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hiskillingjar · 11 months ago

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Omg I saw your requests are open. Mc cleaning Strade's bathroom, but not up to par with what he wants. Shenanigans ensue. (This disgusting grubby man haunts my every waking thought)

hmmm...

what can i say, my hand was forced.

1400+ words. contains piss. what do you expect

"Hey, buddy! How's it going?"

You looked over your shoulder with a somewhat incredulous look to where Strade was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his work gloves and tan skin streaked with oil and grease, looking like he had been working hard in the garage (or basement, you didn't know.)

"Mm, it's fine, I guess?" You murmured, dunking your scouring sponge into a bucket of soapy, grey water at your side and moving to a new section of the tiled floor to clean.

Part of your role as Strade's demented pseudo-housewife (a role you had kind of given yourself, admittedly), amidst cooking (when Ren let you) and...relieving stress, involved a lot of cleaning while he was busy at work, keeping his house in the pristine, model house condition that he liked...and you didn't even like cleaning that much.

"Oh yeah? Keeping busy or, ah…hardly working?" Strade asked, as he leaned against the doorway with a casual chuckle, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his glove..

When he was standing closer, you saw that the oil and grease stains from his gloves were all over his pants and shirt too, displaying how much he had been working before (the irony of the working patriarch looming over the housewife was not lost on you), his golden eyes observing you thoughtfully.

He started approaching you, the smell of gasoline assaulting your senses even when he was just a step closer.

"Ah," You sat up quickly on your knees, turning to face him for a moment. "C-Can't you wait until I'm done?"

“Hm? Ah, yeah, I suppose so...if you reeeeally insist." Strade drawled with a little huff, crossing his arms and looking irritable as he watched you clean.

You did not doubt that he was probably enjoying this, despite the irritated look, his eyes softening with poorly concealed lust as he stared at your body bent over, on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floors on which he had streaked blood, viscera or even more domestically, oil, grease and dirt countless times before.

The more you thought about him enjoying this, the more uncomfortable you became...

You grimaced slightly, watching as he stayed put in the doorway, but despite your discomfort, you reached for the sponge again.

“So, you really are working hard, hm?" He asked airily with a tilt of his head, watching intently as you continued working, scrubbing at a stubborn spot of caked-on grease behind the sink. There were orange hairballs back there too, which made you grimace a little more. "Playing wife?"

"Hmph..." You huffed with a roll of your eyes, not properly responding.

"Hah, what, you don't like the term?" He teased, raising his brows as he studied you closer. The smell of oil, maybe even blood was quite strong now, mingling with the harsh chemicals of cleaning products and bleach, and it made you feel sick. "Well, how else am I going to refer to you, hm?"

"A hostage...a prisoner, maybe." You murmured with a shrug, wringing the sponge in the bucket of water again. “What I actually am?”

"Mm, I don't know...those words imply that you’re trapped here." He mused thoughtfully, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his pockets, apparently not caring when the mess was further smeared on his trousers. "I think the most accurate word for your situation is 'captivated'."

"Captivated...right." You murmured in a deadpan tone, shaking grey water from the bucket off your hands as you reached for the dustpan to sweep up the hairballs, behind the sink.

"I think it paints a much different and more accurate picture of the...situation, don’t you?" Strade said, his voice still thoughtful, if…a little distracted. "It's harder to acknowledge that you might be complicit in our…ah, dynamic, hm? Or maybe it would be easier to acknowledge it and you just don’t wanna do it, since it feels better to lie."

You were quiet for a long moment, the only audible sound in the bathroom being the rough scratch of the scourer on the white tiles. You cleared your throat uncomfortably but said nothing, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Ah, look at that…you're not doing the best job today." He said with a low click of his tongue, changing the subject and taking a step into the clean bathroom, his boots trekking in dirt and greasy viscera from the garage on the newly cleaned tiles. “I really don’t have the patience to wait for you if you’re gonna do a shitty job, you know.”

"Hey, come on, I asked you not to-!"

You had started to speak, to yell, turning to face him with a red face and an angry expression, but had not expected him to grab the front of your metal collar and force your head down to the open (and freshly cleaned, thank you very much) toilet seat.

You shrieked shrilly as Strade pinned your body still with his boot, rough and painful on your shoulder and nearly spanning up to your collarbone and throat.

The smell of gasoline mixed with bleach was thick and heavy and absolutely revolting, enough to make your stomach churn, your throat constrict, and your eyes burn as your head was forced down even more roughly, your collar digging into your neck painfully tight.

“I've needed to take a piss all afternoon,” Strade said, his grip on your collar loosening (just slightly) as he reached up to unbuckle his belt.”Keep quiet and stay still.”

Your eyes widened a little, watching his deft hands unbutton and unzip his trousers, and tucked down the open fly of them along with his boxers, exposing his half-hard, naked cock. When he began to urinate, you had to bite your lip hard to stop yourself from cussing him out, and maybe you didn’t even want to that badly.

Despite his warning, you couldn’t stop yourself from squirming underneath him as the stream of urine splashed loudly and obscenely in the porcelain toilet bowl, inches away from your sweating, red face. You also couldn’t stop the disgusted groan that lurched from your throat as a bead of urine splashed across your lips.

"Aw, did I get you?" He asked with a mean laugh when he looked down at you, his golden eyes locking onto yours as he did, a wide grin etched into his face…as he aimed the stream of urine towards your cheek.

“Ngh-!”

You immediately squeezed your eyes shut with a little whimper as you did your best to jerk your head away, struggling despite his grip on your collar and the boot on your shoulder. He didn’t stop you from doing either of those things, though.

“Ah, that’s a fun reaction. Priceless~”

Strade's expression was easily comparable to that of a starving predator, salivating and hungry, as he watched the urine spray across your face, your lips, your eyes, his grin wide and goading.

"Look at me." He growled softly as he continued, his breath hot and heavy in the close space of the bathroom as he spoke.

You didn't listen to him, keeping your eyes shut and your lips pressed into a tight line, and you tried to desperately shake your head and resist him.

His grin turned to a cruel glare of disdain when he noticed that you were resisting him (more so that you were trying to diminish of the fun), letting a low growl through grit teeth as he jerked your chin upwards and pressed more weight down on your shoulder.

"Look at me, bitch."

You finally stared up at him with a defeated whimper, despite the dark flush to your cheeks (and the sudden stirring in your core, god fucking damn-it). The consistent stream continued and you shook your head to throw off the splashes of fucking urine the best you could, cringing as you felt it cling to your skin and soak in your fucking hair, god-

"Good girl." He praised as he watched you, the cruel glare fading and being replaced by something akin to a pleased smirk as he sighed, finally letting go of your collar and stroking your damp hair. “Good girl…”

"Ah..."

You let out a shaking groan, your lips trembling as you peered up wearily towards him, drops of fluid still clinging to your eyelashes.

"Good..."

He finally said after he was finished, letting go of you before pulling away, planting his boot back down on the ground and zipping his trousers back up.

"Clean this up,” He ordered, taking off his gloves and setting them on the side of the sink. “And clean yourself too. You’re disgusting~”

#strade btd #strade ykmet #strade x reader #strade x mc #qs #fics #drabbles #that song really goes harder than it should.

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born-to-lose · 2 months ago

Text

Steal a Tree

Pairing: Zakk x Brodie

Requested by @jwowwsboobs

Summary: Zakk suggests stealing a Christmas tree, but Brodie doesn't think he's serious - until he has to bail him out.

Tags: shenanigans

Words: 507

A/N: Hiii I'm writing again!! I know this request was for the fic advent calendar 2022, but I only now got to write it so the banner stays 😭

Tag list: @angelontheatrain @smokeandmirrorz

Zakk never cared about Christmas and Brodie didn't go all out either. This year though, Zakk wanted to get a tree. More specifically, he wanted to steal one. “C'mon, it won't be the first time I've stolen something, it's easy enough if you're not a pussy,” he reasoned, annoyedly gesturing with a cigarette in his hand.

“We'll see, dude,” Brodie grinned, assuming he wasn't serious. Sure, he had helped him steal gasoline and diesel as well as shoplift several times, and they had broken into a house before, but for the holidays, he wanted to take it easy. He didn't know where his bad conscience came from suddenly, but for people who put up a decorated tree, Christmas certainly meant something to them, and he didn't feel like ruining it.

Zakk huffed and dropped the topic. Brodie thought he had forgotten about it until the phone rang the next day. Almost instantly, he recognized the number as the local police station and he groaned as he picked up. “Hello, police station. A young man stole a Christmas tree and gave us your number, saying you're his best friend. Can you come to pick him up?”

“Shit… Yeah, sure,” he mumbled.

On the way to the police station, he couldn't stop thinking about how pissed off he was at him. Not necessarily because he pulled through with stealing the tree, but because he knew he had to bail him out and he didn't know how much it would be depending on the shit they had caught him doing previously. It came at the right time, just when he had saved up almost enough to get a new, actually good, guitar amp after his old one had burned down.

“Hey man,” Zakk nodded when Brodie arrived and he was released from his cell.

“Hey,” Brodie replied, “More gratuity, that was my new equipment I paid there for you.”

They got into the car and there was an uncomfortable silence until Zakk scoffed, “They didn't even let me keep that fucking tree, I worked hard enough to get it.”

Brodie looked over to him and raised a brow, but Zakk only continued with his stupid arguments. “My plan was going great until some old neighbor looking out the window with binoculars called the cops on me right before I could get away. They made such a big deal out of it too, putting me in handcuffs and a cell… I chose a house with another tree in the yard, they could have just cut down that one, who cares if the extra tree inside is missing.”

His friend rolled his eyes and focused on the road. “Just because I didn't go ‘hell yeah’ when you suggested it. If I had been there, I could have distracted them or something.”

“Easy to say in hindsight…”

Before they headed home, Brodie pulled into the parking lot of a Kmart and turned off the engine. “Alright, we're buying a tiny fake tree, deal?”

“Deal,” Zakk agreed, accepting the consolation prize. Until next year.

#mel writes #deathgasm #deathgasm fic #zakk x brodie #zakk x brodie fic

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basorexia-formyboys · 6 months ago

Text

SFW 2005

Baji×Takemichi

Content warnings: none

Tags: @love-and-lore @savedbysinners

"Oh hey isn't that Takemi– he smokes??" Hanma fumbled over his words with a disbelieving smile, having intended to call out to the faux blond and invite him to hang out with Hanma and the rest of the Toman uppers since Mikey and Kisaki were both invested in the guy but now they could all only freeze and look in shock. Of course some delinquents smoked and drank their asses off but Takemichi didn't seem like the type to do either.. until now anyway.

The ocean eyed first division captain sat cross legged on a bench, an umbrella pinched into the inner curve of his right knee so naturally it was like he sat out in the rain like this often. It was.. oddly attractive.

When he wasn't around Toman, he oddly gave more delinquent vibes, as if he were more meant to be a lone delinquent. He was stoic, hair unstyled and baring a pair of black headphones that were clearly used a lot considering the black ducttape around part of the headband, he looked tired too. His left hand was flicking through an mp3 player while his right hand held a paused PSP. He had a black bag laid across his lap as if it were a small lap table that he could set the mp3 down on and return to gaming.

Mitsuya couldn't help his designer-brain getting a little obsessed with the.. aesthetic? The others were just plain admiring.

"Take" A male voice called out, making them realize Takemichi's headphones weren't entirely on as the aforementioned looked up at his shortened name. Someone in a black hoodie and mask came over from the convinience store across the road, holding out a yakitori stick. The stranger chuckled while using the end of it to flick the cigarette out of Takemichi's mouth even as the timeleaper let out tired complaints.

"You asshole, I'm going to make you buy me a new pack if you keep it up." Despite the complaints, Takemichi gave an small smile to the male he'd managed to save. It had taken so much effort but Baji Keisuke stood before him right now, handing him food and being oddly compliant with not letting Toman find out he survived.

"Oh cry me a river, you shouldn't even be smoking. De-stress by burning cars with me or something, stop ruining your lungs." Baji huffed a small laugh while watching Takemichi set the PSP down and take the stick of food being offered. The amber eyed teen sat directly beside him under the umbrella, sideways on the bench with his left leg stuck through the bench seat and back so he could look directly at his savior, and pulled down his mask to eat his own food.

The voice and mannerisms had been enough to tip off Toman's uppers but having it confirmed by seeing Baji's face made most of them nauseous. How was Baji still alive, how had they not known, and why was he faking his death? Why was Takemichi helping him and seeming all close with him? The two were flush together as they sat underneath the same umbrella.

"Ah yes I'm the one ruining my lungs as you breath obnoxious amounts of gasoline and allll the toxic stuff getting burnt with cars. If you ever get caught, you're going to have a whole life sentence from all the cars you've burnt." Takemichi's smile was so exhausted and it hurt Baji as well as the others but none brought it up.

"Pretty sure the whole fake death is a bigger crime, taxes and all that stupid shit." The noiret huffed, his free left hand reaching out and rubbing his index finger beneath his replacement captain's chin. Like a cat, Takemichi's eyes fell shut and he immediately leaned into the affection.

"You had no choice. Last timeline things went.. kinda in my favor when you died? I needed your spot. I'll figure out how to fix things after I'm sure no one dies this time. I'll take the blame so they don't get on your ass either, they can hate me all they want as long as they're breathing and happy otherwise." Takemichi sighed and openly gave Baji a pout while looking up at him. It earned a small upside-down smile from the fanged teen.

"You're doing good, I'll make sure they won't hate you for saving all of us." Baji's words dripped with care and the faux blond nodded, eyes shutting again as Baji kissed between his eyebrows. "Now eat, Take. Hina's gotten on my ass too many times about making sure you eat on our dates."

With Baji's scolding, Takemichi looked at the noiret with playful eyes that should've alerted Baji but didn't fast enough. The ocean eyed timeleaper was fast and precise in dipping his head to bite off a piece of Baji's yakitori only to immediately complain that it was spicy just holding it between his lips. The amber eyed teen happily stole back his food while giving Takemichi a direct kiss, leaving them both with pink cheeks but laughing softly.

"Eat your food, you know I like spicy shit." Baji's left arm slung over Takemichi's shoulders and they ate their own food in comfortable silence. Both were oblivious to the stunned eyes on them and most of the Toman admins were glad Chifuyu wasn't able to come along today. They could hardly keep themselves from rushing the secret lovers, they couldn't imagine how hard it'd be to stop Chifuyu.

"At least they're happy? And he said Baji had to, there has to be a reason." Mikey was uncertain in his own words but spoke them anyway, still watching his childhood friend and current friend be so lovey. Baji continued to pepper kisses on Takemichi's face while they ate and Takemichi gamed with his headphones around his neck playing music low enough to not bother others but so they could both listen.

"By the way, I have an appointment for them to take out the stitches day after tomorrow and I'm making you come with me and mom. I can't thank you enough for helping with the hospital bills" Baji combed his hand through Takemichi's hair and pecked the faux blond's lips again. The other founders couldn't help being a little happy at how sweet the love seemed to be between the two.

Not to mention that Baji had mentioned Hinata and they all knew Baji well that he would never play a part in cheating, so it must've been allowed by Hinata. And his mom knew he was alive so Baji wasn't hurting her. So this was all.. okay. They were hurt about the fake death, it'd been traumatizing, but Baji was alive, happy, safe, loved, and clearly well looked after.

"You don't have to make me, I want to make sure you're doing okay. And playing this sorta.. guardian angel is fun so you don't have to thank me either. Knowing that I've already stopped your death makes everything feel so much better. I think I can actually do it this time. No one is going to die under my watch, I'll save Hina and Mikey and everyone else." Takemichi looked to Baji with love and received yet another sweet kiss before Baji rubbed the tips of their noses together.

"Well you have a ghost on your side too and like hell I'm going to let this all hurt my boyfriend, his girlfriend, or my friends. You can do it, I believe in you. They don't know it but everyone in Toman believes in you, my love." Baji's friends had never heard him sound so in love and softly happy, nor had they ever seen either of the two lovers look at someone the way they looked at eachother. Of course Takemichi looked at Hinata with love but it was a different type of love, still equally important.

"Thank you Kei.. so so much.. but your kisses are starting to be too spicy" Takemichi lightened the mood and it pulled a fangy grin from the noiret who immediately gave Takemichi several teasing kisses while asking how spicy it was and if Takemichi was sure he didn't want some of the spicy yakitori.The faux blond gave laughed out complaints, clearly happy with his boyfriend.

The two soon returned to Takemichi gaming, Baji teasing him about the games and the two just aimlessly chatting with pure adoration in their eyes whenever they looked at eachother.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spoilers #tok rev #tokyo rev #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #hanagaki takemichi #takemichi hanagaki #baji x takemichi #takebaji #bajitake #hunger for a kiss

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braveasnouns · 3 months ago

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Gasoline and ash.

Before she even fully woke up, that was first thing she recognized—the strong smells overpowered her nostrils, making it impossible to ignore. Gasoline, and ash, and—blood?

She turns around, huffing out a breath that mists in the frigid air. Her senses weren't lying. He's there, caked in snow, eyes glassy and unseeing.

He never did win.

And now his family will never continue.

Her heart in her throat, she reaches out, closing his eyes for him, apologizing one last time. I'm sorry for everything.

But then—

"BECKY! BECKY!"

It halts her immediately, eyes widening, a relief beyond what she can express flooding through her. Wendy. My sister. She's alive. She's calling for me.

Clambering out of the Beast, she realizes she can see so much better, everything is sharper. She can almost hear the crunch of snow, the smell of air, the people milling about.

But most impertantly, she sees her, wandering, desperate.

She smiles, tells her of her presence, and sees her sister's face light up. She rams into her with enough force to send her stumbling back, and she captures her in her arms, holding her tight, as if to melt into her.

Then Wendy seperates from her, still beaming relievedly, before shock and puzzlement steal her expression away.

"What?" Becky asks, anxiety beating in sync with her heart. No more threats. I'm tired.

But Wendy reaches up, touches her nose, then recoils slightly. Even more confused, Becky repeats, "What?"

Wendy still doesn't reply, bringing a hand up to her ear, and she feels the nerves tingling. Becky grabs Wendy's face, wanting to insist she just tells her already, but blinks at the sight of hair, thicker that it usually is, down her arm, holds her hand out, sees the dark brown pads she knows so intimately, and her heart lodges itself in her throat again.

"I'm... I-I'm..."

"—a hybrid," Wendy finishes for her, eyes wide. "How are you—you're a hybrid!"

"Yeah, I..." An emotion, thick and unexplainable, like relief, like that tight feeling that's been wound over not feeling right, her body not matching her feelings, fills her up, and she feels herself beginning to sob already. But just before she can, a howl splits the air, and her head snaps up—it sounds like it came from nearby, but there's nothing around. Another howl, and she can tell exactly where it came from.

She'll deal with this weird feeling another time.

She grabs Wendy's hand and begins to run.

"Come on!"

!!!!

#letting the post speak for itself but AHHHHH #I AM GOING TO EDPLODE U WITH MY MIND!!! /POS #STIMMIMG CRYING EXPLODING I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #sweet tooth show #sweet tooth netflix #bearcky #becky walker #bear sweet tooth #becky sweet tooth #sweet tooth #brave as answers

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someone-you-do-not-know · 2 years ago

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@romano-kinnie and I were talking on the discord server about the biggest fight spamano ever had, and here's a drabble about it.

Neither could really remember how they had gotten into this fight, but maybe it did not actually matter. Romano just wanted to defuse the situation, that was all that mattered right now. “Stop pretending like you’re not human, Antonio! You’re as human as the rest of us nations. We may be nations, but we feel and act and die like mortals, even if it takes a longer time. We’re human, just like them.”

“… No.” Spain’s calmness took Romano aback. They had both been yelling at each other for at least an hour, and when they got into real arguments like this, Spain was rarely the one to concede first.

“The hell do you mean, no?”

“You may be, everyone else may be, but I’m not. Not really. I’ve told you time and time again, you make me human. If it weren’t for you–”

That just pissed Romano off again, and he was back to yelling, “That’s exactly what I’m fucking talking about! It’s not true, you’re being stupid like always, and you need to let go of this silly fear from ages ago–”

Spain just raised his brows, seemingly perfectly at ease, “Oh, yeah? Like you’ve let go of all your fears from your childhood, Romanito?”

Romanito. Spain never called him that, not in the last half-millennium of their ever-changing relationship. Not since they had gotten to know each other’s fears, dreams, hopes, and what made them tick. Little Roman. A most hated nickname, one that reminded Romano of all his flaws and imperfections. A reminder of an inferiority complex he had gotten so good at ignoring that most people thought him arrogant. A reminder that he had been abandoned and never could meet anyone’s expectations, least of all his own. His breath hitched, and he felt tears form in the corner of his eyes, “… that was just low.”

“Well, that’s what I am.”

After what Spain had just said, Romano had no wish to defend him. Not from himself at least.

“I’m cruel, and messy, and wicked, and I need you. At least if you want me to be anything else.” Spain smiled the fakest smile Romano has ever seen, and held out his arms as if expecting Romano to embrace him – or hit him. “Don’t you see? Without you, I’m nothing.”

“… That’s…” Romano had no desire to even touch Spain, not when he was acting like this, “if you really think so, you don’t fucking deserve me, you asshole.”

“No, I don’t. I never have.” He shrugged ever so nonchalantly, as if he was shrugging off all the weight of the Southern half of Italy.

“Fine.” Romano’s tone was ice cold, and Spain knew it was anything but. If he was less furious, he would give Romano a smile, a real smile, and tell him he was sorry, grovel at his beloved’s feet and tell him that he did not mean it. But Spain meant what he said, and he was not going to take it back. After what felt like a year, Romano said, “I’m fucking leaving then. Since my presence is so fucking humanising to you. Must be humiliating to feel like that, Ánto. I’m sure a big colonising ex-empire like you don’t need someone like me around to be human with.”

Romano knew exactly what he was doing, because Spain was not the only one with access to the matches and gasoline in their relationship. Spain’s eyes clouded over for a moment, “you’re right, that’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? Well, you are. I don’t need you as a nation. I never needed you to be a nation. But how long until you start feeling lonely, Romano? There’s not a lot of men around who can stand your tongue.”

“I can have anyone I damn well want! I’m leaving, and you’ll have to come crawling back if you ever want to even look at me again.”

“You know I won’t. You’ll be the one to crawl back to me first.”

“No, I won’t.”

They glared at each other, and Romano wanted to lean forward and apologise for everything, yet at the same time, he felt his own stubbornness rise within him. Before he could make up his mind, Spain huffed, and said, “Fine.” he turned on his feet, storming off as if he could not get away fast enough. Romano knew exactly where he was headed, but he was not so weak as to follow him.

“Fine!” Romano yelled after him. He left and he did not look back.

#It took them a year to reconcile because they are very dumb and old and stubborn #aph romano #spamano #aph spain #hetalia #being silly #doodlin moons #starsmadeinheaven #my fanfiction #This is also an apology for A Job Interview being delayed

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yandere-mha-blog · 2 years ago

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Part two

Word count:2010

Once you finally returned home you looked a bit flustered.

“Why is your face red? I thought you said you felt well enough to go to school.” your mom said as she placed her book down

“I am mom, just flustered.”

“Oh do tell.” she said

“...someone called me cute…” you said

“That's it, of course you are cute, anyone could see that.”

“Mom.” you said

“What don't let one cute make you all flustered.” she said and went back to reading “A guy should tell you that you are a pool of water and he hasn't drank in weeks.”

“You really have to stop reading those romance novels.” you said and sat down “And well it's not just that, he kind of helped me deal with some issues that i was having at school.”

“I knew it!’ she said slapping her book shut

“Mom, don't worry, okay.’ you reassured her as she furrowed her brows

“Well you do worry me.” she said “you have always been an independent child.”

She let out a heavy sigh

“You never ask for help when you need it, and you'd rather take care of everything yourself.” she said “Well you get it from your father I guess.”

“Mom.” you said

“What it's true, the amount of times I've found him passed out at the door after work is too many to count.” She said “Also don't let a ,cute, get you.”

“I know mom, it was just nice to hear.” you said

“Well, can't argue with that.” she said “now go eat dinner.”

“I will, can I eat it in my room?” you asked

“Sure, sure your dad is working late.” she said “again…”

“Kay thanks, love you.” you said and grabbed the food off the table and removed the foil and went to your room and sat at your desk and got to work.

Next day you were waiting for the train to come as usual, one earbud in and one out.

“Hey.” Dabi said and you jumped as you felt his hand on your shoulder “hey calm down it's just me.”

“Hi Dabi.” You said pausing your music “Since when did you take this train.”

“Eh I'm usually running late.” he said “y dad was like after this stunt i better not hear any more complaints from the school.”

“I see.” you said

“Eh, I'm sure he will forget about me in a week, but I guess I'd better not throw gasoline on that fire.”

“Seems for the best.” you said “sorry your dad is on your case.”

“Why are you sorry?” he asked

“Well, he wouldn't be on your case if you did not help out.” you said

“Eh, just go on a date with me after school and we can call it even.” he said

“What?’ you said

“A date after school, you know what a date is right.”

“Yes, I know what a date is.” you huffed “You are just so blunt about it.”

“Beating around the bush isn't really my style.” he said as the train came by and you two were squished into the cart.

“I mean, where do you want to go?” you asked

“I know a place, come on it will be fun.” he said

“I'll think about it.” You said “I have a lot of assignments to do.”

“Straight laced.” he said as the train stopped at the next stop and he dragged you out

“Hey, our stop is two more stops away.” you said

“I know, come on, I know a great place to relax.” he said “you deserve to have some fun.”

And that's how you ended up in a café, you were stressed out, kept looking behind your shoulder.

“You seem jumpy.” he said as he took a sip of his drink

“We are in our school uniform, people are going to know we are ditching and call an officer on us.” you said

“Nah people in here keep their mouths shut.” he said looking at the bartender. “Don't worry you aren't going to get caught.”

Then your phone rang. It was from your mom, you gulped, you were dead.

“Ignore it.” he said

“I can't.” you said, as he reached over and pressed declined “hey!”

“Calm down, we are adults here, parents need to stop worrying so much.” he said “How many times have you gotten in trouble at school?”

“Never.” you said and slumped down in your seat

“See, have a little fun, i mean your classmates suck, your teacher is a suck up trying to win their approval, and you always follow the rules.” he said pushing a coffee towards you “Loosen up and have some fun.”

Your phone rang again, you gulped and picked it up

“(name) why did i get a call from your school that you aren't there?” she asked in her mom tone voice.

“I'm sorry mom, I spaced out and got off at the wrong stop, and then the train got canceled.”

“Well, tell me next time so I can call the school.” She said, “What are you doing now?”

“Walking.” you lied

“Okay well get there safe, watch out for weirdos.” she said “love you.”

“Love you too.” you said and hung up

“Welcome to the dark side.” Dabi said

“Agh I'm so dead.” you said and took a sip of your coffee “I'm never doing this again.”

“You say that now.” he said, as you took another drink, and Decided to grab your school bag and head off. Dabi followed after.

“Are you still going to school?” he asked “don't you ever just get tired of being so straight laced.”

“Yup.” you said “thanks for the coffee though, have a fun time ditching.”

“Eh i'll follow you, got nothing better going on.” he said

When you arrived at school during the third period, the teacher looked at you.

“And where have you been miss (last name).” he asked

“Transportation troubles.” you replied and went to your seat only to feel something sharp poke you, you jolted up.

“Is there an issue?” the teacher asked

“Someone put thumbtacks on my seat.” you said and brushed them off

“I'm sure it was an accident-”

“No it wasn't, who accidentally leaves thumb tacks on a desk facing up!” you yelled, your teacher took a step back Dabis’ words rang through your head

“Don't you get tired of being so straight laced.”

“Don't raise your voice at me.” he said regaining his footing

“I have a thumb tack logged on my ass!” you said and pulled it out blood was on the tip “I'm going to the nurse.”

You left the classroom and slammed the door in his face

“Miss (last name) get back here!” he yelled, you ignored him and went to the nurses office and slapped a band aid on your butt.

“That stings.” you said and laid down on the bed

“What stings.”Dabi said as he pulled the curtain back

“Ack!” you said “What are you doing here?”

“I was hanging around the hallway because my teacher made me stand outside and I saw you slam the door after yelling something.” he said and sat next to you.

“Someone put thumbtacks on my seat.” you said “the teacher said it was an accident, what is his problem.”

“Sadly adults like him are bystanders, and will follow the flow of things.” Dabi said “your butt okay?”

“Yes Dabi.” you said with a roll of your eyes ``I should have ditched today.”

“See told you.” he said “come on lets sneak off.”

You two snuck out of school from the back and into town, you got something to munch on form the convent store

“You want to put an ice cream on your ass?” Dabi asked

“Dabi!” you said

“What ice ?” he said

“I'm not putting ice cream on my butt.” you said

You took another big bite of bread, and a long sip of your strawberry soda. Dabi took a bite of his ice cream and you two sat on the curb.

“How long has it been going on?” Dabi asked “your teacher i mean.”

“Since he became my teacher.” You said “Maybe I corrected him too many times.”

“I call bullshit.” Dabi said and scooted closer to you

“It really is.” you said and looked down on the pavement “i just want to graduate and leave this place, and everyone here for good.”

Dabi stayed silent

“I'm not a punching bag you know, I mean sure I'm quiet and can sometimes be a pushover, and- straight laced.”

“Never too late to change you know.” Dabi said “I used to try and bend over backwards to please people who would never be satisfied with me. Eventually i just realized why care, these people aren't important enough for to worry about what they think, and well i became someone people wouldn't fuck around with.”

“I envy that.” you said “I'm sure ill always be a pushover, and the punching bag.”

“Hey, I told you if anyone gave you trouble, let me know.” Dab said

“I'm still confused on why you want to help me, and don't say it's because I'm cute.” you said

“I just like you for whatever reason.” he said “and i don't like a lot of people.”

“Thanks?” you said

“You are very welcome.” he said and shoved the corner of his ice cream on your cheek.

“Hey!” you said

“Oops, let me get that.” he leaned over and licked it off your cheek.

“Hey!” you said slapping a hand to your face, you knew your face was hot.

“So how about that date?” Dabi asked, “Are you still interested?”

“Why not, if it distracts me from the stabbing feeling in my butt, lucky me.” you said “where are we going?”

“Back to the cafe.” he said and led the way.

“Dabi, why are we going back to the place we were just at?” you asked

“Because that was just the front, the real fun is down stairs.” he said as he entered and went over to the barista.

“Hey, can I get a bluebird with extra foam?” Dabi asked, before looking at you “make it two.”

“Right this way you two.” he said and pushed the door open, and Dabi led you down the stairs behind the counter.

“Dabi…this seems really creepy.” you said as you followed behind him

“It may seem that way at first, but trust me you will love it.” he said and entered a lounge, a bunch of other people were chatting around, they definitely were in the alternative crowd. You two sat down in a black booth.

“Dabi, what is this place?” you whispered to him

“Just an underground hangout bar, where no one asks questions.” he said “Hey can i get two of my usual?”

The bartender nodded his head and got to work, maybe it was a mistake to come here, you didn't want to drink any booze. Maybe it would be better to excuse yourself from this palace.

“Hey Kent over here.” Dabi said, a brunette leaned back in his chair and gave Dabi a small smile and wave, before walking over

“Hey dude where the hell have you been?” he asked, before looking at you “who's this?”

“Kent, this is (name).” Dabi said “She's been having a rough couple of days so I decided to cheer her up a bit.”

“Hello.” you said

“Sup, I’m Kent.” he said and sat down across from you and Dabi

“(name), this is Kent, he is what i would call an underling.” Dabi Quipped

“Hey!’ Kent said “rude, I'm your closest friend.”

“Sorry Kent, but (name) here took your spot.” Dabi said, just as the bartender dropped off two drinks, Kent took one and took a sip.

“Anything else for you?” the bartender asked

“A peach calpico for the lady.” Dabi said, and the bartender came back with the familiar square plastic bottle, you smiled and took it

“Thank you.” you said, the Bartender gave you a nod and went back to his station.

#yandere dabi #yandere hawks #yandere toya todoroki #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere hawks x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere mha x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere ex au

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aliveandrestless5 · 1 year ago

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TRICK OR TREAT 👉👈

Happy Halloween beloved!

For you, a Halloween-themed FHTN snippet, featuring our favorite pair of lesbians. Enjoy~

In a place so far away that it would be pointless to even try and speculate exactly when this is occurring, a human woman is, once again, dozing off behind a cash register.

A bell over the door gives a rusty ding! And she startles awake with a, “Happy Halloween!”

The woman walking through the door pauses, giving her an incredulous look.

“Uh. Happy Halloween to you, too?”

The first human, Clementine, or Clem, blinks as the second woman saunters over to the counter, takeout coffee cup in hand, bringing with her the smell of gasoline and engine grease. It's not a pleasant smell by any means, but Clem relaxes into it all the same.

There is nothing particularly special about this human, either. Both of them are about the same age, in that strange limbo between ‘teenager’ and ‘adult’, but that's where the similarities end.

Clementine is shorter, with dark skin and darker hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose and a pumpkin-themed bandanna keeping her ringlets of tightly-curled hair from falling into her face. This new woman is tall and lean, with tanned skin and dark-blonde hair pulled back into what had probably once been a tight, no-nonsense ponytail, now coming apart with flyaways framing her face.

Her name is Clara, but you already knew that, didn’t you?

“Sorry.” Clementine says, sheepish. “Rough night.”

She seems a bit more awake now, but still rests her chin on her arms like she’s considering going back to her nap any minute.

“I figured. Big test tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah I- wait.” She blinks owlishly. “How’d you know?”

Clara grins. “You haven’t looked this shitty since finals week.”

Clementine lets out a miserable groan, reaching out a hand to swat half-heartedly at whatever part of Clara she can reach. The other woman dances just out of reach, smug grin firmly in place, and she collapses back with a whine. “It's too damn early for this.”

Clara lifts an eyebrow. “It’s almost noon.”

“Too. early.” Clementine hisses back through gritted teeth.

She rubs her eyes again, doing her best to force herself awake through sheer force of will alone. By how she’s drooping back into her seat, it doesn’t appear to be working.

Clara chuffs out a laugh, a rusty noise, like shoes in an old dryer, and holds out the plastic coffee cup in her hand as a peace offering. Clementine hadn’t noticed it until just then, and the moment she catches a whiff of coffee, it’s game over. All traces of exhaustion gone as she all but climbs over the counter, making grabby hands at the cup, chanting like a thing possessed, “Give it, give it!”

Clara lets out another rusty laugh as Clementines hands latch on to her sleeve.

“Okay, okay, chill—”

And finally, the cup is relinquished into her grip.

Clementine all but collapses back into her chair, folding dramatically around her prize like a puppet with cut strings as she cradles it close. “Oh, sweet salvation, my one true love, atlast.”

Clara looks on, amused.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, sweetheart.”

Clementine hums, uncaring. “You should have opened with the coffee.”

There’s a gasp of mock-offense as Clara tries to fight off the grin tugging at the corner of her lips. It's a losing battle.

Forgoing the lid, Clementine downs half of the drink in one practiced swoop. Her face screws up at the taste of cheap, black coffee sold at ungodly hot temperatures, but it doesn't stop her from drinking it.

A bit more awake, but no less dramatic, she goes back to being pitifully slumped over the countertop in no time, the cup already half-drained. “Ugh. Midterms are a bitch. Why did I decide to get a nursing degree?”

“You poor thing.” Clara drawls, leaning her elbows on the counter.

She still runs a hand through Clementine’s hair when she gives her puppy eyes, rolling her eyes and huffing the whole time as she does her best to pretend she isn’t completely head over heels for the woman sitting across from her. She really isn't a very good actor, not that Clementine would ever tell her that.

Clara sips on her own ‘coffee’, which, in actuality, is just hot chocolate, and Clementine’s dramatics petter off into drowsy silence.

It’s quiet, for a few beats. A companionable sort of quiet, broken only by the humming of the slurpee machine, the drone of the many, many fans, and the insistent buzzing of one of the overhead lights. They sip on their drinks together in peace.

“Sorry.” Clementine breaks silence first, looking a little bit sheepish. “Didn't get much sleep last night. You know how it is.”

“S’alright.” the blonde shrugs. “Stay up late studying?”

“Yeah. That and…”

The hand in Clementine's hair goes still. “Nightmares?”

“No.” she says quickly, and the hand goes back to running soothingly across her scalp. “just… weird dreams. You know how it is.”

“Ah. Aliens again?”

Clementine takes a moment to think. She has a very expressive face, especially compared to Clara, who has been told on many occasions about her ‘serious case of rbf’. You can always tell what Clementine is thinking about, she's a bit of an open book. Her eyebrows narrow together as she thinks. “I don’t… something like that.”

Clara listens intently, nodding along. She's a very good listener.

“It wasn’t scary or anything,” Clementine finally says, giving up on explaining. “I just kept waking up.”

“I think.” Clara hums. “You should stop watching Alien before bed.”

“But it's Halloween!”

#fhtn #ask #matches fics

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starmofo · 2 months ago

Text

ASKJNSJVNSKJDFN OKAY FIRST FIC REPOST WITH BIG COMMENT I LOVED IT THAT MUCH LESGOOO

could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

knew it was gonna be a great read from right here.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

BAHAHAHA

this kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

SO GOJO AND MEGS

"what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?" "don't do it." toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

so NATURAL bbg

bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy.

damn right.

when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes

poor baby must be so tired of his old man's crush

he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it)

ofc he did

megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

WHEEZING-

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

nonono, let him speak, ji.

his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

ofc.

this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

if not columnist then why columnist shaped??

i feel weird emailing a six year old.

SOMEONE SAID IT (also I did not know i needed college senior toru that sometimes entertained toddler megs before this)

he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

fair enough tho

"not normal people."

tell him megs!! great read over all, i loved each second of this in case you couldn't already tell, and now i definitely need that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press my common sense into oblivion. THANKS FOR WRITING <33

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

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wilrtdroses · 20 hours ago

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theotherwoman.

𝜗𝜚 Ch. 3: Trial by Fire

𝜗𝜚 Series Masterlist

𝜗𝜚 Fandom: L&O SVU // Pairing: Elliot Stabler x OC

𝜗𝜚 "She was running from her past. He was still tied to his own. Neither of them expected their lives to become entwined."

𝜗𝜚 WC: 1268

𝜗𝜚 I merely own Sylvia Conway and her backstory, as well as any other OCs that may be mentioned throughout this story. All other rights and reserves go to Wolf Entertainment, Universal Television, and NBC.

──────────୨ৎ──────────

As they stepped into the elevator, Sylvia finally broke the silence.

"So," she said, glancing up at the man. "You and Benson were partners for, what, twelve years?"

Elliot nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

She studied him for a second. "So why the change?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then he let out a sharp exhale through his nose before simply stating, "Things got complicated."

She could tell that was all that he planned on saying on the matter.

Fair enough. She had her things she didn't want to talk about.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out embracing the crisp morning air.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough if this partnership works," she said as they made their way towards the brown squad car.

She approached the passenger side, beginning to outstretch her arm towards the door, before stopping her motion as she saw her partner's hand replace hers, now grasping onto the handle.

Elliot glanced at her, an unreadable expression showing on his face. "Yeah," he paused for a beat, opening the car door. "I guess we will."

Sylvia debated her response before simply opting with a simple, "Thank you." as she ducked her head, entering the car. Elliot shut the door after ensuring that she was in the car properly, before walking around to the driver's side of the car.

The silence between Sylvia and Elliot was thick, save for the occasional sound of traffic. He drove like he did everything else — focused, intense, and only slightly reckless.

"So, are you always this quiet?" she questioned, glancing at him from the passenger seat.

Elliot didn't take his eyes off the road. "I talk when there's something worth saying."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Noted."

A few more beats of silence passed before one of them broke the silence again — only this time it was Elliot. "Fin says you worked narcotics."

She nodded. "Yeah, three years. Mostly undercover."

He shot her a glance, that same unreadable expression flickering across his face. "Dangerous work."

"So is this."

"Yeah." His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "But it's different."

She knew what he meant. In narcotics, everything was black and white — dealers, addicts, confidential informants. SVU cases were messier, the victims more fragile, and the lines more difficult to draw.

Before she could respond, Elliot pulled the car to a sharp stop in front of a brownstone, where a uniformed officer was waiting.

"Victim's inside," the officer informed as the partners approached him. "Young woman, early twenties. Assault."

She felt her stomach tighten. Assault cases always hit a nerve, but this one — just from the description — was already setting off alarms in her mind.

She followed Elliot up the stairs, pushing back the gnawing unease creeping up her spine. This was her job now. Her past had no place here — Plus, this wasn't the worst case she's been handed. At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she and Elliot entered the victim's apartment.

The apartment was dimly lit, the scent of of stale beer linger alonging with something else — something sickeningly luminous and metallic — Blood. The cheap carpet had already begun soaking up the bodily fluid, staining it in a deep maroon. A now broken lamp had been carelessly tossed in front of the couch. Shattered glass had covered the now ruined carpet, evidently the result of the impact the formerly intact glass picture frames made when hurled to the ground. A dent concaved into the wall that Sylvia could only assume the frames toppled from. The dent — Sylvia had noticed — appeared to be an outline of a head that had managed to make contact with the drywall.

And then there was her.

The victim, Esme Morton, sat curled up upon the edge of the couch cushions, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Dark bruises bloomed across her jawline, creeping down her neck, the trail only stopping as the outline of the collar of her shirt hid the rest away. The blood from her split lip continued to dribble down her neck, staining the once porcelain-shaded white button-down. She flinched as Sylvia moved to crouch in front of her.

"I'm Detective Conway," Sylvia informed the woman, managing to keep her voice low. "This is my partner Detective Stabler." She said motioning to the man.

Elliot joined her, crouching down beside her, voice softer than she expected. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Esme hesitated, eyes darting between the two. Seeing this, Sylvia added, "We're here to help, in any way that we can."

The woman's eyes returned to her lap. "Yeah, that's what they said last time."

Sylvia swallowed. She knew this part all too well — the part where the victim didn't believe that anyone could help her, that leaving wasn't an option, and that no matter what happened, he would always find a way to reel her back in.

"I know that it doesn't feel like it," Sylvia began, "but you don't have to go through this alone."

Elliot, who had risen to his feet earlier, stood behind her with his arms crossed, allowing her to take the lead. She could feel her eyes on her, watching — not just Esme, but her too.

Esme hesitated before letting out a shaky exhale. Then, finally, she whispered, "It was my boyfriend."

"He... came home drunk. I told him that I was leaving, and he..." She paused, gesturing vaguely to the bruises. "He just... lost it."

Sylvia felt something tighten in her chest as a chill ran down her spine. Elliot asked something else, but she barely heard it. Because suddenly, she wasn't in that apartment — she was somewhere else, years ago, sitting in the same position as that woman, saying those same words.

It's not the same. It's not the same. It's not the same.

Except it was. It was exactly the same.

Esme's voice was the same voice Sylvia had used years ago when she was the one making excuses, when she was the one convincing herself that it wasn't that bad — That she could handle it, that the next time wouldn't be worse. Or even — and this was the part that she found the most laughable — that there wouldn't be a next time. But there always was — And it was always worse.

It wasn't until Elliot's voice cut through the fog that she snapped back. "Esme, we can arrest him. We can get you somewhere safe."

Esme shook her head rapidly. "No! You don't get it. He knows where I go, who I talk to, He has friends everywhere, cops. He always finds out."

Sylvia's blood ran cold.

Cops.

She exhaled, attempting to push her thoughts away as she forced her voice to stay steady. "Esme, we can still protect you."

Esme let out a flat laugh. "Yeah, like the last time?"

Her response is met with silence.

Sylvia's fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palm in the form of crescent-shaped indents.

Elliot's the first one to speak up, his voice firm but patient. "Esme, listen to me, I know you're scared. But you are not alone. We will make sure he doesn't hurt you again."

Esme, finally looking up from her lap, now focusing her eyes on his face, almost studying it. For what Sylvia is unsure. Maybe for a promise. Maybe for genuine honesty.

Finally, she gives a small nod. "Okay."

Elliot returns her nod, before briefly exiting the room to find the officer they had talked to earlier, requesting that he accompany Esme out to their squad car until the partners return to it.

When he reentered the room, he noticed that Sylvia had remained in the same position that he had left her in.

"Hey," he said lowly, studying her with those sharp blue eyes. "You good?"

She forced a nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."

But the way Elliot kept looking at her told her he wasn't convinced.

And that terrified her more than anything.

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

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I'm listening and he's huffing and puffing is uncomfortable and you people are doing it to him he wants to do the dishes then there's nothing to do so I am hearing him it's the stupid answer but I've got to tell you something this place is miserable and you're making my husband miserable any people all dying and you're so stupid you just keep doing it now you're at war with Giants a little bit and you're stupid is there more or less your own sort of kind of laughing at you a lot cuz you're idiotic pigs on top of being suicidal jackasses

-other things happening here there's a huge number of people saying that my husband's a man and he should stand trial and they're really trumpsters and they should go to hell and die for what they're saying it's treason and they're idiots it caused most of the problems that people have of them and they're making the problems perpetuate they need to be executed in where they stand immediately tons of people are going after them it always seems like it's not enough

-I'm going to begin raids like my husband said and put it on Giants cuz they're sick and tired of this s***

-I'm sending orders on the above but for real people are being ripped out of here is a huge Force out there and they're sending in units all day long they said until you people shut up

That's what I have to report and yesterday we're signing those huge companies and it's the first round and so oil companies and gasoline and oil products distribution and pumping and more but really it's the big oil companies including Occidental petroleum and that was Trump's company he took over other companies with it and it's a big fat stuck pig and it was attacking Jason's people because of it so we tried to get Jason to go there and he wouldn't we have a little convention center thing going on and it said why is this so it's just kind of a ride to remind you that Trump is the one who took it over with Occidental petroleum so you got really mad and he went after him and they're fighting there's other people that should be and aren't and I'm giving a green light on one of them. It's Stan and you're under attack physically by trumpsters right now Stan and your men can't talk so you're sending out the alert and I'm going to publish right now so this last part gets seen

Hera

Olympus

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prettybillycore · 3 years ago

Text

Cigarettes and Strawberries || Billy Hargrove x Harrington!Reader

Summary:

Prompt #114; Aromatherapy. Describe a place by its smell, scent, odor, or stench.

Soft, comforting fluff of your first "I love you" with Billy Hargrove.

Pairing(s): Billy Hargrove x Harrington!Reader

Word Count: 0.3k

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mentions of Cigarettes

⬇️ Read on AO3 ⬇️

Or right here on Tumblr! ⬇️

The wind flew through your hair as you sped down the small backroad. The smells of leather and pine danced together. Billy’s hand rested on your thigh; your hand rested on top of his.

You smelled like strawberries and chlorine.

He smelled like cigarettes and motor oil.

You looked over at him instead of the trees passing by your open window. His hair was blowing in the wind, much like your own. He had a soft smile on his lips.

“Billy…” You said quietly as you played with the tips of his fingers.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I love you.”

The car slammed to a harsh halt. You would have flown from your seat if you hadn’t been wearing your seatbelt. You could smell the tires’ burning rubber. “What?”

“I love you, Billy Hargrove.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that to me y/n. Don’t mess with me like that.”

You gently squeezed his hand. “I’m not messing with you, Billy. I love you. I will say over and over again until you believe me.”

The look of surprise and sadness in his features changed into a look of pure joy. “I love you too, y/n Harrington. I’ll be damned if your brother gets between us now. You’re mine for life” His lips softly met yours. He was usually much harsher than this, but at the moment, he was being as gentle as he could. Your senses are filled with the smells of smoke and gasoline. Your hands find their way to his hair, the smell of his shampoo strong and sweet.

You broke the kiss because you were smiling too much. “Say it again, Billy.”

“Only if you say it first,” he teased.

You huffed. His nose was filled with the scent of your minty toothpaste. “Now you’re just being an ass.”

He laughed. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll say it. I love you.”

“Never stop saying it.”

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thesolferino · 4 years ago

Text

Touchdown

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: smut, minors please keep scrolling!

⤷ word count: 3.2k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon

— summary: clay loses a football game, and while he’s already mad, you decide to rile him up even more.

“God fucking damnit.”

Clay muttered, pulling his helmet off and slamming it against one of the benches as he said the last word, making you almost jump as you quietly trailed along behind him, feet following in his footsteps. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair, wiping beads of sweat off the sides of his face as he moved towards his locker, carelessly hanging the helmet in its place as he huffed a frustrated sigh.

The locker room was empty, no traces of anyone’s belongings left, as Clay took his sweet time yelling and arguing with the coach after he instructed the rest of the team to change and get out of his sight; everyone had left before he even reached the lockers. The game hadn’t ended well for his team - the game tied, and he was feeling confident, patting their center, Nick, on the back in encouragement, shooting a pearly smile to those who cheered them on and filled the bleachers. They played overtime, and a coin was tossed, during which his team ultimately lost. Looking back on it in the pessimistic state that he was in now, throwing the towel he used to wipe his face at the wall, that should’ve been the first sign it wouldn’t end well.

The other team scored one final touchdown in the last three minutes of the game, the crowd’s cheers and protests mixing as the opposing team’s points shot up by six, leaving them victorious by one single point and Clay upset, pent up rage and bitterness stuck inside his body with nowhere to go now that the game was over and balls couldn’t be thrown. He stayed arguing with the coach for longer than he should have, even though he simply refused to budge. You’d managed to come down from the bleachers just in time to see him hold back a curse and speedwalk towards the lockers, following close behind, not even daring to call out his name.

“Damnit!” he shouted again, sitting down on the bench, running both of his hands through his hair fervently, huffing out large exhales every time they moved back and forth. The rest of his gear was still on despite coming here specifically to change - his jersey was still draped over his large shoulder pads and chest, one glove on and the other chucked at the wall as well as the towel, shorts and knee pads in place, too. You carefully reached out to place a warm hand on his shoulder, at least giving him some type of assurance, hoping it would calm the fire that burnt in him, mighty and frantic, at least a little.

It seems to do nothing, though, and the fire in him just keeps growing taller and stronger, flames licking farther up his throat, seconds away from escaping, burning him to ashes.

They do exactly that - they engulf his entire body, and for the split second that his gaze catches yours, you can see his eyes glint with flames, before he stands up so quickly it makes you dizzy, and presses his lips to yours hungrily. His fire engulfed you, spreading through you like an infectious disease, warmness swarming you from head to toe as he pulled you closer to him by the waist, leaving fiery fingerprints everywhere his hands touched you like hot coal.

He grunted into your kiss as he walked forward, backing you into the wall. The kiss was so unruly, so much more dizzying than any of the delicate ones you’d share in your bedroom - it was forceful, daring, scratchy, and when both of his rough arms wrapped themselves around your waist and he murmured: “Jump.” into your mouth, you knew you weren’t leaving that room without bruises.

Despite being aware of that, though, you couldn’t help but test his dominance, at least a little bit. Being bratty was second nature; after all, you were the air to his fire. When you blew strong enough, you could calm it down, but when you blew however you pleased, you’d ignite it more intensely than any gasoline ever could. And you couldn’t take the fire out this time, so you might as well fuel it to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to. And take off the uniform, you’re not gonna fuck me with those shoulder pads on.”

He pulled away, staying close enough to your face so you could feel every riled exhale, enough so you could see his jaw clench and green eyes boring into yours so madly that you almost cowered under his gaze - however, you persisted. There was really no reason to answer like that, and both of you knew it, but you wanted to toy with him, have him earn your submission, no matter if he’s pissed out of his mind or not. In hindsight, that may have not been a good idea, and you realised that the longer he said nothing and stared at you in pure anger, but there’s no going back now, is there?

“I’ll fuck you however I want.” Clay muttered through gritted teeth. “And you’ll like it no matter what.”

With that, his arms were back around your hips, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist when he pushed you to lean against the wall. His lips were glued back onto yours in no time, your hand automatically darting to bury itself in his hair and pull, his fingers on your hips so tight they’d surely leave red marks. His lips left yours and you almost whined but held back when they moved to your neck, barely wasting any time before biting down on it, earning a gasp from you that you foolishly hoped he didn’t hear despite knowing there’s no way he missed it. He sucked on it, hard, to the point that you knew there’s no way it could be any shade other than dark, dark purple in a couple days’ time.

He set you down briefly, and you did your best to try and hide how impatient and upset you were getting, but he grabbed the hem of his jersey and pulled it up, tossing it to the side before getting rid of the shoulder pads as well, your eyes swerving over his sweaty, naked chest as he silently raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to do the same. You did nothing except lift your gaze back to Clay’s and stare at him with no emotion whatsoever.

“Take it off.” He commanded, gaze switching between your chest and eyes, waiting for you impatiently. You exhaled through your nose, just short of a chuckle.

“Do it yourself.” You shot back, seeing him cock his head to the side in an attempt to compose himself and flush down the anger, despite knowing it won’t work.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He scowled, hands immediately grabbing at your shirt and pulling it off, fingers quick on your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra.

“And yet you still wanna fuck me like a dog in heat.” You retorted when the clasp loosened and he pulled the fabric down your arms, pressing another hungry kiss to your lips while he rolled one of your nipples through his fingers.

“You think you’ll still be talking to me like this when you’re begging me to cum and I say no?” Clay whispers in your ear right before his mouth moves down to circle his tongue around your other nipple, and neither of you fail to notice the goosebumps that cover your whole body. You don’t even get to manage a word out, syllables falling back into your throat when you swallow upon feeling his hands sneak themselves under your skirt, gripping your thighs.

“With how she’s talking, I’m sure my little brat isn’t wet right now. Right?” you feel your heart speed up when his hand moves a little further to the right and runs his fingers over your damp panties, brushing over your opening, fingers barely ghosting your clit. His pointer finger catches onto the fabric and pushes the underwear aside, leaving space for his middle finger to feel the juices that pour out of you, his touch feeling incredibly cold against your heat, feeling the tips of his fingers coat themselves in you before pulling away. His eyes meet yours paired with a smug smirk that you’ll never get to erase out of your memory.

“Oops.” he grins. “Seems like I was wrong.”

And then, when you least expect it, his fingers shove themselves in you, eliciting a muffled whimper, legs stumbling backwards to lean on the wall again when they start pumping in and out, lewd noises deafening you as you feel drops of wetness slipping down your thighs. He still persistently works his fingers inside your underwear, thumb sneaking inside too to rub at your clit, and that’s when he pushes a moan out of you, a sign of defeat - music to his ears. You can’t help it, can’t help any of it when it feels so good, when every time his wet finger brushes against your clit it sends a jolt through your whole body, your own hands twitching at the movement.

Your whole body sets aflame, head blazing, sweat escaping through strands of your hair the longer he keeps going, fingers stuffed in you, thrusting in and out like it’s his last, pushing you towards your orgasm more and more. Sure enough, your stomach starts twisting and your abdomen coils, something inside you pushing you off the walls as you arch more and more and grind into his unrelenting fingers.

“Cl-Clay… fuck, I’m-!” just as the words pass your lips, his fingers pull out, and the pleasure is entirely gone, ripped away from your hands as you stare up at him, feeling betrayed. Your hands instinctively move to your heat, as if of their own free will, but he grabs at your wrist before they make it to their destination.

“Don’t you dare. You come when I say so. I think I’ve made that very fucking clear, haven’t I?” Both of you know he’s stripped you of your brattiness when you say nothing, just swallow to mend your dry throat and quietly nod - you hate it, he loves it.

Clay pulls his shorts and underwear down his legs, and that’s when you realise you’re finally getting what you’ve been waiting for, so you hook your fingers around the waistband and pull your panties down, stepping out of them when you notice his cock, finally free and painfully throbbing as he strokes himself a few times. His eyes catch sight of the way you practically drool watching him, and he does nothing but scoff before your eyes meet.

“Get on the bench. All fours.” He commands and you comply, climbing onto one of them, arms and legs trembling where you place them.

“Watch your balance. I won’t be slow.” Clay says, guiding his cock into you, slowly pushing the tip inside as you hold your breath, waiting for him to just get on with it, already plenty stretched from the way his fingers fucked you open just seconds before.

“Won’t you now?” You murmur in irritation, words escaping you before you can even rationalise the fact that they won’t do you any good right now. “If you can’t play good, at least try to fuck me good.”

He stopped in his tracks and you froze, only realising that you may have crossed the line after the words were already long out of your mouth, and you opened it to apologise, but didn’t even get to inhale properly when he suddenly buried himself in you to the hilt, almost tearing you apart when his hips collide with yours and you let out a pained yelp, his cock stretching you out ten times more than his fingers had.

You felt his whole hand wrap itself around your throat before he pulled you up by it, pressing his lips close to your ear so you could hear every last breath of his.

“You know I play as good as I fuck - and best believe, I’ll fuck that brat out of you.” Clay growled into your ear before pushing you back down, not even giving you time to grip the bench before pulling out and thrusting back in with a low groan, setting a fast pace from the start.

You bit down on your lip with more and more force with every thrust - he filled you to the hilt every time, and you were sure you were drawing blood by now, a slight metallic taste coating your tongue from how hard you were holding back your moans. You were absolutely not gonna let him fuck the brat out of you.

He kept pumping into you wildly, pace brutal and unforgiving, and it took everything in you to be as quiet as possible, but then you felt a cold finger carefully rub at your sensitive clit, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore, a loud moan getting pushed out of your throat.

“Fuck! Clay…” you whimpered, trying to stabilise yourself on your shaky arms but barely succeeding because the more he pumped inside of you, the more it felt like he was forcing every thought in your brain out, replacing it with only him and his name. The hand gripping your hips left them, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling it whenever he thrusted back in, making you hiss out in a sick mix of pleasure and pain.

“F-Fuck, I…” your throat ran dry from how fast and ragged your breathing stayed - it felt like he was going faster and faster every second.

“This good enough for you, princess?” he exaggerated, mocking you, a little out of breath himself as he pushed farther and farther, thumb never leaving your clit. You swallowed, not able to give him a proper response besides dumbed down words and broken syllables. He angled himself a little different with the next thrust, which made him dive into a spot he hadn’t touched before, making you see stars as you let out a huge gasp, grabbing at his arm that pulled on your hair in a blind attempt to ground yourself.

“R-Right there… fuck, please don’t-don’t stop!” you cried out, a new wave of heat flooding your entire body as he kept hitting the same spot over and over again, making you blind, white imprinted behind your eyelids. Your brain, along with any rational thoughts turned off completely, leaving you with nothing but moans and gasps of his name and how scarily good his cock felt in you.

You felt your climax creeping up on you, slowly but surely, the heat from every part of your body accumulating in the pit of your stomach, feeling the knot ready to come undone any second now. You clenched around him painfully, unable to help the spasms, seconds away from orgasm to the point you could practically taste it. It seemed like Clay could taste it, too, because he slowed down, thrusting into you lazily, like he hadn’t fucked your brains out a moment ago.

“Say sorry.” he said, voice as stable and confident as ever, unwavering compared to your shaky, barely still there one.

“Wh-what?” It took the words a second to make their way from your ears to your brain, hazy mind clouded with nothing but him, unable to process what he’s even saying when he’s buried so deep in you.

“I said, say sorry.” he bumped into your sweet spot once again, leaving you mewling and your eyes closing on their own.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” you stuttered, trying to piece your thoughts together while you could.

“Sorry for what?” he asked. “Sorry for the things you said, or sorry because you know I won’t let you come?”

“I’m-I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t-… I promise I didn’t mean it… Please, let me come, baby…” you whimpered out, grabbing at his arm again, trying to gain the little bit of sympathy you hoped he still had left.

“You’ll have to beg a little harder for me to even think about it, princess.” he chuckled, like the whole thing was damn hilarious, working his fingers on your clit again as your breathing stammered and you fought your best to get some words out.

“God, baby, please, you-you know I didn’t mean it… I’m sorry, so sorry…” you breathed out with another tired gulp. “You-...I-... please, baby, you can’t do this, I’m sorry, okay?”

“I can do whatever I fucking want to and I have some reason for it. What’s stopping me from using you like my own little fuckdoll right now and leaving you here with nothing except my own cum dripping out of you? What’s stopping me?” Clay snapped, pulling you by the hair again. You gulped again, feeling actually nervous this time.

“I… Please, baby, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said, please, can you just-”

He interrupted you mid sentence with such a rough thrust that you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, his fingers back on your clit, feeling like you’re getting lifted up to the skies themselves once again. He managed to find the same angle, hitting the spot that made you feel hell and heaven all at once, pleasure prickling at every part of your body as you loudly moaned, putting no effort into concealing it or keeping silent anymore.

You felt the knot in your stomach once again, quicker than ever, slowly unraveling itself and your cries turned into ramblings, begging him to let you come.

“Pl-please, can I please… Fuck! Please, can I- I’m so close, shit, baby, can I please-” you stuttered, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes as you could almost touch your climax.

“Fuck, baby. Come for me.”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, you felt the knot finally untie itself and you let out a guttural moan, not caring who would hear or not - the pleasure was sickeningly sweet, almost making you ill, knocking you to your elbows as you couldn’t see, hear, feel nothing except the wave of pleasure washing over you repeatedly, beads of sweat running down your body.

The clenching of your heat against him while you climaxed drove Clay to the brink of insanity, coming himself before he could even realise it, filling you up to the brim with a few final thrusts. He stayed inside you for a few seconds while you were catching your breath, watching you uncontrollably spasm around him as you came down from the high, clenching around him every so often, all your senses overstimulated.

When your breathing evened out, he finally pulled out, grabbing the box of tissues from his locker as he slowly started to clean you up, wiping over your sensitive parts, holding you up lightly by the stomach so you wouldn’t fall whenever he touched one of the tender parts. You huffed out a large exhale.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Clay. Remind me to never provoke you after a game again, what the fuck.” you said, voice still shaky, and you heard him cackle behind you.

“I’ll probably be mad for the rest of the day anyways, but whatever.”

“You played good, by the way. Really good. I just wanted to piss you off.” You admitted, watching him stand up and look at you with a knowing smile, before pressing a light peck against your lips.

“Yeah, I figured.”

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