#thorns grow around you. under you. under your skin. do you have skin? The more you struggle the worse it gets. It's still day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shhh-secret-time · 4 months

Note

The soulmate AU fic’s are so cute 🥹🥹 I’m so incredibly in love with your writing! The Stan fic made me giggle so much 💙💙 HE IS PERFECT

I’d love to request one for Kenny if you’re not totally sick of the soulmate stuff 😂🩷

Anon. I need you to listen to me carefully. I will never, ever, be tired of soulmate stuff.

In fact, that's it. You're getting the softest Kenny fic of your life! Maybe

Warning: Body Horror, Blood, Injury, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Anxiety, a bit of depression. Violence.

Pairing: Kenny x GN!Reader

One of your favorite lessons growing up was the time your class learned about plants. You and your fellow classmates all sat at your desk with a little pot of soil to call your own. It didn't mean much to you at first, but as the class went on and the teacher her lesson it began to sink in.

This was life.

You remember going starry eyed as she pressed the smallest little seed into the dirt and poured a little water onto it. This woman had introduced you to something so simple yet so beautiful. How a little sunlight and a little bit of water could grow into something so gorgeous. So, you dedicated the next few months to that little seed. Staying awake late at night whispering secrets to it like an old friend, making sure it was nice and watered.

Needless to say, you cried when your little plant didn't sprout as quickly as everyone else's. You didn't understand what you were doing wrong. Your teacher tried to reassure you that you were doing fine.

Your name falls from her lips as she helps you wipe the tears from your eyes. "You're not doing anything wrong. Plants can be complicated. Some take a little longer than others but there's nothing wrong with them or with what you're doing!"

At the time she was talking about the plant, but as you got older the words stuck with you. And maybe she really was just talking about the little seed, but as you got older it got harder to not apply it to people.

You watched as people took to their own colors, growing and being shaped by the world around you. Some grew thorns, others grew branches. Most planted their roots, souls intertwined with the small town of South Park.

So why did it feel like you were the only one still in the ground, barely sprouting?

You're not doing anything wrong.

God, you wish you could believe her.

But it was hard when you were so overwhelmed with comparing yourself to the others. You weren't athletic like Stan or Red. You weren't top of your class like Kyle or Wendy. You didn't have the charm of Jimmy or Nichole. No, you were just you. What was special about you?

Kenny McCormick could. The blond could write a book on all the things that made you special. Pages filled with how kind you were, how you lit up every room you walked in even if you didn't realize it. If he was a smarter man, he'd probably find a way to compare you to some sunrise. Something beautiful!

Instead, all he can come up with is a dandelion. You may not be the most exotic plant in a flowerbed, but you were beautiful. Like dandelions you were everywhere to him. Under the gentle rays of the sun, pushing through the cracks of the sidewalk; brightening up his day. He saw you on the side of the road waving to him with a gentle sway, yellow petals beckoning him over. He saw the way you stretched up and up past the others eventually changing to those puffy little white balls.

But he's not a smart man, and on top of that he had a reputation. Kenny loved people, he loved that people loved. He loved his three asshole friends; he loved them more than they deserved. He loved his sister, the best thing to ever come from his parents, and that included him. Sometimes that love came out a little too much, he just had so much of it to give. Because like you, Kenny never really felt like he was good enough.

In a world of soulmates, love was hard. If Kenny caught ink on skin that seemed to change, or paragraphs of words on people's arms, he knew that his love would just be temporary for them. He often wondered if you had anything like that. Maybe a tattoo somewhere on your body that would indicate who your soul was bound to. The thought would keep him up at night because no matter how many times he checked; Kenny never saw ink. Never saw pictures or words with someone's thoughts. Stan and Kyle always were the lucky ones.

Lucky people don't lie in a dirty alley with their sides split open. Lucky people don't have to clench their sides to try to stop their blood from slipping out of them.

How could he be so careless? He'd done this song and dance for years now, ever since he was old enough to throw a fist and really make it hurt. Some nights it felt like this was the only thing he was good at, taking a hit and getting back up. Kenny McCormick was the world's punching bag.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and God it felt so good. To just let his eyes rest for a moment, he's been running on Monday's sleep, and it was fucking Wednesday. A small part of him thought about just letting sleep take him, how would it be different than his room?

Oh, but Karen.

And those guys trying to mug that poor woman, yeah, they were still a thing.

Kenn- no Mysterion pulls himself to his feet, the long purple cape hides his shaky legs. Yeah, Kenny might be the world's punching bag, but Mysterion fucking hits back. The dark purple gloves, now stained with a dark red, press into the wound trying to staunch the flow. His vision was getting dizzy, but he wasn't seeing black yet. He still had time before he'd wake up in bed again. Just enough time to break a few bones.

Meanwhile across town you sat in the living room of your small apartment, whatever YouTube video playing in the background. A nice little book rests in your hand, it was a quiet night for you. Most of them were as your apartment was just you and your little cat, the chunky little lady rest by your feet happily purring, just content to be around you. Well, you, your cat, and your plants. Right beside you were pots filled with various plants you'd grown over the years. From seasonal flowers to three different shaped bonsai trees, to various colored succulents, and finally your favorite Orchid. The beautiful purple flower had bloomed recently, and it was your pride and joy.

Everything was perfect, no stress about having to be better than you are. No deadlines or classes that made you feel dumb. No obligation to socialize and try to entertain people you didn't exactly call friend. That is until the sharp pain in your side made you scream out. Your cat jumping away from you and cowering on the other side of the couch, she looks terrified.

Right along your side, just below your rib, felt like it was being ripped apart. Like someone was taking their nails and pulling your skin apart. You lift your shirt and stare down in horror, as bright red spider lilies sprout from your skin. Thick green stalks wrap around each other and soon the crimson petals sprout out, it would be gorgeous if it wasn't in your skin. You feel like you're about to pass out, the sudden act was enough to make your body start shaking.

"W-What the- what the hell?!" You want to scream, want to cry out but all that comes out is a hushed whisper.

Luckily the pain stopped as soon as the flower finished blooming, the pain dulled down to a low buzzing around your skin. Your hands were shaking as your fingertips traced the flowers, unable to comprehend what was really happening. You blink, and then you blink again and again. They're still there and the velvet petals under your fingers were real.

Impulsively you moved the flowers apart until you found the base of the stem, there you saw how your skin meld together perfectly with the plant. It was like they were always a part of it. With a deep breath you grab the plant by the stem and pull. The pain it shoots through your body is unlike anything you've ever felt before, but it offers no resistance as it comes out of your body.

You squeeze your eyes expecting blood or at least a wound, but you don't feel your skin rip open. Instead, it feels like something has slipped from your skin, like pulling string through a closed fist. Through heavy breathing you open your eyes, and you felt your heart start to settle, the beautiful flowers were now tightly clenched in your fist roots and all. On closer inspection they had little drops of water on the petals as if they had just been watered. It was only then you realized you had been crying.

You couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, tossing and turning as your hand kept coming up to your sides. The area was numb, it didn't hurt but you couldn't get the image out of your head. It made your skin crawl and the shiver down your spine felt sharp, sharp enough to make your back arch. As the morning sun greeted you letting you know it was time to get up and start the day, the first thing to greet you were the spider lilies sitting next to you. You don't know why you didn't just throw them away, get rid of them and never think about it again, but they really did look so beautiful.

Now they were sitting on your nightstand next to the window, dancing back and forth as the little draft that entered your apartment led them in a waltz. As you pull back the blankets and your feet hit the cold floor of your apartment, your fists clench around the blankets as you stare down in horror.

Your knuckles were covered in poppies, little sprouts pushing in between the dips of your fingers. On your right hand they were much larger blooms and more prominent on the knuckle itself. You hiss at the way it parts your skin, much less clean than the spider lilies were. The poppies wiggle a bit making room as another one pushes up and breaks your skin. This time there is a little blood, not more than a paper cut would give you but still it was alarming.

Rushing to your bathroom you run your hand under the water, the fast-running water slamming down on the little red petals. Another red flower. Another flower meaning pain or death. You're much more careful this time, gently plucking the poppies up from your skin and placing them to the side on the wet counter. They come up just like flowers last night, with ease and when you inspect your knuckles there's nothing as if it was never there.

"Guess I'll get a pot for you guys..." You mutter to the flowers, rubbing your hand over your knuckles.

There was a part of you that thought about emailing your professor as to why you wouldn't be coming to class, but what would you even say?

Good morning Professor,

I won't be able to attend class today, I am not feeling well, and I was wondering if I could get the notes for today's class from you. I sincerely apologize and hope that I will recover soon.

Good morning Professor,

I won't be attending class today as I had a family emergency come up! I hope you understand, and I will be in class when everything settles down.

Hey Professor,

I've got fucking flowers growing out of my fucking skin! You know anything about that?!

You let out a loud groan and lean forward on your desk, pushing your laptop to the side. Your sweet little roommate jumps up and meows at you in response, she nudges her head against yours and puts her paw on your cheek. A small attempt to make you feel better, she's trying. When you don't move, she meows again only louder this time, her head smacking into yours.

"Ow! Okay! I know I can't just sit here all day." She looks at you when you lean up and snap back.

She sits all prim and proper as you get up from your seat, she watches as you pace around the room and gather everything you need for the day. When she meows again you stop and look back at her, conversations with your cat weren't uncommon some days it felt like she was the only one you could really talk to. It was sad but it was better than spending nights alone talking to your plants.

"Look, I've got to go. I'm paying for the stupid classes I might as well just go. I just have to hope that whatever happened last night, doesn't happen again!" You grab your coat and throw it over your arm, giving her one last look. "Maybe I can talk to someone there? Maybe someone knows what this is, until then you're in charge of the house! No eating the plants while I'm gone!"

When she doesn't meow back at you, you narrow your eyes at her in suspicion. "I'm serious!" She jumps off your desk and walks over to the couch where she rolls on her back. Not a care in the world.

Curse that cat and her adorable behavior. You've got no choice but to trust that she'll behave. On your way out you grab your keys and make your way down the steps of your little home. Days where it was nice and sunny out made you happy you live so close to your college campus, other days it was a drag to get out of bed.

The rest of the day went by quietly, just how you like it. You couldn't help but fidget in your seat out of fear of spontaneous flower growth. What if a really large plant came out of your back while you were sitting in front of someone? If it was like the spider lilies last night, you'd most definitely scream out in pain and that would be embarrassing. Once class let out you were the first one out of your seat, practically bolting to the door.

This was getting to be too much, you had to find someone to talk to about this. The anxiety of when it would happen again was overwhelming. As you pass the little library you stop and check the inside, maybe you didn't have to talk to anyone about this. Maybe it would be in a book or at the very least you could try googling it.

As you walk into the quiet little domain you spot a few other students standing around talking to one another. Some sitting by the common tables, others tapping away on the public computers. Just as you're about to make a beeline for one of the computers tucked away in the corner, a soft voice stops you almost making you leap out of your skin.

"Hey, are you okay? Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" The voice was so gentle and soft, you turned to see Heidi Turner smiling at you.

Heidi Turner was one of the sweetest people in the school, she went through leaps and bounds to be a better person after high school. Most days she keeps herself either in the library offering to tutor other students, or volunteering around town in various ways. She was always kind to you, and you always wanted to call her a friend but something stopped you. Even though she was a sweet girl, that fear of bothering her was still there.

"Oh um...it's okay! Really, I was just uh...going to use one of the computers. Is that okay? Am I allowed?" God, you want to find a hole to crawl into and just die.

"Of course you can! I was actually coming over to see if I could help you find something, but it looks like you've got it all figured out!" She beams up at you with a little giggle.

You think for a moment, if you had to tell anyone about the situation you were in Heidi was a good person to tell. She wouldn't go around telling other people and it wasn't like you had anyone else to really confide in. So, you take a deep breath and go to stop her from walking away. "Ac-Actually Heidi, um could you help me with something? Real quick."

Heidi stops and turns back to you; she cocks her head when she sees the nervous look in your eyes. Now she looks worried, not scared you think but concerned. She walks closer to you and gestures for you to follow her towards the computer, when the two of you are far enough away from the other students she whispers.

"I had a feeling you were looking for a friend, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

A friend? She thought you guys were friends? That alone was enough to make you relax a little and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You rub your arms a little and look behind you before responding.

"I'm really freaked out Heidi and I don't know how to talk about it."

"Hey, it's okay. Take it slow, I'm right here. Is someone hurting you?"

Your eyes widen at that, and you quickly shake your head at her. "What? O-Oh no no! It's not someone it's- well it's something?" When she looks at you confused, you groan and shake your head. "I mean something happened last night and it's really freaking me out!"

You tell her the events that transpired last night, avoiding the gruesome details as to not freak her out. You expect her to call you crazy or to laugh in your face, but she doesn't.

No, instead she stands there and nods along with you. Even offering her hand to you to take when you start to tear up, the fear of it happening again came crashing down mid-story. She offers you a gentle smile, rubbing your back as you try to calm down.

"It sounds like a soulmate thing." You rub your eyes at her as she speaks, trying to get the tears spilling from your eyes out.

"A... soulmate thing? But why now, and why this?"

"It takes some people a little longer before their soulmate signs trigger. I run a support group for people who run into theirs a little late, or for people who don't have any at all." Heidi says it as if it's the most normal thing in the world to her.

You stare at her in awe for a little while, clinging on to every word with such desperation. She was like an angel, a guardian angel telling you there was nothing to worry about and that this was normal.

"As for why your trigger is this...I don't know. Triggers manifest differently for each person, there's a lot of studies on soulmates. I'm sure someone at the school is much smarter than I could tell you." She pauses for a moment and her eyes light up with excitement. "But hey! This means you've got a soulmate, I'm just sorry it's so painful for you!"

On the other side of the library Kenny was lying on one of the little bean bags chairs the school threw in for comfort. Tucked away in some corner, his plan was to take a little nap in. Somewhere where he knew his friends wouldn't come looking for him, well Kyle might but he'd never thought to find Kenny here. But when you walked in with that look of panic on your face he sat right up, like he had just gotten a full eight hours of sleep.

Why did you look so terrified? What was going on? Did you need someone? You were looking around the library like you were being followed.

These thoughts began pounding at the front of his mind and just as he was about to stand up and walk over to you, Heidi beat him to it. He couldn't make out everything you were saying, but from the way you whispered to the smaller brunette it sounded serious. His lavender eyes follow you into the other corner of the library, the one right across from him.

He should look away; he should mind his own business and try to shut out your conversation. But he can't help it, he knows it's rude, but he can't get the image of your scared face out of his head. So, he closes his eyes and tries to hone in on your conversation with Heidi. It takes everything in his power not to get lost in the way you speak; your voice was so soothing. Kenny imagined it was what honey melting in tea would sound like if it had a voice.

That's when the topic of soulmates came up. He jolts up again and his eyes widen over at you as you describe the flowers sprouting from your skin. The hands resting in his orange patchy parka shuffle over to the wound on his side, or at least where it was. Like every time he died, he'd wake up with his body fully healed with no scars or signs of his life being taken from him.

However, if he didn't die his body would keep the scratches and little wounds on his body. Earlier this morning he got a little careless and split his knuckles, maybe he was putting into many hours as Mysterion here of late but if those stalkers didn't want to be punched, they shouldn't be stalking people. He nearly leaps from the bean bag when you talk about poppies growing from your knuckles this morning, telling Heidi the exact location where he had split his.

His heart was racing, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way he was that lucky, that he was that deserving that someone like you would be his soulmate. Just before he can stand up the universe reminds him just how unlucky he really is.

"Kenny! There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you dude!" Any other time he would have been happy to hear Stan's voice, happy to see the others following right behind him.

"This is so sad you guys.... Kenny is sleeping in the library now. Is your cardboard bed that uncomfortable?" Any other time Kenny would have shut Eric down with a comeback of his own, but all he could muster was a glare. "Whoa what crawled up your vagina this morning?"

"God damn it Cartman quit it and stop waving that fishing pole around! You've got fucking hooks on it!" Any other time Kenny would have ignored Kyle's yelling, the ginger looked for any excuse to yell at Eric.

"Guys! Look I'm really not in the mood to-" But before Kenny could finish, Eric swung around to face the man yelling at him.

The metal hook at the end of Eric's fishing rod that he was carrying around for god knows why, slammed into the side of Kenny's face. The sharp hook caught the side of his cheek and pierced through the flesh. Instead of screaming out in pain he bit his lower lip and muffled it, once you've been stabbed in a dark alley trying to fight off a group of people it just becomes second nature.

"Dude!"

"Oh, shit Kenny!"

"Sick! You're getting blood everywhere!"

Kenny didn't have time for this, not when you were-

Oh god you.

His eyes dart over to where you were standing with Heidi, silently praying to whatever poor god that would listen to him that you were alright. He watches as you cup the side of your face, hesitating for a moment before your fingers met the cluster of clovers growing on the side of your face.

It doesn't hurt this time. Not like the last few times, in fact it feels gentle. Fingers that aren't yours caressing the side of your face, a whisper of something more, that clumsy first kiss, all of it wrapped up in one little moment. The three leaf clovers bloom across your cheek stopping just at the edge of your lips where finally a single six leaf clover sprouts.

He doesn't wait another moment; with his gloved hands he takes the fishing line that connects the hook in his face and his friends fishing pole and snaps it. His friends watch in horror and awe how he breaks it like a dried twig, like it was nothing to him. Kenny's on his feet before they can stop him again, moving across the library floor with purpose. The pain in his face is nothing compared to what he'll feel if he lets you slip away from him again. His reputation be damned, his pain be damned, all of it damned!

The library went quiet, and any hushed whispers were stopped when Kenny made his way over to you. He didn't even seem to care that he was leaving quite the blood trail behind him, and if anyone in the library cared they quickly changed their minds from the look on his face alone. The sound of his footsteps behind you made you turn to face him, but you don't have much time as he takes your wrist and drags you away from the many eyes and ears of others.

The school grounds are quiet right now, most people either have already gone home or are in class. Kenny doesn't slow down when walking and you don't stop him from dragging you across campus. He takes you further off school grounds, back near the many hills of South Park where the grass is peeking out from under the snow. The first signs of spring being crushed under your heels as you walk. Turning to face you, he doesn't get a word out before you're already looking up at him ready to talk.

"I'm sorry." He almost doesn't pick up what you say, the way you whisper it so softly. The clovers on your face can't make it easy but he can't help but admire how you make them look so ethereal; a painting come to life. Timeless and within reach.

"Why are you sorry?" Kenny struggles to talk as blood pours from his mouth and down his chin.

You don't know why you chuckle or why you smile at him, you should be terrified. Horrified for him that he was standing there talking to you with a fishhook in his mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world. Yet, with him it did feel normal. Unlike the other times you've interacted with the blond. This time it felt right.

If this was the work of him being your soulmate at play, you didn't really care. For the first time in your life things felt peaceful, you didn't feel the pressure of others. Because there were no others, just Kenny and you on a rolling hill. Just two dandelions growing next to each other and basking in the setting sun.

"That you're stuck with...me?" Your voice breaks through the little fantasy in your head and reality comes shattering back around you.

Kenny shakes his head and grins down at you, the gap between his front teeth that he hates now, bare to your eyes. Suddenly he doesn't feel so insecure about it. "I was just about to say that to you. You're the one who's got a plant growing out of your face."

"They were spider lilies and poppies yesterday." When you laugh Kenny has to resist the urge to grab you and pull you in for a kiss.

"If I get to hear you laugh like that always, never apologize to me again." You go to laugh again and look away from him, but he takes the sides of our face and turns you to back towards him. He's so gentle with you, shaky hands being careful not to crush the clovers on your face.

'Anyone else would have.' You think.

"I'm serious. Never apologize to me for being you again. You have no idea how thrilled I am that it's you. That I finally get to have someone to call mine and it's you." Those purple eyes bare down into yours like rain in a thunderstorm. You can even feel the water rolling down your cheeks and he's brushing them away with his thumbs. Whispering soft hushes, telling you not to cry.

"Kenny..."

"Shh, it's alright. I'm only saying it because I get it. I know where you're at but... maybe...maybe this is the universe telling us it's time to love ourselves. I'm not saying we've got to figure this out now I know I've got a bit of reputation of-"

You cut him off, for the second time today Kenny's been cut off, but he doesn't care when your lips are pressed so gently against his. The taste of copper doesn't even seem to bother you either. His eyes flutter shut, and his hands drop from your face to your waist where he pulls you in like he's always wanted to.

"I don't... think you're as bad as you think you are." You whisper against his lips and Kenny feels like he's going to melt.

"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are." He throws your words back at you with a playful purr behind his tone. "Baby I could tell the world just how perfect you are."

You scoff at that and roll your eyes, but the shy smile that plays on your lips tells Kenny exactly what he wants to hear. He reaches up to wipe the blood of your face, but you stop him and take his hand pressing a kiss into the palm of his gloves. You run his fingers through the clovers and take a deep breath, taking in everything around you.

"One step at a time Ken. For now, let’s worry about getting that hook out of your face."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about it."

"How?"

"Was too busy getting lost in your eyes~"

You snort and push his hand away from your face, but it doesn't go far. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and pull him towards the school. Kenny follows you down the hill with all the love in his eyes he can muster.

Kenny McCormick had so much love in his heart to give, and now it was all yours. Maybe in the days to pass you’ll fill your apartment with the various plants and each little bud and flower would remind you of just that. That you weren't alone, you were surrounded by his love. That you were enough. That too him, you were words he couldn't put together and express. Other than...

I love you.

57 notes · View notes

wandurrlust · 6 months

Text

each time you fall in love

pairing : osamu x y/n, suna x y/n

genre : angst

cw : established relationship, implied (emotional) cheating (?), mentions of cigarettes

words : 1.8k

a/n : i really hate the way tumblr drafts glitch

When you're in love, you see it everywhere — on the coffee stains engraved within your favourite mug and on the rain soaked windows in the middle of the night. You see it in your reflection through your tear soaked eyes and you see it in the text from Osamu that says can we talk about this tomorrow?

You blame love when you're unable to sleep, because it hurts — it feels like your heart is being ripped right out of your ribcage and your lungs are being set on fire. Love is war, they say. Love is war, you know.

You love Osamu — you love him like the rain loves the ocean, like summer loves pink and like roses love sunshine. You love Osamu when the days are bleak and blend together with the night, you love him when the stars grow dull and the sky gets grey.

You love Osamu, except for when you don't. Except for when he's loud — when it's a crisp October evening outside but ice cold inside his apartment. When you're walking away, tears on your skin with his scarf around your neck — a promise of you'll never see him again.

You love Osamu. But you hate him when Suna welcomes you home, when you catch a whiff of coffee beans that almost put out the lingering scent of half lit cigarettes.

And when the credits of your favourite movie start rolling past Rin's laptop, you stifle a groan. Debating if telling him all about everything that went down today was worth it.

Did you fight again?

And there it is, you're telling him everything there is to tell. Because the softness in Rin's voice lets you know he cares and you know he cares far more than he'll ever admit.

Suna listens. He listens as your fingernails begin to press against your palm and he listens through the tremble that falls past your lips. He doesn't comfort you, not once.

He doesn't pull you close or rake his fingers through your hair. He doesn't whisper sweet nothings till you fall asleep in his arms. Because that's a line he'd rather not cross.

And that's okay, because that's how it's always been.

Suna is the home you retire to every night after work, one you'd built all by yourself. Suna is your best friend. But sometimes you wonder if you're his.

Osamu doesn't like Suna.

When you hear him say this for the first time, you laugh it off.

Are you jealous, Samu?

It's asked between breathy kisses and conjoined limbs, with his nose nuzzling the skin under your neck. And truth to be told, you don't want to know the answer.

Me jealous? Of Suna?

He whispers through your hair, not quite liking the sour aftertaste that lingers in his mouth at having uttered Suna. You find it bemusing, how Osamu refers to Rin by his last name despite having played on the same team as him all throughout highschool. Aren't they supposed to be the best of friends?

Not a chance sweetheart.

The second time he tells you this, it's bitter. Venom drips through his heavy voice and almost spills onto his vanilla skin — his words feel like thorns against your bare stomach, you think you're about to cough up blood.

Why is it always him over me?

Osamu knows that you probably think he's gone mad. But he can't help himself, not when it comes to Suna.

Samu, are you being serious?

He has to brace himself before he can face you again, do you seriously think he's making all of this up?

No sweetheart, of course not.

It's accompanied by a humourless chuckle, and Osamu feels his feet buckling beneath his weight. He should calm down. But fuck.

You don't understand what he's trying to get at. And quite frankly, you think he's being fucking unreasonable.

Samu what the fuck. Rin is my best friend.

And you can't imagine a life without Rin in it. Because for as long as you can recall, he's been there — looking over you from the stands.

But Osamu can't stand him — he's never been able to. Because Suna has always been sweeter, calmer, better. He's everything Samu could never be.

Rin is your best friend, but Samu doesn't like how the two of you stay up and night, talking to eachother. He doesn't like how you're looking for Suna after a long day. He doesn't like how good the two of you look together.

Right now, Osamu wants to push you away. But he can tell there's a lump in your throat and isn't going to die out any time soon. Because when you're angry, you cry.

Rin is your best friend, but when you're falling apart that night, it's in Osamu's arms.

Samu is there for you in ways Rin isn't. He pulls you close and kisses your hair before lacing his fingers with yours. You pull them to your lips. You don't want to let go.

I'm sorry, he whispers against you. It's fine, you say. Because with Osamu, it's always fine.

Rin is there for you when Samu isn't, when he hasn't been answering your calls for a week and when you're losing your fucking brain.

You're sat beside him on his apartment balcony, the tiles shoot chills through your body it stings against your skin.

You scrunch your nose up in order to keep up with the grey puffs of smoke above your head. You watch Suna inhale one, two, three drags of the cigarette held between his fingers.

The air between the two of you is silent. Neither one makes an attempt to break it down, you think it's better this way. And you think that's why you like being by Suna so much — he doesn't talk too much.

You extend your hand towards him, and he lets you grab the cigar from within his fingertips. His eyes flick to your mouth as you bring the cigarette to your lips and for a moment, his world comes to a halt.

You take a long breath, allowing the nicotine to take over your body, it tightens your chest and you let out a cough — cold and deliberate. Still Suna makes no attempt to make you feel at ease.

I thought you didn't smoke anymore.

Your voice is hoarse, it's the first thing you've said in six hours. There's no answer and honestly, you don't expect one. You let your eyes wander to the city lights underneath you, it reminds you of home — of Osamu. Of how he would wrap his arms around you and promise you the world every time he could.

Oh, I don't.

Fuck, you miss Osamu. You hate how you've been trying to reach out to him for days at an end now, only to be met by silence. Is he okay?

When the chill wind hits your scalp, your stomach sinks in. What if Samu decided he was finally done with you. Your vision begins to blur and your head hurts. Love is hell.

Bullshit Rin, you're a liar.

It's said through your teeth and pierces him like a dagger. He takes a breath to steady himself because it feels like he's about to fall.

Sometimes you wonder if Osamu sees you everywhere, if he loves you as much as you love him — if he loves you at all. But when you weave your fingers through his hair to lull him to sleep, you know it's futile worrying about useless stuff like that.

You know Osamu loves you.

Suna watches as your phone lights up, he watches as your eyes graze over the screen and your lips curl upwards. You let out a breath of relief and put out the cigarette on one of the tiles sitting on his balcony.

It's going to leave a stain, but Rin knows he isn't going to have the heart to scrub it off, it's a piece of you after all. One that he hopes he'll get to keep with himself for a long, long time.

He says he got caught up in some family stuff.

The words startle Suna, because he'd almost forgotten that there were people in this world besides the two of you. That there was Osamu, someone he could never win against. He'd forgotten that you weren't his, that no matter how little the gap between the two of you was, you'd never be his.

You aren't going to give him hell?

And you wonder why you aren't. You wonder why you'll always let Osamu walk over your heart and crush it into a hundred pieces, why you'll always hold your arms wide open for him to bury himself into, why you'll forever mutter an I understand despite wanting to rip the hair off your head.

He's probably already going through hell, Rin.

Suna’s chest constricts as he watches you bid goodbye to him. He doesn't know why but something about you leaving tonight makes it all seem so permanent, like he'd never get a chance to witness your presence beside him ever again.

He thinks he might pass out as he watches you finally step into the elevator, because even though he'd made you promise to not get into any trouble on the way to Osamu’s apartment, he knows it's nearly impossible for you.

Suna is your best friend but you forget all about him when you're watching it pour outside through the windows of Osamu's apartment.

You're sitting on the couch, lost in the haze like lovers on a Sunday morning. With Osamu, it's coffee breath and starlit nights, it's listening to Matty healy curse through the speakers and dancing around the living room with your lips drawn together.

Osamu is a promise, you believe; one that you'd made to yourself when you were seven, one that you hope you'll never end up breaking. He's a poem you'd written on your seventeenth birthday, he's the fire that lights up your lungs on a cold winter evening.

When you're in love, it feels like you're about to die. It's too good, too much. It feels like you're falling but you let yourself slip — because you know you'll have your lover waiting for you on the other side.

You love Osamu, you love him like he's your last breath and you love him like a silent prayer.

But when you're wishing Rin a happy birthday, he goes dizzy. Because he thinks he'll love you forever.

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shini--chan · 4 months

Note

i want to request an idea of america’s darling being someone who is on equal footing than him; maybe even better than him! i got inspired from your recent post where you kinda went into detail about america and it made me think.

it’s part of his stereotype to be openly confident about himself and bolster america as the #1 in the world (which is all part of american ideals lol). but what would happen if his darling happened to actually embody what he’s preaching?

The short answer would be: "Error 404, brain not found"

The long answer is

Yandere America - Equal Footing

Frankly, this is something Alfred can't wrap his head around. He is the sort that fully buys into his own exceptionalism, into American exceptionalism. He is the shining city on the hill, the second coming of Christ, the hero. And in his eyes, there is nobody that can hold a candle to his flame. He is on top of the world, and on that peak, there isn't any room for anybody to stand beside him.

So he immediately thinks that you are trying to usurp him and establish yourself as a hegemon. His paranoia and self-righteousness doesn't allow him to come to any other conclusion. Surely you are a terrorist, a threat to his freedom and democracy that has to be knocked down a few pegs. That is something that has to be accomplished as soon as possible.

A stack of papers sat before Alfred, filled with numbers and graphs and analysis. You were getting too strong, and you were wary enough to not fall to any of his usual tricks to stick a foot in the back door. As annoyingly smart as you are, you had decided to make your own encryption device, not buy one from that swiss company to which he had all the decryption keys. The ranks in your government were tight, no room for spies to be caught, and rebellion would be stamped out before it could grow stronger than a candle flame. No room for corruption that still held up personal integrity as the highest virtue. In short, no way to really find out what was going out inside, no opportunity to spy. You just had to go. No, that would be too extreme. Just, brought down to a level that is more appropriate for your true status and disposition. Put you a place where you are no longer in his way. The best place for that would be under his thumb, in his god honest opinion. Could he really be faulted for his harsh decision when the mere through of you competing in a level playing field made his skin crawl? He had a dream of the world as his oyster - his to mould and reshape. That was something that would be unachievable as long as you had the power to act as a counterweight to him. "Jones! Jones! Where's your mind been the whole time? Ya know it is rude not to listen when somebody is giving you a presentation", a voice called him back to reality. Sky blue eyes snapped up to the woman in question. Alfred didn't even know what the presentation was about anymore. Just another trivial matter, in comparison to the thorn in his side. "Then how about we talk about something worth listening to? Like instigating colour revolutions", he countered.

Flowing in his obsession with you is a new obsession, one to tear the rug from under your feet. He'll do what he can to bring his government on board - perhaps he'll say you have important resources like oil and gold on your territory, or that it would be more advantageous to have him dictating your policies (better more American interests of course).

He'll do what he can to have your current government kicked out and have some bootlicker installed that will willing sell out the country just so that their kids can attend Havard or Princeton. This, he'll achieve by any means needed, be it election manipulations to outright assassinations to full blown war. Then, he'll have you and take you far away from your home, so that he can treat you as he pleases.

America would then purposely keep you in the dark about the going ons in your country in order to keep you more compliant. Meanwhile, you would feel your body becoming weaker and weaker as your people would be plundered, be it by their own government or the Americans.

If you would confront him about it, then he would have some ready made fabrications to sooth your anger and see him as an overworked hero that is trying his best to aid you. He would show you photos of natural disasters, testimonies of heightened criminality and terrorism and corruption, evidence of pandemics and famines. Bit by bit, he'll whittle away at your pride and sovereignty until you are his in all but name.

#yandere hetalia #yandere america #yandere x reader #x reader

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the-fandom-abyss · 9 months

Text

Greenhouse Messes

Cordelia Goode x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst ❀

Word Count: 1,305 words

A/N: I hope you enjoy this new injection for Cordelia @lexi1109 🥰

The air around the academy, shifted from fresh to stale as you working inside the greenhouse. The lively plants whispering amongst themselves, debating on whether a danger resides outside. A few twigs cracked under a weight of an invisible source, just outside the door. This drew your attention from the garden bed you were preparing.

"What are you not telling me?" To any normal person, you would be certifiably insane with the way you spoke to yourself. For you, nature always responded, they held the answers to more questions than you could possibly ask. Wind seeped through the bottom of the door, bringing in a cold draft. The action sent shivers down your spine. "Witch hunters" you whispered, responding to the message. "Do I have time?" The flowers sagged like one would when they dropped their head in sadness. That caused the panic to vibrate within your bones. You were too far from the house to alert the others, too close to the danger to escape alive. All you could do was protect the ones you loved, even if their focus was gravitated elsewhere.

Cautious steps were taken towards the exotic eyes flitting from shadow to shadow. With a shaky breath, you entered the gloomy outdoors, filled with monsters. Bare feet made contact with the soft grass below, sensing the vibrations within the soil. You walked with conviction towards the front entrance of the academy, hoping you could make it to at least the front step. The ground shook below you, alerting to a threat. They were running hard and fast towards you, which meant they all had eyes on you. Leaning down, you connected your hands to the life below, communicating through touch. The wind began to blow, the trees began to rustle and nature was ready to harnessed. Vines stretched through the cracks of the soil, whipping into view. They wrapped around the legs of the hunter that was fast approaching, pulling him into the air.

"You bitch" he said through gritted teeth as he fought against the vine. Thorns protruded through the greenery, piercing the body of the man. He screamed in pain as the thorns continued to grow, ultimately sealing his fate. The vibe threw him to the side, searching for its next victim. When a team of ten came into view, you were quick to realise just how outnumbered you were. Tree branches snapped and bent into shape, creating makeshift arms. They reached for bodies that were close, collecting as many as they could. That didn't stop a small group from invading, slashing your back in the process. A wail ripped through your throat at the sudden sensation. The branches faulted for only a moment before regaining its strength. It was enough for some men to slip through, charging at you. In a blink of an eye, those men were lunging for you, tackling you to the floor. They plunged a knife in each hand, twisting them for extra damage. In that moment, all you could think of was one person, one name on the tip of your tongue.

"Cordelia!" You screamed, as they continued to slice your skin. It was an extension of your power, a sense that could no longer be used. A light was turned on upstairs, a silhouette of Cordelia painted on the curtain. Hope twinkled in your eyes at the thought that she could hear you. "Cordelia" another scream left you lips, losing it strength as the blood spilled from your cuts. Another silhouette joined Cordelia within the room. It could only be described as Misty, Cordelia's newest obsession. That was what was given to you in your last moments. The sight of your love, entertaining another woman while witch hunters hunted you for sport.

Blood coated the floor below like a crimson sunset that graced the horizon. The earth fluttered underneath you, urging you to fight back, use all the strength you had left. Yet, all you could do was whisper Cordelia's name and succumb to the pain that radiates through your body. The men laughed above you, enjoying the thrill of the hunt and how they could bring a witch to her untimely demise.

"Y/N!" Nan shouted, drawing the witch hunters attention. They tossed your drained essence to the ground, setting their sights on the young girl. Something inside you crackled, sparks firing through your very being. The idea of Misty with Cordelia, Nan being brutally attacked by witch hunters, fuelled the fire within. Thunder began to roll through the sky, dark clouds followed closely behind. The hunters stopped in their tracks, searching the area for the next surprise. What they didn't expect was a bolt of lightning to strike the body they had left for dead. The charges flowed through your veins, body lifting from the ground. Electrical charges swirled around you as your eyes glowed a bright golden. With a pained scream from your lips, branches from the trees shifted and snapped, shooting out like barbs. The branches finding home in each of the hunters chests, rendering them motionless.

The energy softly floated you to the ground, where Nan was able to reach you. With all her strength, she reached under your body and pulled you towards the house. The entrance foyer was newly decorated with the blood that continued to flow from your wounds. The force within the house shifted when Nan crossed the threshold. It was sensed amongst the coven, grabbing at their attention. The first to descend the stairs was Cordelia, eyes fixated on the scene in front of her.

"Y/N" she gasped, falling to her knees next to you. Her hands reached out to pull you into her lap, wanting nothing but to heal you. When you flinched at her movement, moving closer into Nan, her heart fell to her stomach. "Let me help you, please" she pleaded, unsure of what caused the turn of your emotions.

"She doesn't want your help"

"Stop being stubborn, I need to heal you or you'll die"

"You were supposed to be with her tonight"

"What?"

"A date in the greenhouse and you never showed"

"Oh Y/N, I'm so sorry" tears silently travelled down the rosy cheeks of Cordelia. The sting in her heart, knowing that she could have prevented this, if she had just paid more attention.

"Misty was more important" Cordelia was taken aback by the comment, trying to understand how you knew. "She saw you in your room, she called out for you but you couldn't hear her"

"Honey, I am so so sorry. I lost sight of what was important and in turn lost sight of you. This is all my fault" she should have been with you, she should have been able to protect you. All her focus had been directed to the newcomer Misty and had ignored her connection with you. This small distraction cause her to break the link she had with you. In doing so, she left you defenceless to the world around you, if only she could go back in time.

Regret and guilt swirled inside Cordelia as they battled one another. It trapped her in silence, so frozen that she was unable to claw herself out.“It’s so quiet” Nan’s voice broke through her haze, Cordelia’s eyes snapping towards the young girl.

“Y/N let me help!” Her hands twitched with urgency, she wanted nothing more than to channel her energy through you.

“I love you” slipped from Nans lips, the final thoughts and words of the woman that saved the school. Cordelia may have broken the connection, but she felt every last ache that you had felt. She absorbed the hurt and anguish and carried it upon her shoulders. All she had left were the memories that you shared and even then, they couldn’t compare to you.

#cordelia foxx #cordelia goode #cordelia goode imagine #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia foxx imagine #cordelia foxx x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs coven #ahs coven imagine #ahs coven x reader

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kalegreeneyes · 4 months

Text

February 3 - King - 1218 words - @jegulus-microfic

“It isn’t fair,” Regulus hisses under his breath as he watches his brother work the room from a secluded corner. He just needed a break from all the pomp and circumstance following Sirius’s coronation. “He doesn’t even want to be king!”

“And you do?” a voice murmurs far too close to Regulus’s ear for comfort. It makes the downy hairs on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps prickle down his skin.

Regulus whips his head around, face heating up as he goes. He had made sure he was alone over here. Apparently not. His shoulders drop when he sees who it is–James Potter has never been, and will never be, a threat to him.

“Not that it is any of your business,” Regulus starts, trying to take on an air of nonchalance, “but yes. I do. I believe myself to be infinitely more suited to rule a kingdom than him.”

James Potter, the heir apparent to the crown of his own kingdom, an ever present thorn in Regulus’s side, looks at him in a way he has never known James Potter to look. It is nervous, bordering on desperate. Regulus does not like it, and he draws back to observe. The fragile glass full of some expensive alcohol that Regulus is holding but will not drink sloshes as he leans to take in James’ body language.

“What is it, Potter?” Regulus asks, finding himself oddly nervous. He rather enjoys the predictability of James Potter. He finds himself suddenly having to worry for the first time whether James Potter is a threat to him; if perhaps he has revealed too much in his loose disdain for his brother’s rise to power.

“You can rule my kingdom,” James says, all in a hurry as if he’s afraid he won’t get the words out if they don’t come all at once.

Regulus arches a high, delicate brow, then can’t help himself but to laugh. It’s a bright, airy thing, and James Potter licks his lips. “Have you lost your mind?” Regulus asks. “It isn’t becoming of you to make such a cheap attempt at humour.”

James steps forwards to once again invade Regulus’s space. Regulus’s eyes dart around the room to make sure that no one is observing them. He’d loathe to cause a scandal over such nonsense. James follows his movement to catch his eyes again, all but forcing him to pay attention with the intensity in his gaze.

“I’m not attempting to make you laugh, Your Highness, as beautiful a sound as it is. I believe you to be more than fit to rule–my kingdom would be all the better to have you at the helm.” James insists, warm fingers brushing against Regulus’s as he takes the glass from him and sets it on the nearby table.

“And what would you do, then?” Regulus asks incredulously, still unable to believe this is anything but a farce.

“Well, if you’d allow me, I would stand proudly at your side for the rest of my days. I would be there to support you in any way you might require. It is my kingdom, after all; I can do what I want with it. I would like to give it to you.” James’ face betrays no amusement, no doubt. Uncertainty, yes, but that seems to be hinging on Regulus’s reaction.

Regulus’s mouth drops open, which is not very proper, but he cannot help it. He can’t believe James is actually serious about this. “And what a fortuitous match that would be for you, yes? I'm sure your parents would be thrilled if you returned home with the spare heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to become your prince consort,” he hisses in a protective sort of disbelief. “Surely you aren’t suggesting-”

“Regulus,” James cuts him off, the pleading look in his eyes only growing more fervent. “I implore you to listen to me because I speak only the truth. I have loved you for as long as I have known you. My parents would be glad for the match not for what you can offer, but rather because of the joy and contentment it would bring me. I have been wholly and truly yours for years, even if you have not been aware of it. Though, I must admit, I didn’t think I had been subtle about my desire,” he says, with such conviction that Regulus has no choice but to believe him.

Regulus’s mouth drops open and snaps shut over and over for a moment while he tries to figure out a way to respond. He hasn’t the slightest idea where to even start. Eventually, he settles on, “I always assumed you were teasing me.”

James glances furtively around them before daring to take Regulus’s hand, obscured by the table in front of them. It is a solid feeling, one that grounds Regulus firmly into the moment. “No, never. Never about this. I couldn’t. Regulus, please, I cannot keep up the pretense that I am a truly proper man any longer. I understand that this is not the proper way to court someone, let alone to propose, but I cannot stand here and watch you wallow in your envy while knowing that I’ve been planning to offer you everything for as long as I can remember. Will you have me? Say you’ll have me.”

Regulus’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His own hand trembles within James’ grasp. “I will not marry you simply to rule your kingdom, if that is what you’re implying. I do not take offers of courtship based on such cold, material things, and I could not live with myself if I were to take advantage of your affections for my own personal gain.”

James’ expression falters. There is a note of pain; his eyes seem to grow glassier than they had been before. “I was rather hoping that you would return my affections. It is mere coincidence that I found you here lamenting your brother’s crowning.”

Regulus swallows, his stuffy formal attire doing nothing to assuage the heat licking at his neck. “I will not rule your kingdom for you because you pity me for having to watch mine go to a man who loathes it,” he says, and then it is his turn to hold onto James’ gaze; his hand. “However, I will rule by your side, together, if to be with me is what you truly wish. As you said earlier, I have been wholly and truly yours for years, even if you have not been aware of it.”

The pain in James’ expression fades, replaced by disbelief of his own, followed by a blinding kind of joy that seems to exist only within James Potter. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Regulus laughs, squeezing James’ hand to ground him in the moment too.

“I do believe it is time to bestow you with a new title, Your Highness,” James grins.

“And what might that be?” Regulus asks, doing his level best to fight a grin of his own.

“King of my heart,” James says, and it is so incredibly sappy and unfunny that Regulus has no choice but to laugh and laugh.

He knows now that he will be laughing like this for the rest of his life.

#regulus black #james potter #royal au #jegulus #jegulus microfic #though im not that good at keeping my microfics micro it seems

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mha-cuties-pls · 1 year

Text

Dark Desires.

You, a new member of The League of Villains, find yourself in a compromising position with your boss one night, and things don’t go as you initially expected.

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader | Words: 2.8k | Rating: M | genre: smut

Shigaraki stopped in his tracks when he heard you through your door; Looks like you forgot to shut it completely.

Again.

Another soft moan escaped from inside your room that intrigued Shigaraki far too much to simply walk away. Then he heard it again,

"Shigaraki."

He felt his cock twitch inside the sweatpants he was wearing. Were you moaning his name?

Ever since you joined The League, Shigaraki took a special interest towards you. At first, he thought it was simply because you were the perfect recruit. You were fast, strong, and decently experienced in combat; He often stopped by your trainings with the others to see how you were progressing. It wasn't until that fateful day, around two weeks ago, that Shigaraki realized exactly why it was he seemed to be so incredibly drawn to you.

Watching as you maneuvered your way around your sparing partner, Shigaraki seemed throughly impressed. You were pairing nicely against your opponent, he thought as he saw you face against your weaknesses with vast improvements.

But suddenly, the vines created from your opponents quirk began to tangle themselves around you. You would have been trapped, but as you felt the scratch of thorns against your skin you escaped quickly, sliding out from under your shirt and falling on the ground in an act of quick thinking; Only now, you were topless.

Your newly exposed breasts caused your male opponent to falter and stare for a bit, giving you a perfect opening to deliver your final blow with precision. Giddy from your victory, you threw your arms up triumphantly and jumped a few times in victory, not realizing Shigarakis eyes were glued onto you from the balcony where he stood watching.

Ever since that day, Shigarakis mind couldn't help but fill with aggressively smutty thoughts about you. He wondered every day what you would like underneath him, your plump chest and supple skin exposed for his pleasure as he pounded into your tight pussy. He wondered what you would look like, what you would sound like.

Until today, that was.

Now, as he stood in front of the cracked door to your room, he was able to get a sneak peak of you at your most vulnerable.

And you looked absolutely delicious to him. Writhing around on your bed with one hand down your pants and the other caressing your bare chest as your eyes were shut. He almost wondered what had gotten you so hot and bothered, but the next second, you moaned out again.

"Oh, Tomoura please-"

Before you were able to get another word out, you jumped up quickly as the door flew open, your hands retreating from the obviously naughty positions they were in just a moment before. Your face burned bright red as you looked sheepishly at the man who suddenly barged through your door. Shigaraki?! Oh my god, did he hear me just now? "What, um," you stuttered, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at him, "what are you doing in here?" Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?

But as you stared at your boss, you saw the desire that burned behind his red eyes. Turning around, he quickly locked the door to your room, just as you should’ve done in the first place, before going back to over to you with a devilish grin plastered on his face. "Are you saying, that you'd rather I not be in here?" He moved close, so that he was inches from your face, and you were sure he could feel the heat coming off of it. "Because I heard your voice moaning my name." His clothed hand caressed your face, and without even hesitating you leaned into it with a deep sigh, causing his smirk to grow even more sinister. "How could I deny an opportunity to corrupt such a pretty little thing?"

Bashful, you looked down, not believing the encounter you had been dreaming about since you first laid eyes on your alluring superior was finally happening. But he was quick to grab your chin, and almost too roughly, he forced you to look up at him. You tried fruitlessly to stammer out a sentence of some kind, but to no avail, much to his satisfaction.

Suddenly, you felt his hand slip below the waistband of your pants and caress the skin of your bare ass as he looped his fingers around the edges of your thong, playfully tugging on the fabric. A small yelp escaped your lips as you felt his fingers brush close to your entrance, now slick from anticipation.

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest; He always knew he would love watching you squirm under his touch, and he was right. The small moans and yelps you let out with every tug and pull he made against your skin were music to his ears. "I had no idea you were such a little whore for me, ____." His voice was low, and the way he stared down at you with such intensity in his eyes while he clawed at your bare ass sent your body reeling, and your knees began to buckle a bit; Much to his pleasure. Shigaraki snickered, swiftly placing his hands under your knees and back, picking up your limp form almost effortlessly. Throwing your body back on the bed you laid on just moments before, he wasted no time crawling on top of you. He put his lips so close to your ear that you could feel them when he whispered, "Do you want Daddy's cock inside you?"

Your eyes grew even wider, and your words choked up again in your throat as your face burned red. Whenever you imagined Tomoura in bed, which was admittedly a lot, you always hoped he was more on the kinky side. But a daddy kink? That was so unexpected, and so unbelievably fucking sexy.

You nodded frantically to his question, beginning to squirm under his weight with impatience and lust. "Yes daddy, please." Soft and sensual, your words were made even more lascivious by the staggering breaths you were taking, and you reached to palm his bulge through the pants he was wearing. It felt bigger than you hoped. "I need to feel your cock inside me daddy." The fuzzy feeling that accompanied you whenever Shigaraki was around, or even mentioned, intensified beyond anything you had experienced before as you felt your resolve weakening; You had been waiting for an opportunity to able to submit like this to any man. But now, in all actuality, it was Tomoura Shigaraki, asking you to call him something you only ever dreamed about. You didn’t think it was possible to want anything as bad as you wanted him to ruin you right now, and exploit your weakness for his own sexual benefit.

The look in his eyes grew more intense after your delicious admission and he wasted no time beginning to shrug off his pants, which gave you an opportunity to do the same. However, as you were about to discard your underwear, you felt his clothed hands grip your wrists painfully. "Leave those on." His gravely voice was laced with desire, and his death grip on your wrists only intensified as he moved them above your head. "And keep your hands there, got it?"

You nodded, the warm feeling in your abdomen beginning to make you fidget out of need for him. "Okay Tomour-"

Suddenly, his hand made contact with the softest part of your cheek, leaving a slight stinging sensation, and you looked up at him in shock. "What's my name?" He growled, an almost animalistic expression on his face. You had never been hit in bed before; It had you stunned for a moment, but as soon as you were able to comprehend, your mind and body both relished in the moment.

You moaned in response, his actions serving to get you hotter and wetter than you had ever been before. The light, tingling feeling in your abdomen only grew larger as you rubbed your legs together, desperately seeking the friction of his rough skin against yours. "Okay daddy." Purring out his new title you arched your back a bit, wanting nothing more than for him to finally touch you, while you watched him quickly disregard his shirt. You felt the ache intensify with each passing second, especially now that you were face to face with his chiseled, stark naked form. "Daddy, please."

Seemingly satisfied with your response, he relaxed his grimace and crawled over to straddle you on the bed once more, but the fervor behind his expression remained the same. You could feel his hard cock pressed against your legs as his hands finally made their way down to your bare waist, looping his fingers through the bands of your underwear, pulling on one of the sides and releasing one with a snap. "Mmm, thats right, be a good little slut and beg for daddy." Suddenly, his hand dropped further south. As he cupped you through your drenched underwear, he stared into your eyes, with an intense hunger behind his own. "How long have you been aching for me, baby?" His fingers slipped past your underwear all too breifly, making you whimper when he pulled them away almost instantly. Then he let out a small laugh, and came closer to your ear, his dry skin tickling you and sending a shiver down your spine. "You know I can feel your pussy clenching for me? And you're already so wet..."

His tongue lapped out at the sensitive skin around where your neck and jawline connected. Every small bite, nip, and lick he made against your skin elicited one more moan or cry for more out of you. Trying your absolute hardest not to bring your hands down and give yourself the stimulation you craved, a loud whine left your mouth as your eyebrows furrowed in frustration and you shut your eyes. "Daddy please! Please, please, please I need to feel your thick cock inside me. Please.”

The hand that was teasing you through your underwear suddenly, finally, maneuvered its way underneath the thin piece of fabric. Immediately you hummed, maybe even squeaked, in approval. But you could tell almost instantly you needed more. Opening your eyes, and your legs further, you stared up at Tomoura through your long eyelashes with a sultry look behind them; Silently pleading for him to finally take every last part of you, any way he so desired.

He was quick to place his hand around your throat, and you wished he was able to take off his gloves so you could feel the rough callouse of his hands on your delicate skin as he choked you harder than you've ever been choked before. Letting out a deep groan, he kept his hand tight around your neck, causing your eyes to already roll to the back of your head a bit as he positioned his hard, red tip against your sopping hole. "I love it when you look up at me like that, like the complacent little cumslut you are." Then, without warning, he slammed into you roughly, eliciting another sharp scream from you as your eyes grew wide, watching the sinister look on his face grow with each of your reactions. Holding himself still, he brought his lips to your ear once more. "Fuck, ____.” His whispers danced across your skin, giving you goosebumps among all else. “You feel so fucking tight, baby, fuck.”

Moaning in response to his praises and new pet name, you relished in the feeling Shigaraki was giving you- it was almost ethereal. The way his hand around your neck served to restrict your air flow in the most delicious way while his throbbing member filled your needy cunt had you seeing stars.

Your whole life, you held your darkest desires close out of the fear you'd be looked at as a freak or worse, mentally unstable. At least, before you decided to leave superhero-society and go off on your own as a small time villain, that was. The things you wanted a man to do to you in bed were admittedly a bit intense, but perhaps thats why it never felt right until you were with a man who was, himself, truly rough. Not like all the nameless faces from your past; They were simply rebellious boys who didnt know how to use the bodies of the men they were in.

Tomoura was a true villain, who stood for absolute destruction and chaos along with deserved power and authority that was to be taken by force. That's why you decided, so early on in your initial encounter with The League, that he was the only one fit to fulfill such desires. Not to mention, he was incredibly sexy. His dark aura and intriguingly mysterious personality served to draw you in, and his incredibly striking features enticed you towards the idea of him even more. It honestly flabbergasted you how people seemed to make negative remarks about Tomouras appearance, all because of a few scars and dry patches; Because you were always taken back by his handsome face and wild hair that complimented the eerie look that adorned him so often.

He pulled out, and, before you could even whine in protest, shoved himself back into you with such force it caused your eyes to tear up. "Dont get too comfortable just yet, ____." Shigaraki growled, slapping you once more and grabbing your face by your cheeks, forcing you to look into his eyes in delicious aggression you had never experienced before. "Daddy still has to pound that pretty pussy of yours until you cant see straight." A shiver went down your spine in anticipation.

Shigaraki gave another hard thrust, you moaned, shutting your eyes in pleasure and bringing your hips up to meet his. You must have done something to make him feel exceptional, because a low guttural sound came from deep within his chest as he began to increase his speed quickly. Lying on the bed helplessly, with your hands pinned above your head, you took every inch of his length eagerly, a deep moan being expelled out of you each time he bottomed out. Your vision began to blur, and your slight loss of motor functions resulted in your mouth hanging slightly agape and your tongue protruding just a bit. While you didnt think much of it at first, since you couldn't really think about anything except the phenomenal feeling of being filled up with the subject of your darkest fantasies, you were, once again, in shock.

Tomoura took the opportunity to spit, mostly in your mouth but he missed just a bit so his saliva began to drip over your cheek. Frozen once more, you looked up at him with wide eyes as you tried to get used to the new sensation; The degradation.

A smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, he finally released your wrists, and smeared his saliva all over your face as you stared up at him with that expression he loved that just made you look so dumb and fuckable. You smiled up at him, and embraced the mess he was making on you with an enthusiastic giggle.

Without a single word, he quickly pulled out of you, and grabbed your torso. Flipping you onto your stomach, and lifting you up by your hips so you rested on your knees, he shoved your face into the pillow in front of you when you tried to look back at him. “Stay down.” He growled deliciously, causing your pussy to quiver.

Though you still felt empty, and while you were unable to say anything, you simply wiggled your butt back and forth, trying to tempt him back into you. You felt him run the tip of his length along your slick folds, even bouncing it off of them, lewd sounds filling the air as you whined into your pillow.

His right hand steadied itself on your hips, as the other placed itself in the middle of your lower back, pushing down slightly. “Arch your back for daddy, baby girl- yeah, augh, juust like that.” Sliding in once more, a bit slowly, Shigaraki felt himself savoring the warm feeling even more. The way your tight, warm, walls clenched around him as he watched your ass shake with every impact he made into you only caused his hunger for you to grow more. His hand smacked your ass hard, and even though he was wearing a glove, he still managed to make you yelp in response.

He loved having you at his mercy like this, submitting to him without even an ounce of protest in those big, ‘fuck-me’ eyes of yours; He almost didnt want it to be over, but-

“Mmmmm, fill me with your cum, daddy!” Somehow, you managed to turn your face without him noticing, yelling out something so dirty, just for him. He grunted as a response with his intensity picking up, and he began to thrust into you with every inch he had. He was positive your ass would be bruised the next day.

Good. Tomoura smirked at the thought, excited to see the marks he left on your skin after you finally surrendered yourself to him; The first of many.

Abruptly, your hips began to meet his as you thrusted back, and he was positive that he wasn’t able to hold back any more once he heard your loud screams being barely concealed by the pillow you lay your face in. His thrusts became sporadic, but as he felt himself begin to shoot out his hot cum, he held your hips as close to him as he could, burying himself as deep as possible.

Laying his body against yours, you could feel the heavy movements of his chest as he whispered in your ear, still holding your hips tight, “you are mine.”

#my hero academy fanfiction #my hero smut #my hero imagines #shigaraki tomura #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki smut #bnha fanfiction

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thosehallowedhalls · 3 months

Text

Of Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

Chapter 3

Book: Crimes of Passion 2

Pairing: Sebastyan Thorne x F!MC (Emma Rose)

Rating: Teen

Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence

Word count: ~2800

Summary: There are many things that Sebastyan doesn't like about Detective Rose. Her loyalty to Trystan, for one thing. But the worst part, the most unforgivable offense, is the way she keeps drawing his eye.

Series masterlist

A/N: We've finally made it to the exciting stuff! There was supposed to be one more scene in this chapter, but it would've pushed it to 4000 words, so I'm ending it here. There are (tentatively) two more chapters to go.

His first reaction is disbelief. Twin stabs of pain and panic follow, flaring up simultaneously when the thin wire tightens around his neck, cutting into his skin. His hands fly to his throat instinctively, a desperate attempt to free himself. As he does, the tightening stops completely, but the wire remains taut.

“Let him go.”

At Emma’s voice, relief floods him. But he isn’t out of the woods yet, as Vasili’s next words make abundantly clear.

“Put the taser down first. Have you ever seen someone bleed to death, Emma? It can be very, very fast. Bas…” His brother’s voice shakes. “Bas will be dead in seconds. So put the taser down unless you want that to happen.”

Sebastyan wants to turn, meet her eyes, but he knows better. Any movement could spook Vasili, and result in the severing of his carotid artery. So he does what has never come naturally with anyone but his mother or the man currently holding a garrote around his throat: he trusts someone else to have the answers.

Vasili and Emma remain in a standoff, tensions rising with every moment. Then she speaks.

“Let him go and I’ll let you do the same.”

Vasili snorts. “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”

“No, I don’t. I will let you go. I might not be able to stop the Royal Guard from coming after you, but you’ll still get a head start. Think about it, Vasili. That’s as good a deal as you’re going to get.”

His brother turns sharply, dragging Sebastyan along. Emma points her taser at Vasili, but her eyes meet his for one charged second. She doesn’t have a clear shot, and all three of them know it.

She finally lowers the taser. “What’s it going to be? Will you take your one chance at escape, or will you kill Sebastyan and give up your shield?”

Vasili hesitates. Then he moves to the door, still dragging him along. Once he’s at the exit, he shoves Sebastyan to the floor and flees.

Emma is at his side in seconds. “You’re bleeding.”

As though in a trance, he touches his hand to his throat. It comes away stained red with blood. Now that he’s paying attention, he can feel the light but steady trickle streaming down his throat. “I suppose it could be worse.”

“You need a doctor.”

He tries to stand, but his legs buckle under him. “In a minute.”

“Sebastyan…”

“In a minute,” he repeats curtly. He can feel a wall of ice growing higher and thicker around his heart, blocking every fledgling emotion that tries to emerge.

Emma rips one of her sleeves off. “Here. Hold this to your throat. It’ll help stem the bleeding.”

Exhausted, he complies. After a moment, he succeeds at standing, but he finds himself growing dizzy. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or maybe it’s the fact that his brother… his brother just tried to kill him. Either way, for now, he feels nothing. He drops down on the velvet seat, recognizing the terrible numbness for what it is: shock. He welcomes it, desperately hoping he can cling to it until he’s alone. He can’t let himself feel this, not yet. Not in front of her.

“Emma? Bas?” Trystan’s voice calls from the corridor. He runs into the box, his expression growing grim when his eyes take Sebastyan in. “Bas, are you alright?”

“I’m alive. Sorry to disappoint.” He recognizes, vaguely, that he sounds like a put upon teenager. But he can’t bring himself to care.

A muscle twitches in Trystan’s cheek. “I happen to be really glad that you’re okay.”

Sebastyan looks away. His brother sighs and turns to Emma. “It was Vasili?”

“Yeah. I had to let him go, Trystan. It was the only way to save Sebastyan.”

“It’s fine. Lydea will catch him.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So what now?”

“Your brother needs a doctor, but he’s refusing to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll get one over here.” He begins to make his way to the door before pausing, one hand on the doorframe. “I really am glad you’re okay, Bas.”

Okay.

Right.

And then he’s left alone with Emma again.

She sits next to him and places a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Sebastyan.”

He refuses to look at her. He doesn’t want Emma here. He doesn’t want anyone around while his mind struggles to come to terms with the impossible

“Why? You finally found your murderer. Case closed. The queen will be pleased, and you proved beyond a shadow of a doubt your little boyfriend’s innocence.” He finally turns to face her. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

She doesn’t answer, only looks at him with an expression of compassion that rankles like nails on chalkboard.

“Get out.”

A pause. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. If nothing else, someone needs to be around to make sure you don’t bleed through that fabric.”

“Too bad, because alone is exactly what I want to be.”

“Bas…”

It’s the first time she’s called him by his nickname. Something about hearing it in her voice makes his throat dry.

“Get out,” he repeats, but his voice is lower. Softer. He’s all out of defenses. Grief and anger and need swirl within him, and for once, he lets her see all that goes on inside of him when she’s nearby.

Her eyes widen. Well, that answers one question. His feelings for her weren’t as obvious as he feared.

“Bas,” she repeats, her tone matching his.

He doesn’t let himself think. He cups her jaw with his free hand and brings his mouth to hers. All his carefully restrained desire explodes in a burst of longing at his first taste of her.

She is motionless long enough that Sebastyan almost pulls back. But then her mouth softens under his, lips parting to let him in. A sound, half groan, half moan, reverberates in his chest when their tongues meet; his hand dropping to her lower back and tugging her closer.

As far as he’s concerned, she can never be close enough.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when Emma breaks the kiss. Sitting back, she looks at him with a softness in her eyes that nearly sends him searching for her again.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you,” he admits.

“Could’ve fooled me. What was it you said then? That I should have stayed in New York because nobody wanted me here?”

He gives a helpless, and perhaps a tad hysterical, burst of laughter. “I take that back. In case it wasn’t clear.”

The sound of running feet makes them scramble away from each other. Trystan bursts into the room, stopping short at the sight of them. Sebastyan can only imagine what they look like right now. But still, the fact that his brother’s only reaction is a slight raising of his eyebrows has him reevaluating some things.

Namely, whether he might have been wrong about the type of relationship that exists between Emma and Trystan.

“Well?” She asks. “What happened?”

“Vasili’s in custody. Lydea will make sure that he gets to the dungeons.”

“No, I won’t.” Lydea strides into the box, looking angrier than he’s ever seen her. Her usual collected expression is a distant memory.

“What happened?”

“Colette let Vasili escape.”

It comes to him in a flash. “I take it you didn’t send her to me with a message earlier.”

Her eyes snap to his. “Tell me everything.”

“There’s not much to tell.” He runs a hand over his face. “She said you wanted to talk to me about Vasili. That’s why I was here.”

Trystan swears. “She’s been working with him this whole time.”

Lydea looks like she wants to break something. “The second I have her in my sights, I will kill her myself.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the murderous intent, but we’re wasting time here,” Emma says. “Lydea, Bas, you know Vasili. Where would he escape to?”

“He knows the opera house well,” Trystan says. “Or at least he used to. Does he still come as often as he did before I was exiled?”

“Yes, which means that he knows this place better than almost anyone else.” Lydea’s eyes flash. “Except for me. New York, stay with Bas. Trystan, you’re with me.”

He expects Emma to object to what is obviously a glorified babysitting task, but she only nods. “Got it. He’s going to need a doctor.”

Lydea’s eyes flick down to the wound in his throat. Her mouth compresses into a tight line. “There’s one on the way.”

As they go, Emma rips off her other sleeve. “May I?” She holds up a hand. “And before you say no, you should know that was just a courtesy question. I’m going to be tying this damn thing around your neck either way.”

He huffs out an amused breath, but winces when she lays gentle fingers on his throat. Now that the shock is wearing off, the pain is setting in. “Be my guest. Why were you here?”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, when you stopped Vasili from… Why were you here?”

She carefully ties the two ends of the fabric into a knot, and steps back. She meets his eyes. “It finally dawned on me that Vasili was most likely the killer. If he saw us talking earlier, it only made sense that he would come after you.”

“I thought you suspected me.”

“I did. But I kept having second thoughts since our conversation in the kitchen. And tonight… you were threatening Markarov.”

“So?”

“So, who in their right mind would threaten someone they’re planning to kill on the very night they’re planning to kill them? Put them on their guard like that? You’re smarter than that.”

He has to laugh. “So your reason for believing that I didn’t kill Nadja is that I’m too smart to… wait, why would you think I was planning to kill Markarov?” He remembers his ledger. “Oh.”

“You really should be more careful with your wording.”

“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind the next time somebody steals my personal planner.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, your reason for believing I didn’t kill Nadja is that I’m too smart to threaten my victim? Not that I’m not capable of murder in the first place?”

“You’re a Thorne,” she reminds him.

“Fair enough. How did you realize Vasili was…”

But he can’t finish the sentence. A woman in her fifties rushes into the box, a harried look on her face. “Prince Sebastyan! I understand that you’re bleeding from a neck wound? Let me take a look.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Sebastyan says half an hour later. “I’ll even be able to score a few pity points out of this.”

Like hell he will. After what Vasili did, he can already see any lingering possibility of passing the Act in his lifetime evaporate. But it makes Eveline smile faintly before her face crumples again. “I just can’t believe…”

“I know.” He wraps an arm around her and buries his face in her hair. “Me neither.”

They’re in a car taking them back to the palace. Eveline wanted to stay in the opera house until Vasili was found, but by unspoken agreement, Sebastyan and Marguerite convinced her otherwise. They both know his brother now, better than they ever wanted to, and he’s smart. Vasili might not get caught at all, at least not tonight.

“What is he going to do? What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I just hope he doesn’t hurt anyone else before they find him.”

“How could he do this? Any of it. Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn’t go wrong anywhere.”

“Bas is right.” Marguerite’s eyes are red, but her tone is fierce. “Vasili’s choices are his own.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“None of us did.”

She takes Sebastyan’s face in her hands. “My baby. My precious boy. To think you could have…”

“But I didn’t.” He puts his hands on hers. “I’m fine. I promise.”

He isn’t lying, if by fine he means alive and out of danger. But as the car crosses the palace gates, he knows that “fine” is a ways away yet.

A very long ways.

It’s almost four in the morning when he finally enters his bedroom. Before he can do more than take his suit jacket off, there’s a knock on the door.

His heart leaps to his throat. Could it be…

He finds himself almost disappointed to see his sister on the other side. “Mags. Did you need something?”

Marguerite launches herself at him and throws her arms around his shoulders. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

“Not for long if you don’t let me breathe.”

But she only tightens her hold on him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” It’s been a long time since he’s had cause to act like her big brother, but he strokes her hair and speaks in what he hopes is a soothing tone. “You’re not the one who tried to kill me tonight. Although you might just succeed where Vasili failed if you don’t let me breathe.”

Marguerite breaks the hug, but she stays close. Tears stream down her face. “I thought you were…”

“Nadja and Juliana’s killer?”

She flushes, but nods. “How did you know?”

“You were avoiding me tonight. I assume it’s because Emma and Trystan told you they suspected me.”

“I’m so sorry, Bas. I should have known you would never do something like that.”

He stumbles to the nearest flat surface and sits, lingering weakness compounded by exhaustion. “Yes, well. If tonight has taught us anything, it’s that you never know what other people are capable of.”

“You can say that again.” She sits next to him and tips her head to his shoulder. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s been eight years since he last heard those words from her. He didn’t realize until just now how much he’s missed them. “Love you too, Mags.”

Sleeping proves impossible.

Every time he begins to doze off, he feels the phantom sensation of sharp wire tightening around his neck. Every sound becomes Vasili, coming to complete an unfinished job. Eventually, he gives up and opens his eyes. The shadows in his room melt together in an intricate dance, adding to the sense of foreboding.

Or maybe it’s just trauma.

Shock has well and truly worn off by now, and adrenaline has left the picture. There is nothing keeping him from feeling what happened, from facing the fact that his brother – his big brother, whom he spent his entire life loving and trusting – nearly slit his throat.

It defies comprehension. Sebastyan knows that it happened, but he can’t… he can’t wrap his mind around it. Did Vasili ever love him? Or was he playing a role all his life?

He doesn’t know, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Memories cascade in his mind, no rhyme nor reason to their appearance. Vasili, defending an eight-year-old Sebastyan from a cutting Astrid. Stepping in when Kaspar and Emika teamed up to taunt him. Buying him his first legal drink. Telling his six-year-old self that Trystan didn’t mean to ignore him when he tried to play with him.

What happened? When did it go so wrong?

He turns on his side, careful not to disturb the bandage on his neck. Where is Vasili right now? Will Lydea capture him alive? The idea that she may not, that Vasili might not live to see the sunrise, draws a pained gasp from him.

“Damn you.” He isn’t sure whether hate or grief is his predominant emotion right now. He doesn’t particularly care. “How could you?”

He thinks about getting up, trying to get some work done, but… he can’t move. His body feels like lead, weighing as heavily as his heart and trapping him where he is, leaving him unable to do anything but lie there and feel, feel every excruciating emotion that he’s kept bottled up inside. He realizes now how much of the last eight years he spent trying not to feel. But that’s no longer an option now. The floodgates have been opened.

The end of his friendship with Juliana. Her death. The loss of Marguerite. All the cutting and mocking comments directed at his parentage. Everything he has responded to with anger over the years, he can feel only grief now.

He’s still in bed, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, when the pale pink of sunrise gleams through his bedroom windows. Sebastyan isn’t sure whether he’s relieved that daytime has finally arrived, or apprehensive.

He’s not ready to face what today has in store.

#sebastyan x emma #sebastyan x mc #sebastyan thorne #emma rose #detective rose #crimes of passion #playchoices

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trenchcoatimpala · 6 months

Text

Shatter Pattern

Wrote a thing because things rattle around in my brain and I have to get them out. Read below or on Archive

Dean tried to let himself relax into Cas�� arms. He wanted to relax. But it felt impossible. He was stiff; tense. His body rejected the feeling of security Cas’ arms radiated. And he had to sit up, out of Cas’ orbit, his heart thudding in his chest. He wanted to tell Cas: yes, please hold me, keep me safe, kiss parts of me when I won’t notice. I want to fall into you, become part of you, drown in your presence and suck air from your skin. But his body coursed with nothing but its own betrayal because he could never let himself fall like that. How do you go from being the one who does the holding to being the one who’s held. Dean wasn’t used to being held.

Dean hadn’t been held since he was four. The comfort and safety of his mother’s arms felt more like a dream, made up to help him cope with harsh realities, than an actual memory. He didn’t know why he was broken into pieces that didn’t match in their shatter pattern. There was no gluing back together parts of himself that didn’t fit or that he didn’t have because they were scattered under porcelain bowls in nameless bars, and wedged into stained motel beds; eaten by miles of black roadtops, and left behind in the dumpsters of small diners. Somewhere along the cross-country roadtrip of his life, he lost the part of himself that could sink into the safety of another person's arms.

It didn’t matter that he wanted it back, that he craved it so desperately he ached for it. That he cried out in the night begging to allow himself to agree to be loved. He could see the boy who’d gotten to grow up with that missing piece. He could see him standing on the other side of a chasm, laughing as he ran into his mother’s arms, growing up to marry someone he could let crowd into his space, wrap him in something that didn’t remind him of torment; that didn’t make him feel like he was suffocating.

“Dean?” Cas asked softly, and his concern punctured a hole in his chest, letting the floodgates loose.

“I’m sorry,” he cried.

Cas’ hand was large and warm on his back and Dean wished he could sink into it. “For what?”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he sniffed. “How to let you in. I’m not- I’m not good at it. I’ve never been good at it.”

“I know,” Cas said, and he kissed the top of Dean’s head, which only made him cry harder. “Shh, I know. It’s okay.”

Cas rocked him so gently, pressed his lips to his hair, hummed something in Enochian that vibrated through Cas’ chest and into Dean’s back, pushing through him like a shockwave. His chest stopped constricting and his eyes fluttered shut on the last of his tears as Cas enveloped him in his grace. It was overwhelming, striking like a bolt of lightning through a cloudless sky, but suddenly he could breathe.

“I’ve got you,” Cas soothed. “I’m here. I love you.”

Dean let Cas’ words carry him forward. He stepped onto glass, blood blooming across the soles of his feet; walked down muddy roads where he had to pull himself free with each step, the squelch of wet matter trying to suck him back down; scratched himself on thorns that tried their damndest to embed themselves into the furthest reaches of his skin; and finally, he stepped over the edge of that chasm and heaved himself up the other side, panting and shaking beside that little boy he could of been.

The boy smiled at him, freckles so prominent in the sunlight, and he took Dean’s hand and guided him to the last part of his journey, where he could let himself sink into Cas’ arms, fall under the calming waves, and breathe in the oxygen his lungs had been missing.

tag list, ask to be added or removed

@undeadcas @tearsofgrace @hellerstiel @casgetoutofmyass0907 @wantstoflyafraidtofall @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @thepixelagora@thelahatiel @im-sam-fucking-winchester@piebook67 @bestiarum@theedeangirl@november5th@bixlasagna@ancient-fangirl@famouspsychicpizzabandit@you-cant-spell-subtext-without@bumbledumble1@cascigarette@addicted2demons @our-stars-graveside @fivefeetfangirl

#my writing #trenchcoatimpala writes #spn #supernatural #desitel #fanfic #spn fafic #destiel fic #drabble #spn drabble #destiel drabble

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onehundredflamingos · 8 months

Text

For @lemndrps / jeggy putting Remus’ tomato garden to good use

ib: boiling heat, summer stench

James was having regrets. He never should have agreed to tend to Remus’ vegetable garden while they were on vacation. He didn’t even like gardening.

Or vegetables, for that matter.

Sirius had asked Regulus to house-sit for them, so it only made sense for James to help with the garden while they were there, but it was hot outside.

Painfully hot, if he was being honest. The sun must have been directly above the yard because it was beating down on him relentlessly, melting his flesh down into his bones.

It didn’t seem to matter that he was wearing practically no clothes at all.

He had pulled on his shortest athletic shorts, some little paper-thin fabric ones that did absolutely nothing to cover anything more than his ass, and he had foregone a shirt entirely. He wondered now if actually wearing a shirt would have been a better idea, an attempt at shielding his golden skin from the onslaught of the sun.

“Can you help me at all?” James called out, a heavy basket laden full of vegetables hanging off his arm. His breathing was heavy, the harsh air burning into his lungs, making him feel bloated and dense and so fucking hot.

Regulus had been sitting under the large tree off to the side of the garden for the past hour, flipping through some magazine he had found in Sirius’ room and doing absolutely nothing to help with the godforsaken garden.

“Can’t, sorry!” Regulus called back. “I’m the house sitter, not the garden sitter.”

“You’re just sitting there looking pretty and it’s pissing me off, babe,” James huffed. James itched to sit under the shade of the tree with him, pull Regulus' legs over his lap, no matter how sticky with sweat they would become. James had a feeling that Sirius played the same role, that he didn’t much care about the upkeep of the garden either, just sitting beneath the same tree, watching Remus—sweaty and filthy and groping around over cucumbers and zucchinis.

“I didn’t sign up for plant tending in Hell, James, that was your mistake.”

James rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the garden and wishing Remus watered with a hose instead of those miniscule plastic pipes buried into the dirt. At least then he would have a way to cool down.

“These vegetables are never-ending. It’s like every time I cut one off the plant, three more grow in its place.”

“You can take a break for a bit, you know,” Regulus said, setting his magazine down in the dirt. He had a suggestive, inviting smile on his face, one that James hated to turn down; he hated to look away from Regulus at all.

“Regulus,” James chastised. “I need to finish this so I can get out of this horrible sun. Plus, I’m not fucking you out here in the dirt.” He turned back around and bent over, digging through the squash vines lining the ground, sifting through the leaves in search of some of the hidden vegetables.

“It is really hot out here, isn’t it?” Regulus said, and James couldn’t believe the audacity, the nerve of Regulus to say that when James was absolutely drenched in sweat. James’ skin was rough from caked on dirt, fingers pricked from some sort of invisible thorns in the squash vines, and Regulus was pristine. James turned toward Regulus to say as much when his mouth absolutely fell open.

Regulus was stripping out of his clothes. He locked eyes with James and grabbed at the back of his t-shirt at the collar, tugging it over his head before moving to the front of his shorts. His slender fingers moved down to undo the button before sliding the shorts down, letting them pool at his ankles and kicking them off to the side.

“Better,” he said, settling back down against the tree. “Enjoy picking the rest of the vegetables,” he added with a smirk, opening the magazine back up.

It was too fucking hot. James could not indulge in that right now, he needed to finish working on the garden so he could get it out of the way. He needed to be done with it, wash his hands of the whole thing.

He just needed to focus.

James turned back to the garden, picking the small shears out from the basket and snipping off snap peas one by one. He was tempted to cut the entire stem of the plant down just to get the little things off faster.

“You think if I cut this entire plant down Remus will ever forg—oh, for fuck’s sake, Regulus!”

Regulus had stripped out of his underwear while James’ back was turned, leaving him entirely naked. He was still nestled against the tree, legs stretched out in front of him and cock standing upright.

“You can’t be naked out here like that,” James hissed through his teeth. “Your brother has neighbors.”

“It’s hot, James,” Regulus said petulantly, tossing the magazine to the side.

James gave him a pointed look.

“Fine, I also really want to fuck you every time you wear those little shorts,” Regulus admitted, brushing a finger along his cock.

“You know what, Reg,” James said, digging for the largest of the tomatoes. “You can’t wait until I’m done? You want to fuck something so badly right this second, help yourself.” He picked out a tomato and threw it at Regulus, narrowly missing him. It hit the tree beside his head, cracking down the middle and spilling juice down over Regulus’ bare shoulder.

Regulus bit his lip, and it looked like he was trying to hold back a grin.

“You gonna watch me?” Regulus asked, picking up the tomato. His voice sultry as he wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking gently. James swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat.

“I have work to do,” James replied, shaking his head.

Regulus rolled the cracked tomato in his free hand, inspecting the broken flesh before pressing it against the underside of his shaft, his cock sitting hard and heavy along the seedy, wet inside of the fruit.

Fuck, he was really gonna do it, and James couldn’t look away.

Regulus closed the halves of the tomato around his cock and began to slide it up and down, and it was fucking obscene—the sounds, the way the juice dripped off the tip of his cock.

James wanted to devour all of it.

James stood from his crouched position, snap peas forgotten as he watched. Regulus closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the tree, moaning softly and exposing the entirety of his throat. James wanted to walk over and lick up the side of it, wanted to taste the sweat that was there no matter how much Regulus denied the heat.

“James,” Regulus cried, and all of James’ protests—all of his cries over gardening diligence—disappeared on his tongue, flew away like the tumbleweeds in the summer wind.

“You gonna come for me right there on that tomato, baby?” James asked, stalking forward until he was standing right beside Regulus. “Gonna let me eat it all up once you’re finished?

Regulus only moaned in response.

James squatted down beside Regulus, cupping his hand with his own as they stroked his cock in unison. The tomato was soft and wet where James’ fingertips brushed against it, the skin puckering and falling away from the insides.

“That’s it, sweetheart, James encouraged, leaning in to press his lips to Regulus’.

The kiss was rough, intentional; James nipped at Regulus lips, tongue darting along the seam until they parted, licked up the inside of Regulus’ mouth. Regulus groaned against his lips, picking up speed as they continued to stroke his cock together.

“Look at me, baby,” James said, hooking a finger from his free hand under Regulus’ chin. Regulus obliged, grey eyes bright and heavy sliding up to meet James’. He could tell Regulus was seconds from coming; he was forcing his eyes to stay open, to not pinch them shut as the orgasm finally worked its way through him.

“Fuck, James,” he cried, hand around the tomato moving more slowly now as wave after wave crashed over him. James lifted his hand off the top of Regulus’ and watched as come and tomato juice seeped out the sides of the tomato, down the sides of Regulus’ cock.

Regulus slumped further down the tree trunk, and James was immediately crowding his space—straddling his legs, nipping at his lips. He pulled Regulus’ hand away from his cock, fist still clenched around the dripping tomato.

James licked up Regulus’ wrist as the wetness slid down his arm, the tomato juice sweet against his tongue. He licked the heel of Regulus’ palm before pressing his tongue into the break of the tomato. He hummed at the taste of Regulus against his tongue before biting into the fruit.

James groaned. “Tastes so good, baby,” he mumbled, pressing a deep kiss to Regulus’ mouth, tangling their tongues together.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here,” James whispered once he had swallowed the tomato down, “for teasing me like that.”

Regulus whimpered and let James pull the tomato from his hand.

“Turn around,” James instructed, pulling his cock free from his shorts. It was a miracle they had been covering him at all honestly, with how hard he was after that show from Regulus, how small the shorts were. “Hands against the tree trunk, just like that.”

James shifted closer to Regulus, knees situated just inside Regulus’ legs, before squeezing the tomato over himself, juice and seeds and come dripping all down his own cock. He tossed it behind them before dragging his juice-slick finger up the seam of Regulus’ ass and pressing a finger into his puckered hole.

“Did you like tempting me like that?” James asked into Regulus’ neck, thrusting his finger in and out. “Making me want you when I just wanted to work on the garden.”

Regulus whimpered, nodded his head. “Just wanted to fuck you.” He pressed his ass back into James’ hand, begging for more.

“You couldn’t be a good boy and wait until we got inside,” James said, pushing in a second finger. “Did you like fucking that tomato?”

Another whimper, another nod.

“Cock’s covered in it, baby,” James said, still whispering into his neck. “Gonna fuck you like this.” He pulled his fingers free and kissed down Regulus’ back, licking up his spine and nibbling at his shoulder blades.

He sat back on his haunches, lining himself up at Regulus’ entrance. He pushed in slowly, thrusting his hips at a gentle pace to start. The dirt was digging into his knees, his hands sticky from the tomatoes but all he could focus on was the feel of Regulus, the tightness of his ass around James’ cock as he pushed himself in to the hilt.

James thrust into Regulus fast and hard, desperate to come, to get out of the fucking heat and scrub the dirt from his skin. He wanted to wash the tomato off of Regulus, the sap and splinters from his hands and the dirt that was surely caked onto his knees as well.

James thought back to Regulus stroking himself with the tomato, to his eyes as he came; he listened to his soft moans and the slapping of their sweaty bodies against one another.

Suddenly, James was crying out, was flying over the edge, fast and hard until he was completely slumped over the top of Regulus. They collapsed into a sweaty heap in the dirt, hot and thirsty and tired.

“I’m fucking done with this garden,” James huffed, pulling out of Regulus.

Regulus laughed. “Can we go shower now?”

“Yeah, Reg,” James agreed with a grin. “We can go shower now.”

James stood, scooping Regulus up in his arms and ran them both into the house, naked and filthy, the basket of vegetables long forgotten.

#please #I don’t know what this is

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ikeromantic · 1 year

Text

The First Wound

A Chevalier Michel fanfiction. Approx. 3000 words. This scene takes place in Chapter 10-11 of the main route and is told from Chevalier’s POV. Part 10 of a series.

First: Bravery Becomes Her

Previous: Under His Skin

Late morning sun streamed through the office window. Despite the hour, Chevalier still felt tired, but there was no time to rest. The letter in his hands was proof enough of that, if he needed it.

Nokto leaned against a bookshelf on the other side of the room, watching Chev as he read the missive. “What do you think of that, King Highness?”

“We need to take immediate action.” Chev didn’t look up from the letter as he spoke, only read through the few lines again to make sure he’d missed nothing.

“I figured.” Nokto shrugged.

“The woman from last night is the source of this intelligence?” Nokto’s ability to mix business with pleasure was of some interest. Chevalier could not fathom how he did it. The clown was able to turn his entertainment to use more often than not. A useful skill, if one Chev had no intention of cultivating for himself.

“Yup. My spy is top notch.” He grinned. “And she’s not bad in bed either!”

Chev snorted. The statement didn’t deserve a response. He burnt the informant’s letter, watching as the candle flames ate the paper, leaving only a dusting of ash on the desk. He swept it into the fireplace.

Nokto wasn’t good with long silences. Or patience. The letter was only just disposed of when he spoke up again. “So what are we going to do, King Highness?”

“I’ll call an assembly tomorrow.” Chev steepled his fingers, already working through potential outcomes and the plans he’d need to counter or further them.

“I guess we’re going to be busy then, aren’t we? I’d better go give my agent a proper thank you then, while I still can.” Nokto’s smile widened and he clapped his hands together to punctuate the statement. He started to turn as if he was finally going to leave, but he paused mid-motion. “That reminds me. I heard you’ve been enjoying your favorite mistress every night?”

Chevalier felt a flare of annoyance. It was to be expected, of course. His every action was scrutinized, discussed, analyzed, and then passed around, growing further from the truth in each retelling. “It seems there has been quite the embellishment added to the rumors I heard yesterday.”

“Clavis was gleefully spreading half-truths around, last I saw.” Nokto smirked.

“Ugh.” Chev couldn’t suppress a sigh. Of course Clavis was the source of the most ridiculous falsehoods.

Nokto’s smirk widened into a full smile. “That’s why the rumor that the Belle is your mistress spread so far so fast.” His expression turned serious. “You know what that means though. The extremists have to know by now and there’s no way they’re going to ignore it. Worst case scenario, she could die -”

“And what if she does?” Chev cut his brother off with a gesture. His disregard was the best shield for her, or so he told himself. And if he needed to sacrifice her, he would. He would. The mental repetition did not ease the thorn in his heart.

“I guess it doesn’t matter, but if Emma disappears . . .” Nokto smirked again, “there won’t be a single girl left in Rhodolite that will smile at you.”

Chevalier fixed him with an icy glare. “Ridiculous.” He got up to leave, signaling this conversation was over. He had something to take care of, something he needed to do now.

“Are you really just going to let her die if it comes to that?”

“Yes. If worst comes to worst. Understand?” He didn’t look back at Nokto when he replied. He wasn’t sure the clown would be convinced, seeing his expression.

“Interesting.” Nokto sounded as if he wanted to say more, but was wisely silent as Chev walked quickly away.

Luke was easy to find. Lazing in the garden, a plate of honeyed candies on the ground beside him.

“Get up.”

“Wha - King Highness?” Luke blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “What do you want?”

Chev grimaced. It was hard to believe sometimes that this was his brother. At least he had no pretensions toward the throne. Not that his obsessions were harmless but for now - “I need you to take this list to the Belle. She’s the only one who will know where to find these books.” He pulled out a hastily scribed list of titles.

Luke pulled himself up with a groan. “But I was just getting to the good part of my nap.”

Chevalier continued to glare in silence.

“Yeah yeah. You don’t care.” He scratched his rear and yawned. “So where’s Emma?”

“She went into town with Clavis. I’d like her to pick these up before she comes back.”

Luke finally took the note and read over it. “These look really boring.”

Chev felt his back teeth grind as he held back his annoyance. “You will need to hurry.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Luke grinned. “Maybe she’ll be so happy to see me that she’ll want to stop for honeycakes.” He ambled past Chevalier as placidly as a bear with a full belly.

As much as Chev wanted to hurry him along, he needed this to seem like just another selfish request. Merely a well-timed errand. He hoped it would well timed. If Luke was too slow - no, he would not worry over it. This was merely a test, a step in the larger dance, with little real danger.

Still, for the rest of the day he wondered how Luke’s errand went. He kept glancing toward the window as if he might catch sight of the youngest prince returning with the Belle. Chevalier reassured himself that she must be fine. Any other outcome would have gotten back to him sooner.

Yet when the soft knock came at his door, something in his chest loosened. She was alright. She was here. He stepped out of the hot bath and pulled on a robe. He wanted to see her far more than he wanted another moment in the hot water of the tub.

The Belle came into his room with an armful of books. Her gaze drifted across the room, but she didn’t see him as he stepped into the room from his bath. Her shoulders fell and she let out a sigh. The disappointed look on her face pricked at Chev’s heart in unexpected ways. After a moment, she raised her chin, straightened, and turned to leave.

Chevalier quickly crossed the room and closed the door just as she opened it. “Wait.”

She jumped and let out a gasp of surprise. “P-Prince Chevalier?”

He gave a faint smile when she turned to look up at him. A shiver ran through her body that he could feel all too well through the thin fabric of his bathrobe. Desire rose in him, thick and hot and hungry. It would be all too easy to press her back against the door and claim her lips, her body . . .

Chev forced his racing heart to slow. He moved his gaze from her face to what she carried. “Ahh. I see. This is why you’re here.”

The Belle looked down at the book as if she were almost surprised to see them there. “Oh! Yes! These are the books you sent Luke on an errand for. And -” She pulled a book from the stack with a flourish. “The foreign title I promised you awhile back.”

He examined the cover, the style of the lettering and the author’s name. “This is another of the books based on the legends of King Arthur?”

Her smile was beautiful. “So you’re familiar with it?”

“From hearsay.” He took the thick volume from her.

“This is one of the love stories about the knight Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.”

Chevalier stepped away from her and toward his reading couch. “Oh?”

She started to reply but only then seemed to really notice his state of undress. Her eyes moved slowly down his frame, tracing the lines of his body where the thin bathrobe hugged his damp skin. Her face flushed with heat. After a moment, she looked down and took a deep breath.

Her reaction amused him. He’d been around many women that could play the game of seduction, pretending attraction, blushing at will. Fake sighs and fluttering eyelashes. With Emma there was no pretense.

“Did you come alone?”

“Hm? Yes. Of course. It’s not that late so I thought it would be fine.” She raised her head briefly and then looked down again, cheeks still hot.

He laughed softly. “So you don’t value your own life?”

Her chin snapped up at that. “What does that mean?”

“I suppose I have to spell it out for you.” He pretended exasperation, well enough that she took a little step back from him. “I assumed you already heard about the anti-war nobles and their ridiculous rumor.”

She frowned as if only now considering what this would look like. Her coming to his room alone, at night. And she still hadn’t considered the very real danger to herself.

Chevalier wished she was a little more selfish. A little more concerned about saving her own skin. “For someone who might be attacked anywhere, anytime, you walk around alone quite often.”

The Belle shrugged uneasily. “Well . . . I wouldn’t expect to be targeted here in the palace, with such tight defenses.”

He scoffed. “Do you think I would ever need to draw my sword if the palace defenses were perfect?”

Realization dawned on her slowly. Chevalier could almost track the memories as they made their way through her mind.

“This palace is a lair of beasts. It is a place where the weak are subjugated, exposed to cruelty. Devoured.” Chev took a step toward her, conflicted in purpose but drawn forward either way. He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted to protect her innocence.

He took her chin in his hand and captured her gaze. “You’ve meddled, Belle. And now you do not have the option to simply stay out of it.”

She stared at him like a frightened rabbit, her courage only embers.

Chevalier picked her up and set her on the bed. He pinned her hands above her head, letting the books fall to the side. The urge to devour her was almost overwhelming as he pressed her back into the soft sheets. He could feel her warmth, smell her light perfume.

Fire leapt in her gaze, bright and hot, and unafraid. “What do you think you are doing?”

He leaned close, his lips grazing her cheek. “Trust no one. Not me, nor the servants, not the other princes . . .” Chev felt a tremor through his own flesh, the tension of self-denial. He used it to harden his gaze. “Consider anyone and everyone your enemy.” He drew a line along her neck, down to her collar bone, toying with the clasp that held the top of her gown closed.

Though she shivered at his touch, she did not back down. “Is that how things are in the palace? A matter of fact?” She tried to pull from his grasp but could not budge him. “You can’t trust even your family because anyone might betray you someday?”

Chevalier smiled. “That is the way of royalty.”

“Isn’t it painful for you?”

The gentle appeal in the question was what surprised him. Not the question itself. He hid his reaction behind a mask of disinterest. “Why would it?”

“Because for me, a life of distrust would be painful. And lonely.”

His smile twisted for a moment as her words struck too close to the icy walls of his heart. “You see, Belle, that is what makes you a decent human being.” And I, only a beast, he did not add.

Her eyes clouded as she studied his face. “Prince Chevalier, are you saying that you are not a decent human being?”

Chevalier gave a mocking laugh, ignoring the way it pained him to speak of this to her. “Of course not. They call me the Brutal Beast, remember? I harbor no human emotion.” The words twisted in his gut uncomfortably. No human emotion . . . a lie, and she was proof, though she did not seem to realize.

She reached out and grasped his fingers where he held her arms pinned above her head.

He almost let go as she gave him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “What?”

“Prince Chevalier.” She gifted him with another sweet smile. “You are no beast. You are a person.”

For a moment, he was stunned to silence. He’d killed in front of her. Held a bare blade to her throat. Even now, had her pinned to his bed as if to deflower her, and this - this was her reaction? He could not help but laugh. “I never expected you to say that.” He toyed with her earlobe, eliciting a sharp breath from her. “What have your eyes been seeing all this time? I have no recollection of humane behaviour on my part.”

“Mmm, if that’s what you think, then it’s only because you haven’t realized it yourself Prince Chevalier.” She moved her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I won’t deny that you can be as cruel and merciless as a beast. But that’s not all you are.”

He didn’t know how to respond. The carefully cultivated ice within him cracked, and a trickle of warmth opened in his heart. A vulnerability. A weakness. Yet he could not find it in him to do what he must to staunch that flow before it grew. And it would. Even now, her warmth penetrated his cold depths, and he could not bear to let go nor to push her away. Chev looked at the scattered books rather than let her see the struggle in his gaze.

The Belle was relentless in her affection. “I want to learn even more about you, Prince Chevalier. Everything about you.”

“Ridiculous. You would risk your life for something so trivial?” He fought himself, pulling the mask back into place. “You realize if you get further involved with me, you increase the possibility that you will die?”

She nodded, her jaw clenching with that stubborn streak of hers. “I was chosen as the Belle. It’s my duty to judge whether you and the other princes are worthy of the throne. I won’t -” she cleared her throat, “I won’t back out now.”

He let her pull her hands away this time as he slid his palm down her arm and along her side. Barely grazing cloth and skin. She seemed to fragile, like blown glass, that he could forget the steel core of her. That foolish bravery that burned in her heart. “You’re a fool, you know?”

She pressed into his touch, breath catching in her throat.

“If you’re going to talk big, prove here and now that you have the brains to protect yourself.” He laid his other hand on her chest, over her heart. Chevalier could feel the way it galloped beneath his palm, reckless as its uncautious owner. “Consider the risk. What if you were captured by the anti war faction? What palace secrets could you leak . . .” He exerted a light pressure, a warning.

Her eyes widened.

“It could be to my advantage to just kill you now.”

“No!”

Chev pressed his forehead against hers. “Then use your brain. It’s the only weapon you have.” This, he thought, was a battle of will. The Belle against herself, and he was coach and referee and audience in one.

Her breath was ragged now, and coming almost as fast as the wild beating of her heart. Daring and fear and lust and other, darker emotions fought across her expression as she battled for control.

He watched her slowly exert calm, forcing her breath to even out and even her pulse to slow.

“Prince Chevalier, are you familiar with the story ‘One Thousand and One Nights?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “The tale of a mad king who brings a young girl to his bedroom and then threatens to kill her the next day, night after night.”

She nodded. “Y-yes. And she risks her life to tell him a story each night. She survives by stopping each time on a cliffhanger and promising to finish the story the following night.”

“Yes and eventually he amends his ways and becomes a good ruler. Get to your point.”

The Belle gave him a wry smile. “I’ll tell you a story now, Prince Chevalier. And whatever it is you want to do to me, you can do it when I finish. If you still want to. Deal?”

He didn’t much like being compared to the mad king but he was curious what story she wanted to tell. He gave a noncommittal grunt, and let go of her. “It’s simplistic. But fine.” He laid down next to her, pretending not to notice the way she rubbed her chest where he’d pressed down against it.

She turned to face him, her mouth opening in surprise as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Chevalier knew he shouldn’t. But he could no more stop himself from holding her in this moment than he could stop himself from breathing. The feeling was nothing like described in his romance novels where characters always understood their role, even if they could not see how it would end.

For Chev, it was the opposite. He saw all too clearly how this would go. A handful of tragic possibilities. But he could not discern himself in the pattern, or analyze why he gave in when he knew the potential cost to them both. What he knew was that she felt right and good in his arms. He gave her a smug smile, “Just know that if you waste my time, you will pay the price.”

“Alright.” She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there lived a prince . . .”

He let the words wash over him, meaningless words, lost in the music of her voice and the sensual movement of her lips as she spoke. Chevalier watched her until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep, still in the middle of her storytelling. Then he tucked her carefully against him and let himself doze. If he dreamed, it was of her. And when he woke, she was there too. And whether it was the beast in him, or the man, her presence left him calm and tensed all at once.

In the throne room, another petal fell from Beauty’s Time. A warning and a measure, the petal lay beneath the glass dome, as red as blood. The first wound scored in a duel of hearts, but whose?

Next: Rumors and Bad Tidings

#ikemen prince #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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sun-roach · 9 months

Note

I would like some smooches from Patcher pls (I'm his favorite after all 😌)💛

Patcher stretches his arms, before leaning back in his chair. He was writing a medical report for his newest patients. Luckily nothing too bad had happened. Just some broken bones and a few cuts.

Zoomie, the tooka, lies on his desk , curled to a sleepy fluffy ball.

Odd eyes soften as his thoughts wander to you. The chief medic felt a little bad for not being able to see you the past days. Even his comms were spare.

It was way too busy. So many emergencies had taken up all of his time. But not only his, the medics under his wing too, had all hands full working to keep everyone alive.

It was one of Thorn's squads, who had a mission in the lower levels. Luckily no one died, but so many would have, if the medics hadn’t given their best.

A knock on his door pulls him out of his thoughts. Pain spreads trough his face as his lips try to twitch up into a smile.

<Cyare… you got my comm?>

The chief medic stands up and walks towards you, to welcome you inside.

He had sent you a comm, asking if you could come over for a little while.

Patcher hadn’t really expected you to visit. After all you are also busy with a job and little tooka.

Warm calloused hands wrap around your waist to pull you close against his chest. His forehead leans against yours as he quietly mumbles how much he had missed you.

You only have to look him in his eyes to cause his heart to stutter and his breathing to stop for a short amount of time.

<Mesh’la…>

A grumble rolls trough his chest. Roughly and yet gentle he raises you up on his arms and walks back to his chair with you, where he sits down with you on his lap.

The corrie medic brushes a thumb over your cheek and leans closer again, leaving only a few inches between your lips.

His deep, low voice is quiet, only for you to hear.

As you shake your head to tell him that it is alright, he grumbles again. Odd eyes darken a lil bit as his gaze moves from your beautiful brown eyes to your lips.

You can see the grin trough the pain flooding his red eye. Your request for some smooches is well received. You don’t have to ask twice. Just seconds after, he lets his lips meet yours for a soft, loving kiss. Tender at the beginning yet with each second it grows with passion.

You two break the kiss to breathe and you start to giggle quietly as he lets his lips ghost over your cheeks, your nose, your jaw and chin, down to your neck, where he lingers for a while. Kissing and nibbling on the soft skin there, before returning back to your lips for another now shorter kiss.

Patcher's forehead leans against yours again, while stealing another kiss from you, followed by another and another. He can’t get enough of you. He had missed you so much, missed to hold you in his arms, missed to see you smile, hear you laugh, your beautiful eyes. He missed every part of you.

And now where you are back in his arms, safe and sound, he couldn’t be happier. His heart thunders in agreement. There was never someone more special to him than you.

#oc: patcher #corrie chief medic patcher #ccm patcher #thxuuuuu liv🧡🧡🧡#bfbnfndndndndn patcher gives u lots of kissies #star wars #tcw #sw tcw #sw oc #also sorry for the grammar errors kfndnnd #i am surprised my brain was able to answer so quick😂

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rozcdust · 1 year

Text

She’s so mean

Pairing: OC x SSM!Y/N

Genre: Darkfic, Angsy

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: OOC, canon divergent, domestic abuse, manipulation, large age gap, physical abuse, brainwashing

She’s so mean, before she was mean

Read the warnings please!

“He doesn’t love you, you know,” Zankoku whispers in your ear late at night, “If he loved you, he wouldn’t try to take you away from me. You’re happy with me, right? You’re so happy.”

You say nothing as you stare at the dark ceiling in your bedroom, imagining demons and critters running under your feet.

You are sure you’re going insane.

“I love you so much, aren’t you safe here, with me? You’ll never have to do a thing, I’ll just keep you right here. You’ll always be mine, my little glass figurine.“ Zankoku tries to convince you, his nails now digging into your side, his hands wrapping around your ribs and holding you close, so close it feels like he wants to push you inside his ribcage until you become no one, “He doesn’t love you.”

You almost laughed.

Keisuke said the exact same thing about him yesterday on the phone.

“Today we will be learning about recognising domestic abuse in patients, and how to help!” The lecturer announces, a smile stretching her face, inappropriate for this lecture, but you don’t say a thing.

You listen and take notes and listen and take notes and nowhere does the irony hit you.

You live inside a house of a 30-year-old man as a 19-year-old girl, nothing but soft skin and calloused hands and waiting like lamb for slaughter.

He bought you flowers a week ago, and you watch them rot.

If you had some humanity inside you before, he killed it, and now it’s been left to rot like the flowers, deep inside you, somewhere in a graveyard you couldn’t quite reach unless you dug until your fingernails bled and your arms turned black from filth and you feel yourself turning inside out.

Keisuke calls every day, but you rarely respond.

You worry him to death.

You start a checklist of symptoms, a checklist on how to help patients and as you stare at every single boxed ticked, you close your notebook and stop listening, staring out the window.

Your hips and legs ache with bruises.

You won’t help yourself.

He loves you so much, and so what if it hurts? It’s your fault for making him mad.

“Y/n? Y/N! OPEN UP!”

It’s your brother.

He’s banging on your doors, and you barely look up from your phone, notifications with 30 missed calls from him and Chifuyu and an unknown caller you’re sure is Kazutora, glaring at you like a thorn, and yet, you stay still.

The banging grows more frantic, and finally, with a heavy, deafening sigh, you unlock the doors, staring somewhere behind him.

He doesn’t need to meet your gaze.

“What is it, Keisuke?”

He stares at you, eyes wide open and you can feel his eyes searching your form, searching for injuries not hard to find, lingering on the broken blood vessels littering your skin, blooming purple and blue like violets in spring.

Like violets rotting in the vase.

“Y/n, you have to leave him.” He breathes out, his voice gravelly, “Leave. I’m begging you.”

“I’m fine, Kei.” You finally lock eyes with him.

He’s angry.

“Fine?” His laughter catches you off guard, for just a second, and you could swear the bitterness in it is crawling up and inside the walls of your apartment and staying there, like a curse.

“Yes.”

“You’re not fine,” He frantically shakes his head, his eyes having a hard time moving from the bruises on your wrist and forearm where Zankoku grabbed you a couple of days ago - you talked back that time. Bad idea. “Look at you, God, look at you y/n! You- you look dead! He-“ Keisuke takes a shaky breath, “He’s not okay. He’s not good for you. Please, just, pack your things, you can stay with me and Fuyu and Tora, please-“

“I want to stay with him. He loves me.”

Keisuke stares at you in disbelief.

“Love?! Is this what he brainwashed you into thinking love is?! Look at yourself!”

Your eyes blankly focus behind him.

“This is love.”

Keisuke’s hands move so fast, you flinch, taking a quick step back, expecting a slap that never comes as your eyes screw tightly shut.

When you open them, Keisuke stares at you in disbelief, and betrayal, hands left half hanging in the air.

He wanted to grab your shoulders and pull you into a hug, and you flinched away, and now you feel panic raising in your throat.

It feels like you’re a stupid child who’s been caught stealing candy from the corner store.

“This isn’t love, y/n,” He whispers, eyes wide, “This isn’t it.”

You scoff, the fear turning into anger.

“Fuck off, Kei.”

His hands extend to cup your face, forcing you to look at him.

His touch is soft.

“Y/n, please, listen to me, please. Look at me. Do you see a bruise? Do you see any indication Fuyu or Tora ever hurt me? Is there anything on me?”

Your eyes leave his to scan over his exposed skin.

He has a scratch on his wrist, most likely the courtesy of the cats in the pet shop, and a small bruise visible on his exposed elbow you knew he got from bumping into something, and you could already imagine him cursing and rubbing the spot.

You pry his hands away from you.

He was pushing you into a corner, making you more of a frightened animal than a human, and you didn’t appreciate that very much.

Zankoku loved you.

Keisuke is wrong.

Frightened animals pushed into a corner bite.

“You beat Chifuyu black and blue, and Kazutora fucking stabbed you. He almost killed you, Keisuke. Hardly a picture-perfect relationship, don’t you think?”

Keisuke doesn’t say a word.

He only stares for a few seconds, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning, the urge to yell fighting with the urge to stay calm.

You want him to yell. To get mad. You want him to hit you and tell you how you’re insane, how you’re stupid for doing this, you want him to hurt you.

You’d deserve it.

He leaves without another word.

You close the doors, silence falling over the apartment.

You can finally be alone with ghosts and rotting flowers once again.

You sleep in the bathroom that night.

Zankoku is sobbing on the other side, his knocks soft and cautious as he barely manages to let out strangled, pathetic words.

“Please angel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, you know I didn’t mean to, right? You just made me so mad, and then I can’t help myself, please don’t do it again, please? I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!”

You turn to look at the closed door, a cotton pad drenched in disinfecting alcohol pressed to your eyebrow, the fresh cut stinging and burning and it feels like comfort.

Of course you know he didn’t mean to.

After all, he’s so gentle with you, he’s the perfect boyfriend as long as you stay in line, it’s your fault after all.

When it’s good, it’s so good, but when it’s bad, you aren’t sure you’ll survive.

“Please, angel, I love you, I love you so so much, please?”

You don’t unlock the doors, but you whisper out an apology and tell him you love him too.

After all, you don’t have to do anything, do you? You’re living the dream, all of your needs taken care of, everything always paid for already, food always on the table and his lips always soft and plush when they kiss you.

“We’ll be alright, won’t we angel?” He whispers, and you agree, voice soft and cautious.

You both know it’s bullshit.

Your eyebrow stings, you’ve made the love of your life sad and your brother will probably never call again.

That’s okay. That’s good.

You and Zankoku will be okay, and Keisuke is better off away from you anyway.

The next morning, there is a red jewellery box and fresh flowers on the table.

There is a golden bracelet inside.

You add it to the overflowing jewellery box.

He knows you can’t wear bracelets as a nurse.

Not that it matters, it’s the thought that counts, right?

You made him mad, he threw a plate at your head, and he apologised.

It’s okay.

He loves you more than anyone else ever could.

And besides, don’t you enjoy this? Don’t you love the rush?

If you hated being a victim, why haven’t you done anything to get out?

He loves you.

He loves you and it shows in his every step, he shows it in the way he cups your face and calls you the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, he shows it by kissing the back of your neck when you ask him to help you clasp a necklace, he shows it with every bruise and every soft caress.

He loves you even with his hands around your neck.

He loves you even when he’s drowning you in a kitchen sink.

He loves you even when he’s bleeding out.

He loves you.

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#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #kokonoi hajime x y/n #kokonoi hajime x reader #ssm

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