty trauma reason or you could go with the “these 13-16-year-olds(idk Inko’s canon age and as long as I never look it up I can pretend I’m not going against canon by making her only 2-ish years older than them) did what teenagers do and went to a party and made some relatively innocent mistakes and ended up with a pregnancy”)

Dadoro

Oboro and Inko have been neighbors and best friends their whole childhood, despite being a couple years separated in age

The fall before Oboro starts high school, Inko takes him along to a party with her high school friends

They get drunk and sleep together

Inko gets pregnant

They talk it through with each other and their families and agree to keep the baby (they’re both actually pretty excited to be parents) and raise it together platonically

Some months into first year (maybe second), Oboro tells his friends about his kid

Spends the rest of his life gushing about Izuku to all his friends (sorry for the word choice fjdhshshx)

Oboro dies and his friends make pact to help Inko take care of Izuku once they have steady income and stuff

But Inko’s family has moved and she’s married and they can’t find her

They keep searching, for roughly 14 years

And then Midoriya Izuku enrolls in UA’s hero course and his big green eyes and curly green hair match the pictures Oboro used to show them and his smile is identical to their old friend’s

And his mom’s name is Inko

But they’re not sure (His quirk doesn’t match Oboro’s nor his Inko’s after all)

Not until after the first term and the summer training disaster camp and Kamino, when All Might and Aizawa go house to house talking to parents about the dorms and All Might tries to insist on visiting the Midoriyas alone but Aizawa insists right back cause this is the closest he’s come to confirmation

and then he’s face to face with a woman he’s only ever seen in photographs

And then they talk about everything or something idk I haven’t got that far

Dadzawa and Dadmic (trans!aizawa)

A year and a half before he starts high school(I know I changed the timeline a whole year here but shush, how’s he supposed to get into U.A.’s hero course while pregnant?), Aizawa’s middle school and one or two others have a Joint Event, at which he meets a loud but cute blonde who keeps flirting with him

They hook up

He gets pregnant

His dad insists he get an abortion but he doesn’t want to and his mom supports his decision, they convince his dad to let him go through with the pregnancy on the condition that he gives the baby up for adoption immediately

He has twins, both boys (one with green eyes like the blonde’s(but darker) and the other with purple like Shouta’s mother’s)(that’s right, Shinsou is also their son in this, you’re welcome), and he gives them up for adoption to separate families

But with conditions

No one from his blood family is allowed to initiate contact with either boy without the kid’s knowing consent (he’s terrified of his father changing his mind, tracking them down, and hurting them)

With the one exception being that he’s allowed to send each one a birthday present and card every year

Which he does

Then he starts at UA and then gets into the hero course and there he is… the blonde… the father of Shouta’s children… who does not recognize him now that he’s started transitioning

This time Shouta’s the one who flirts - or tries to, the kid’s a little too oblivious

Of course they do eventually get together, and even end up married! (Haven’t decided if they get together during high school or after they start teaching there or what(probably the latter, for plot reasons))

The first time Midoriya Inko contacts Shouta is after Izuku is diagnosed quirkless - she knows the young man loves her son as much as she does and might be able to reassure him where she already failed

His next birthday, Izuku’s mystery card says he can be a hero even without a quirk; it makes Izuku’s year

Hitoshi’s parents also contact Shouta that year, the boy struggling to make and keep friends ever since his quirk came in; Shouta’s birthday card to him isn’t much different from Izuku’s, really

The Shinsous get in an accident and Hitoshi is placed in foster care and suddenly Shouta can’t send him his yearly gift and card anymore cause nobody will tell him where the boy is now because of the contact portion of the adoption contract

They also won’t tell Hitoshi that he was adopted and his birth father is out there looking for him, so Shouta’s pretty sure they’re trying to hide that he’s being mistreated wherever he is

Inko continues to contact Shouta now and then whenever she thinks Izuku will need extra encouragement come his birthday (she never tells Izuku about being adopted - even after he enters his teen years - cause after his diagnosis, everyone but her left him and she doesn’t want him to internalize the idea that his birth parents didn’t want him - Shouta’s not happy with the decision, but he understands)

Then one year he sends Izuku a Present Mic figurine and she writes him to share how excited the boy was and how Present Mic is one of his favorite heroes and he listens to his radio show all the time and Shouta simultaneously melts and has a minor breakdown at the realization that he hasn’t told his husband that they have sons, he can’t tell Hizashi that their son listens to his radio show regularly when Hizashi doesn’t know Izuku even exists

So of course, being the rational man he is, he finally tells Hizashi about Izuku and Hitoshi

Hizashi freaks, of course (in a good way(mostly))

And then, one of the worst days of Shouta’s life

He’s on patrol and sees a figure on a rooftop and rushes to get there - just in case it’s a jumper - and it’s his son, his Izuku

They talk(it doesn’t breach the adoption contract, he didn’t know it was Izuku when he approached and the kid spoke first) and Izuku tells him “everything” about his encounter with All Might, Shouta tells him to tell his parents - they’re there to support him - and also that All Might’s full of shit and a quirkless hero is totally possible with the right training and enough willpower

Then after they leave the rooftop his kid gets in trouble again, rushing in to save a classmate from the same sludge villain that attacked him earlier that day

Of course Shouta swoops in and pulls the kids out of danger before All Might arrives to “save the day”

This time Shouta insists on walking Izuku home to make sure he actually gets there safely

But then All Might shows up again wanting to talk to his kid privately and he wants to tell the man to fuck off but he’s not legally allowed, really, so when Izuku says it’s fine he reluctantly leaves

Inko asks to meet him just days later

She tells him that Izuku told her everything about what happened that day - including what Shouta told him - and she tells him that she’s realized she needs to properly support her son in pursuing his dream

She understands that Shouta wouldn’t feel comfortable training him one-on-one with the kid not knowing who they are to each other, and she’s still not ready to tell him yet, so she asks for a list, for him to help her get in touch with people who can train Izuku or ways for Izuku to train on his own, ways for her to help

He puts her in contact with seven pro heroes (Midnight, Gunhead, the Wild Wild Pussycats, and - somehow - Sir Nighteye) and a vigilante team (the Naruhata Crawler and his team), all of whom he talks into helping - and has to tell about his connection to this boy they’ll be teaching

(Each have something important to teach him: Midnight - using words and body language to throw off opponents, Gunhead - martial arts, Wild Wild Pussycats - stamina, teamwork and use of your environment when out in nature, Sir Nighteye - analysis and planning, the Naruhata Vigilantes - use of gadgets and weapons, use of your environment when in the city, having the heart of a hero, and - most importantly - that quirkless people can be fucking strong and skilled and terrifying and certainly aren’t weak or useless (they were trained by a quirkless vigilante after all, they’re bound to have a different perspective on the idea of a quirkless hero than anyone else, a perspective Izuku could really benefit from))

Ten months later, Izuku passes UA’s entrance exam and is placed in Shouta’s class (he’s pretty sure Nezu did that on purpose)

When the school year starts, he and Hizashi discover that Izuku isn’t the only one in one of their classes - Hitoshi is in Hizashi’s homeroom

They are, of course, fucking extatic

They just need to, y’know, figure out how to tell him that they’re his parents and maybe possibly would love custody of him if he wants

(Again I haven’t gotten any further than that yet)

(Also, if you can’t tell, in this au Izuku turns down All Might’s offer of One for All, cause Eraserhead said he could be a hero without a quirk and was honestly a lot kinder and more responsible (like, making sure the kid got home safely instead of leaving him on a roof) and stuff than All Might and honestly might be his new favorite hero)

#bnha #mha #midoriya izuku #all might #aizawa shouta #shirakumo oboro #monoma neito #yamada hizashi

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

"Stop" - W.I.J Day 15

For @whumpmasinjuly Day 15.

This takes place before Dmitri meets Vincent.

(This is based on an anon ask on @ashintheairlikesnow who also owns Kauri so go give her some love)

TW: noncon (implied), noncon (desire to do so to someone), alcohol, drunkenness, creepy guys, implied drug use (ruffying)

Dmitri sits at the counter, taking in the energy of the room. Bars like this, at the tail end of June, are packed with people. Most are a lot younger than him, enjoying the air free of judgment.

Tonight is different.

Dmitri sits at one of the bar stools, sipping a mojito silently. He leans on the counter with an elbow and just lets the sounds of the bar trickle into his senses.

“So,” Cassie, one of the bartenders, says, “How’s the night?”

“You startled me,” Dmitri chuckles as he swirls his glass, “It’s alright, just trying to take some of this energy.”

Cassie gives him a warm smile, “Take it in, hell it leeches from me here.”

“‘Cause it’s your job Cassie,” Dmitri says, “I love my work but it still steals my spirit some days.”

Cassie blows a strand of red hair out of her eyes as she shakes up a cocktail. Her gaze wanders the crowds of mostly younger men and women, all enjoying the night of drinks and music. Dmitri smiles, remembering the days when he was young and did the same.

“Surprised you're not joining them,” Dmitri says after taking another sip of his drink, “It’s fun.”

“Ah no.” Cassie pours the alcohol into a glass, it fades from red to clear and smells like cherries. She tosses a sugared cherry in with the mix and slides it down a few chairs, “Just paying for college.”

Dmitri nods and lets his vision fade into the lights. Flashing reds, purples, and greens cascade around the floor and he can feel the music in his pulse.

“Did you ever come here when you were younger,” Cassie says and she fills some shots for some college kids, “You've been here most of your life.”

“By most do you mean because I’m nearly 40?”

“I mean, sure you can go with that,” Cassie returns with a nonchalant shrug to rival a pidgin.

“Moved out here when I was 19, I’m gonna be 40 in a few months… 21 years… yeah I think Antony just opened this place when I came here for dates,” Dmitri says polishing off his Mojito, “Oh speaking of Antony, just put the drinks on my tab. He knows I’ll pay him by the end of the month.”

“Two steps ahead of you,” Cassie chuckles as she slides him another Mojito, “You and Antony close or something? He hates when people ask for tabs but he lets you.”

“Eh,” Dmitri shrugs, tipping the second glass towards her, “His wife, Yennifer, she’s my cousin and I’m close with her. She’s probably the only reason I can do this anyway.”

Cassie smiles, “Mrs. Robinson’s your cousin?! I knew you two looked similar!”

Dmitri just shrugs.

“Well,” Cassie says as she picks up another bottle, “Gotta get back to work, have a nice night.”

“You as well,” Dmitri replies, heading elsewhere.

The sounds of the nightclub fowl around him and he lets the feeling of wild youthfulness just set in his bones. Part of him missed the chaos that was his twenties, the constant adrenaline from fun and hubris. Yet, the years set him forward and now he just watches.

“Hey~”

Dmitri spins on the stool and faces the voice. A younger man, in his mid-twenties, smiles drunkenly at Dmitri, “How you doin’ tonight?”

“Doing well, just observing.”

The man tilts his head and the mess of loose black curls nearly falls into his drink, “Well I observed you. From over there.” He tosses his head back from where he came and his hair flies. His eyes, clouded blue, stare at him lazily.

Dmitri can tell from both time and experience that he is drunk. The way the young man’s words slurred just slightly and the way his pupils could never seem to focus on him gives it all away. However, something in his gut tells Dmitri something’s off.

Dmitri returns the careless smile, “Really? Why is that?”

Curls leans forward, his eyes flicking across Dmitri’s body, “Well Mister Big-n-Tall you looked lonely sitting here.” He props his head upon his elbow and scrunches his nose at Dmitri.

I am more than likely almost twice your age curls, you must love making poor decisions.

“How about I get you and I a coke and then we can talk, hmm?” Dmitri asks, trying to hide his slight uncomfortability.

“Of course,” blue eyes says as he almost falls onto the counter, “I’ll wait here handsome.”

Dmitri stands and walks over to the vending machine. He thinks about how to gently slide off this guy without being obvious.

Haven’t been flirted with like this in at least a year.

Dmitri lets himself listen to the people around him as he thinks. As the dollars slide into the machine he hears a gruffer voice laugh.

“You see that guy over there, black curls, looks like Vincent Shield, has been drinking for a while. I added something spicy to his last Paloma and once he’s done with the big guy we can take him back to my place for some fun.”

I fucking knew something was off.

Dmitri grit his teeth as he grabs the two cokes and glances over his shoulder. Three guys sit watching Curls with predatory gazes. They’re all younger than Dmitri but not by much. It takes a fair bit of willpower not to walk over there and teach them a colorfully shown message.

But he doesn’t.

He slides back next to Curls and hands him one of the cokes. Curls takes it and pops it open and takes a sip. Dmitri leans over the counter and waves down Cassie and points out the three assholes in the back.

He turns back to Curls, “So… company? I have an apartment a block or two from here if you wish to join me.”

Curls drunkenly pulls himself closer and coos, “I’d be happy to go back with you and find out what else on you is big.”

I’m too old for this.

He guides Curls outside and nearly carries him back to his apartment. All the while, doll eyes is drunkenly flirting with him. Dmitri ignores the itching irritation that each comment brings. He’s been drugged Dmitri, he’s probably not acting right even in his own eyes.

The cool summer night air wakes Dmitri up a little and reminds him of the slight buzz he has. Tonight was more than likely not the best night to be taking someone home, intentions pure or otherwise. He has work tomorrow and shouldn’t be doing this.

He’s just a kid making bad decisions as kids do. He didn’t plan on getting drugged, have some grace.

Eventually, after having to carry this guy in his arms, they reach the mess of his apartment. Curls reaches up and places a kiss on the underside of Dmitri’s jaw, sealing the coffin of his uncomfortability. Dmitri snatches up a blanket and wraps blue eyes up in it before setting him down on his couch.

“Go to sleep.”

Curls looks up at him, pinned under the tightly wrapped blankets, “Aren’t we gonna have some fun.”

He tries to lean forward and kiss him again. Dmitri just pushes him back down, “Stop.”

Disappointment, and a bit of fear, blooms in Curls’ eyes. “Please.”

“No,” Dmitri says dryly, “You’re in no condition to be agreeing to anything right now.”

Curls pouts and attempts to sit up. Dmitri places a firm hand on his chest and pushes his head back onto the pillow, “Go. To. Sleep. So you can sleep off whatever stuff they gave you.”

Curls shakes his head but Dmitri watches as his eyes droop. Whatever drugs this kid was spiked with care clearly a type of sedative. With Dmitri’s hand firmly on his shoulder, Curls eventually falls asleep.

Dmitri only stands when he can hear the slightest of snores coming from the kid.

I need sleep. Dmitri stands and walks to his own room and falls face-first onto his bed. Sleep hits him like a truck and it feels like he wakes instantly after.

He wakes up hours before the young guy does and about an hour before he goes in for work.

Dmitri stands in his kitchen as the coffee pot brews the ichor of life. The smell of cinnamon rolls he threw into the oven drifts across his apartment. His eyes drift back over to the man on his couch.

Who is he?

Now that he is getting a good look at him, Dmitri has seen him around before with other men, usually around his age. Dmitri never took the time to note him before except for now.

He is thin, almost gaunt. His hair in loose, dark curls looks dull in natural light and he is pale to the point where he reflects light.

Probably not in the best phase of life right now.

A bit of sympathy washes over Dmitri, he remembers a time like that. When he moved out to California to work under his Uncle after his dad passed. He made mistakes, got in trouble, was hurt in more ways than one. His twenties were not joyous times for him.

Maybe this kid has a similar stick of life.

As he turns to pour himself some coffee, the kid sits up and rubs his face. Dmitri watches as he gets a reading on the room and stares at Dmitri.

“Um… hi. Good morning?” he says, all of last night’s drunken confidence gone.

“Sleep well?” Dmitri says as he pours out two cups of coffee.

“Yeah..?” he murmurs as he rubs his forehead, “Yeah I did.”

Dmitri places a half-n-half and a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, ‘Here you go.”

“Thanks! Um…”

“Dmitri, yours?” Dmitri asks as he steps back and leans against his counter.

“My what?”

“Your name,” Dmitri states and the buzzer goes off for the cinnamon rolls, “I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

“Kauri.” Kauri answers as he takes a sip of his coffee, “Yesterday was nice, we were too busy for names.”

Dmitri glances over his shoulder as he puts the glaze across the cinnamon rolls, “You don’t remember anything from yesterday do you?”

“...No.”

“I’m practically twice your age kiddo, we didn’t sleep together. I brought you over because some assholes drugged you and were talking about it,” Dmitri says as he tosses the empty glaze container into the trash.

“Oh… thanks,” Kauri awkwardly mutters.

Dmitri can feel Kauri’s nervousness from the other side of the room. He knows the feeling of waking up in a stranger’s house with no recollection of going there. Only the shadow of your decisions looming at you in the form of another human who could have done anything to you.

“I have to head to work,” Dmitri says as he takes a cinnamon roll and his coffee, “Eat the rest, you need them more than I do. Do me a favor and when you leave, lock the door behind you.”

“Um, Thank you,” Kauri answers, confused. He doesn’t add anything else but watches Dmitri walk towards the door.

Dmitri steps one foot out the door before leaning back inside, “I know your not going to listen to me because I’m just some rando whose house you woke up in but don’t go home with everyone you flirt with, some asshole is going to hurt you, I’ve had it happen to me. Just keep yourself safe alright.”

Kauri nods, even more confused. Dmitri doesn’t have the time to stay and talk. He leaves for work and doesn’t come back until late in the evening.

Curls isn’t there when he gets back.

#whump #kauri grant #dmitri o'brian #drugging #tw: noncon #whumpee #drugged whumpee

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foramomentonly · 3 years

Text

Saved-A Meet Ugly

Author’s Note: Behold, the promised meet ugly inspired by @aewriting ! Blatantly stealing titles from early aughts teen films of my youth at this point.

Summary: Alex discovers a) his new roommate is a Christian Fundamentalist who hates him, b) he’s love with said roommate, and c) he’s super wrong.

CW: negative perspective on organized Christianity/Fundamentalism

Read on AO3

Alex meets his dormmate briefly in the hall as he and his parents are heading out to lunch. Michael Guerin is friendly, his barely-contained, nervous energy evident in the restless way he passes his hands through his close-cropped curls. His parents are formal, bordering on sour, and they glare at Alex’s eyeliner and polished fingernails with disdain. They don’t invite him to eat with them. Then again, Alex thinks as they part and he wanders towards the room he’ll share with Michael, his own father didn’t even bother to drop him off at school. Glass houses, or some shit like that.

Michael has claimed the left side of the room, his bed neatly made up with simple, blue sheets and his desk stuffed with thick textbooks, some already clearly marked with wear. A battered, clunky-looking laptop charges on his nightstand. Some secret tension in Alex slowly uncoils with the knowledge that he isn’t sharing living space with some rich prick; when he eschewed the Manes family military tradition for higher education, Alex left home with little more than his scholarships and a military duffle stuffed with clothes and stolen linens to his name. Knowing his days of watching douchebags like Kyle Valenti flaunt expensive tokens of their parents’ unconditional love are over is a small comfort.

That is, until Alex notices the crucifix resting on Michael's plaid pillowcase. It’s innocuous enough; Liz Ortecho's small home has plenty, family heirlooms hung as reverently as Texas gas station finds, and Alex counts her among his true family. But the facts fall into place like thundering dominos—Michael’s parents' disgust at Alex's makeup, the family's conservative clothes, Michael's closely-chopped hair and, after a bit of snooping, the two well-worn Bibles Alex finds, one in Michael's nightstand and the other on his small bookshelf. Fundamentalists, most likely. Alex swears loud and defiant into the empty room. He thought he'd left bigots and homophobes in his dust, but like a plague of fucking locusts, they followed him, and here he is about to share a sink with one of them.

But Alex also knows better than most that kids aren’t always carbon copies of their parents’ stupidity; he’d flip his shit if someone assumed they knew literally anything about his beliefs based on his asshole father. So when Michael returns to the room Alex is in stealth mode, spread out across his bed and feigning disinterest by flipping through his welcome packet, tracking Michael’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Michael blows a loud puff of air out through his lips and looks like he’s about to flop onto his bed. When he sees the crucifix, he freezes; Alex is about to celebrate a victory against religious indoctrination when Michael lifts the small cross reverently off his pillow and, after an appraising scan of his space, hangs it low on the wall above his nightstand, dragging his school-issued lamp in front of it. He jerks his chin down in a small nod of satisfaction before his eyes dart quickly over to Alex; he almost catches Alex in a glower. Instead, Alex is quietly seething over an intramural sports schedule, his face blank, eyes burning holes in the middle of the page. He figures he’s in the clear when he hears Michael’s bedsprings creak with the sudden weight of his body. Alex glances up and Michael is crossing his arms lazily behind his head. He lets out a loud, satisfied sigh and shoots Alex a disarmingly sincere grin.

“Free at last, huh?” he drawls, and Alex arches a cold brow.

“Sure.”

Alex has every intention of icing Michael out of his daily existence, but as months go by—months where Michael lets his curls grow wild, rambles on and on about the science of irrigation, offers Alex his extensive biology notes for midterms, and laughs loud and deep at all of Alex’s snarky asides—Alex finds himself smiling easily at Michael in return, willingly passing lazy lunch hours and weekend afternoons with him. It comes down to this: for all Michael hasn’t done—the crucifix is an ever-present shadow above his nightstand and weekly video check-ins with his parents are never missed—he just doesn’t fit the mold. He smokes weed on the abandoned picnic tables behind the dorm at night, signs every social justice-oriented pledge and petition shoved at him on a cheap, plastic clipboard on their way to class, and he never wakes up before noon on Sundays. He isn’t fire and brimstone, hate and hellfire. He’s marshmellow fluff; laid back and open, sweet and eager to please, all messy curls and broad shoulders and goofy smiles with too much teeth and—oh, fuck. Alex is in love with him.

Alex is in love with Michael and Michael probably thinks Alex deserves to burn in hell and it’s Kyle all over again. Alex was never in love with Kyle Valenti, but he loved him the way a neglected, angry little boy would love the popular, gregarious kid who was his only source of sunlight. Graciously. Blindly. Kyle was Alex’s best friend, and when middle school puberty made evident that Kyle was a stud and Alex was, well. Alex felt the betrayal of Kyle’s sudden targeted cruelty like a punch to the gut, long before Kyle or his new friends ever laid hands on him. And now, Alex realizes, Michael is his best friend and his heart’s deepest desire and, he’s finally ready to admit, who he jerks off to on lazy mornings after Michael’s barely made it out the door for his 8 a.m. class with a shirt on. Alex is well and truly fucked. “Damned” is too on the nose.

Then one day Alex is dragging his miserably-in-love ass back from class and he totally misses the tie that slipped from the doorknob onto the ugly carpet in front of their door and he opens it on Michael and some random guy going at it on Michael’s bed, sheets bunched at the foot of the mattress, shirts tossed inside out on the floor, and Michael’s hand deep down the guy’s jeans as he pants and whines into Michael’s mouth.

“Shit!” Alex cries, waffling between shutting the door behind him to shield them from the prying eyes of hallway passers-by or in front of him to shut himself out of his own room. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Michael looks flustered, but it’s not the bone-deep terror of being outed; Alex is intimately familiar with that darkest timeline of queer identity. His boyfriend—hook up?—just looks annoyed. His dark eyes glare at Alex and he snaps, “Do you mind, man?” with a sharp nod towards the door. Alex squares his jaw and opens his mouth to retort when Michael says softly, seriously, “Don’t talk to him like that,” shaking his head at his bedmate. The guy huffs in disbelief, rolling off the bed to pull on his shirt, still inside out, and fasten his jeans, brushing his fingers through messy, deep brown hair.

“You’re seriously kicking me out right now?” he murmurs low, and when Michael doesn't answer, he spits, “You are such a dick.”

Michael winces and bites his lip, normally bright eyes dim and gaze cast down towards his own hands. The sight of Michael cowed, flushed and hurt and getting told off by the same Hot Topic reject who was getting off with him not five minutes ago trips Alex's long-dormant kill switch. He steps into the guy's space, pulling back his shoulders so his shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his arms and chest, and draws up to his full height.

"You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of our room," Alex says, voice low and eerily calm, even to his own ears. The guy glowers at Alex, but the corner of his mouth twitches and he blinks first, intimidation evident in his narrowed eyes. He brushes past Alex and slams the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, moving closer to Michael on instinct and setting a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. Michael gazes up at him with wide, honey eyes, opens his soft, pink mouth, and blurts, "I love you."

Alex blinks, gapes, and what comes out of his mouth is an incredulous, “But I’m gay!”

Michael snorts, cups Alex’s forearm gently and runs his palm up and down his skin, the soft hair on his arms.

“Yeah, I know. That’s kinda why I’m hoping I have a shot.” He pauses, hesitation creeping across his face, and he takes his hand off of Alex abruptly, as though he hadn’t quite realized he’d put it there in the first place. “If you’re not interested, I totally—”

“No, no, I am,” Alex says, and the wattage of Michael’s answering grin could power the university’s electric grid for the rest of the semester. “But I thought you were, like, Team Westboro or whatever.”

Michael’s face falls, his whole body withers, and he hugs his arms around his naked waist. The impact of Alex's words on Michael horrify him, and he drops onto the bed next to Michael, takes Michael's hand in his and strokes his thumb across it’s back, feels the knots of Michael’s knuckles as he grips Alex's hand in return.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Michael asks, staring at their palms pressed together in his lap.

Alex shrugs, answers, "I mean, I didn't. I don't. Not about, like, you." Michael turns his head, brow wrinkled in confusion. "It's just. The cross? The Bibles? Your parents, I—"

"They're not my parents, "Michael interrupts, voice flat. "They raised me, but. They never formally adopted me, and I'd have fucking run the other direction if I thought they were gonna."

Alex stays quiet, waits for Michael to continue, squeezes his hand gently to let Michael know he's listening.

"They're Fundamentalist assholes, for sure, but I never bought into that shit, especially once I—I realized I like more than just girls." Michael reaches out, pushes his lamp out of the way and glares at the crucifix. "I'd love to never see their fucking faces ever again, but winter break is coming up, and then summer vacation, and—" He hangs his head, nearly whispers, "I need to have a place to go. I can't afford an apartment on my own yet. So I play nice. Put that on my wall and make sure it's in the background for video calls. There’s, like, zero support for kids who age out of the system alone. I fucking hate it, but I need them."

Michael leans his head close to Alex's, catches his gaze and holds it with deep, whiskey-colored eyes Alex all but falls into.

"I'm not ashamed of what I like or who I love," he says, "and I'm so fucking in love with you, Alex. I just thought maybe you weren't into me."

Alex licks his lips, and a flush of arousal darkens his cheeks as Michael tracks the movements of his tongue with hungry concentration.

"I'm extremely into you," he says, his throat very suddenly bone dry, his voice husky. Michael's gaze hasn't moved from his lips, but he has flipped Alex's hand in his lap, starts running slow, feather-light brushes of his fingertips across Alex's palm and up his arm, fingers snaking under the short sleeve of Alex's shirt.

"I really wanna kiss you," Michael breathes, "but I’m also aware you just walked in on me hooking up with, like, Alex Manes-lite, so I—"

Alex closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Michael's and cupping his neck, fingers finding their way into Michael's curls like he's been fantasizing about for so long. They're silky, clingy, and Michael tastes like lingering mouthwash and he smells like rain and Alex presses himself into Michael's lap, desperate to feel Michael's arms around his waist, the hard press of his chest against Alex's.

"I really want to do more than kiss you," Alex pants when they reluctantly part for air, when Michael’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and his nails scrape down Alex’s spine, and Alex feels the touch much lower on the geography of his skin.

Michael laughs, loud and free, and his strong hands on Alex's hips guide his legs apart until Alex is straddling his lap, those same hands pushing Alex's shirt up his chest, over his head.

"Thank God," Michael laughs, and reaches for Alex's belt.

#roswell nm #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #college au #meet ugly #cw: negative perspective on Christianity/Fundamentalism

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

Hawkins Wolves

I have this gif/post saved and here we go:

Fraternity Twin Harringtons

(cue Billy sweating in the background)

Bryan and Steve Harrington.

Bryan is older, has the grades (A and B averages, still great), and the name from their dad’s Scottish heritage side.

Steve is the younger twin, more athletically endeavored, and named from god only knows. He used to lie and say it was from their mom’s Greek side, just so people would stop talking about his nose. Bryan loves it and totally went with it, because hello? They have the same nose. And the same eyes and brow bones. Bryan has the narrower, V-shaped jawline while Steve’s is more square. The same hair, even if Bryan keeps his nape short and Steve’s not afraid of a mullet.

Frankly, they’re damn near identical when standing next to each other. They’re not joined at the hip, though, and are very much known as brothers instead of twins.

So Billy meets Bryan first.

Bryan is kind of an anomaly. He’s popular, and for good reasons (smart, and jaw-dropping attractive), but he tags around with Jonathan Byers. During a smoke break, Billy follows them down to a creek bed running around the school. He finds them on some boulders: Bryan is modeling up high, and Jonathan is squinting through his camera talking about lighting and, “There’s a spider web there. Watch your foot.”

Long story short: Billy likes Bryan. He doesn’t act on it, per say, but he does become a part of this portfolio pair - Jonathan practicing shutter speeds, etc., and Bryan building up a modeling portfolio.

It’s fun. It’s something to do. Billy particularly enjoys the action shots they get around the fields of Hawkins. Who knew modeling actually took work?

Then a dark red BMW parks on the side of the road behind Billy and Jonathan’s cars. The latter turns around, concerned by the sound, but Bryan reassures, “It’s my brother.”

Billy’s first thought is: Thighs.

His second is: Shoulders.

He can see immediately that the two are related but the brother is more filled out, athletically, and - “How old is he?” Billy can’t help but ask.

“About three minutes younger than me,” Bryan smiled.

The guy trots down the slope into the field to speak for himself. “Bry, if you skip breakfast again, you’re gonna be modeling for a Halloween store.”

“Not all of us have two-a-days, Vivi. I don’t need a truckload of calories.”

Vivi?

He waves a tin foil parcel in the air. Billy wondered if it’d be worth commenting on it being almost 5pm (”Golden hour!” Jonathan called it.), but he stayed quiet. “Do you know how hard it is to keep hash browns crispy? Eat your friggin’ burrito.”

“Yeah. Like you didn’t make that fresh because you ate mine during English.”

He catches the breakfast burrito when it’s thrown at him, though, and Billy is left with him while Jonathan switches cameras and film. He held his hand out and introduced himself, “Steve.”

“Ah,” Billy exhaled understanding and shook. “Billy. I’ve heard your name around.”

“My brother’s obsessed with me. It’s a twin thing.”

Said twin flipped him off in between massive bites to his burrito.

Billy corrected, “No, something about a keg record. That I beat last weekend.”

Steve took that with grace as he nodded. “Did you puke?”

Billy frowned. “No. It wouldn’t be a beaten record, then. Come to think of it, why didn’t I see you at the party?”

Bryan intercepted, “Too busy moping. He’s fresh off a break up.”

Jonathan coughed and looked like he was trying to climb into his camera bag. Billy peered between the three of them, unable to read exactly what was happening.

Steve flicked the end of his nose and leaned into a walk. Billy took that to mean he wanted a conversation alone. He didn’t expect the topic.

As they strolled by an acre of unclipped wheat, Steve hovered his hand over the fronds and said, “I’ll only say this once because I’m not his mother, but I did lose the race out of the womb. If you take advantage of my brother, I’ll put your dick in the trophy case at school next to my State trophy.”

Billy couldn’t decide which to address first: how this small-town, high school priss figured Billy out, or that he actually thought himself capable of intimidating him. Steve wore a goddamn polo underneath a sweater, for Christ sake.

Billy went with, “That’s going to make it easy for investigators to connect some dots.”

“You get my point - ”

“Yeah, I get your dull point, pretty boy. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck in this shit town and it’s nice to have something to occupy myself.”

Steve stopped walking and blinked at him. “Are you modeling?”

Billy smirked. “Why? Like what you see?”

Steve’s lips pressed together a little, those large irises wandering his face before he admitted, “Nice eyes.”

And that was that.

He just left Billy in the field and strolled back to his car.

It was up to Billy to discover that Steve wasn’t the air-headed, athlete brother. Out of the two of them, Steve was the bad boy. The baby of the family with polos and clean Nikes and spare cans of mousse and hairspray for himself and his twin under the passenger seat of his car. Father-dearest’s old BMW.

And a bat with nails in his trunk.

He still couldn’t compare with the queers in mosh pits of California, but Billy discovered he kissed a whole lot better than them anyway. He cliff-dove in the frigid quarry because that’s how the swim team selects its captain. And if Billy joined him just to see those nips puckered to cut ice, only to get shoved into the water too, who is he to complain?

Steve Harrington made him pop a boner in late November waters and then took him home for a blow job in a hot shower and homemade pot pie.

Yeah, Bryan was a looker, and Steve sometimes degraded himself as second rate, but they both showed up at the Hargrove house one night. Billy hadn’t known Steve knew his stepsister, but Max let both of them through her window, and they might’ve saved Billy’s life.

Billy would never call either of the twins bad boys out loud. But as Steve drove them - Billy, Max, Bryan, even Susan - back to the house in Loch Nora, Billy thought their faces in the dim street lighting looked like wolves. Pointed, soft, and ready.

Wolves were considered bad all the time.

Bad. Beautiful. Hunters. Thieves.

Billy earned worried and confused glances around the car when he laughed. He sat up to lean into Steve’s space and purr, “Steal me away any time, baby,” and kissed a bloody print on his jaw.

“Huh?” Steve blurted.

“He has a concussion,” Bryan declared.

#this is so unorganized omg #but uh....twins!#twins basil #harringrove #ficlet #neonponders #pondermoniums #twins!au #twin harringtons

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

95. you just witnessed me kill a guy and I have a really, really good reason for it, please don’t call the cops

Sternclay as a super/vigilante au? sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! This is NSFW

Content note: this fic contains mentions of murder, serial killers, knives. Brief description of a porn scene with implied dub-con (you can skip from the part where Barclay sees the TV to the next section break). But I included lots of fluff to balance it out.

This is the best hook-up Barclays had in years. Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome has done nothing but compliment him all night, from the fit of his shirt down to his kissing skills. So now that he’s facedown on the bed in this guys brownstone wearing only his boxers, he’s so excited he can barely think.

“Almost ready” a shcck of blinds dropping, “I just need to grab one more thing. Then the fun can start.”

“Can’t wait.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as his date moves across the room. Then the movement stops.

“Who the fu-”

Horrible, sticky warmth spatters the side of his face. Startled, he opens his eyes in time to watch his date fall to the floor, dead. Behind him is a figure in dark clothes with a tactical mask covering his face and a gun with a silencer in his right hand. A figure who has just noticed Barclay is awake.

In five swift, purposeful steps he’s at the bed, and Barclay doesn’t know what to do, whether to bolt for the window or knock the gun away or beg or, or or-

“Are you alright, sir?” The voice coming from the mask is calm and businesslike.

“.........what do you think?” Is the reply his useless brain comes up with.

“You look like you’re in shock. Which is understandable.” A gloved hand touches his face, “shit, I’m sorry, I was hoping none of it would get on you. Here, hold still.” He rifles through a pocket while Barclay’s mind drifts further from his body. Why isn’t he just killing him now? Is this part of some sick game?

“Turn your face this way just a bit” the back of his hand nudges Barclay’s chin, “good, thank you. I’m going to get you cleaned up, once that’s done I need to ask you to stay here until I’m finished cleaning up the scene. And also to not call the authorities for help when I’m out of the room.”

“Why?” Nope, okay, that’s it, that’s the reply that gets him shot.

“For one, you’re not in any danger from me. You were in danger from the now-deceased Mr. Martin, which is why I killed him.”

“I, uh, h-how can you be sure?”

“Let me show you” he helps Barclay up, guides him to the body, “you don’t need to look at him, just at that.”

He’s pointing to the boning knife clutched in the man’s hand. Barclay’s guts turn to sour milk.

“M-maybe he picked that up when he saw you?”

The killer shakes his head, gently guides Barclay back to the bed and, after a moment of studying the nightstand, pulls out the bottom drawer. It contains two more knives, duck tape, pliers, and seven, severed human thumbs.

“Oh fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck?” He whispers as the man closes the drawer.

“Mr. Martin is the Bear Butcher. I doubt you’ve heard of him, because that’s the name the authorities use among themselves while insisting that there’s no need to warn the public about him. He’s killed seven men, all gay and all on the bigger side; you would have been number eight.”

“I’m gonna be sick” He tips forward, feels gloved hands catch him and easily half-drag him into what turns out to be the bathroom.

“Wait here and do what you need to. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, less if I can manage it. And, um, you might want to keep your eyes closed.”

Barclay has no problem with that order, though when the killer (his hero?) moves the body into the tub he discovers both the reason for the warning and that he does indeed have more in his stomach to throw up.

After an eternity of iron and bleach in the air and bile on his tongue, he’s helped back into the bedroom. The man hands him his clothes, turning his back as he dresses. He’s changed too, though the mask remains.

“I, I didn’t bring my car.” Barclay says weakly, knowing he won’t have the energy to walk home and the thought of getting in a cab or rideshare sets his nerves screaming.

“I assumed, since he wouldn’t want it being abandoned to lead to someone calling you in missing. If you’re okay with it, I can give you a ride home.”

Barclay nods. The man ushers him out the front door, pausing at the threshold for a final sweep. Then he pulls off his mask. Black hair sticks up until he smooths it back in a practiced motion, and blue eyes regard Barclay gently from a handsome face.

“It’s the Altima, right on the corner.” He says, folding the mask and tucking it into his pocket. Barclay gives his address, sits stiffly in the passenger seat as a pop station plays from the speakers.

“Do you want to change the station?”

“No” Barclay inhales fine, but the exhale comes out shaky, “jesus, how are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m trying to help you stay calm, I need to model the behavior. And, um, this isn’t my first time doing this, in case that wasn’t obvious. I’ve never had a witness before, for all the usual reasons and I’d prefer not to traumatize someone. But he went off his pattern and picked you up tonight, and I was not about to let him claim another victim.”

“Thank you.” Barclay doesn’t know what else to say. His adrenaline brain suggests propositioning the man in gratitude because it’s not everyday a hot mystery man saves your life. But the rest of him is well aware that if anyone touched him right now he might scream.

“It’s my job. Or it’s supposed to be.”

His curiosity peeks out from where it’s been hiding behind his sense of self-preservation, “What’s your name? Or can you not tell me?”

“It’s Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Barclay. Oh, here we are.” He parks the car, engine still running, “do you want me to wait until you’re inside to go?”

It should feel safe; it’s his apartment, his home above Amnesty’s new location, Mama’s own little house just out in the backyard. But his hand can’t make the fucking door handle go.

“Would, uh, would you mind coming up with me? Just, just for a few minutes?”

The man raises his eyebrows, but nods. Soon he’s standing in Barclays little kitchen, hands folded politely behind his back while Barclay tries and fails to start tea.

“If you want to just point to where things are, I can do that for you. You should eat something too, if your stomach’s settled.”

Barclay declines at first, but when his stomach growls Joseph moves through the kitchen--making distracting small talk all the while--not stopping until he’s assembled a plate of crackers, cheese and apples.

“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” He steals a piece for himself while Barclay nibbles a Triscuit

“Kinda a cheese snob; comes with the job.”

They talk about food and food writing until his plate is clear, at which point Joseph suggests he get ready for bed. Without being asked, he stays by the door as Barclay finishes getting changed and brushing his teeth.

“I, uh, I’m not really sure how to, uh, end this night.”

Joseph cups his cheek, “Lock the doors behind me. You don’t need to worry about anything else; you don’t owe me a thing. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He smiles at him for the last time and heads out into the early morning light.

----------------------------------

“Hey big fella, you’ll never guess who put in an order.” Mama clips up the slip from the table she’s working; Amnesty has been busy in the week since they opened here, so much so that she’s had to help with the crowds.

“Who?” Barclay flips the pancakes he’s watching, checks the bacons for tables 15 and 9.

“Your late night visitor.” Mama winks.

He turns, spots Joseph at the far end of the counter. He’s in a black suit, blue tie setting off his eyes, and his hair is fully slicked back. On his chest is a badge identifying him as working at the nearby FBI offices. He’s clearly as surprised to see Barclay as Barclay is to see him. He’s less surprised that Mama saw him leaving; she gets up early and her window faces his back stairs

“Hold on” Mama nudges him, “did he give you trouble? Because you look pretty off.”

“No, no, just, uh, didn’t expect to see him again.”

Joseph orders hash and poached eggs, and when Barclay sends the order out, he hands Dani a slice of cherry pie to go along with it. He peeks over his shoulder; Joseph is looking at the free dessert, smiling. Then he takes a bite and makes a face that’s borderline orgasmic. Barclay looks away before he drops a hot waffle on his foot.

Amnesty's restaurant closes at 3, and as Barclay is locking the front door, he notices Joseph waiting for him in an easily visible, well-lit spot.

“You know, I meant it when I said you didn’t owe me anything. Not even the most delicious pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I give freebies now and then” Barclay smiles, “no rule that says I can’t give them to someone who did me a huge fucking favor. And, uh” he blushes, “glad you like the pie.”

“The whole meal was incredible. You’re a very talented cook. Would it be okay if I came back?” His expression is hopeful, almost nervous.

Barclay touches his shoulder, “Anytime.”

-------------------------------------

“So, uh, I’ve haven’t had a chance to ask but, uh, when you’re not working or chatting with me here, what do you do? For, like, fun?” Barclay leans across the counter as Joseph licks his form clean of meringue. Barclay’s gone through twelve different pie recipes in the last month just to see which ones the other man likes best.

“I read a lot, cultivate an extensive knowledge of old horror movies, try to make decent risotto in my apartment...oh, I play frisbee golf sometimes, I picked it up in college.”

“Any interest in seeing that new Godzilla movie? It looks terrible but in a fun way.”

“Oh yeah, I like what I’ve seen of the design they’re using for the kaiju.” He notices Barclays hand resting millimeters for his own. He runs his thumb along Barclays knuckles, “are you asking if I’ll go see it with you, big guy?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d love to.”

---------------------------------------------

“Holy fuck babe, when you said you were running out to get breakfast I figured you meant, like, McMuffins.”

“Only the best for you, big guy. Consider it a thank you for making dinner last night.” Joseph finishes laying out the donuts from “Holes in One” next to the plate of bagels and lox from the only place that Joseph insists does them right.

Barclay wraps his arms around him, tickling his cheek with his beard, “you’re fucking amazing babe.”

Joseph kisses him, coffee flavored and light, “So are you. Still want to play chess later?”

“Uh huh. Winner gets to blow the loser?”

“I like those terms, Mr. Cobb.”

It’s been like this for the last three months; evenings at the movies or tangled up in bed, mornings in sleepy hazes on the couch or out the eat, days upon days of Joseph spoiling, servicing, and just generally loving the hell out of him.

There are also the nights or, more often, early mornings, when Joseph returns steeped in grim satisfaction. At first he avoided having Barclay over those nights or going to see him the next day. Lately, they’re together so much that it’s unavoidable that Barclay will see the lethal edge lingering in his gaze or rub knots from his shoulders that he knows were earned in some darkened room where horrors had been playing out for weeks, months, even years. He doesn’t shy away from it; he loves Joseph, and that means seeing him clearly, though sometimes what he sees sends chills across his skin. Chills that feel less and less like fear.

They’re out for a walk around the lake, trading bites of gelato, when a question tunnels it’s way to the front of Barclays mind. He waits until they’re sitting on a bench far from any prying ears to ask it.

“What made you decide to, uh, do what you do?”

His boyfriend studies him, then sighs, “A number of things. Fear was the first one; you said you don’t follow true crime, so I’m guessing you don’t know of the Janesville Strangler?”

“Nope.”

“He killed ten young women over the course of three years. He’s also my biological father. Michael Stern is my stepfather and, at my request, my adoptive one as well; my mom remarried as soon as she was sure my father couldn’t get out. He, he never turned any violence on me, but I suspect he used me as leverage with mom; she was a smart woman, I suspect she noticed something amiss but was frightened into keeping quiet. I was six when they locked him up, eight when she remarried. Mike is a gentle man, he did his best to raise me the same. But I, I never shook the fear that whatever drove my father to kill innocent people lurks somewhere in my genes.”

Barclay’s arm rests protectively across Joseph’s shoulders.

“I joined the FBI because I felt if I was able to turn whatever killer genes I have towards understanding serial murderers, I could use them to help others. Keep people safe. Ambition and skill moved me through the ranks quickly but” he sighs, “the more I rose, the more I saw how little was being done. How cases were mishandled, how if there was the slightest hint it was a cop or veteran doing the killing suddenly the case went cold, how a killer could pick off person after person and no one cared because the victims were the “wrong” kind of people. It came to a head two years ago; I’d poured all this energy into a case where the killer went after sex workers. He was prolific and obviously cruel, I fought tooth and nail for every resource I needed to track him. Officer Alex Brown was my main suspect, I was so close to getting a warrant to search his property and then they closed the case. Insisted the deaths were unrelated. I...I went up and searched on my own and” he looks at the sky, rests his head on Barclays arm, “lord almighty the things I found. I was right, I was right and I couldn’t do anything about it, he’d get to just go on preying on people and I couldn’t handle failing his future victims that way. I waited until he went on a hunting trip. Alone. Lots of things can happen to a man in the woods. And it’s hard to find evidence when his body just happens to fall near a coyote den.”

A little smile, one he tries to suppress, creeps up his cheeks, “I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. I decided I’d still try to play by the rules but that if I knew, for certain, someone was guilty and being shielded by either ignorance or malice, I’d solve the problem myself.” He looks at Barclay for the first time since he started his answer, face turning to shame, “I’m sorry, I, I should have given the short answer. I didn’t, I don’t want to upset you, or scare you but it’s hard not to given-”

“Joseph” Barclay carefully runs his fingers over black hair, “it’s not like I forgot how we met. I...I’m not under any misimpressions about what you’re capable of. I just wanted to know how you arrived at the solution you did. It’s, uh, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, not something I could do but, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to push me away from you. And that it means a lot to me that you trust me enough to explain it.”

His boyfriend curls closer, “It means a lot to me, too.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Black gloves on his throat, weight on his chest and when he opens his eyes it’s Joseph above him, steel in his gaze and between his fingers. He’s in a muddled dream version of Bear Butcher’s apartment

“Hi, big guy.” The thin knife slices up Barclay’s pants, “let’s get you out of these.”

“Please, please I-”

“Shhhh” Joseph kisses him, “I removed the man who threatened you. But you’re so handsome laid out like this, a victim just waiting for someone to make you scream.”

“Babe, I-”

“That’s not my name right now. Call me..” the hand no longer has a knife, is running roughly up his cock instead, “call me…”

Barclay wakes up still humping the mattress as he cums. Blindly, he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s the fifth dream like that in two weeks, and they always leave him so horny he tries to get it up and get off again if there’s time. No such luck today; he has to be up in ten minutes.

He tries not to think about it during work, just like he tries not to think about it the rest of the time. Especially in bed with Joseph, his attentive, indulgent Joseph who puts all his organizational skills and professional practice at giving orders into domming Barclay so sweetly he stays in subspace for hours.

He’s still very much not thinking about Joseph gagging him so his screams don’t wake the neighbors as he climbs the stairs to his boyfriends place. Dani was a sweetheart and took care of his orders for him, so he was able to leave work early.

The T.V is on, volume up loud enough that he can tell what his boyfriend is up to before he even walks into the room. He fully intends to tease him for not being able to wait until Barclay was there to jerk off before hauling him into the bedroom. But when he sees the screen, he freezes.

A man in what looks like a cheesy camp counselor uniform is tied to the bed, his shirt stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag. Straddling him is a man in a black jumpsuit, knife near his hand and cock buried in the counselors ass.

“That’s it sweetheart, wiggle and try’n get away; you ain’t gonna and it feels so fuckin good when you try. This is what you get for leaving the window open.”

The counselor shakes his head, fear so palpable Barclay barely notices the fact the boom mic is in the shot. The killer pulls the gag free.

“Please, please, don’t kill meAH, ohgod”

A dark laugh, “I’m not gonna kill you, sugar. Thought about it, but when am I gonna find an ass this good again? Nah, I’m gonna take you back with me, keep you strapped down because you’re the, fuck, cutest goddamn specimen I ever caught.”

On the couch, Joseph tenses, cumming in the sleeve he’s using with a cry at the same moment the killer on screen cums and bends to kiss his co-stars tear-streaked face.

Joseph hits the remote, causing the T.V to go dark and reveal Barclay’s reflection.

“Shit!” Joseph leaps up, making Barclay yelp in surprise, “oh, oh thank the lord it’s just you….oh god how much of that did you see?”

“Some?”

Joseph drops to the couch, head in hands, “shit. I’m, I’m so sorry Barclay, I, I never wanted you to know about this habit, I’m sorry it’s awful.” The voice between his fingers sounds like it might cry.

“I mean, that wasn’t like a snuff film, right?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He can’t help but smile remembering Joseph’s rant on the subject, “what I meant was: those guys are just actors getting paid to do a scene like that, not some actually getting attacked.”

“Of course not.” Joseph looks up, horrified, “I’d never watch something like that. The, the whole reason I like this company is that they do horror porn under very ethical working conditions.”

“Then why are you acting like I caught you pissing in my coffee?”

“Does the fact I get off to this honestly not bother you?”

“I mean, people get off to all sorts of shit. Like, um, like” he twists the bracelet on his wrist, “like their boyfriend tying them up and threatening to make them scream.”

Josephs eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, “No. No we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I never, ever want to hurt you that way. Even in a scene. I can’t stand the thought of you being scared of me, of turning these impulses loose on you. It sounds fun until I picture it and then it makes me ill. No, this stays firmly in my head.”

“Okay.” He keeps his reply soft to hide his disappointment. Joseph is still on the couch, refusing to look his way, and so he circles it and kneels at his feet to better rub his arms. He thinks about the images on screen. About Joseph, blissed out then suddenly shame-faced. Joseph, two nights ago, calculated and loving as he worked Barclay over.

No, maybe the kind of scene he’s been picturing isn’t for them. But he can think of one that is.

“What if, uh, instead of giving into the desires that freak you out we kind of rechannel them. Like, instead of strapping me down to torment me, you’re doing it to show off?”

Blue eyes meet his for the first time all night, “Say more.”

--------------------------------------

“Ready?” Barclay bats his eyelashes at Joseph as his boyfriend finishes double checking the tightness of the rope he’s using to tie Barclays arms above his head.

“Ready.” Joseph stands, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes as he takes deep breaths. Then he frowns, “can you start us off?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He nestles his head on the pillow, “okay, you found me tied up like this. What’s your first thought?”

Joseph opens his eyes, gaze sharp, “That I’m so lucky someone left a handsome specimen like you where I could find him.”

Barclays cock twitches at being referred to that way, “You’re not gonna let me go?”

“Not just yet. You’re so perfect, will you let me make a case for staying here with me?”

“Please” Barclay whimpers as Joseph straddles him, knife in hand.

“I’m very precise, for starters.” He cuts slowly up Barclays boxers until he can pull the strip of fabric off. Repeats the process, lips a firm line of concentration, with his undershirt, “see? There’s not even a scratch. I have to be careful not to damage my perfect specimen.”

Barclay groans, rolling his hips. Joseph smiles, shifting so his cock rubs against Joseph’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck, Joseph-”

“Shhhh” a gloved thumb brushes his lips, “When you’re like this, my name is Sir.”

“Ohfuck.” Barclay rubs his cheek pleadingly in his palm, “Sir, please, please, untie me so I can touch you.”

“Not yet.” Joseph pats his cheek, scoots backwards on the bed, “besides, you’ll have lots of time to touch me once I take you home and make you my sweet live-in plaything.”

“Holyfuckingshit.” Barclay fights off a dozen tantalizing images of what that could entail to focus on their plan, “Sir? What, uh, what was the guy who tied me up going to do to me?”

His boyfriend settles between his legs, “He was going to take you apart.” He lifts Barclay’s right leg, “starting with these, so if you got free you couldn’t run. This tendon first” he kisses the back of his knee, making Barclay giggle. He pauses, then decides on holding both legs up at once so he can repeat the kiss on the other side. His lips move slowly down to his ankles, right side and then the left, before a final one lands on his arch, “he was going to cut here too. But not me” the kisses continue, “I’m going to rub them every evening so you’re never sore.”

“Fuuuuck” He sighs as Joseph straddles him once more, leaning forward so he can kiss and fondle his arms.

“He was going to slice alllll along here” Joseph’s breathing is picking up the longer he lavishes Barclay with kisses, “then he was going to take your fingers one by one” Joseph kisses each knuckle in turn, his free hand petting Barclay’s face and hair, “then he was going to commit a cardinal sin by mangling these” Joseph toys with his pecks, sucks happily on his left nipple for a moment, “what a crime that would have been.”

“Sir” it’s a whine as Joseph nips and kisses his way down to his navel.

He raises slightly, mouth just above Barclays cock, “and because he had no imagination, he was going to cut this wonderful appendage off. Which is not the treatment it deserves.”

“What treatment does it deserve SirrrrrOHfuck, fuckyes” Barclay pants as Joseph licks stripe after stripe up his cock. As Joseph licks and sucks him to a hard-on, he feels the plug slip from his ass.

“I don’t know what his plans were for that” Joseph sits up, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, “but I know what mine are.” He pushes Barclays legs wide, works his cock in with slow, steady thrusts while Barclay tries to remember how words work.

“Shit, yes, god your ass is amazing, what kind of person sees it and thinks its for anything but fucking?”

“Nngh” Barclay clings to the ropes as Joseph’s thrusts quicken.

“Lord, I thought you were a perfect specimen before but I was wrong, you look even better taking my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot.”

Joseph grip his thighs tight enough to hurt, “well, big guy, will you stay with me?” His eyes glitter, his hair is coming loose and falling across his forehead.

“YesAH, yes, ohfucksirright there” He didn’t notice Joseph changing the angle of thrusts until his cock found his prostate, “I’ll be so good Sir, wanna be a good boy for you.”

“Oh good.” Joseph’s smile goes wolfish for an instant, “because I would have had to do some very mean things to persuade you if you refused.”

Barclay cums at that, staining Joseph’s shirt with white. His hands knock against the headboard as Joseph fucks him hard enough to make him sob with oversensitive pleasure.

“You’re going to be such a nice plaything for Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boyOH, ohshit, shit.” Joseph pulls out halfway through cumming, spattering it on Barclays thighs and balls. Carefully, he lowers his legs. Then his boyfriend collapses into his arms, panting and giddy.

“That, that was so fun. I’d say who knew but every time we fuck you show me just how fucking fun all this can be.”

“Aw, babe.” He goes to hug him and rediscovers the ropes.

“Ohshit, here” Joseph sets to work undoing his knots, “are your wrists okay? Not too sore? How about your shoulders?”

“They all feel fucking great, baby. I feel great. How could I not? I got you looking after me.”

Joseph smiles, “and out for you.”

“That too. Now c’mere, special agent, your next assignment is cuddling your boyfriend.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugy #taz amnesty

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mine-sara-sp · 3 years

Text

Where it decays [ch2]

Lets not think about the fact that i took so long for me to write this, just enjoyyyy [AO3] and [Ch1]

In which the hermits come to check on Scar’s weird murder crystal.

Click, Click, Click.

It echoes, it rings in his ears. Rhythmic and unnerving.

One of the few details still clear in this memory. Not where, not when, not the face of his host but that sound. The damp air, the soft and humid surface of the moss he was sitting on, the light weight of something placed in his hands.

A gift.

A boney texture. Moss covering its edges and bringing it all together around a single precious crystal.

He can drop it, sure, he would never force him to take something he doesn’t want. But it will be back in his hands the instant he wants it again. He knows.

“You can take this as an..invitation.”

Tempting sure, but that wasn’t the time to accept the invite yet. Still too much to do, to explore, to create.

He lets the gift fall. For now.

The sound of the communicator buzzing beside his bed woke him up. Messages appearing on the tiny screen.

Oh? He needed to go check on a friend.

----

Scar tapped his foot anxiously as he passed his new health crystal from a hand to the other. He felt the sting from pain whenever the crystal touched the bandages on his left hand but barely paid any mind to it, he kept his eyes focused on the murky waters surrounding the giant crystal and thought about his options.

The crystal was… weird. Dangerous, but he wasn’t sure how much. The decay wasn’t really spreading past the lake for now. Still, he didn’t want to take the chance since Larry was just a few meters away from the shore, and having the entire jungle die would be a problem.

Healing it was a big no. It didn’t want to heal.

He thought about destroying it, but he couldn't. Just the thought made him feel nauseous. A horrible feeling at the start of his stomach. Maybe it was just his guts telling him that the crystal could probably do to him what it had done to the little crystal he was trying to use on it.

He paced back and forth on the lakeshore for a while, avoiding to look up at the shiny green stone floating at the center of the monoliths.

How silly he thought.

He was getting so nervous around it that he didn’t want to look at it! It’s just a big magic rock throwing a kinda deadly temper tantrum Scar! You can deal with it!

Well, maybe he could deal with it with some help.

Not sure of how anyone could help with this but better than trying alone again. He wasn’t sure who to call, so he called everyone that felt like coming to see what was going on.

He picked up his communicator and stared blankly at the chat. Cub and X seemed to be busy right now but Tango said he’d come and take a look. Maybe some admin commands could get rid of the crystal? Or at least make sure nothing else could start rotting.

Scar felt a chill creep its way up to his spine.

He finally looked up at the crystal floating in the air.

The decay was probably something manageable but what the crystal showed to him was something- someone? Someone else. The crystal was not connected to him like all the other smaller ones were, it was connected to whoever that was.

Scar nervously tapped his fingers on the side of his leg as he felt a bit of nausea starting to rise in his throat. Suddenly he wanted to go and hide far away, maybe he could just move to the desert with Cub and stop trying to be a magician.

But he couldn’t give up so easily, could he?

He let out a shaky breath and kept tapping his fingers.

“So, the spooky aesthetic wasn’t intentional?” Scar jumped away from his friend in surprise letting the health crystal fall off his hand. He didn't hear any rockets firing or steps coming from behind himself so he was caught completely off guard.

He turned around to see Grian chuckling lightly.

“I gave you all those compliments but you didn’t say anything about the murder crystal!” He said jokingly, leaning in closer to Scar.

The wizard smiled lightly before retrieving the small crystal from the ground, closing his hand tightly around it and pushing it into his robe pockets.

“Did you sneak your way here just to scare me?”

“Maybe,” Grian replied with a wink. Scar laughed, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets.

Grian moved to the side a little and looked up at the crystal. Scar didn't, tapping nervously his foot on the ground and facing the jungle and Larry.

"It doesn't look too bad honestly if it doesn't go further."

"if." Scar remarked, "I don't know what it wants to do, maybe it's gonna stop and be happy like this or maybe it's gonna get worse. I tried talking with it and it… it wasn't nice."

Scar felt the coldness of the mist seep into his bones again. The eyes on the other side of the crystal staring at his back now.

He didn't realize how tense he'd become until he realized his hand hurt from keeping it closed too tight.

He let go and tried to shake it off when he saw Grian looking back at him now, frowning.

"Wait, is the crystal alive?"

"Alive and kinda finicky, I tried to stop it from making everything rot and it made my health crystal explode." Scar replied taking his left hand out of his pocket and giving Grian a small wave with it.

Grian cringed slightly at the sight of the bandaged hand.

He gave one last look at the crystal then turned around, putting a hand on Scar's shoulder.

"Why don't we wait for the others inside Larry's shell? You seem tired."

Scar nodded. Not looking at the crystal was probably the best idea for now.

Grian got up first and immediately made his way into Scar's kitchen, meanwhile, the wizard stopped and stared at the doorless entrance. Did he really steal his door again? He rolled his eyes and sat at the kitchen table, putting his elbows on it and resting his face on his right hand.

"These door bandits are getting a little out of control, don't you think?" He said trying to sound oblivious of the other's shenanigans. Tapping his fingers to the side of his cheek.

Grian tilted his head to the side as he reached for Scar's cookie jar and got a few out. "Yeah, they're the worst!" He took a bite off one. "I mean, who steals doors? That's ridiculous!"

Scar chuckled and reached to grab a few cookies himself, Grian tilted the jar in his direction.

"Luckily, I got a vault full of them." He said before starting to eat too.

"Isn't a vault a bit too much for a few doors?" Grian asked as he sat down too, putting the jar on the table between them.

Scar kept quietly munching on his cookie, looking at an undefined spot on the table.

"I don't keep only doors in it."

A light knocking caught their attention. Tango stood at the entrance of the snail house, smiling brightly.

“I heard you needed a bit of admin magic!”

---

The magic crystal issue seemed to have attracted a lot more attention than Scar would have anticipated, not that he didn’t expect his friends to come and help him with the situation but he knew that most couldn’t really do anything with this.

He was the one who meddled with magic crystals and sometimes vex magic and the only result he got was nightmare fuel and a light wound. Most of his friends didn’t play around with other kinds of magic as far as he knew but they still came to check in anyway.

Along with Tango, Impulse and Zedaph had arrived, chatting lightly as they walked around on the little island underneath the crystal meanwhile Tango went up the monolith to work with his commands and see if he could do anything.

Scar heard Zedaph talk about things he would have tried to do with the crystal if was in his cave of contraption, list included “Extrazombiflying capsule” which he didn’t want to find out what it was supposed to do in and how it should have worked in Zedaph’s mind.

Scar felt the need to tell him not to touch the crystal, just as a precaution, but he saw him tap the crystal a few times anyway. He didn't drop dead so it was probably fine.

Stress and Mumbo arrived together, they apparently met on the way in the jungle and decided to walk and chat the rest of the way to the crystal. Mumbo almost ignored the crystal completely as he saw a particularly cute mushroom and stopped to look at it. Stress was as amazed as him but still gave an enthusiastic wave to Scar and Grian before crouching down to get a better look at the mushroom.

Scar choked back a small laugh, meanwhile, Grian went to fetch the two. They made him stop to look at the mushroom as well.

This was a strangely cheerful scene considering the reason why he called them here, it made him feel a bit calmer.

He started to tap his fingers on the small crystal in his pocket again before looking up at the shiny green problem at the center of the lake. He didn’t keep his gaze on it for too long, moving it to watch Tango on the monolith next to it.

Scar could see him dangle his legs off the ledge and stare at his comm’s small screen with a rather lost expression. He wasn't as used to deal with bugs and problems as Xisuma was and this was a weird problem to deal with, to begin with.

Joe wandered in at some point, appearing seemingly out of nothing and arriving under the crystal, startling Impulse that was too intent in shouting something to Tango to notice him, Zedaph had a good laugh at that.

It was a fun scene but Scar was starting to feel a bit uneasy with the number of people around the gem, he was about to ask them to get a bit farther away from it when he heard the thud of someone landing close.

He turned to see Iskall a few steps away, bionic eye making a quiet buzzing sound as it focused on Scar.

“Hallo!” He said with a cheerful voice, stepping closer to Scar.

“Hey,” Scar replied with a tired smile, turning to look again at the people under the crystal. No one dropped dead still, this is fine. He can calm down.

“So that’s your problem child,” Iskall said, looking up at the gem and putting his hands in his hoodie’s pocket.

“I guess you can call it that, It seems… calm for now.” He replied looking at the stone, feeling again as if someone was staring back at him from the other side.

The air got tense as he stiffened slightly at the sensation, no one seemed to have this same reaction, the gang under the crystal was still talking animatedly same as the others next to the adorable little mushroom. Scar took a sharp breath, tapping on the side of the gem in his pocket and then looking back at Iskall. He seemed to have noticed his sudden tenseness because he looked a bit worried.

“it looks like iskallium, you know?” He said suddenly.

“Uhm?” Scar raised an eyebrow.

“Iskallium is my own gem, so if it keeps causing trouble I can scold it and it will have to listen to me!” He declared with a big smile on his face. “It’s science!”

“I wouldn’t try that.” Scar chuckled lightly. “You don’t fix magic problems with science, especially if it needs you scolding the rock that has been having deadly temper tantrums”

“Trying wouldn’t hurt.”

Scar avoided telling him that, yes, it would. His hand was proof of that.

The clicking rhythmic sound of his nails against the gem helped his nerves a little as he saw Tango literally lean on the crystal as he typed in something in his comm. Why was everyone so careless around that thing--

“Scar.”

“Uhn? what?”

“Why are you doing that?”

Scar frowned and looked back at his friend, he looked slightly worried again.

“Doing what?” He asked confused, tilting his head a bit.

“The clicking.”

Clicking? oh.

Now that he thought about it he had been a bit extra fidgety since the crystal started being a problem, tapping his fingers and bouncing his leg.

“I guess I’m just a bit nervous, sorry.” He murmured taking his hands out of his pockets, only to find that he was starting to tap his feet instead.

Uh.

Scar made the effort to stay still for a moment but found it really difficult, his hands twitching slightly.

He wasn’t that shaken, was he?

Scar pulled the health crystal out of his pocket and closed his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to channel the gem’s properties on himself. The magic flowing through him felt like warm water taking away some of the tension he was feeling, making the wound on his hand hurt less and…

Click, Click, Click.

Scar’s eyes snapped open. His nails clicked against the glassy surface of the crystal and he couldn’t control it. He felt the fog seep into his body again, the person on the other side of the crystal staring down at him. What did that thing put into his head?

“I-- I’m not doing it on purpose.”

He was about to shove his hand back into his pockets to at least quiet down the sound when iskall gestured him to stop and took Scar’s hand in his. Looking down at the finger’s movements.

“Listen.”

Scar frowned and stared at Iskall for a moment, he looked extremely concentrated on the sound. He started paying more attention to his involuntary tapping as well even if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to hear.

Click, Click, Click.

There was a specific rhythm to the tapping, he tried and couldn’t change it. One slow tap, two fast, two slow, one fast, repeat.

One slow. Click.

Two fast. Click, Click.

Two slow. Click, Click.

One fast. Click.

Repeat.

Wait.

“Morse?” He asked. Iskall nodded.

Why in the world was he tapping morse. Maybe he could go fetch some of his old stuff from area77, Doc did give him a little paper sheet with morse code written on it. Hopefully, he didn't throw it away, they didn't really end up using it.

“T-I-M-E.” Iskall said letting go of Scar’s hand. Eh?

“Why do you know morse, Iskall?” Scar asked shoving his hands in his pockets to not hear the sound anymore.

“Oh you know, friends.” He replied, shrugging slightly and putting his hands back into his pockets. “I’m guessing this has something to do with the magic problem child, is it making you spam “time”?”

“I guess…” Scar murmured looking back up at the giant crystal.

“Any idea why?”

Scar nodded. There was one thing that came to his mind. He didn't really know why or how whoever was on the other side of the crystal knew about it. Still, it was worth seeing if something could be done with it.

He glanced at the crystal one last time before walking over to the others that were still talking near the mushroom. Grian and Mumbo were discussing something about messages not being replied now.

"These two sound like annoying lovebirds don't they?" Stress commented before getting distracted by Iskall waving at her and quickly running past Scar to go meet him.

Scar looked at Grian and Mumbo, he was unsure if the argument was gonna continue for long so he just decided to literally jump between them.

"Hey Mumbo, could you help me with something real quick?" He asked, grabbing the tall man's arm.

Mumbo raised an eyebrow. "Sure, what do you need?"

Scar heard a tiny whine in protest coming from Grian as he pulled Mumbo away.

"I need you to open the vault for me, I lost the key."

---

Breaking open the K.G.O.O.M.R. wasn't that difficult for Mumbo, not that he enjoyed it but he had already done it a few times. Scar really needed to find that key at some point.

Nevertheless, as soon as the iron door on the floor opened Scar knelt down next to the first chest of the three.

Grian peeked in from behind Mumbo that pushed him slightly away from the vault.

"Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm not gonna touch the doors, I'm just curious!" He said with a fake offended tone.

Scar chucked, It's true the vault was full of doors mostly, but there was one other thing he deemed important enough to have to stay in it.

Well, not really important, more of a work in progress. An unstable work in progress.

He opened the chest and pulled out a shiny orange gem.

To the other hermits, it might have looked like just another of his crystals but this one was different.

Using the crystals to channel healing properties was a thing, using them to play with time was another.

It was unstable, complicated, and honestly not that worth messing with, Scar had started experimenting with it just to test his abilities, to see what he could and couldn't do.

He managed to stop a few things in time; A plant that never withers away, an arrow stuck in mid-air forever. He brought some things back and forth, making tools rust away in a few minutes or go back to being brand new in the same amount of time.

It was exciting at first; then he had a tiny accident with a bird that flew a bit too close when he was practicing and decided to stop working with the crystal.

Until now, probably.

He made the gem twirl around in his hand a few times, the lights in the room hitting it and projecting colored shards around him.

He could feel the stone's powers, not that he'd forgotten how it felt to experiment with it. It would be difficult to forget how that much power running through your veins felt. It was a bit like Vex magic, but without having to borrow it from the fey. Being in complete control of something like that was more dangerous but more rewarding.

If he thought about it this little gem could technically be stronger than the giant crystal.

He could… He could turn time back on the crystal, bringing it back to being simple dust.

But could he really risk trying that?

Scar stared at the gem for a few seconds before putting it in his pocket. The wound on his hand burned slightly, reminding him to be careful.

"Thank you for the door, Mumbo." Scar said smiling, before climbing the ladder up to the exit.

"You're welcome." The redstoner replied behind Scar.

"Grian put that door down." He heard him say as he left the room where the vault was. They followed him soon after.

He walked over to the lakeshore and saw that now Iskall and Stress had joined the others under the crystal and that Tango was not on the monolith anymore, he was on ground level with everyone. He was gesticulating energetically while explaining something to everyone else, Zedaph was behind him mimicking the movements with a bit too much accuracy to be the first time he did it.

Scar quietly ran his fingers on the time gem, he wasn't tapping anymore now that he thought about it.

He didn't know if he could feel relieved about it.

With a jump and a little push of his elytra he almost got to the island, he still got his feet wet by missing by a few blocks but using a rocket would have probably made him collide with someone. The thing that Grian does less than half a second later, headbutting Joe off the island and into the water. He apologizes quickly trying to get the other hermit back on his feet.

“And here I thought nothing could hurt as much as Cleo’s punches.” Joe gasped, hugging his stomach where Grian had impacted.

“Grian is more dangerous than anything else here right now.” Impulse said with a grin.

“Careful Impulse, I got more rockets.”

"This creeper farm gives him too much power Scar! Too many rockets he can get his hands on, maybe the crystal was trying to save us all along!" Zedaph gasped with an over-dramatic tone placing the back of his hand on his forehead in an exaggerated gesture.

Scar wished he could laugh with the others at that but all he could think of right now was how much that magic crystal was starting to weigh in his pocket.

"So, anyway--" Tango started saying while rubbing the back of his neck "I was saying to the others that I don't think I can do anything right now. Maybe if I manage to get Xisuma together we can find something but on my own, I really don't know."

Scar nodded, of course, it couldn't be easy. "It's okay” He reassured Tango.

“I think I might have a solution," he fidgeted with the fabric of his sleeve "But honestly don't know if it's a good idea, or if it's worth trying."

"Well, if it's a horrible idea we will definitely warn you about it," Joe said, still slightly bent down for the pain of the impact with Grian.

"Okay, so… I could try using this." Scar showed the small orange gem to his friends, leaving it on his open palm."This crystal is special, I can use it to control time a little. I was thinking I could try using it to make the crystal go back to before it was... Uhm, like this?"

There was an excruciatingly long silence.

"I'm sorry, did you just say you can control time??? " Tango asked.

"Kinda? I can't go back in time myself, I think, but I can change the effect of time on objects, make things older or newer."

"Does it work on people too? Could ya turn someone into a baby?" Stress asked leaning a bit closer to look at the crystal.

Scar closed his hand on the crystal nervously making Stress pout. "Definitely on birds"

"Oh, I guess Grian wasn't the only reason why I wasn't finding any parrots," Mumbo murmured.

"Didn't you find the double-sized parrot?" Iskall asked grinning. Mumbo chuckled nervously.

"Anyway, what do you guys think of my idea?" Scar asked, holding tightly the gem.

There was another moment of silence before Impulse spoke up.

"You were the one preaching with Doc about the dangers of messing with time last season. I think you know about the risks of using this thing better than any of us." He said.

"Also, didn't that crystal already hurt you for trying something like this?" Grian asked, gesturing to Scar's bandaged hand. "What if it does it again, and you end up being the one that gets rewind, who knows what would that cause!"

Scar frowned. The thought of becoming suddenly younger wasn't that fun, especially since he didn't know if that would regard only his body or if his mind would be affected as well.

"You should also think about from where you got the idea of using that thing, Scar," Iskall added, leaving the others except for Scar slightly confused.

Scar signed and looked at the gem in the palm of his hand.

"I think you already know it's not a good idea," Joe said, putting his hand on Scar's shoulder. "We can find a different solution that doesn't require using that."

Scar was silent for a moment then nodded.

“You’re right, I think I’ll go put it back in the vault-" A single tiny green shard fell at his feet. Suddenly he felt his blood run cold, he blinked and looked up.

A cracking noise filled the jungle.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #zedaph #impulsesv #tangotek #joe hills #stressmonster #WID #where it decays #sp fic

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narutowtfareyoudoing · 4 years

Text

Morning Coffee.

So I once got a lovely message from an anon that said they like to read what I write while they make coffee in the morning and it gave me the idea for some cute mini scenarios. If you're out there anon this is for you, I don't know your favourite characters so I just went with some of mine. --- Kakashi Hatake:

With no alarm clocks in this house it's usually the sun vengefully hitting you in the eyes that wakes you and unfortunately this morning is no different if anything the sun is even more evil today. Blinking your eyes open you don't even wanna look at a the clock but you do wanna look over at Kakashi, it's good to actually see him sleeping in bed you've caught him one too many times reading into the hours of the morning instead of sleeping. Gosh he's cute. You sigh and stretch as you get up, bones popping and a whine escaping you as you do, your feet find the floor and you force your tired body up not caring for the blankets that cling to you. Kakashi's developed an iron grip to fight your blanket stealing ways so you know it's not going anywhere. You shuffle your way from the bedroom to the kitchen rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you go and though the journey's not far you lean against the counter when you reach it and yawn and then you look to the next feat of your adventure and decide if it's worth it...bending down to grab the coffee grinds, who put them down there? It had to be Kakashi because you would never sabotage yourself like that. Everything in your body groaned and creaked as you bent down into the cupboard to grab it but you were rewarded with the smell of coffee as you opened the container and dumped a few scoops into the coffee maker and silently thanked Kakashi for always putting in a filter after throwing out the old one. You and Kakashi both knew you could afford a much nicer coffee maker than the one you had but it had gotten the job done for years, why replace what isn't broken? You sigh as you realize you have to fill it with water, will these trails of survival never end? You shuffle yourself over to the sink to fill the coffee maker and finally, finally! You're able to push the on button. You lean on the counter and listen to the hissing and gurgling of your precious machine ah music to your ears little did you know it was also music to Kakashi's unconscious ears. The familiar sound rouses him awake and much like you he feels every ache in his bones as he stretches and shuffles himself to his feet as he walks through the left open bedroom door he's greeted by the sight of you. It's a good sight, no matter how messy the hair, how tired the eyes or how hunched over you are seeing you brings a smile to his face as does the coffee you're making. He sneaks over and with too much delight for this morning hour snatches the cup from your hands. "Hey!" "Morning." He chimes back taking a sip of coffee. "That's mine!" You snap as you try to grab it from him but he quickly moves. "Careful, you'll make me spill." He teases. "You don't even like my coffee! You're a black coffee freak!" You complain. "That's not a very good way to convince me to give it back." "Give it back or I ban reading books in bed." The coffee is back in your hands. "You don't fight fair." He sighs and pours his own coffee as you finally get a sip of yours and feel your muscles relax with the delicious slightly burnt taste. "It's before my first cup of coffee I don't have to fight fair." You point out. "Is that in the Shinobi handbook?" He teased. "Oh yeah, first page." You tease back. He hmmed in response as he takes another sip and soft silence hangs in the air and he's once again reminded of how happy he is to have you as apart of his mornings even with all the teasing. He comes cover behind you and wraps his free arm around your stomach and rests his tired head on your shoulder and relishes in the way you affectionately nudge him with your own head. With all the work Shinobi do these moments feel increasingly rare and so you two just silently bathe in the warmth of the moment together, letting the tiredness wrap around you and make the moment nearly euphoric. That is until there's loud knocking on your door that knocks you out of the moment and almost costs you your coffee cup. "We know you're in there Kakashi-sensei! We've been waiting for hours at the training grounds!" A tiny voice shouted. "Kakashi." You scolded. "In my defense it's your fault. You did keep me up last night." He teased kissing your neck. And for a moment you enjoy the tingling sensation that radiates throughout your body but only for a moment until loud knocking once again loudly booms through your apartment. "We're counting to ten and then we're gonna break down the door!" "You think I can bribe kids with coffee?" He pondered "Kakashi, if they break my door you're never reading in this apartment again." You said pointedly. "Oh, so it's your door?" He teasingly sighed as he put down his coffee. "It's my door the same way it's my fault for keeping you up late." You said sarcastically. You walked over to the bedroom door as he walked over to the front and grabbed his mask from the handle and slingshoted it at his ass making him jump. He looked over at you with an eyebrow cocked as he picked it up. "You're not making a good case for me to open the door." He pointed it out as he slipped it on. "Save my door or else I can't be held responsible for what happens to the books in my room." The door was opened just before the kids hit zero saving your door, Kakashi's books and what was left of your coffee. ---

Gaara:

Gaara is always up before you even without Shukaku he doesn't really sleep, he'll lay with you at night if there's time but typically with all the duties of being a Kage there isn't time. However there's always time in the morning for iced coffee and breakfast together. This morning was no different, in the Sunagakure heat little was tolerable to eat other than something cold so iced coffee and fresh fruit salad is was as usual. Living in the desert doesn't often lend itself to fresh fruit but with Gaara cultivation of cacti he grew many different types of prickly pear so in the early morning sun he went out to collect some. Some may see this as a daily chore but it's apart of Gaara's day he thoroughly enjoys, it's a simple constant in his life to harvest the fruits of his labour and share them with you and just that thought brought a rare smile to his face. So many hours of his day are devoted to the people of Sunagakure but in these early morning hours they're just for the two of you and it brings some semblance of normality to his life. He looks over his cacti, all the hours he's sunk into these thriving plants and the few plants that aren't cacti that you two planted together, whenever you go out on missions you always return with some kind of new plant of seed for you two to plant in the garden, they stick out like sore thumbs but he loves them and always makes sure they're well tended too. Memories happily trickle through his mind like sand through an hourglass as he uses his sand to gather prickly pears and avoid their spikes. He gathers only what he needs before heading back to your shared home and preparing the prickly pears, it's something domestic he enjoys, it's easy and calming to him and even after all this time the novelty of making breakfast for the both of you hasn't warn off at all. He notices the sound of dragging feet as you make your way over. "Morning, lemme hug you." You yawn tiredly. A warning really isn't needed when you've made no point in trying to hide you whereabouts but you've gotten into the habit from the one time Gaara didn't hear you coming and instead of meeting his body you were met with a wall of protective sand. Your arms wind their way around his middle and you hug him tight from behind and no matter how long you've been together, no matter how deep you've delved into intmacy simple touches like this still make butterflies flutter around his chest. You lean your weight into him as you rest your entire body against him, it's almost comical. "Sleep well?" He asks. "Mhm." You murmur into his back. "Why don't you go sit? I'll bring you breakfast." He offers softly. You shake your head into his back. "I'm good here." You slur. A small chuckle escapes his throat as he nods and continues his work, he's got no great desire to remove himself from you so he simply bathes pleasantly in your presence. As he's cutting the prickly pears into small chunks he notices your hand blindly sneaking over to try and grab a piece. "You're going to grab the husk and poke yourself again, S/O." Gaara gently chastises as he brings his sand up to make a barrier between you and the food. You playfully let out an exasperated groan bringing a small smile to his lips that only grows when you lay a small kiss to the middle of his back where your head lays it blossoms warmth in his chest as you let go since your master plan as been foiled. You decide to set your sleepy sights on coffee, filling glasses with ice and adding sugar and milk to your own and leaving Gaara's black bleh you pour the coffee and bring them over to the small dinning table, taking a sip really helped to pull you out of your hot sleepy state, the cold caffeine tingling your mind awake and into alertness. Not alert enough it would seem as you still jump slightly in surprise as Gaara lays down a plate of cut and cubed prickly pear as sits across from you. "Thank you for the coffee." You gaze up at him and can't help but to smile, your alert brain slowly turning into mush. Gods, he was cute and so sweet, he'd made you breakfast and was thanking you for coffee? Who's this nice in the morning? Just your Gaara. You reach over and hold his hand and he's more than content to hold yours back, to brush his thumb over the the top of your hand and relish in this sweet silence. Most mornings are quiet, Gaara isn't a very chatty man though he's more than happy to listen to anything you have to say but your mornings are filled with content silence, the morning is a time set aside just for the two of you to savour. You'll sit well into the morning, slowly draining your coffee and having your fill of fruit until the day calls you both away but until then little is sweeter than this. Besides your coffee if you ask Gaara. ---

Itachi Uchiha:

Had making tea always been this stressful?! You could pull your hair out you were so nervous. You were nearly never up before Itachi but this morning you were so you decided to surprise him with tea in bed, Itachi has several teas throughout the day, he loves tea so that just made sense to do. What didn't make sense right now? All the possible preparation it took to properly brew tea. If it was too hot you'd burn the tea, too cold the flavour wasn't going be full bodied, what about steeping time? Should you add honey? Milk? Cream? Sugar? Gods, when had this become to complicated? You just wanted to be a good S/O and treat Itachi like he usually treated you in the morning but so far you were just surrounded by tiny cups, put into a Hell of your own making, a beige Hell of different coloured teas with varying amounts of milk and other ingredients. It was the smell that woke Itachi and the first time he noticed was the lack of your presence on his chest, usually this early you're still asleep and drooling tiny rivers onto his chest. He sighs as he slowly sits his aching body up and reaches into his bedside drawer to grab a vial of medicine to make the day a little less painful, it tastes vile as he swallows it and if his nose is telling him anything there's tea ready to help get rid of the foul taste. He slowly gets up and wonder what has you up so early, you usually like to sleep in on the days you two have together if he doesn't wake you he knows you can sleep well into the afternoon which he finds quite cute, the way your face scrunches up when the sun finally hits it and you are clearly awake but attempting to argue with your body over being conscious. It's ridiculous but very endearing. Just like the sight that greets him as he comes into the kitchen. You're standing there in your nightshirt, hair still unbrushed, counter and small dining table covered in tiny teacups. He slightly cocks his head as he takes in the sight, his mind trying to figure out what exactly it is you're doing as he grabs a tea closest to him and he notices how cold it is...so you've been at this for a while. "Feeling insustrious this morning, love?" He softly asks. He's up?! Oh Gods how long have you been doing this? You thought you'd have time to clean, you stutter for your words trying to explain as you look around. "Tea?" You weakly settle on to offer. "Seems like I've got options." He gently teases as he walks over to you. The taste that's left in his mouth is still noticeable and unfavourable but he pushes that aside to check on you and see what's going on in your brilliant mind. He brings a hand up to push the hair on your face aside and presses a soft kiss to your forehead to try and calm the clear panic you're in and you melt into the action. Big black eyes reassuringly stare at you and you can feel the tension leave your shoulders. "Tea?" You offer again grabbing the one you thought you'd done the best on. He takes the Oolong tea from your hands. "Thank you." He says before taking a sip, he can feel your eyes on him as he does and it becomes very clear to him what's going on here. "It's very good." He adds and he watches you beam proudly at the praise. "As I'm sure the rest of them are." He softly adds. And those word do make you realize that perhaps...this had been a silly worry. "I just wanted to make you tea in bed...I know how much you love tea but then I realized how much goes into making tea, like the temperature, the steeping time, the amount of sugarorhoneyormilkor--" You start to wind yourself back up again. "Anything you make me is perfect because you made it for me." He interrupts gently bringing his hand back up to your face to capture your attention. Once again your panic melts into his soft touch and you take a deep breath. "How about we drink on the front porch this morning? I'll deal with this mess once I'm more conscious." You pitch. "Sounds like a good idea." He easily agrees. Itachi moves the hand caressing your face down to lace his fingers with yours and with your free hand you grab one of the many tea's and you both head outside to sit and enjoy the pale blues of the morning sky. You lean yourself into his side as you sit in contentment, there aren't many mornings you get to enjoy with Itachi, he's typically so busy with his work with the Akatsuki so moments like this you let yourself get lost in, you soak up every bit this shared time together offers and save it for the mornings you miss him. Itachi does the same, he's well aware his days are numbered whether it be from his line of work or his illness he's well aware that there is no endless days like this with you so he takes in right now. And right now he's with you, a S/O who loves him so much you panicked yourself with making the perfect tea, right now the love of his life is holding his hand and leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder and if he concentrates he can feel your relaxed breathing against his side, he can smell your shampoo, the quiet mmms that escape you every time you take a sip of tea. Right now this moment he's in with you outweighs all the pain and misery he's experienced, who needs forever when moments like this exist for him to live in now? This morning tea was perfect. --- ~Admin Coral Buy Me A Coffee?

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