#I’m sure the effect will be almost the same but I wanna know HOW paintings can be used for it

[velvetjune]

Spoilers for the Lake House DLC trailer (alan wake 2). I am! so! excited! Something I’ve loved about the Alan Wake games is its portrayal of different art forms and how they impact real life through the dark place, and the artists’ mindset. Cant wait to see how this expansion will include paintings, especially after how striking the paintings were in the first game from a patient at Hartman’s facility. All the blood and bodies in the hallway with the blue paint mixed in. chefs kiss. that’s art

[127luvr]

Hmm Minghao(svt) x male reader who is also in svt and they habe a little museum date and then look at the sunset while being completely smitten for eachother like it's literally tooth rottening sweet

Heaven’s cloud ☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Xu Minghao x Male Reader

Xu Minghao is not one to say I love you often. He’s never felt it necessary to verbally express how he was feeling—he’d much rather show it with his actions. Whether it was tying your shoes for you—or sharing a sip of his beverage before you could ask—or simply snaking his arm around you. Around your waist—around your shoulders—no matter what, Minghao always found himself linked to you.

“Hao.” He loves the way the nickname sounds rolling off your tongue. Loves the way your hand finds its way to the left side of his jacket to pull him in closer. “What if people see us?”

“(Y/n). I’m wearing a hat, thick glasses and a mask. What are they going to recognize? The lower half of my ears?” You want to laugh with him, to feel as carefree as he sounds as he pulls you in by your belt loops. You can see his eyes glint behind his glasses, a fondness that only appeared when he was looking at you. “Besides, we’re in the same group. If anything, we can just say we were hanging out you know? As bros.” Even with the mask covering the lower half of his face you can hear his smile—the laugh that doesn’t quite escape his mouth to not catch anyone’s attention.

“And do bros loop their fingers through their other bros belt loops or am I the exception?” Minghao pulls himself away from you—the draft of cold air hitting you almost instantly—winking as he walks to the other side of the art exhibit.

The room is full of priceless art pieces. Some you could spend hours gazing at—wondering what meaning they had hidden under all the brush strokes. But none of them came close to Minghao.

Not when he stood in front of the blandest painting in the room, baggy jeans threatening to hit the floor if it weren’t for his platform shoes. He’s examining it, letting his eyes seize it up and down and side to side. Anything to keep his attention on the painting instead of turning his gaze towards you. You can’t help but take a picture, letting a warm smile take over when you finally make your way over to him.

“It’s a nice painting.” You see his shoulders jump up in surprise, not expecting you to be this close but he stands even straighter, offering nothing more but a hum of recognition. “However, you’re much nicer to look at.”

��That was bad even for you.” Hao still refuses to face you, his eyes never leaving the painting. You stand next to him, finally directing your full attention to it, trying to see what lured him to this specific piece.

It’s nothing special. A simple ombré effect that starts with orange at the top, a lemon yellow in the middle, and finally a blue at the bottom. You can see why he’s examining it—the blending is seamless—not a single stray brushstroke in sight. And while it may be plain at first glance, the brush work is unmatched. If it weren’t for the signature at the bottom you would’ve never guessed this was hand painted.

It’s a nice sight—the two of you standing next to each other—enough for your arm to brush against his but not enough to where it could look suspicious. You have a feeling you’ll see pictures taken from a distance of both of you but for now you bask in the moment. Choosing to lean your head on Minghao’s shoulder, breaking his cold streak. He wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your waist, bringing you in closer. Hints of his cologne seep through your mask, the familiar scent weakening your legs.

He turns his head towards you, pulling his mask down under his bottom lip, making sure to press as close as he could to your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

Although his wording was suggestive, the two of you ended up walking next to a nearby shoreline. Kicking the sand you cross as you watch the water creep up on the two of you slowly. Minghao keeps your hand in his, bringing it to sit in his pocket intertwined with his own. It’s sweet. It keeps you warm in this cool breeze. Never too hot and never too cold.

You see the same colors in the sky as you did in the painting. The blueness of the sky being taken over by a blend of orange and yellow with a hint of pink. And while it’s not as seamless as it was on the canvas, it manages to take your breath away. And suddenly you’re standing next to Minghao like you were in the museum. Watching the sky diligently in silence with him. He looks so peaceful from the corner of your eyes—lost in thought as he gazes towards the horizon—he’s never looked more beautiful. You pull your phone out again with your free hand, taking a few steps back to capture the moment. He knows what you’re doing—the awkward shuffling of your feet on the sand without letting go of his hand humoring him.

“(Y/n).”

“Shh, you’re going to ruin the picture.” But you both know you really don’t mind—not when the image of him is forever ingrained into your mind. Always there even when you close your eyes. But it’s nice—the first few pictures you take of him are tame. He offers a big grin with his mask pulled down to his chin—until he finally reaches over to cover your camera as you continue to take pictures. The last few are completely black. They’ll make for a nice post one day.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Request: nii!bokuto fucking y/n dumb at a team reunion party and the whole team ends up joining.

Okay so I made it so the whole team is there but Akaashi and Konoha are the only ones who really get to do anything. The others are enjoying the show.

Warnings: incest, humping/grinding, voyeurism/exhibitionism, watersports/piss play, gangbang, squirting, fire play/lighter use, breeding, dirty talk, cum shots, human urinal, thigh riding, asphyxiation briefly creampie, swallowing urine

Kōtarō-nii + Gangbang [includes Bokuto, Akaashi, Konoha]

It’s just supposed to be a little get together was what you were told. Two hours later, each old teammate of Bokuto was still downstairs, chatting and laughing. Every time Bokuto laughed so joyously, it rubbed you the wrong way. It was like he forgot about you, sitting back and talking to his old teammates. You were supposed to be hidden out of sight, but your needs needed to be met and if that meant walking downstairs to remind your brother you were still waiting for him, that’s what you’d do.

You didn’t expect him and his friends to wave you over.

“[Y/N]! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Visiting your nii-san, eh?” Komi asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘Visiting’ was one way to put it, but you were actually living with Bokuto, guest room still unused as your belongings were in his bedroom.

“Guess you could say that,” Bokuto threw out, then continued. “She’s going to college here, so it’s easier to live with me than pay for on-campus living,”

“Saving money, I see,” Akaashi piped up, taking a drink from his glass. It was just water, which meant they weren’t drinking alcohol. Bokuto had a soda, but everyone else looked like they were drinking tea or water.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Bokuto tapped you on the shoulder, making you turning your head towards him. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Of course, Kōtarō-nii,” taking his empty bottle, you go into the kitchen to see where he keeps the soda. Since he doesn’t want you to have any, they’re usually up high. Standing on your toes, you still can’t reach the sweet drinks. To speed up the time, you hop on the counter only to feel someone’s hands guiding you off.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bokuto says, caging you to the counter. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs,”

“I was bored, nii-san,” you whine, pressing yourself against him. “You’re ignoring me,”

“I’m entertaining my guests. You need to learn how to be patient,” he whispers, one of his hands rubbing at the spot between your thighs. “You’re dripping. Have you been touching yourself?”

“It’s not the same, plea—”

“If you’re good, I’ll fill you up so many times you’ll be swollen with my seed, how about that?” You nod your head, still pressing yourself against him. “Stop pushing yourself on me or I’m gonna have to punish you,”

With a final warning, Bokuto gets his own drink and removes himself from you, sighing as he sees your pout. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pats your head. “Just another hour, okay?”

That’s what he said.. an hour ago.

Sitting beside him was almost too much to bear. Knowing he could take you whenever he wanted to and him knowing you’re desperately waiting for him to touch you, it’s all too much. Even as your thoughts swim with the image of him absolutely ravishingly you in front of his friends, your pleading eyes and a pout his way whenever he glances at you, yet all he gives is his arm around your shoulders. As a good big brother should, but this is getting to be too much.

Sarukai is the one who decided to play a game. It was a silly card game you played as kids, but it was fun to pass time. Since you didn’t wanna play, you had to sacrifice your spot to Akaashi, your bottom instead being placed on Bokuto’s thigh. A warning squeeze on your hip was all you got, quickly telling them that you were cold which they all brushed off, going on with the game. He was like a heater, warmth rising from beneath his clothes, but it just made you more hot and bothered. It wasn’t until he started rubbing a hand on your thigh — inner thigh, included, his fingers brushing against your sensitive area — did you really feel impatient.

You hoped nobody would notice as your body started moving, and it seemed like they didn’t. Legs on either side of his thigh, you rubbing yourself against him, trying to get as much friction as you could. Bokuto doesn’t stop you, his hand instead rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you continue to grind against his thigh. Eventually, you end up humping his thigh as the rubbing effect wears off, only to have him lean down to your ear. “You can’t wait, can’t you? Such a needy slut needs to be punished, you know?”

There’s no other warning, you suddenly being pushed in the middle of the game as everyone shoots back in shock, surprised at Bokuto’s actions. “You’ve wanted this for a bit, haven’t you? That’s why you’re even wetter, isn’t it?” He smiles down at you, prying your shorts off. He then addresses the guests of his abode, “you guys get to see how much my beloved sister loves me,”

With your shorts and panties off, you’re staining the wooden table with your dripping juices as Bokuto gets his cock out. His friends seem into it, sitting back on the couches and chairs, eyes glued to the way Bokuto spreads your sopping cunt, clenching around nothing as you wait for him in anticipation. Licking his lips, he sinks into you, without letting you adjust as your legs tense and your toes curl, squeezing him as he pushes himself all the way in.

“Did you already cum?” He asks, seemingly dumbfounded by your sudden orgasm. You don’t answer, simply keeping your head against the table and having your eyes rolled into the back of your head. With no response, he decides to roughly thrust up into you, making you gasp as he pushes in so far, feeling so full as he snaps his hips to yours, your hands grasping at the edges of the table as you moan. Through your blurry vision, you’re able to see his old teammates with their own cocks out, hands around the thick appendages as their eyes are trained on how well you take in their former captain’s cock.

It’s only mere seconds before you’re mewling, back arching as you’re clamping around his cock again, body twisting with the force of your orgasm as you shake. Bokuto removes himself from your cunt, though, making you whine. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna let my friends have a turn with you, though. You seem eager Akaashi, wanna go first?”

“I’d much prefer her mouth than her pussy, Bokuto-san,” he says, moving around to your head. His cock comes into view, to which you eagerly open your mouth to take him in, tongue killing out to lick at the tip.

“I won’t pass up free pussy,” Konoha chuckles, taking Bokuto’s position and pushing into you. “Thought she’d be loose after taking a cock that big, but you’re tight as a virgin!” He laughs, pinching your clit as you squeeze down on him even more, muffled moans coming from your throat which is stuffed with Akaashi’s cock.

“Mhm! I taught her well, didn’t I?” Bokuto hums, guiding one of your hands to his cock. “Don’t forget about me, baby girl,” he says, low as he watches your hand jerk him off. Despite your eyes not being anywhere around his form, your hand works expertly from experience of handjobs. Akaashi seems pleased himself, fingers occasionally tracing your jaw and throat, only to close your nose as he face fucks you. Konoha seems to be enjoying himself, as well, your legs secured around his waist as he thrusts into you, his thumb rubbing at your bundle of nerves that has milky fluid coating his cock with each thrust.

“I’m close, can I do it inside?” He asks, looking at Bokuto, using his own hand to guide yours.

“No. You can cum in her ass, but not her cunt. That’s only for her nii-san, isn’t that right?” He directs the last bit at you, fingers pinching your nipples as your body jerks. Konoha decides to pull out, letting his semen paint your stomach white as he groans, making sure every drop lands on your skin. Akaashi is right behind him, closing your nose as he shoots his own load down your throat, your eyes glazed over as you drink it all.

Konoha takes it upon himself to push back into your cunt, feeling your walls clamp around him once more time. It’s too much and you feel something warm fill your insides, eyes widening as you think he put a load in you. When he pulls out, however, you feel it trickling out as the warm liquid drips from your cunt. “Seems she’ll only take cum, not piss,”

“She’ll take it, won’t you, pretty girl?” Bokuto coos, fingers keeping your mouth open as Akaashi takes his turn, warm liquid filling your mouth as you struggle to not let any spill. Once he’s done, Bokuto closes your mouth and nose to force it down, your eyes squeezed shut as it tastes bitter. “See? Just gotta know which hole to use. It’s okay, I’ll clean her out so you can use her again,” he hums once more, pushing his thick cock into your still leaking pussy. The force of his thrust has you mewling, drool spilling from your lips as your body jostles with each thrust. “There’s a cute little trick her cunt will do if you give her a bit of pain,” he grunts, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. Your eyes widen at the familiar click of the item, brief light before it’s shut off. He hands it to Konoha, who then flicks it on as he brings the fire close to your face, the light dancing ridiculously close to your cheek. Akaashi keeps you fron moving your head, sweat beginning to form as Konoha brings the lighter closer, the flame barely licking your skin as you scream, tongue lolling out as your squirt all over Bokuto’s abdomen, his groan overwhelmed by your cute noises. With another thrust, he’s spilling his own load into you, fill you up exactly how you wanted him to.

Konoha shuts off the lighter, then locks across the mark against your cheek where the flame touched you, pressing a sweet kiss in apology to the hot skin. “Now, what do we say, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for filling me up nii-san. I’ll take anything you give to me, I promise,” you sweetly say, another moan as you feel Bokuto’s piss fill you up as well, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Don’t worry, baby. Only I’ll be able to breed you, but my friends can have their fun, can’t they? I’ll promise to give you all my attention later, is that okay?” Your response is a nod of the head, the rest of his friends eager to have your holes and your hands around their cocks.

[alexturntable]

Ok so from that interview do we gain any more insight into what Mirrorball means? Is he saying it's like fragments (the way a it's made up of lots of tiny mirrors). So self reflection or the mirrorball is a song? It's too early and I'm short circuiting!

I’ve been thinking about this since I re-read that interview. Here is the full quote for context:

"I always wanted to use the word ‘Colorama’ in a song ever since I saw Antonioni’s Blow Up. It was an unplugged neon light at the back of my mind for years. Some lyrics are declarations of love or hate written in blood or carved in a bus stop, in need of little or no melodic illumination. Some, I believe, are there almost entirely to facilitate it. If I ever thought about it at all I’m sure I used to think the melody was the vessel that carried the lyrics but more recently it has occurred to me that the opposite is often true.

The problem with the neon sign analogy is that neon signs are invariably bolted to the wall and full of gas. Melody seems as though its poured rather than sprayed and doesn’t feel as though whatever holds it ought to be fixed to anything.

I sometimes imagine each word to be made using a three dimensional open-top glass alphabet. Each letter built to harness and transport the mirror ball liquid marble of the melody. When the ‘substance’ fills up the syllables they seem to shimmer and become weightless. With the addition of close harmony I see colours swirl together, parts of the lyrics glow and the way in which they float suggests that something like the ‘star gate’ sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey is happening deep inside them out of view.”

So in this neon light analogy the letters are like containers made of glass which are meant to transport the melody. The melody is a "mirror ball liquid marble". Mirror balls reflect lights directed at them in all directions and liquid marble would create this effect of colours swirling together which when put together would look something like the star gate sequence he mentions. So I guess what we can understand from this is that in this analogy the mirror ball is part of the substance that represents the melody which fills the lyrics.

In There'd better be a Mirrorball, he may mean that he hopes that there will be "melodic illumination" or music accompanying this separation he's describing. After listening to Body Paint I feel like Mirrorball could also be a self-refelction song, probably the whole album. So maybe the "relationship" he seems to be ending is actually his relationship with the current persona he's been putting on that he's moving on from to start the process of writing a new album. That's why he starts with "don't get emotional that ain't like you". Maybe it was easier in the past to get rid of a persona but as he gets older it's more difficult to do so. "Yesterday's still leaking through the roof / that's nothing new" some parts of the previous persona are still present but it's always been this way. "I know I promised this is what I wouldn't do / somehow giving it the old romantic fool / seems to better suit the mood" he never wanted to write gooey songs or direct, staright-forward lyrics but now maybe he is.

"So if you wanna walk me to the car / you oughta know I'll have a heavy heart / so can we please be absolutely sure / that there's a mirrorball?" If the old persona wants to walk him to The Car, meaning the new album, he will be sad about parting with the old one so he wants to be really sure that this it's worth it, that there is a really good melody / song to use for this new era. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that this could be the same mirror ball metaphor he had in mind when he made that analogy in 2016 and this is how I would interpret it but it could also be a complete coincidence that he had used that word before. Either way it's fascinating to read the words he uses, his brain will never seize to amaze me.

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki​, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”  

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”  

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.  

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.  

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.  

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.  

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.  

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

[bluejaem]

7 THINGS — J.JH

❝ The seven things I like about you. Your hair, your eyes, your old Levi's. When we kiss, I'm hypnotized. You made me laugh, you made me cry, but I guess that's both I'll have to buy. Your hand in mine when we're intertwined, everything's alright. I wanna be with the one I know. And the seventh thing I like the most that you do. You make me love you. ❞ — ♫ 7 things by miley cyrus

↳ PAIRING — jaehyun × gn!reader

↳ GENRE — tooth-rotting fluff lmao, slight angst in the end, post-break-up!au

↳ WORD COUNT — 2.16k ; « 8 min »

↳ WARNING/S — a kiss, mentions of food at one point, like one curse word ig

↳ PLAYLIST — paris in the rain by lauv :: fly away with me by nct 127 :: king of my heart by taylor swift

↳ A/N — perhaps I fell in love with jaehyun while writing this fjsnfjdjf. low-key plagiarised some of my own works while writing this lMaO. Anyways, I just hit my 3-month mark with this blog on this hellsite. So this is a celebratory work ig?

↳ SYNOPSIS — Sure, he broke your heart. But you still weren’t over him. No matter how much you tried, he was the only one in your heart.

And here lie the 7 things you love about jaehyun.

the first thing — your eyes looking in mine

“Ooh, do you remember this one? We took this on our first ever date. You were so cute then — not that you still aren't—” you pulled out the polaroid picture of the two of you from the album and showed it to Jaehyun, who was sitting beside you.

But he turned out to be staring at you.

His eyes were like an empty canvas, gradually being painted with love after every moment that passed. His eyes were always gentle. They looked at you with a softness you had never encountered before. The gaze that was filled with nothing but warmth and fondness. His eyes that spoke a thousand words at once. With a thousand tales to tell.

You were lost.

Lost in his eyes. For who knows how long. But all that mattered was that he was too.

“What?” you giggled when you saw him smile. “nothing, you're just really endearing,” he gushed.

This statement was soon followed by a shy smile taking over your face. He couldn't help but chuckle at this sight. How you'd always shy away whenever he complimented you. Or how you'd try to be the flirty one, but when he said something next, you'd be the flustered one.

He loved the fact that he still had the same effect on you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the second thing — your smile

“hi bubs, and what's your name?” you crouched down to talk to the little toddler holding onto her mother's hand. “I'm Zoey!” the girl replied. 

“Hi, Zoey! I'm y/n!” you flashed her your sweetest smile and put your hand forward for a handshake. She returned your smile with the same amount of affection and shook hands with you.

“And this is uncle Jaehyun,” you take Jaehyun by his hand and make him crouch down beside you.

“Hi, Zoey! That's such a pretty name!” Jaehyun cooed with delight. “Thank you,” the girl giggled, and you did too.

The way his smile grew wider, the dimples making an effortless appearance. He adored you so much, and you had no idea about it.

“Bye!” you waved Zoey and her mom goodbye and turned to look at a smiling Jaehyun.

His eyes, his lips, and his spirit all at once smiled at you. He paints a ray of sunshine all over his face. His smile lights up your world — always. His smile was one of happiness growing, much as a spring flower opens. You could see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. In his sweet smile is all the love you'll ever need.

And there you went, falling for him all over again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the third thing — your hand in mine

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he finished tying the black cloth on your eyes.

“with my life,” you replied, feeling the soft fabric of the clothing on your eyes.

“Well, then,” he smiles, taking your hand in his as he leads you to a surprise that awaits you.

The warmth of his hands penetrating through your skin. The way your hand fit perfectly in his. The feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours was one that couldn't even be described in words.

It felt like holding onto your world at your fingertips and never wanting to let go of it.

“And we're here! Please don't open your eyes until I tell you to do so,” he untied the cloth and ran to the other side.

“Can I open my eyes now?” you snickered because you kind of knew where this was going.

“Yes!” that was the last thing you heard before opening your eyes to a smiling Jaehyun holding a huge card that read, "”ill you be mine again?”

You slowly made your way to him, a candle-lit pathway made just for you. “happy 1st anniversary, love” he gave you a peck on the cheek as he kept the card down.

“you didn't have to do all this?!” you let out a shocked chuckle as you looked at the rest of the decoration. “Now you're making me feel bad that all I did was gift you a bottle of perfume!”

He smiled at your comment and took out something from his pocket. He went behind you, and you felt a cold chain making contact with your skin. He locked the necklace from the back and made you turn to face him.

“Don't feel bad — your presence itself is a gift from heaven above.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the fourth thing — your ears when you're shy

You woke up to the sound of the sizzling of eggs on the pan. You broke into a big yawn as you sluggishly made your way towards the kitchen.

“Good morning to you too,” he chuckled when he looked at you barely able to open your eyes.

You instantly found yourself smiling when you heard his voice. You walked up to him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulders as he continued cooking.

“we're eating eggs again?” you groaned out of boredom. “What did you want to eat?” He snickered.

You wore a sly grin as an idea hits you at the right moment, "I want you.” you whispered in his ear. His eyes slowly grew wide, processing whatever the fuck that you just said.

He turned around — only to see you, a laughing mess. And as soon as you saw that smirk on his face, you knew it was time to run.

“aww, your ears are turning red. What happened, loverboy? Were you flustered because of what I said?” You teased him as you both were waiting for the other one to leave their side of the couch and run.

It was one in a million moments when jaehyun was the flustered one, and you were the one who provoked him to be. And so, these moments really had to be the most memorable ones.

“Jae, no–” you sprinted to your room as he followed you. “Let's not–”

Your legs hit the end of the bed, and the next thing you knew was that you had fallen on the bed and jaehyun got on the bed with you, tickling the life out of you.

“Wait, do you smell that?” you said as you sniffed dramatically. Jaehyun stopped tickling you for a moment, and the look on his face when the realization hit him was honestly the funniest thing you had ever seen. You let out the weirdest chuckle when your heard him shouting in horror,

“my eggs!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the fifth thing — your lips when we kiss

"”want a sip?” he offered you his coffee while you were sipping on yours. “How'd you know I wanted to try it?” You let out a soft chuckle while you take his coffee to try.

“I mean, even when you're sipping on yours, your eyes were on my drink. What else should I decipher it as?” he continued walking along with you, smiling when he saw your reaction to consuming his cup of coffee.

You let out a dissatisfied cough after drinking a little bit of his coffee. You hand him his coffee back. “How do you drink that stuff, dude?” you gulped hard, trying your best to get rid of the bitterness by taking long sips of your drink.

“Not like yours is that great,” he said in his cockiest tone in an attempt to provoke you.

You stopped on your tracks, disbelief was written all over your face, “Excuse you, for this is my best buddy!” you scoffed. Well, almost choked, but we won't talk about that right now.

“Then let me try yours—”

“Nope, sorry. And now you've lost the both of us.” Sure, you were fighting like an elementary school kid at that point. But in your defense— yeah, no. You were just being petty, and Jaehyun was just playing along.

You walk ahead of him while he stood there, trying to think of how to get back at you. An idea perks him as he looks at your figure slowly getting smaller the further you walked. He quietly jogged his way towards you, wearing a smug smile on his face.

Oh, dear y/n. You signed up for something you didn't know was about to come.

When he finally caught up to you, he tapped on your shoulder. As a reflex, making you turn around to look at who it was. But instead, you were met with a pair of lips on yours. Not just anybody, but the only guy ever, Jung Jaehyun.

Resistance — was something you were always pretty bad at. And especially when it came to Jaehyun.

No matter how hard you'd try, you always end up giving in. And as a matter of fact, that's what happened then too. He smiled in between the kiss, knowing very well that you had once again given in to him. Your other hand runs through his hair while he pulls you closer to himself, closing any distance between the two of you.

God, you missed kissing him.

He finally broke from the kiss, and started walking, leaving you totally confused. He wore a smile of triumph as he said, "I never liked Mocha anyway," not once did he look back at you before saying that.

For a hot minute, you were pretty confused as to what he meant by that. And that's when you understood that he was talking about the coffee.

You stood there, totally baffled — screaming on top of your lungs while he still kept walking,

“Get back here, Jung gorgeous-ass-man-who-just-tricked-me-like-that Jaehyun!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the sixth thing — your voice when you call out my name

“you coming?” you shouted as you got out of the water, walking your way up to where jaehyun was standing. He seemed to have been writing something on the wetter side of the sand.

“And, done!” He presented you with the small surprise he had prepared for you. You smiled when you saw what it was. He took you by your hand, giving it a kiss before making you stand beside him.

“Jaehyun + y/n forever” he read it out loud while pointing at the sand.

The way your name rolled off his tongue so easily, yet giving it its own unique color. It felt foreign but at the same time, it was so familiar and resounded through your whole self. No matter how many times he calls out your name, something about it still gives you a sense of serenity and you could never get tired of it.

“you plus me forever indeed,” you softly said, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you hugged him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the seventh I like the most that you do — you make me love you

“This is the last one for today, I promise,” Jaehyun said as you both climbed up the stairs of an unknown building. You both entered what looked like an empty terrace with a bench in one of the corners.

He sat on the bench and signaled you to sit beside him. “We're ready!” he shouted.

You were kind of confused by whatever that was going on at that moment. “For what?” you looked at him. Anticipation getting the best of you when you saw the proud look on his face.

“For that,” he put both his hands forward, pointing at the other side of the terrace, basically the wall.

And that's when the led lights lit up, and you could see some words coming the other way like a long led banner.

He read, “There are days when I feel down, and there are days when I feel joy, but the best part of it is going through it all with — you. I know what I'm going to say next is kind of cheesy, but”

This time he turned to you, reaching out for your hand “— will you be my once upon a time?”

It was like the flower of love bloomed once again. There’s something about him that you find so intriguing. Something to his aura that never fails to bring in pleasant surprises. It was like this weird force of attraction that never failed to make you fall for him all over again — if that was even possible. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But as history has seen it before, every story has an ending. And the one of yours and jaehyun's was of no exception.

© BLUEJAEM, 2021

Tysm for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated <33

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[hanatiny]

Perfect Illusion

a/n: this fic is inspired by this post (although I modified the idea a bit)! for those interested, I even made a spotify playlist to hopefully enhance the experience~

pairing: royal guard!San x royal guard/spy!f!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2113

warnings: royal AU, weapons (knives and daggers), brief mention of infidelity (which I do not condone), swearing, teasing, dry humping, hair pulling, name-calling (they keep insulting each other... oops), enemies with benefits, implied enemies to lovers (kind of), slight knife kink, implied pain kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, no clear dom/sub roles

-----

Despite excelling at undercover work, you weren’t known be incredibly ‘out there’ in the way you executed your tasks, so this particular mission you had been given must have been the one you disliked the most as of now, not to mention that you despised the tactic of seduction.

You did your best to attract as little attention as possible in order to carry out your information gathering in peace. Although it seemed that in doing so, you had become a little too suspicious for one of the guards. You heaved a sigh, meeting his eyes while most of his face remained covered by the hood and the mask he wore to not look like the odd one out at the royal masquerade event. He nudged his head towards a nearby balcony after asking for one of his fellow guards to watch his spot, signalling you to follow.

Albeit slowly, you did what was asked of you - your beliefs were much too deeply rooted in obedience not to. Once outside, the guard closed and locked the door behind you. Shrugging off his hood, he took off his mask while you did the same so the two of you were equally bare to each other.

“San?!” “Y/n?!” You both gasped aloud in equal shock and surprise, slapping a hand over each other’s mouths to prevent anyone from hearing how casually you spoke with each other.

Prying your hand away from his face, although still holding it in his own, San quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, “What, pray tell, are you doing here at this party wearing that?”

Your voice was teasing as you spoke and he gestured towards the black dress you were wearing, “Oh, this old thing~?” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone but allowed you to continue, “As much as I didn’t want to, His Highness requested me to keep my eyes and ears open for anything or anyone suspicious... and had the bright idea of having me use seduction to get the job done.”

Despite knowing how much you hated the technique in question, San thought it fun to tease and rile you up about it, “Do I classify as suspicious then? Cause you’ve definitely caught my interest and seduced me...~”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing him and pulling him close by the tie he was wearing before whispering in his ear, “With how flirty you’re being, definitely. I might have to arrest you now, sunshine~ But if you play your cards right, I might let you fuck me, pretty boy.”

It was your turn to cock an eyebrow when San nonchalantly turned the situation around on you and pinned you against the wall roughly, both of your wrists above your head in one of his own while an almost bored grin danced across on your face at the act. “That all you got~?”

“Not at all, sweetheart...~” “Show me then,” you challenged without hesitation, hooking one of your legs around his hip to draw his body closer and flush against yours, “show me what you can do, unless you want to admit that a woman could dom you~”

Bullseye. You hit him right in his sore spot, knowing him to be much too competitive to let such a cheeky comment slide. You saw something shift in his eyes, something dark, and you knew you had him right then and there, “You asked for it... don’t complain if you limp afterwards.”

“Wanna bet~?” San effectively shut you up by melding his plush lips to yours, your hands tugging greedily at his already messy hair while the grinding of your hips against his coaxed a soft moan from his lips.

“You really don’t intend to make it easy for me do you, little vixen...” He whispered against your lips, his voice low and raspy as he did so, causing you to give him a casual shrug, “You know me, I always want to be the one who comes out on top. Whether that is in the physical sense or not couldn’t matter any less to me, frankly.”

San huffed softly, he knew you were competitive but so was here. However, the difference between the two of you was that you were willing to play dirty to get what you want.

As such, you couldn’t prevent a slight smirk from tugging at your lips when his breath hitched audibly after he pushed the hem of your dress up to your hips and spotted the daggers strapped to one of your thighs. “Staring longer won’t make the image imprint itself in your mind any faster. And in case you haven’t noticed with how much you want my daggers on your body, I’m worked up and hereby telling you to hurry up and fuck me. Right here, right now.”

“Getting feisty and demanding, are we? Two can play that game, Y/n...~” Reaching into the inside of his jacket, San pulled out a knife and held it to your throat while the cocky smirk never left your face, “Are you just gonna keep threatening me with a good time so that I’ll walk right back in there and tell everyone you’re my bitch, or are you actually gonna do something about that obvious boner in your pants?”

San’s eyebrow twitched at your audacity, the discovery of the fact that you had foregone underwear tonight not helping his dwindling patience in the slightest, “Pathetic how desperate you are for my cock, you minx. Needing to cover it up with such a tough girl act...”

He trailed off, watching you closely as he pocketed his knife and used his now unoccupied hand to quickly unfasten his pants and free his aching length from its confines. He stroked himself a few times, the seconds passing torturously slowly in your eyes as you licked your lips in anticipation before throwing your head back against the wall with a strangled gasp when he fully inserted himself inside of you without warning.

“You son of a-” “Shush doll, don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing out here do you~?” You huffed as he interrupted you, pretending to think for a moment before shaking your head with a smile, “I actually do, imagine the surprise when they’d hear that two of the royal guards are all over each other...~”

San’s eyes darkened once more before narrowing them at you, “You asked for it, then... Be prepared to scream.”

“Such big words from the man who’d let me spit in his mouth~” You weren’t having it though, only mewling and moaning softly while San repeatedly snapped his hips into yours. His pace was rough and quick, eager to get both you and himself off, “Won’t even, fuck- won’t even scream for me... am I not fucking you hard enough?”

“Mmh... nope~!” You replied with a toothy grin, gasping sharply when San thrusted inside of you particularly harshly. “That better?” “Much~” He continued to move at the harsh pace he had just set, his breath hitching when his hand accidentally brushed against the leather garter still fixed securely around your thigh.

He felt himself twitch violently when you spoke through low pants, his thrusts stuttering, “Wouldn’t you love to have me trail one of those daggers over your sensitive skin, sunshine? Perhaps even pierce it a little here and there to show who you belong to~?”

Those last words came out unintentionally but you didn’t feel the need to correct yourself, considering that your possessiveness appeared to be the last straw for San judging by the warmth that filled you as he came, your own orgasm washing over you shortly after. Once you had both caught your breath, he carefully pulled out of you and helped you straighten out your dress after doing the same to his own clothes.

You implying that he was yours was undoubtedly a matter to be discussed, but for now, you two had a masquerade to return to. As such, San handed your mask back to you after having previously stored it in one of his jacket pockets. You both secured your masks back on your faces so that your identities were concealed once more, although San decided to not pull his hood back up.

He unlocked the balcony door before turning to you with a teasing albeit charming smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Will you let me have this dance, m’lady~?”

You found it amusing how quickly he could switch back to his professional persona, placing your hand in his own regardless, “It’d be my pleasure~”

He led you back inside of the large, well-lit ballroom where no one was any the wiser of what had transpired mere minutes ago, your dress swaying slightly while you danced with San, a small grin painted on your features.

You ended up getting to bed incredibly late, almost stumbling out of it the next morning before quickly making yourself presentable after being requested in the throne room by His Highness himself, wondering what it could possibly be about.

You ran into San on the way there, finding out that he had been called to see the prince as well. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, you weren’t particularly surprised to find it empty besides the presences of you, your companion and Yeosang, who had placed his crown on a pedestal near himself.

Letting his emotionless facade crack a bit, he gave a small smile when he saw the two of you kneel before him as it was custom for the subordinates or the royal family.

“Those who want to wear the crown need to prove they are able to bear its weight.”

Yeosang’s voice rang out through the room, causing you and San to look at each other questioningly and then back up at him in confusion. The older male had never been more glad to not have any other of his court officials or guards besides the two of you inside of his throne room, relieved that he could be blunt about his message.

“I’m sure you both are aware of how I came to be where I am presently, yes?” You both nodded in response. “Then you know my mother was not a true queen and slept her way to the throne. Hell, I’m even a bastard child - her husband was not my father. In short... she was a whore.”

San gasped quietly next to you in surprise at the word choice, causing you to nudge him gently to remind him to focus and listen.

“I don’t want to keep the two of you here any longer than necessary,” the unrightful prince leaned forward, his weight still resting on the arm he had previously propped himself up on, “My coronation is set to be held eleven days from now. Whichever of you comes up with the better plan to cover up my ‘coincidental’ disappearance by then gets to claim the throne.”

It was a tempting offer, that much you had to admit, but it sounded almost too good to actually be true.

“Your Highness-” “Please drop the formalities Y/n, you’ve known me since I was a little child.” The young man in question corrected softly as you cleared your throat with an understanding nod, “Are you sure this will work out as you intend it to? I’m not sure anyone would believe one of your royal guards to be allowed to inherit the crown just like that...”

“Y/n. Surely you’ve noticed how desperate the people are for a ruler who stands with them, even with all the time you spend working? They’ll accept just about anyone. As long as neither of you exposes the truth about any part of my family... do we have a deal?”

San looked at you and met your eyes, lingering for a few beats before getting up from his knees with you following suit as you looked up at the prince and spoke in unison, always up for a challenge - especially if it just so happened to come with a high reward like this one did, “We have a deal.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now off you two go, there is work to be done~” Yeosang hummed, you and your ‘companion’ bowing respectfully and nodding before turning on your respective heels.

San pulled his hood back over his head and glanced at you with a smug grin that you happily mirrored, both of you making a run for it out of the throne room.

After all, it was only a matter of time and of who created the most perfect illusion, aware that only one of you would come out on top.

----- Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):

@atinykitty​ @cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva  @galaxteez @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx​ @twancingyunhoe​  @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet​

[icollectyoursins]

Jotaro x Fem!Reader NSFW

Anon requested "Jotaro x fem reader. Size kink, praise kink, and maybe some bondage. Like Jotaro has her in his lap and hes loving how small she is and how he gets to take care of her and when things get spicy he's praising how well she takes him and stuff? He just ties her up and spoils her"

As a short person, I needed this. It’s like therapy.

Jotaro has finally taken a night off from his work allowing the two of you relax on the couch for the first time in a long while. But, what do you know? You’re really horny and he is more than happy to help you with that.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Lots of kissing, praise, neck kisses, breast play/nipple play, lots of teasing, ropes appearing out of nowhere (totally not Star Platinum the World), fingering, riding, squirting, cumming on partner. 

Word Count: 1432

     You nuzzled into Jotaro’s neck, sighing happily as he rubs your back, holding you close. His warm hands trail over your thighs, silently remarking at how large his hands looked compared to them. He knew he was big, it was painfully obvious, but whenever he stood next to you he just felt an overwhelming sense of... love? Protectiveness? Whatever the feeling, it made a pleasant warmth spread over his body. 

     He gently kissed your temple, basking in the comfortable silence. You fit almost perfectly into his lap. How did he ever find someone like you? A soft hum rumbled throughout his body as you ran your hands through his soft, black locks. He pressed his face into your hair, inhaling your scent, soothing and so familiar to him.

     A happy sigh passed over your lips as the two of you grew more and more relaxed, thankful for this day off. Or, at least it would be relaxing if you weren’t unreasonably horny. Every soft touch made your skin burn hot in the most pleasant way. His lips brushed against your skin, making you shiver. He hummed again, not caring about your reaction.

     Jotaro continues to massage various parts of your body, soothing out any sore muscles you might have. You can’t help but shake in his touch, hoping he would get a little more rough, more handsy. 

     “Is everything okay?” He asks calmly, squeezing your thigh gently. Ass. So he knew what he was doing, great. 

     “F-fine.” You mumble into his neck. He chuckles softly.

     “Are you lying?” A moment of silence. You were debating whether or not you wanted him to destroy you. 

     “Yeah.” You sounded defeated, hoping you would get the chance to rile him up so you wouldn’t have to ask. His lips graze across a sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shiver again. You feel him smile into your skin before placing a gentle kiss there. It was hard to fight back the moan that bubbled up in your throat.

     Jotaro continued to gently kiss all over your neck, gradually coaxing more and more sweet sounds out of you. You can’t help but squirm in his arms as he teases you. Your reactions only amuse him, easily pinning you to his chest. 

     “Stop moving, let me take care of you,” his whisper sends chills down your spine. You nod your head. He easily lifts you up so you’re straddling him now, hands resting on your hips. His bright blue eyes stare into yours, full of love. 

     “Good girl.” You can’t deny the warmth that spreads directly to your core. Then, a little pushier than you’re used to, he smashes his lips into yours, quickly taking control.

     His hands move to your front and up your torso, sliding to your arms, then pushing them behind you gently. He holds them behind your back with one hand while the other takes its place on your cheek. The kiss is broken slowly, his lips still hover over yours. Your arms are released, but you find that you still can’t move.

     You let out a sound of confusion as you try to pull your arms apart. It’s impossible. Somehow, your arms have been tied together with rope. Practiced fingers quickly unbutton your shirt, opening it so your breasts are exposed. Wasting no time, he turns his attention there, littering them with kisses until he gets to your nipples. You’re thankful you decided to not wear a bra today, saving yourself a lot of time and probably money if he decided to rip it.

     Jotaro takes one into his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking it. Your head falls back half in pleasure, half in relief, grateful for the feeling. You moan freely now, sighing when brings one of his hands up to your other breast, pinching the nipple.

     “You’re so good, (Y/N). So beautiful.” He breathes praises into your skin, making you all the more desperate for him to touch you more. His hips roll up into you before he kisses you again. The feel of his bulge against you takes your breath away.

     “Jotaro,” you pant, “I need you.”

     You feel him shiver, then you’re lifted again. This time, you’re on your feet while he removes the rest of your clothes as well as his own. When he sits down, you’re pulled back into his lap, pressed into his chest. His lips return to your neck, nibbling gently while one of his hands dances down your body to your folds. 

     Diligent fingers spread you open, gliding down over your clit, making you gasp. He keeps you pinned to him with one arm while you squirm and moan in his ear. You feel him slide towards your entrance, teasing it with a few circles, before slowly slipping in. You cry out, head falling to his shoulder.

     It’s a torturous pace. First, he would just barely push his finger into you, then pull out quickly to glide it up and down your folds, repeating the process over and over again. Gradually, he would go deeper, but it was still oh so slow. Jotaro hums, adoring every little sound you made.

     “You’re such a good girl, (Y/N). Do you want more?” You can only whimper in reply. “You can take more, right?” As he talks, another finger prods at your entrance. You don’t even bother trying to hide the moan that passes over your lips as it stretches you out. He had some mercy this time, not putting you through the first pace. He’s still slow, but deep, touching every sweet spot he could reach. 

     Jotaro continues to stretch you open, adding a third finger with a squelch. The room is full of obscene noises coming from your mouth as well as your slick vagina. It takes everything in you to not cum as he finger fucks you. You breathe heavily against his neck, voice hoarse as you spoke.

     “Jo-Jotarooo-” you don’t even get out the rest of the sentence. He pulls out his digits, wiping them on the fabric of the couch.

     “I know, hold on.” He grabs your hips, positioning you over his long erection. Slowly, he lowers you onto him, praising you all the way, until you’ve taken him entirely. “Shh, shh, fuck. You’re so tight. Unf~ So good, that’s it. Almost- unh~”

     You collapse onto his chest while he rubs his back, letting you get used to his cock. It doesn’t take long, you’ve had him fill you plenty of times before, plus he’s always diligent when preparing you. A kiss was placed on your shoulder before the grip on your hips gets a little harder and he starts gyrating his hips. The mewls that fall from your lips are downright shameful. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve done this before, you’ll never get used to how good he feels.

     It’s not long before you’re bouncing up and down on his length, babbling out incoherent sentences as he picks up the pace. Jotaro does the same, losing himself in the feeling of your warmth around him, pulling him in like a syphon.

     “Fuck, you’re so good. You feel so fucking good- so fucking tight.” He groans into your ear. Suddenly, this position wasn’t working anymore and he quickly moves so you’re lying on the couch with him towering over top of you, never leaving his place between your legs.

     “You take me so well, (Y/N). Uhn~ like you were ~ah! Made for me.” He’s not even sure what he’s saying anymore, but it seems to have the desired effect as you call out his name more, begging for him to go harder.

     Heated kisses along with deep thrusts into you fill the next passing moment. You strain to keep your control, but the more he pushes into your sweet spots, the more you see stars. Your orgasm washes over you like a freight train, a broken cry accompanying it. You gush out around his cock, arching into him.

     The feel of your walls contracting around you like a vice also pushes him over the edge. He pulls out quickly, painting your stomach with his release. You both pant, catching your breath. He leans over, littering your cheeks with kisses.

     “You did so well, (Y/N). So well,” Tissues are used to clean up your stomach and slick cunt, then quickly discarded. The ropes are, of course, taken off. Any red marks are gently rubbed out by his warm hands. Jotaro swaps your positions, holding you close to him while you both continue to relax, enjoying your night together.

[hongism]

put in place - c. san 18+

day 9: spit play - choi san warnings: explicit smut, oral sex: m, deepthroating, face-fucking, spit play, spit in mouth, humiliation/degradation, cum swallowing, dirty talk, hard dom san, pls pay attention to tags this one is intense compared to my other stuff!!, also talk about this stuff with your partner before you do it, talk about boundaries!, what’s okay and what’s not!, the underlying understanding her is that san and reader have a relationship where they agreed to this and are both comfy with it! wc: 1.5k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

“I didn’t give you permission to look up.” San pushes your chin to the side with his index finger, forcing you to look over to the wall instead. You bite back the small whimper that threatens to fall from your lips. It’s a desperate attempt to gain back a sliver of control, but at this point, you aren’t sure whether you want any control at all. San drags his fingers through your hair, gripping tight at the roots to where it leaves a pleasant burn across your scalp. You let him push your head around a bit more all while trying to keep your eyes off him until he gives you permission to do so. “So the slut knows how to listen after all. Fascinating. Couldn’t listen to me earlier.”

He pushes your head away, and you jerk with the motion. When he grabs hold of your chin again, it’s in a tight grip that pulls you forward, but you snap your eyes shut rather than looking at him. It is exactly what San wants, and you hear the slight chuckle that passes through his lips in acknowledgment. Something wet hits your face a second later. You release a choked moan when you realize what San just did; his spit trickles down your cheek and catches where he’s still gripping your face. The sound betrays you, and San once again shoves your face away from him.

“Remind me of what you did wrong, whore,” he commands. You can almost picture the way he lifts a brow and grins down at where you kneel before him.

“I came before you, sir,” you recite for the third time this night alone.

“And?”

“And I teased sir in front of others.”

“Good girl,” he hums. “Look at me.” You do as asked in an instant, snapping your chin back towards San and looking him in the eye. Those dark eyes are clouded with lust and desire, but you can’t figure out what is going on in his head. The glint is almost playful, which means that he’s about to give you something you want, something you like, and sure enough – his lips purse, and he hurls another wad of spit at your face. You barely flinch as it hits your forehead this time, lashes fluttering but staying open and remaining on San. “Where do you want my cock, kitten? I’ll even be kind enough to let you choose.”

You opt not to respond with words and instead let your jaw go slack, tongue poking out as you put your mouth on display for San. He huffs a laugh through his nose then presses three fingers into your awaiting mouth.

“Such a good little slut,” he coos. His fingers pump in and out of your mouth like it’s his cock, and you give the same amount of attention and fervor in return. He keeps that hand deep in your mouth while he tugs at the band of his sweatpants, pulling the material down along with his underwear so that his cock springs loose. Despite wanting to take him between your lips and suck him to high heaven right away, you wait for permission to do anything, already too overwhelmed by the control he exudes. “You want me to fuck your mouth? Use you like the hole you are?”

“Yes, sir, p-please.” You try your best to speak around his fingers, but he keeps pushing down on your tongue. It triggers your gag reflex, causing you to choke on saliva, and San huffs out a loud laugh at your struggling. He slips his fingers out of your mouth. You jump at the opportunity to speak clearly, rushing your words to get your point across, “Use me, sir. I’ll be good for you I promise.”

“I know you will,” he hums. “That’s all my little slut is good for, after all.”

The word have you whimpering, shoulders drawing together almost painfully. San presses forward, and his cock hits your mouth. Precum smears over your wet and swollen lips. He doesn’t need to give the order for you to know what he wants; it’s what you want too so you drop your jaw and take him halfway into your mouth in one swift movement. He groans as your wet heat envelops him, head tipping back to expose the sweat that paints his neck. His hand snakes around the back of your neck to dangle in the hair by your nape. It effectively renders you useless, and you release the tension in your face so that he can fuck your face with ease. San rocks his hips forward, dick careening further into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. You choke around him, a small noise of complaint follows, and San quickly pulls out of you to look into your eyes. He waits and waits without saying anything. It takes a bit for you to realize that he’s waiting for a verbal confirmation from you, so you provide it through a gasp and a stutter.

“I’m o-okay, I’m okay. I wanna keep go-going. Can we keep going?”

San offers a gentle smile in return and nods. The softness in his features dissipates the next second, and he slams his cock back into your mouth. You’re more prepared for it this time, taking him deeper without choking, and you try your best to just focus on relaxing your throat around his member. It works like a charm. With San controlling the pace and your mouth, you just sit back and concentrate on breathing when you can and staying loose for him. Each time his cock breaches your throat, you tighten a little – an involuntary reaction that you can’t keep from doing, but San appreciates the way your throat squeezes his tip. Precum dribbles down as well, leaving a salty and bitter burn in the back of your mouth.

More than arousal and pleasure, there remains a lingering pit of shame in your gut. Embarrassment at how much you love this kind of treatment from San, and how much you love it when he calls you names. Just how filthy the whole thing is causes humiliation to burn in your stomach, but at the same time it’s that humiliation that heightens your arousal and makes you squeeze your thighs together to get some sort of pressure on your clit. San’s thrusts maintain their brutal pace, and he fucks into your mouth with reckless abandon until they grow sloppy and staggered. His breathy moans and gasps have fallen into a state of disarray, and they aren’t even coherent at this point. Thus, it doesn’t surprise you when San spills hot cum down your throat with his next thrust, cock twitching deep inside you and hips coming to a halt. You can only release a quiet whine and gulp the semen down like it’s your last meal.

“Good girl,” San purrs from above you, and he brings his fingers forward to brush the sweat off your forehead. Those same fingers slip down to tug at your lips, and he pulls his cock from your used mouth with a sigh. “Keep it open.”

Your jaw remains limp as San bends over you with his mouth hovering about a foot above yours. The gleam in his eyes remains ever-playful, and you don’t dare look away. Then, he pokes his tongue out, and spit is suddenly dribbling onto your awaiting tongue. The humiliation you feel grows tenfold because you clench your legs so tight that it causes an unexpected orgasm, and you hunch over as you cum, shoulders trembling the whole time. San is just as caught off-guard as you are, a laugh of disbelief slipping out, and he squats down to be eye level with you.

“You’re such a slut for me, it’s unbelievable. Right when I think you can’t get any more desirable and perfect, you prove me wrong,” he murmurs, letting his gaze slip over your features. You’re still recovering from your orgasm when he leans over you and presses the softest kiss imaginable to your forehead. “I love you so much.”

...

a/n: dhuiagfdygafgjkhgfkdhlj nice!

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter​ @daniblogs164​ @felixity​ @okokokok123-45​ @jeonartemis​ @crescent-hwa​ @wheresmymoniat​ @nlost21​ @lonely10vely​ @atletino​ @monbecaratstayarmy​ @hello-its-ya-boi​ @onyxblade01​ @kimnamshiks​ @poutychangbinnie​ @toothlessshiber​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @lokihoeforhyunjin​ @ice-cold-taeyong​ @essantial​ @blueish-sun​ @etaerealboy​ @notbeforelong​ @wideawakeficrecs​ @adestinyuwu​ @simpforhyunjin​​ @naajix​​ @lilyliline21​ @leaz-kpop-life​ @hyunjinsicedamerican0​ @marigold-bebee​ @changbinswifu​ @xcookiemonsteer​ @ddalgi-yong​ @seoha​ @jiminq​

unable to be tagged: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale-addict

[grxtsch]

lyin’ eyes

[jimmy page x reader]

summary: after relationship troubles, (y/n) decides to leave and hopefully forget all that’s happened. but when she reaches a place that holds many memories, a certain old friend who she shared those memories with was waiting for her to return.

notes: i don’t know what that summary is but i made it up on the spot so don’t even complain abt it :P

also i personally think that this is my best fic so far so yeah enjoy ig 😩🤚

edit: LMAO this was supposed to be based off of the song by the eagles but my brain had other ideas rip

warnings: cheating (idk if i need to warn u abt that but i’m being safe), swearing, fluff

“(y/n) please wait!” a voice sounded from behind you as you dragged a suitcase filled with your clothes and other possessions to the front door.

“no chris, i’ve waited long enough at the damn restaurant and where were you?” you said, throwing your free hand up in the air. “you were fucking this bitch in our— no, your house.” you seethed back at your now ex-boyfriend, who stood with an expression of grief.

“in fact, i don’t want to wait at anymore restaurants for your stupid ass.” his grief soon turned into anger as you spun around on your heels and walked out the front door.

you could hear him shouting some profanities out of the open door, but you managed to block out his voice and instead focus on the sound of your shoes on pavement as you walked with your suitcase to wherever your feet would lead you.

you were completely done with his bullshit. coming home late claiming he was “working”, flirting with other girls when you two were out shopping, and, just like this night, leaving you stranded at some restaurant for some other chick. it wasn’t even the first time he’s done that. you were ready to leave him before this day had even started; you had spent a few days secretly putting all of your possessions into your handy suitcase, only putting away a couple things at a time so he wouldn’t notice the lack of your items in the house.

before you knew it, you were standing in front of a bar that you used to always go to with one of your dearest friends. “maybe he still comes here.” you thought as you made your way through the bar door and straight to a small booth in the far corner of the building. the same small booth that your friend and yourself had always sat at when you both would come here.

his name was james page, which he preferred jimmy, but you just used james instead to pick some fun at him. the two of you were the closest of friends, ever since your childhood where you fell off of your bike and he ran over to check to see if you were okay. he even went with you to your house just to make sure that you weren’t hurt. even as you both had gotten older, you would both help each other out with homework, watch movies together, and he even taught you some guitar chords and tricks.

the downfall of your friendship happened a while after he joined one of his first bands; the yardbirds. he would always be traveling, performing at different concert venues around the country, and even the world. at first you would just call him or he would call you on these tours, which worked well for awhile, until he got so busy with the band that he didn’t have any time to return your many missed calls.

you missed him dearly, thinking of him from time to time during the day. you often wondered what he was doing at the time when you thought of him, whether it was playing his guitar or just relaxing at wherever he may call home.

you stood up to go grab a beer, hoping to wash your thoughts away, when a very familiar sound reached your ears. it was his laughter. the same sweet laughter you grew fond of whenever you’d be around him. you didn’t know how much you longed to hear that sound again until that very moment, it almost held you in a trance until the beautiful sound melted away and the song that the jukebox was playing had replaced it.

“i was probably just imagining it.” you thought. running a hand through your hair to try and focus back on reality, you continued to the bar, a fairly large opening right in front of you that you could get to quickly. when you reached the bar, you heard a familiar voice say, “(y/n)! long time no see!” you looked up to see the bartender, florence. she has been the same bartender since you and jimmy started coming to this bar, usually just to hang out and talk about different things. you were still surprised that she still worked here, she’s not as young as she used to be, but you were glad that she was here and not some other new bartender.

“hey flo! how’s everything been recently?” you smiled lightly, not really in the mood to talk a lot, but willing to make small conversation with your old friend. “quite good dear! it’s been boring without yourself and jimmy constantly making a ruckus in here though, i kind of miss having to tell the manager about how you two broke the jukebox again!” florence joked, causing you to let out a small laugh. “yeah, those were the good old days, weren’t they?” she smiled. “they really were. anyway! how about a drink for you aye?”

“whiskey. any kind will do.” you replied, which flo nodded and went off to get your drink, coming back in record time with a glass about half way filled with the golden-brown alcohol. you smiled and said a quick “thank you” and carefully took the glass, bidding flo a farewell and she returning it.

you walked back over to your seat, the chat with florence clearing your mind of the earlier events and bringing your mood up a bit. she always had that effect on people, making them crack even a slight smile when they’re feeling blue. right as you were about to sit down, the voice that you never thought you’d hear again called out, “(y/n)? is that you?”

you set your glass down, mentally preparing to see him for the first time in a long, long time. holding your breath, you turn around and see him, the jimmy page, your old best friend. “james?” his hair was longer, barely reaching to his shoulder, and it was slicked back slightly, showing his beautiful green eyes. his smile was still the same, and you swore your heart did a backflip when he smiled at you and said “oh (y/n) i knew it was you! i couldn’t miss that gorgeous hair of yours anywhere.”

you were pretty sure that your face was bright red as you smiled bashfully. “oh thank you jim. and i see you grew yours out hm?” he chuckled, running his hand through his hair softly and said “yeah, i just thought why the hell not you know?” “mhm! i like it a lot, it suits you.” you said back, nudging his shoulder with your knuckle.

he grins and mumbles a quick “thanks”. he then looks back up at you and says “wanna sit and chat for awhile? catch up on all the times we missed?” you nod, motioning for him to sit at the opposite side of where your drink is, and he sat, you following his actions and sitting down as well. you grabbed your glass of whiskey and took a long sip of it, leaving only a small amount left in the bottom of the cup. jimmy’s eyes followed your hand as you set it back on the table, then his eyes flicked back up to meet yours, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“is everything alright? i haven’t seen you drink like that in, well, i’ve never seen you drink like that.” you sighed, drawing your finger around the rim of the cup gently. “if i’m being honest, no. a year after we, y’know, stopped talking, i found a guy and we got along quite well and started dating.” you noticed jimmy’s hand clenched into a fist, so you continued.

“everything was fine between us, until recently. he started going after other girls, even with me around him. he even asked me on a date just so i would stay, because i told him that if he doesn’t get his shit together then i’m just going to leave. we were supposed to meet at a restaurant, but of course he didn’t show up even when he’s the one who wanted me to go with him and not the other way around. so i went back to our former shared house and found him fucking some random chick that i’ve seen him flirt with before.” you stared at your drink, before grabbing it and finishing it off. as soon as you set the glass back, jimmy’s hand softly reached for yours and held it, caressing his thumb over your knuckles.

you rose your eyes up to meet jimmy’s, his eyes holding a soft, caring look, the same look that you’ve longed to see for many years. “it’s fine though, really. it’s not like i really loved him anyway..” you lied, thinking of when you first met chris, how happy he made you. but you realized that a certain someone, perhaps the someone sitting across from you, had made you happier than chris could’ve.

“(y/n) love, your lying eyes really give away that you did love him at one point, and it’ll take a while to try and un-love him, trust me.” a soft hand came in contact with your cheek, gently wiping a stray tear away that you didn’t notice had fallen. looking back up at jimmy, you smiled at him and brought your hand that wasn’t occupied and rested it against his. “i know jimmy, but i think i’ve already moved on from that asshole.”

his eyes flashed with a glimmer of hope, and he softly nodded, a small smile painting his face. he paused, then cautiously asked; “i know we’ve only talked for a few minutes, and you can refuse this offer, but how about we ditch this bar and go somewhere else?” you brought jimmy’s hand down to rest on the table, holding them both with your warm hands and nodded. “yeah, i’d like that.” he stood up from the seat, pulling you up with him.

“well then, what are we waiting for?”

tag list: @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @asetcrowley @reincarnated70sbaby @thebeatlesuniverse @princesspagey @jonesyjonesyjonesy

[kanene-yaaay]

Go to Sleep

Kanene’s note: Gosh, having a schedule is weird. I just wanna post everything I already wrote and ramble non stop about it asdfgtyujkigfdo. XD

Well, this was suppose to be a drabble, but it’s very long so sdftyujikgfred. I hope you like it!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders from the serie Sanders Sides.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. If you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Virgil with Ler!Roman. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Listen a bit to the birds today. Changing the way you think is not a bad thing. Drink water, sleep, eat and love!

[~*~]

Roman growled, missing by a few inches the button of his thunderous, infuriating alarm before finally hitting it. Staring and blinking lazily at the numbers his brain struggled to discern and recognize, only to confirm it was really time to wake up and start the day. He grabbed his pillow and squeezed it with all the strength he could muster, rolling from one side to other on the mattress, trying to wake up his body as quick as his mind and almost falling from the bed a reasonable number of times during the process.

 He got up, yawing, stretching and humming as the first lyrics of the day stuck on his head, hand rubbing at his eyes as he followed the kitchen’s direction with slow steps and tired sways on the beat of the song.

 Two dark, wide eyes stared right back at him, their owner completely frozen on the spot with his hand inside the cabinet, probably already holding some sort of a snack. Roman also stopped mid-step, gears running inside his mind, gaze locked on the other, his brow progressively furrowing.

“Virgil,” he began, voice slightly hoarse “What the heckty heck are you doing up? It’s barely seven in the morning!” Virgil only stared back, slowly closing the cabinet’s door, as if afraid the movement would startle the other. Roman proceeded to get some eggs and other cold ingredients from the refrigerator for the breakfast, his words growing more awake and vivid as they spilled with no filter or whatsoever from his lips. “You got an early shift again or something? Those are absolutely hellish. A bunch of people exhausted, tired and glaring at you as if you are the holder of all their problems and their solutions can only be achieved by being insufferable pieces of- Urg. I can’t believe they would give you one right after you got the night one. Damn, I didn’t even see you arriving here yesterday!”

 He turned his attention back at the other, looking for a kind of frustration in the place of the still startled, wide gaze which continued to be directed at him. Virgil nodded slowly, stepping away and putting some physical distance between him and the confusion on Roman’s features.

 Then, between the strings of sleepiness that clouded his brain, it clicked.

 Suddenly more details on the other’s behavior started to become clearer: the way Virgil’s hair was messier than his usual ““style”” (Roman scoffed mentally, thinking that if he rolled his eyes any harder they would never come back to his normal place again), his wary, yes, but way too much slow movements, the way he seemed to be unable to stop blinking at every millisecond and, above it all, the final piece of the puzzle.

 Virgil wasn’t wearing his pajamas.

 “YOU DIDN’T!” Roman gasped, as if Virgil’s life choices were a personal attack. “YOU DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT!!” A turn of heels and he was again fixating his glare on the other, his free hand accusingly pointing in his direction, receiving an annoyed hiss as immediate answer.

 “Shut up!” Virgil snarled, practically growling back at him. “It’s fucking seven am don’t be so freaking loud.”

 “Don’t change the subject! Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

 The one being questioned just snorted, half amused. “Bold of you to assume I’d ever sleep in my whole life.”

 “That is it.” Virgil didn’t even have the time to wonder the meaning of his friend’s sentence before the aforementioned picked him up, resulting to a not very contained shriek escaping from his lips and his hands not much gracefully – or gently, although since they were keen on just jumping on each other out of nowhere to play fight Princey would be fine - meeting his friend’s face.

 “Roman! What the he-”

 “Did you just SLAP me? My beautiful face?! Before my own beautiful eyes??” Virgil Storm always got, even if he would never admit this out loud, surprised with Roman’s capacity of doing a series of offended incoherent noises which evolved to words before being carefully metamorphosed in weird noises all over again, and in the end still managing to form comprehensible sentences. His surprise did nothing to quell the grumpy snark immediately flying from lips, though.

 “And I’m going to do it again if you don’t let me go in this exact instant.”

 “You go and try to help and that is the acknowledgement you get,” The one wearing pajamas with little crows printed on it huffed, mumbling in a lower tone as he noticed the sharp gaze being thrown in his direction. “fucking unbelievable.”

 “I still can hear you, Princey. You’re literally carrying me.”

 “I sTiLL cAn HeAr yOu-OW! Ow! Ow!” The sentence was interrupted when the sleep deprived one punched Roman’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

 “Let me fucking gAAH!” In a way his wish was granted, one could say as they watched his protest being cut as Storm was impolitely tossed on his bed, Roman quickly following his friend on the mattress, arms hugging him from behind, and physically preventing him from escaping his current soft predicament. “Prince, you’re dead.”

 “Shhh, no talking. We’re sleeping.”

 “We are not. You are being a pain in ass and I am about to defenestrate you.” Despite his fervent protests, his sharp, flaming glare began to lose its heat, his body not doing any actual effort to free himself from the other’s – strong, good - grip, muscles starting to relax against the great warmth involving him in a comfortable and secure blanket.

 “Sure, sure, mister Grumpy Pants, you can do that when you wake up.” He tightened a bit his hold around Virgil, yet being the most careful as possible, actively ignoring the annoyed hiss his friend gave him. His hoodie was really fluffy at the touch, slightly remembering his stuffed animals he frequently hugged to sleep.

 For a moment, everything was pleasantly quiet. The one with smudged makeup, since he hadn’t time to get it off before being trapped by his roommate and best friend, felt the tiredness becoming sleepiness as the seconds went by.

 …That was until an electric sensation shot across his spine, leading him to almost jump in the same place 

 “S-stop nuzzling me!”

 “Hm? Oh sorry.” Virgil pressed his lips tightly closed, preventing the wobbly giggles to escape as Roman speaks, not realizing how close his mouth was from the base of his neck, every breath sending tickly shocks across every nerve. “You’re just too much sooooft.”

 Roman opened an eye when realized that no snark remark from the other followed his words, the figure in his arms shaking too much to be asleep. A frown painted his feature as he readjusted the position of his hands, trying to get a bit more of balance to look at Virgil’s face when suddenly a high-pitched yelp escaped, cutting the air and immediately catching their attention.

 “Did you just squeal?” He questioned as his glare assumed a playful shine seeing a blush spread on his now frozen friend.

 “It was NOT a squeal! It was a yelp.” Virgil’s words came so fast that they almost tripped on themselves. Roman snorted, a smile taking over his face. “Get off me!” and, in the moment the one wearing a hoodie tried to pry his hand from the spot on his right side where it was resting, the pieces finally clicked in the right place and his smile quickly submerged, giving space to a smirk.

 ‘No WAY Doctor Doom and Gloom is ticklish!’

 However, the red lover only blinked as the true personification of innocence and naiveness, his hand firm in its place, fingers starting to slowly move, light pokes being delivered on the sensitive skin. “But why that, Knight Mare? It’s cold and all I could ever want is just to hug my bestest friend!”

 “You already hugged me, now go aWAY!” His voice trembled in the last second, the exact moment his thumb experimentally scratched the spot right under the lowest ribs, leading a surprised squeak to leave Virgil’s mouth.

 They both stared at each other, gleaming, filling their wide eyes.

 “No.” Virgil said, trying to squirm away but finding himself stuck between Prince and the wall. Roman didn’t even attempt to hide his smug grin, anymore. This was going to be so much fun

 “Don’t you dare! Don’t you freaking dare!!” His friend only laid down again, now carefully, yet firmly, pulling him one more time against his chest, growling playfully. Years and years fighting for the Tickle Monster title on his family, battles and battles against Remus only sharpening his skills, which showed by the way his fingers seemed to find every single weak spot on Virgil’s skin, wiggles, scribbles, pokes and scratching exploring everywhere. “No! Nononono! You fucker, you moron, you bitch, you-” A few chuckles cut his curses as he one wearing pajamas squeezed his side a couple of times, the tip of his fingers also teasing his ticklish stomach. “Roman!!”

 “No, no, my so dear, so ticklish, friend. Roman is no longer here, this is…” He paused for a dramatic effect, basically beaming at the giggly giggles and wiggly wiggles from the other. He shoved his face on his neck, the next words vibrating almost as bad as the spidering on his ribs. “The Tickle Monster!!”

[lollytea]

Girl Talk

(ngl I hate this sm. I wrote this fic yesterday, the file corrupted and i lost everything, had a breakdown, rewrote everything the next day because I am obnoxiously stubborn. Anyways Hunter and Luz content. Bon Appetit?)

(READ ON AO3)

“Okay, but what am I even supposed to say to her? Oh! Maybe I could write down some jokes on the back of my glyph slips in case things get awkward. Wait, no, I don't want her to think I'm not taking this seriously. I don't need to be goofy all the time just to hang out with her. I need her to know that I'm serious about her and this whole...romantic thing. And I know she gets upset when she thinks I'm making fun of her so...”

“Alright, so, get this. It says here that there was once this old witch who lived on the outskirts of Latissa and his whole thing was experimenting by mixing paints and magic together. Apparently the stuff he created was like....super powerful.”

“I mean, she said she likes me 'cause I'm goofy and funny and lovable and...and...and I'm sure there's other adjectives I could use but I'm drawing a blank here. So, who am I to deprive her of what she signed up for? But I can't just....ugh, I can't even think right!”

“It doesn't have a lot of info on his specific technique but I'm sure if we did some more research, we could successfully replicate his experiments. We're pretty good at figuring stuff out. Woah, wait. I wonder what would happen if we created glyphs with this paint....maybe it would enhance the spell's level of power. Oh, that would be so cool!”

Luz stopped pacing, the floorboards practically burning after she thoroughly wore down the surface with her frantic footsteps. She set a hand on her hip and turned a withering look on her guest.

“Call me coocoo but I don't think you're listening to a word I say.”

Hunter lifted his head to blink up at her, chewing on the end of a pen. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, boxed in by towers of Eda's Wild Magic books.

There was a glassy look in his eye, as if he was trying to get his bearings after being abruptly yanked out of an alternate dimension.

He had been, in a way. Luz was inclined to call it “Booksville.”

When Luz first met Hunter, this sort of stuff was a big, huge No-No for him. She could've invited him to take a look at any one of those books, packed with information on that obsession of his and of course, he'd be crazy with intrigue but he would hesitate. If he even opened the book at all, he'd card through the pages with an almost jumpy sense of caution, as if the paper itself would sting his fingers.

Well, that ship had certainly sailed. It had taken him a while to get fully comfortable but nowadays, Hunter didn't ask twice before digging into the contents of Eda's books, soaking up every tidbit of every sentence until he had exhausted every page.

He had even brought his own index flags to mark his favorite passages. He had gone on a little rant earlier about how Eda was an outright maniac for dog-earring the page corners.

Luz made a mental note to never show him the state of her Azura books. He would probably cry.

Hunter had become so lost in the Wild Magic sauce, he didn't even seem to care about the fact that he was not supposed to be here.

Of course, Eda didn't mind that he was here. That is to say, Luz didn't technically tell her he was here. She and King were currently out, being menaces to society and all that fun stuff, as they usually were before Luz would sneak Hunter in.

So, to be fair, Eda had never specifically said that Luz was not allowed to let The Golden Guard of the Emperor's coven into their home.

It was probably fine, right?

Yeah, it was probably fine that Luz had been hiding The Golden Guard of the Emperor's coven in her bedroom like some kind of forbidden pet.

Speaking of forbidden pets, that precious red cardinal of his was perched like a Christmas decoration atop his shoulder. That little rascal did wonders for Hunter. He seemed so much cuter than he was when there was an adorable little palisman snuggling up to him.

Once Hunter had processed what Luz said to him, his features screwed up tight. He was offended.

“Whadd'ya mean I'm not listening? I bet you can't repeat anything I was just talking about.”

“Ugh! Yeah, Hunter, I heard you. Paints! You wanna start painting as a hobby and let me just tell you, I fully support your budding creativety and will hype up your work with my entire heart but please. Right now I am having a full blown Amity Calamity!”

“Yeah, okay, that is not what I was talking about. Also, I get that you're freaking out n' all but....what do you expect me to do about it?” He threw his hands about wildly, at a complete loss. “Man, I don't know anything about that stuff,”

“I don't knowww....” Luz groaned. “I just....ugggghhh.” She buried her head in her hands, ruffling her hair into oblivion, like it would miraculously stimulate her brain cells into action. It released some pent up frustration, at least. “I wish it was easier for us to just talk about girls together.”

Hunter perked up. “Talk about girls? Are you kidding? Of course we can talk about girls, dummy!”

“Wait, really?” Luz asked, taken aback by this apparent development.

“Yeah, for sure. One sec,” Buzzing with eagerness, Hunter dove into his stacks of books, emerging seconds later with a worn, dust encrusted volume. It was so ancient, the title had faded away but Hunter still put his finger to where the big letters should be.

“Notable Female Witches of The Savage Ages,” He rattled off delightedly. “They were considered the mothers of Wild Magic. Their style of spell was really quite advanced, see they--”

Despite her frayed nerves, Luz sill managed a weak laugh.

As insufferable as he could be sometimes, she really did like this nerd a lot.

“Okay, Hunter. Buddy,” She said gently. “This stuff sounds really cool and I wanna hear all about it at some point buuuut....when I say girls, I mean...y'know. Amity specifically.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

Hunter's face fell with disappointment but he was quick to snap back into a look of cool indifference. He shut the book in his lap with a soft thump, set it aside and turned his full attention to Luz.

“Sooooo...” he began awkwardly, scratching at his ear. It could not be more obvious that Hunter wanted nothing to do with this discussion. But Luz appreciated that he was trying. “Girlfriend problems, huh? Shoot.”

Luz's cheeks darkened. “Heh. 'Girlfriend'. Yeah, that's...uh...” She was suddenly very inconvenienced by the existence of her own hands so she clasped them together tight to keep herself from fidgeting. “That is.....a word for Amity.”

Hunter frowned, puzzled. “Okaaaay? So, what's the issue?”

“Ohhhhhh, boy.” An ironic, long suffering smile stretched across her face. “Let me just tell you that there is a lot goin' on up here, pal.” Luz tapped her finger against her temple. “So if I'm gonna give you the full unabridged version--”

“You could summarize it.”

“You know I don't know how to do that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hunter sighed. “Figured it was worth a shot. Okay, let's hear it.”

“Alright but this is gonna be a lot so I suggest you strap yourself in,”

Luz sucked in a deep inhale, with full intent to let the entire flood of thoughts cascade out her mouth.

Hunter's eyes snapped to the floor, like he was actually looking for a safety harness to attach himself to. Then he seemed to realize that was ridiculous, as he scowled to himself. Little Rascal chirped and he irritably mumbled something under his breath in response.

And then Luz took off.

“Alright, so!” She announced, clapping her hands together. “So me and Amity have known each other fooooor...a while now? Yeah, it's been a while. And we've been pretty good friends ever since and then one day, she rescued me from her scary mom and she had this black flowing cape and her voice went all low and then suddenly, huh. Doki doki, y'know?” She thumped a fist against her chest. “I was gettin' all feelings-y up in here,”.

“And then a little later I figured out that we were both feeling kinda feelings-y and I was all like,” She mimed a brain explosion. “Pshww....”

“Pshww....” Hunter repeated quietly, testing out the little sound effect on his tongue. “Doki...doki....?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Doki doki. Pshww.” Luz nodded, as if he had made a valuable contribution. “So, now we're both here in the same boat, fully shish kebab-ed by Cupid's arrow.”

“Hold up. What language are you speaking?”

“And things are....great? Nice? Sorta hard to believe but stuff actually happens. We hold hands a few times, we...” The volume of her voice dropped to a bashful murmur. “we kiss a few times. There was so many beautiful, amazing romance-y moments that happened, just like in movies, y'know?”

“Movies....?” Hunter's bewildered stare turned from Luz to the bird on his shoulder, as if he was going to get any further clarification from either of them.

“Right! But here's the thing. It sorta feels like all that stuff just went by in a blur. I don't even know how I did any of that. The hand holding, the smooches the....ugh! It was like I was on autopilot or something and now I have no idea how to operate. Now, no matter how hard I try to get the vibe right, I can recreate those moments. So now it's starting to feel like...I don't know how to do anything!”

Luz's arms were whizzing around like an out of control windmill.

“I mean, Sure, Amity takes the lead sometimes but I can't make her carry this entire....relationship? Flirtationship? Whatever it is that's happening here! I gotta act or something! But I've been thinking about it waaaay too much. I never know the right time to hold her hand, I never know if she wants me to tell her she looks cute or if now maybe isn't the right time or...it's awkward, okay?! I've been making it awkward 'cause I don't know what to do! I-I don't even know for sure if we're dating! We've never talked about it!”

The last sentence came out as a squeak and Luz realized she had used up all her oxygen and needed to take a breather.

Hunter had not said a word but Luz did not know what to make of that dissecting stare of his, that studied her with a mixture of confusion and fascination. Like she was some kind of peculiar animal. A flushed, panting, peculiar animal.

“So.” He said finally, holding his palm out for Little Rascal to migrate from his shoulder to his hands. “Why don't you talk about it?”

He asked like it was the obvious solution. Luz was a little irked by it, but she kept her patience.

“Oh, Hunter. Sweet Hunter.” She heaved an exhausted sigh. “It is not that simple.”

He still didn't seem to understand. “Well, why not?”

“'Cause it's--.....Uh.” Luz trailed off, twirling her wrist around as if expecting to snatch an eloquent articulation out of thin air.

“Okay. Lemme put it like this. Amity is....really special. To me. Sometimes I still can't believe that she's real and she's friends with me and she likes me and....whew.” She pressed her fingertips to her cheek, surprised by the warmth. Even thinking that sort of stuff prompted a blush or two but it seemed saying it out loud made her face scalding.

“Anyway, now that we're going through....this, everything feels so much more....fragile?” Her voice rose in pitch, uncertain if 'Fragile' was even a suitable word to describe her feelings. It was just a vague, wishy-washy concept to describe.

“Like I feel like I could break it all so easy, just by....” Wait, she knew. She had figured out her handle on this.

“Just by being me.” She felt an ache just by admitting it, but it was the truth. Luz exhaled unsteadily to compose herself, clasping her fists tight into the fabric of her shorts and she continued...calmly.

“I can't risk doing anything that's gonna push her or make her uncomfortable or scare her away or...y'know, ruin this.” She held up her palms with a heavy shrug. “I-I don't have a plan and it would be way too reckless to wing it. Who knows what would come out of my mouth? She tells me a billion times that my weirdness is what she likes about me but...it can just as easily be the thing she hates if I overdo. I can't overdo it.

Luz was expecting Hunter to look at her like she was dumb again, but surprisingly, he nodded. A slow, thoughtful nod, as he absentmindedly scratched Little Rascal under the chin.

As the silence filled a little longer, she was starting to believe he had nothing else to add, which was fine. She had wanted to rant her heart out but realistically, she couldn't imagine Hunter having any advice for her. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

“Hey, Luz.” He said at last, voice surprisingly breezy. “You know those books that you really like? Uhh, with the nice witch Azuzu or whatever,”

“It's the Good Witch Azura!” Luz snapped, hands flying to her hips. “And I know you just pretended to not know her name. You're just trying to be cool.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The corner of Hunter's lip tweaked upwards. “And wasn't there that other witch that you liked to pretend was Azura's girlfriend?

Luz scoffed, finding it utterly unbelievable that this obnoxious little man had the audacity to be so dismissive towards her favorite book series, when she had been sweet enough to smuggle him in here.

“She was not her 'Girlfriend', she was her 'Soulmate' and if you even listened to me talk about it, you would know that. For your information, her name was Hecate and she began as Azura's rival but over the course of the series, they developed a beautiful, unbreakable bond that was jam packed with heavy romantic subtext. I mean, even their declaration of their eternal friendship in Book Five, which was really emotionally poignant by the way, reads so much like a love confession, it's a crime. And it's like...Ladies! Just kiss already!”

“Okay. Right. Sure. I understood some of that.”

“I mean, I guess I've read a ton of Heczura fanfics to tide me over. It's hard to find a fic where they don't kiss. Hold on, you know what fanfiction is, right?”

“Yeah.” The light in Hunter's eyes dimmed. “You made me sit through that three hour long slideshow presentation, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Luz popped a finger gun. “That was fun,”

It was fun, but a lot of work. Hunter was pouting over losing a measly three hours of his time. Well, newsflash, nerd, Luz spent two weeks working on that. Nobody is getting their hours back.

“And what usually happens in those fanfictions?” Asked Hunter, propping his chin up with his hand, as Little Rascal hopped over to a pile of books. “How do they end?”

“I told you, they kiss. A lot of the time they look deeply into each others eye and talk about how they complete each other like two halves of one heart. And y'know, moments of miscellaneous fluff.”

“Uh huh. Interesting,” He mused, tapping his pen against his bottom lip.

Luz knew Hunter could be a little...eccentric but was he really analyzing fanfiction right now? Where did the sudden interest come from?”

“So, uh, besides Azura and Hecate, are there any other...boats(?) that you--”

“Ships.” Luz corrected him.

Hunter snapped his fingers. “Right. Ships. Basically love stories that you really like.”

“We talkin' canon or non canon?”

Hunter squinted at her, lost. Seems somebody was not taking enough notes during the slideshow presentation. “Both? A-all...?”

“Oh, well, there's a bunch.”

Luz had no intention of listing every single ship that had captured her heart. They would be here all week.

“I've spent my whole life reading books, watching movies and anime and--”

“Anime...?”

“Hunter, please!” Luz squeaked as calmly as she possibly could, but she could not deny that she had started to vibrate. “You have no idea how excited you just made me at the thought of teaching you about anime but I'd need to dedicate a whole day to that 'cause I need to meet Amity soon and I'm still sorta in crisis mode. So, let's stay on topic.”

Her brow furrowed. “Whatever the heck the topic is! Why are we talking about ships, Huntifer?”

He waved off her question. “Okay but how does the story usually end for all your ships? The book ones, the anime ones, all of them,”

“We've been over this with the fanfiction discussion. They kiss, Hunter. Geez, you want a diagram or something?”

“But what else?” He prompted.

“What do you mean 'What else?'”

Now this was just getting ridiculous.

“They kiss!” Luz said with a huge amount of emphasis. “And again, miscellaneous fluff. They'll do stuff like pick each other up and swing around, hold hands and....walk off into the sunset, y'know?” She waved off all that extra padding as unimportant to the conversation. (Though Luz did really enjoy miscellaneous fluff.)

“Well yeaaaah,” Hunter was giving off vibes of a grade school teacher who gave her little nudges in the correct direction but ultimately wanted her to figure out the right answer herself. She wished he could just give it to her because honestly, she didn't know where this any of this was going.

“But when exactly do they ask each other if they're dating?”

“Whaa?” Well, that settled it. He had paid no attention to the slideshow whatsoever. “Nah, nah, they don't do stuff like that. They don't have to 'cause they're already perfect for each other. All they gotta do is look into each others' eyes and they just...” Luz shrugged, feeling lightness bubble in her chest at the very thought. She had a feeling her smile looked pretty dopey. “They just know.”

“Right. And why don't you and Amity just know?”

The bubbles burst and the lightness turned to dead weight.

The question speared through Luz's gut. Her entire body went rigid.

She had known but...

She had been trying not to...

Not to think about it.

Because if she thought about it, she knew she'd cry.

But there is was. A culmination of every coil of underlying dread that had been gradually writhing in her stomach in a monster of anxiety, summarized in a short and sweet collection of simplistic little words.

Luz did not just know when it came to Amity. She was constantly taking shots in the dark. That is, if she was even brave enough to take a shot at all.

The two of them together were not as seamlessly synchronized as couples in love were supposed to be.

Her throat stung.

Her vision went cloudy with blotted tears but she managed to catch Hunter's stony expression break into one of sheer panic.

“Wh-- Luz! Hey!” He yelped, scrambling to pick himself up from the floor. He nearly tripped over his books as he stood and hurried over to close the distance between them. He made to reach out to her but his hand stopped, just as it was about to brush against her shoulder. It hovered there for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling with uncertainty.

“Luz, listen, I wasn't....I-I mean, what I meant was...uhh. C-c'mon, cut it out!” Hunter's voice crackled with desperation and despite crying her eyes out, Luz felt the watery chuckle at the back of her throat.

“Aww, does crying make the Golden Guard uncomfy?” She tried to tease but her words came out all wobbly.

In fairness to the poor guy, it probably did. Luz couldn't imagine that dealing with tears in a delicate matter, was ever something he would need to handle in his line of work.

For all she knew, this was his first time having to comfort someone like this.

“You don't get to make jokes and cry at the same time. You gotta pick one.” Hunter snipped, but his tone was not nearly as cutting as usual. Luz was almost tempted to call it soft.

Clearing her eyes with the heel of her hands, she finally felt that warm touch on her shoulder, and then another rest against her upper arm.

Somehow the gentleness cracked all her remaining composure and she dissolved into ragged sobs.

Hunter did not speak nor did he let go out her until she got every tear out of her system. He waited patiently, tracing circles with his thumb into her skin.

Eventually, her sniffles fell silent and her eyes no longer blurred. She took a deep breath and the following exhale was shaky but manageable.

“Are you....good?” He asked cautiously.

Luz nodded.

Hunter removed his hands so carefully, you'd think doing so would cause her physical pain. He must have heard once that people were more prone to being hurt when they were already upset and assumed it was literal.

“Do you really think that...Amity and I....” Luz's voice was low and quiet but her jaw was set tight. She refused to let her words be whimpered. She looked up, meeting Hunter's eyes. “Aren't right for each other?”

“What? No! No, no, no,” Hunter looked positively alarmed at the accusation. “Luz th-that's not even remotely what I meant by that.”

“Well, then I guess you accidentally hit the nail on the head.” Luz managed a strained, bitter little smile. “'Cause it's true.”

“Luz, c'mon,” Hunter groaned, exasperated. “Don't talk like that, you've got it mixed up.”

“No.” Said Luz, tone quiet, polite yet strikingly obstinate. “You were right, Hunter.”

For someone who loved being right, he didn't seem thrilled at all.

“When it comes to Amity, I don't just know. I don't always know what she's thinking or what she wants from me. After all this time, I-I shouldn't still be trying to figure her out,”

Luz wanted to figure her out. Every time she was in her orbit, she wanted nothing more to turn over every last piece of that girl and find every hidden gem.

But now, it like she was barricaded. Something was keeping her from moving forward, from discovering Amity.

“I mean, we've kissed.” The memories of Amity were turning more and more bittersweet by the second “I told her I loved her! We had our happy ending already! A-at least I thought it was a happy ending. But we're not acting like people who are made for each other are meant to act!”

“How do you even know how people who are meant for each other are meant to act?!” Hunter demanded, as though it wouldn't reach Luz's skull unless he raised his voice. “In all the love stories you've read, it always ends with a kiss, doesn't it?”

“And--”

“And miscellaneous fluff. Yeah, I get it.” Hunter shooed the detail away before clearing his throat.

“Point is, they never talk about what comes after. You don't read about all those awkward talks where they decide if they're dating or not and talks about what they're okay with and what they're not. It always just cuts to the perfect, shiny romantic stuff, all tied up with a bow and because of that,” He clutched Luz by the shoulders.”You don't know how to move forward in a relationship 'cause you've never had a frame of reference to help you along.”

“Hey, that's not true!” She tore away from Hunter's grip. “I'll have you know that I imagine my favorite ships as couples all the time,”

“Yeah and lemme guess,” He droned, setting a hand on his hip and launching into a mockingly saccharine tone of voice. “They understand each other soooo well all the time, they can practically read each others' mind and everything is smooth sailing and peachy all the time.”

“Yeah, duh.” Luz didn't quite what he was making fun of. “That's what being a ship is all about.”

“Okay, fine, maybe, but I cannot stress this enough,” He ran his fingers through his hair before making a cutting gesture with the side of his hand, directed at Luz. “You are not a ship.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. I'm only one--”

“I mean that the two of you aren't a ship! Listen to me, you're not Azura and Hecate. You're Luz and Amity. You're real people. You've got like a million different emotions and they're messy and crazy and you don't understand most of them.”

“Okay, Hunter, I get it, I'm a hot mess. You don't have to rub it in.”

“We're all hot messes, Luz!” He exploded. “Every single one of us. 'Cause we're real and not book characters.” He was pacing back and forth now as he ranted and raved, gesticulating like a madman.

“We gotta handle all the awkward conversations that don't fit into books. You gotta talk to real people to get them and you can talk to them for years and years but you're never gonna entirely understand them. In your love stories, it's all kisses and happy endings and it's shiny and sparkly and perfect and nerds like you Eat. It.Up!”

Hunter emphasized his point by poking Luz's forehead, shocking a startled laugh out of her. As wound up as he was, the noise surprised him too.

Her laugh was contagious and soon the room was silent, expect for the sound of quiet, breathy giggles.

One of the knots in Luz's stomach had untangled itself. Hunter did make a point that she could understand. Yeah, okay, maybe she had been a little too wrapped up in fiction to successfully navigate through her own life. Luz had never been the most logical person so it was comforting for a levelheaded counter-argument to whatever was currently inflaming her anxiety.

Obviously, this didn't fix everything. Now, she understood why this wasn't easy but that didn't mean she magically knew where to go from here.

Once the shadow of Luz's smile had finally faded away, she looked up and studied Hunter for a long while. Her gaze may have been a bit intense as nervousness began to creep into his features.

“H-hey. Uh. Sorry if I was a little too--”

“Huntifer, I think you might be on to something with this one,”

He blinked at her before brightening with relief, shrugging it off. “Oh. Yeah, maybe. I dunno, I guess it's worth some thought.

Astonishing how Hunter could switch from the cockiest, most obnoxious kid in the Boiling Isles to a remarkably humble guy. Maybe it depended on context. Or he was just embarrassed that he sorta lost control of himself in his impatience.

Luz nodded. “I'd say a lot of thought. But..I think things are still gonna be awkward. With Amity. I still don't know how I'm supposed to talk this stuff through with her.”

Hunter snorted, loosely folding his arms over chest and resting his weight on one hip. And just like that, with that simple change of posture, he looked full of himself again “You wanna know a secret that's probably not much of a secret?”

He beckoned Luz to lean in closer and said in a stage whisper. “Amity probably doesn't know either.”

Huh. Yeah, Luz knew that. She knew that at the back of her mind but...she hadn't really thought about it much. She was a little too preoccupied with her own inexperience.

Hunter's lofty grin softened. “So, it's a good thing neither of you are doing it alone, right? Don't you think you could figure out how together?”

Figure out how together....

The realization sank from the surface of her mind, and everything was processing very fast then suddenly, everything clicked.

Amity.

Luz knew Amity. Luz trusted Amity. Luz loved Amity. If there was any person Luz believed would stumble alongside her through things they didn't quite understand yet, it was Amity. And it occurred to her that Luz would help Amity in return without hesitation.

With enough notches and trimming and smoothing edges, if they worked through this together, Luz and Amity could click too. Maybe not perfectly, not for a while just yet.

But enough that they could make each other happy.

A swing of confidence so strong flooded Luz's system, she swore she nearly collapsed. She felt the grin tugging at her mouth.

She could try. She could absolutely try. They could both try.

“Is...that a yes?” Hunter asked, gauging her expression.

Luz nodded so speedily, it made her head hurt. But then she realized something else and she turned a very specific look on Hunter.

But before he could ask if she was about to attack him, she held up two fingers on each hand and then placed them on either side of her head so they jutted out just behind her ears.

“Man, I don't know anything about that stuff,” Said Luz, in what she believed to be an uncanny imitation of Hunter's voice.

He frowned. “What are the theatrics for?”

“You lied to me!” Luz was delighted.

“I-I didn't lie!” He loudly objected, pointed ears scorching bright pink. “That was just common sense, you doofus. You know, that thing you lack.”

“You know, that thing you lack.” Luz parroted, swinging her hips from side to side. Once again, her impression remained flawless.

“Don't do that!”

“Don't do that!

“Stop, you weirdo!”

“Stop, you weirdo!”

At the peak of riled up, Hunter floundered for a retort that Luz wouldn't shoot back at him with childish mimicking. But then he cracked and wound up sticking his tongue out at her.

Luz simply mirrored him and Hunter huffed indignantly, turning on his heel and stomping back towards his books.

He had barely made a few steps when Luz lunged at him from behind, draping her long, lanky arms around his shoulders.

“Wha—Hey! Get off!” He squawked, struggling to pry her off him as Luz squished her cheek against his.

“Huntifer~” She singsonged. “Can you please calm down for two seconds and let me say thanks already?”

Hunter knotted his arms and his scowl didn't soften but Luz didn't miss how he stopped trying to squirm out of her grip.

“Even though you were kinda rambly and all over the place, what you said helped. It helped a lot. I know this is something I can handle and I know that 'cause of you. Thanks, nerd.”

She waited patiently until she felt his shoulders loosen. And then he glanced back at her and there was a smile. A small, tight, subtle smile but it was good enough for Luz.

And then with a burst of adrenaline, she gripped him tighter and planted a big, wet raspberry on his cheek.

Predictably, Hunter blew his top. He screeched furiously and his hands went wild to push her off but Luz was stronger than she looked. And so help her, she would give Hunter this affection or die trying.

Dying trying did not seem unlikely, actually. Hunter had told her once before that if he ever murdered her, it would probably be her own fault. Luz could not argue with that.

“That is so gross!” He griped, once Luz had finally released him.

“You're gross~” She chirped, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Hunter wiped the spit off his cheek with his palm before looking up at Luz with narrowed eyes

Luz did not have time to brace herself and suddenly she was tackled to the ground. She kicked and she screamed as Hunter dragged his disgusting wet hand across her face.

“GrossGrossGrossGrossGrossGrossGroooooss!”

Hunter cackled maniacally the whole time.

They carried on like rowdy toddlers for a while until Luz had to go meet Amity, leaving Hunter and his palisman to themselves.

It was too weird to admit out loud but he was disappointed that she was gone. Hanging out with her like this wasn't that bad. Talking with her, arguing with her, wrestling with her. It all made Hunter feel....so much like a kid.

Something that he had realized recently was that he still liked being a kid.

In spite of the doom and gloom of white of gold, of the clawed scars in his shoulder, of the spear that grazed his hair, a spark of childishness remained in Hunter that had never been entirely snuffed out.

It wasn't until he met Luz that he began actively trying to keep that spark alive.

The sun had long since fallen asleep by the time Luz returned and the moon was pooling in the sky. A little after sun down, he heard the downstairs door slam shut and the loud exuberant voice of The Owl Lady boomed from the floorboards beneath him. By the sound of it, she was celebrating a successful day's work. Hunter wondered what she and the cute little demon had managed to steal today.

His snoozing palisman was tucked snug in the crook of his neck, a pleasant warmth against his skin. It was a good idea to keep the bird close. If someone other than Luz came barreling into the room, he'd better have his staff on hand to magically conceal himself.

But once an hour passed and the chatter of the witch and the demon below gradually faded into loud snoring, Hunter presumed they had passed out on the couch. For the time being, he should be fine.

Hunter hoped that creepy owl tube thing wouldn't rat them out. Fortunately, Luz had promised that Hooty was willing to take a bribe but unfortunately, gossip spread fast in the Boiling Isles. Now The Golden Guard had a reputation for being a lunatic who visited the night market several times, buying dead mice in bulk.

He snorted to himself, combing through 'From Bones to Fire: A Study of Wild Magic Volume 2'. Everything he went through just to get his hands on knowledge.

Well, also to be young with Luz.

Yet another hour passed and somehow, being surrounded by his own obsession, Hunter got a little overstimulated. To give his brain a rest, he was now flipping through some tattered old magazine that Luz brought with her from the human realm. Some of the articles were practically gibberish to him but overall, it was okay. He learned he was a Scorpio. He didn't know what that entailed but it sounded cool.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Luz burst into the room, announcing her return.

Startled, his palisman flew into a fluster, cheeping like crazy before it settled down atop his head. Hunter, meanwhile, had flung the magazine away so fast, it was like it had contaminated him, and snatched up the closest book to pretend he was reading it the whole time.

Thankfully, Luz didn't notice.

“Hey there, Little Rascal,” She cooed, prancing across the room and plopping down next to Hunter. “And hey, you little bookworm, you.”

“Bookworm?” Hunter knocked his shoulder against hers. “You looking for a fight, kid?”

“Whaaaat? Hunter, you wound me, I was just....Ohhh, my bad. I always forget that our bookworms and your bookworms are two waaaay different things.” She paused thoughtfully before shaking her head. “Actually, I don't retract anything. You look like a bookworm.”

“Yeah, well, you smell like a selkidomus.” Hunter smirked.

“Hey!” Luz bumped their shoulders. “Can you blame me? I've had one heck of a day with lots of nervous sweating!”

He was surprised that got him laughing but that tended to happen around her.

“So, how'd it go?” Hunter asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Luz's beam was as bright as a dozen of her light spells. The corner of her lip was twitching, as if she wanted to smile wider but it was physically impossible.

“We're dating.” She stated, no more than a whisper.

It obvious since the moment she entered the room, far bouncier and bubblier than usual but Hunter still grinned.

He had expected her to scream it from the rooftops, to grind his ribcage into powder with the force of her hug, to set off a riot of firework glyphs, spelling it out in lights.

No matter how she could have chosen to tell him, he would have been just as giddy as she was.

And yet, despite the lack of fanfare, somehow, it still felt so much like Luz. Though he knew that in the morning, she would tell the entire Boiling Isles, right here, right now, only Hunter knew. Something about that felt nice.

But the quiet serene scene was momentarily ruptured when Hunter spotted Luz re-adjusting herself out of the corner of his eye and he was immediately on high alert. Another raspberry, he could sense it.

“Luz, don't you d--”

It wasn't a raspberry.

The feather-light peck against his cheek was gone before he fully processed it, as Luz drew away with that big stupid smile still plastered on her face.

Hunter blinked away the surprise, looking to her with a raised eyebrow.

“What's that look for? In this family, we give each other hugs and kisses~”

He felt his lip quirk upwards as he scoffed, turning away with a shake of his head.

“That was so gross.”

“You're gross.”

“For real, it was even more gross than the raspberry.”

Luz burst into giggles and Hunter could understand why everything was suddenly a million times funnier to her. She will still fizzling with that giddiness that Amity had kissed into her and now it was all spilling out.

To be honest, listening to a teenage girl gush and squeal about her girlfriend did not seem like something Hunter would ever willingly subject himself to.

But this was Luz. His friend, Luz.

He lightly pinched the pudge of her cheek. “Heeeey. You wanna tell me all about it, don't you?”

Luz snapped her head over to gawk at him, astonished. And then the excitement took hold and her hands started flapping and she looked about ready to explode with delight. Her mouth was already flying open to give every solitary detail of her evening with Amity Blight.

But then she stopped, a crease forming on her brow. He caught that unreadable look she gave him and the way her eyes skimmed over the books that scattered the floor around them.

“Hmmm.” She stroked her chin with an over dramatic 'thinking' face. “Y'know what? I'll think I'll keep it all to myself.”

“Oh, really~?” Grinned Hunter. “I can only imagine all the romantic schmaltzy sickening stuff that occurred tonight. Miscellaneous fluff, right?”

Judging by the blood that stained her cheekbones, he must have been correct.

“Hey, Hunter.” She said quietly, resting her weight against his side. “You've been lost in your books for hours now. Would you mind telling me all about the most interesting you read about today? Reading myself is fine but it's way better to hear all about it from a bona fide nerd.”

Frankly, it was embarrassing how fast the giddiness practically electrocuted him and suddenly he found himself rambling. He rambled until his voice gave up but it didn't bother him at all because it was just Luz.

Luz hung on every word he said.

[tvitr]

uwu I don’t make the ruwules

(Okay fine, reasons/opinions below the cut but be warned! I won’t be holding back on game or book spoilers. Or rambling. This got longer than I anticipated lol)

BETTER IN THE BOOK

Eis “Fireman Sam” Glover: I don’t know what the game was trying to do with this one. I guess he gets overwhelmed by the fire and loses his composure or gets scared or... something?  Also why did he not bring a hose. Or a mask.  This is why so many reviewers thought Wonderworld was a metaphor for purgatory and all the inhabitants are dead I swear. Who cares, the book handled it a lot better. I wouldn’t say it’s perfect, but there’s definitely a good idea here with some interesting themes. The gist is that he feels ashamed following his captain’s orders to retreat during a serious blaze, which his colleagues disobeyed, and his colleagues are later hailed as heroes by the press.  Is Balan the Book trying to take on toxic masculinity...? How brave. Tl;dr, the book conveyed the story a Hell of lot better than the game. Honestly I’m surprised this is the only one.

BETTER IN THE GAME

Haoyu “Airplane Boi” Chang: So the book tried waaaay too hard to draw a parallel between Haoyu and Fiona (aka, Dolphin Girl) to the point that they both share a similar backstory, in that they had a hobby which led to a near-fatal accident and now they’re too traumatised to resume said hobby. And that’s not a bad thing per se but... “near fatal accident” was already Fiona’s backstory. We didn’t need a duplicate. And this is more personal preference, but I kinda liked Haoyu’s story in the game anyway. His failure at building a functioning aeroplane out of crap he found in his garage is endearingly funny in the game, and the resolution of him taking time out to sit down and study before building anything is a nice spin on the whole “if at first you don’t succeed” theme the chapter wanted. 

Sana “Bird Lady” Hudson: So the book decided they didn’t want to make Cal an angry sore loser so guess what? They made Sana an angry misanthrope. Wonderful. Okay maybe that’s harsh, but she definitely came off as very bitter and unsympathetic in the book. Like there’s a scene at the end where she harasses a firefighter and tries to steal a fire engine because they’re working on a building fire and not supervising her park. That’s not a character you wanna root for. That’s a Karen. The game had a better plot thread and resolution to her story rather than a boring cookie-cutter “humans vs. nature grrrr humans are so evil” story, like the game story here had a bit more depth to it and approached the topic more maturely than the book did. Which is ironic considering how hilariously edgy the book gets sometimes, but I guess throwing a few smashed eggs and frozen bird skeletons into your story doesn’t mean anything if you’re still going to paint such a black-and-white narrative.

Iben “Frozen Elsa” Bia: This story didn’t need dialogue. Like... we don’t need her to justify why she’s upset her parents are dead because we’d already assume that. They’re her parents! Of course we’d assume she’d be upset! They died! Simultaneously! That’s horrible! WE DON’T NEED HER TO EXPLAIN THIS! Also her dialogue in the book was... pretty terrible, not gonna lie. Like if you’re gonna insist on dialogue at least make it gOOD. I’m actually planning on just reviewing her book scene so I can fully articulate just how bad it is anyway, so stay tuned for that mess lol.

FINE IN BOTH

I mean there’s not really too much to say here but anyways:

Jose/”The Farmer” having a family in the book gives him a bit more depth, even if we never hear from them again after his backstory dump.

Fiona/”Dolphin Girl” almost drowns in a slightly different way, with a dolphin straight up pulling her mask off rather than knocking it out of her mouth, and the book also goes more into detail about her love for diving and dolphins. Also the book ships her and Haoyu like. So hard. Like they never shut up about how similar they are or what they other’s doing or if the other’s okay or not. By the end of it I was expecting them to just start making out in front of everyone, they’re that obsessed with each other. And it would be funny if they didn’t use this to wreck Haoyu’s backstory like I mentioned earlier.

Yuri/”Bug Kid”/”Is that a Pokémon reference?” is now being kinda bullied for liking bugs, which yeah gives her more depth and reason to be upset but I also kinda related to her just being that One Kid with interests that nobody else had. But it’s not as bad as some of the other changes, so I can let it slide.

Atillio/Clown and Bruce/Old Man are the same, nothing to say here.

Lucy/”The Artist” is a total drama queen but then again so are Art People so I can let it slide. I did like them changing her problem from “artist’s block” (seriously?) to her feeling too under pressure to create masterpieces, unless that’s what the game was aiming for? Oh who cares.

JUST A BIG MESS

Cass “Dead Cat Girl” Milligan: This is a weird one because the story is the same between the game and book (though the book mentions she witnessed a more severe car accident rather than a speeding car which she assumes kills the cat, and the cat isn’t even her cat, it’s a stray) but the story itself is... flawed. According to the book, they wanted to convey the idea that running away from the accident was irresponsible, and she just needed to look back and she’d see her cat is okay, but the game kind of makes it look more like Balan turned back time to save her cat, and the book mentions a serious car crash which I don’t think anyone would willingly return to. I feel there’s a better way to convey this idea of being responsible for your pets, like say her cat escapes from the house and gets lost, and her resolution is going out and properly looking for it. That’s a more effective (and natural) way to relay that message, especially as they weren’t going to commit to the idea of grieving a lost pet.

I’M CONFLICTED

Cal “Chess Daddy” Suresh: God this was a tough call. On one hand Cal’s game backstory is one of the ones most YouTube players single out as the weakest backstory in the game. He’s just “that guy who lost one game of chess”. Being right before Iben’s level certainly doesn’t help. I could honestly write a separate post about how bad the story placements are in this game but that’s too long for here.  On the other hand, I still... kinda like it? Like I like this idea of him being a sore loser with a bad temper who needs to learn some humility, sure it’s not as serious as “I almost drowned” or “my parents are dead” but one of the few good things about the game is that it balanced “serious” stories with “benign” ones, if that makes sense. HOWEVER His book scene is... probably one of the best written in the whole book. Which isn’t saying much, but it felt like it hit the intended degree of darkness that the rest of the book was trying to hit. One of my main issues with the book is how much it edged up everyone’s backstory, which doesn’t sound bad but when you have 12 characters with edgy backstories to sit through, it starts to feel like a 14 year old's first attempt at writing an angsty fanfiction very quickly. And yes, Cal’s story is dark and angsty but it felt like the perfect balance of dark and angsty. Or as perfect as the book can get. Like even Balan’s annoying rhyming dialogue sounded good for the tone of the scene. Man maybe I should just do a review of both his backstories in a bigger post.  Obviously I could be biased because I’m a sucker for chess aesthetics and dark skinned men with long permed hair so I’m just putting more thought into him but still.

[dancingintheraindreamingonday]

My loyalty can be bought - Chapter 7

Author’s note: The journey is almost over. Maybe two more chapters. Sometimes I want to write thousands of words but that would probably bore you. Thanks to everyone who reads my stories. It means the world to me. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

„When was this picture taken?“ Bucky, Sam and Zemo, the golden trio, stand in Sharon Carter’s apartment looking at all her illegal paintings. But a certain framed picture got Bucky’s attention. On this picture was Sharon and you.  A cigarette was between your fingers and a bottle of Vodka was in the other hand. Your wedding ring wasn’t on your left ring-finger anymore. Instead you wore it as a necklace. You looked different. Your hair was darker than usual and you wore more make-up. If Bucky hadn’t memorize every feature of your body he wouldn’t have recognize you.

„Three years ago… I think… During that time (y/f/n) and I were pretty close but now not anymore. I think that’s a side effect when you are the vice-director of SHIELD. She doesn’t trust me anymore.“

Bucky didn’t know what shocked him most. You being vice-president of SHIELD or you not trusting Sharon anymore. After all, you and Sharon were really good friends. 

„She said my loyalty can be bought and that’s not a good character trait.“ Sharon continues talking as she pours herself a glas of whiskey.

Bucky jumps to his feet and pushes Sharon against the wall who drops the glas. „Bucky!“, Sam screams and stands right behind Bucky. „What the hell are you doing?“

„And did you sell your loyalty to the one who kidnapped (y/f/n)? Did you?“, Bucky shouts at her.

He knew it. Right from the beginning when they met Sharon after all those years. Something was off. She’s not innocent

Sharon doesn’t look at Bucky but instead at her mobile phone. Sam follows her gaze, unlocks the phone and finds a voice message of you just a day before the abduction: 

„Tell your little friends to stop following me. I don’t like being followed, Sharon. I know the identity of the power broker and I also know that SHIELD is infiltrated by HYDRA again. I’m neither blind nor naive. Why are you working with her, Sharon? I thought you hated Valentina. Why are you cooperating with her? I’m warning you. Leave them alone. Leave my family alone.“

The call ends. Your voice still hard and strong, echoing through Bucky’s mind. 

„Where the hell is she? If you want to live you better tell me.“

„She knew how this would end. (Y/f/n) played with fire and got burnt. You really think she’s still the same quirky and naive teenager who just lived for the love of a man. Wake up, Bucky. How do you think she got the job at SHIELD? You still trust her even thought she kept all the secrets.“ Sharon tries to free herself but Bucky’s grip is too strong. „Did she tell you that the first year of being a mother she wasn’t even with her child because of her depressions? She gave the kid to Tony and Pepper. Did you know that? Did she tell you how close she was with Clint Barton? Did she tell you about the huge argument she had with Steve and that they weren’t on speaking terms for 3 years? Did she tell you that she lived in Madripoor for months? And did she tell you that she was with Barton on their criminal missions? No, I bet not. She’s still acting like this weak woman around you but believe me. She’s not innocent.“ Sharon spats in Bucky’s face. 

„For the last time. Where is she?“ Not responding to Sharon's accusations.

„I’ll show you because she’s probably already dead. It was her or me and after all she was right about one thing: My loyalty can be bought.“ Sharon’s voice is filled with anger as she smiles at Bucky and Sam wickedly.

Sharon leads the way, a gun is pointed in her back. „If that’s a trap I’ll make sure you will regret the day you betrayed (y/f/n).“, Bucky whispers in her ear. 

After a while they walk into a dark building which is guarded with several soldiers with heavy guns. 

„They are with me. They wanna see the project.“

As they walk down the hall they see many doors with little windows. Bucky see other men and women in white hospital clothing laying on bed. 

„(Y/f/n) is our special guest. She’s in the last room.“

The last room has three more soldiers guarding the door. As they step aside and Bucky, Sharon, Sam and Zemo enter the room, Bucky’s heart drops. There you are. Unconscious and weak. Bucky pushes Sharon aside and walks directly to your bed. 

„Love?“, He caress your left cheek with his big hand. „Can you hear me? I need you to wake up. We have to get you out of here.“ He takes the syringe out of your arm and shakes you softly but you don’t respond. 

„I’ve brought them here as you wished.“, mumbles Sharon in her ear piece. 

The door opens again and soldiers run into the room to take their positions. „What a great day. Killing the winter soldier, the falcon and the vice-director of SHIELD. And this guy.“ A woman with black hair and big silver earrings walks into the room, looking from Bucky, to Sam, to you and to Zemo. „Good work, Carter. Well done.“, she pats Sharon on her shoulder. „You are Ms. De Fontaine. You were friends with Steve. How can you betray his legacy?“, Sam asks disgusted by her betrayal. „The world changes, Mr. Wilson. So does people and people’s goals.“ 

As Sharon and Valentina De Fontaine walk out of this room, Bucky and Sam, and even Zemo make themselves ready to fight. 

„Have fun, boys.“, Valentina chimes as the the door closed. 

15 soldiers versus 3 men. Bucky attacks first and then there was utter chaos. Punches, knife stabs and kicks. All you can hear are bones cracking, cries and thuds. Sam is pressed against the wall with no option to escape. „Any last words?“ , asks the soldier who points a gun at Sam. But before Sam could do anything the soldier collapses on the floor with a bullet in his left temple. Sam turns to his right. There is you. You lean against the wall with shaking legs. The gun is still in your hands as you whisper „Asshole“. While Sam and Zemo take the end of this fight as a small break to catch breath, Bucky rushes to you. He hugs you and kisses you dirty hair. „We need to get out of here.“ He grabs your hand as you all escape Madripoor. 

Later on the plane, Bucky looks at you intensively. „Why didn’t you tell me?“

You look at him confusion written on your face. „Tell you about what?“

„About everything. You and SHIELD; You and Steve and you and Barton. I didn’t know you were a couple.“ The last part hurts Bucky the most. He feels this green monster inside him roaring out of jealousy.

„Clint and I were never a couple. Maybe a couple of idiots and friends. But there was never more between us. Clint and I lost so much but we didn’t lose the love we had for those who we lost. At that time we were in so much pain and grieve. No, a romantic relationship was something both of us never wanted- not with each other or with anyone else.“, you reassure Bucky. He doesn’t show it but Bucky is relieved and happy. 

„There is still so much that I don’t know about you.“

„James, we broke up after you came back, remember? And people don’t really talk with their ex-partners.“

„Breaking up with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.“, whispers Bucky just for you to hear it. 

„It’s okay, James. I’m okay. We changed. We both did. You changed. I changed. Heck, our whole family and the whole universe changed. And love does the same too.“

„Mine didn’t.“, says Bucky. „My feelings for you never changed. I still love you.“

You smile at Bucky for a while, not reacting to his love confession immediately.

You lean your head against the cold window of the plane and close your eyes. You spoke so softly that Bucky almost missed it you say. „I’ll always love you.“

Chapter 8

Author’s note at the end: Sorry, for making Sharon kinda bad. I love the Sharon in the movies and I love the actress, so it’s definitely nothing personal. Did you notice how much my you-character changed? A few chapters ago in Bucharest she didn't notice that she and Bucky were being followed but now she's more aware of her surrounding. ;)

@inlovewith3 @jackiehollanderr @homesicam@dreamydreamerwriting @losers-club6 @gengen64@agentsofsheilds @crimson-darling @akkinda10 @xemine@bubblegumholland @chipilerendi @iamasimpingh0e @bbmommy0902 @madddiiee26 @teenagedreams-bucky @aya-fay @idontknowwhatthisisfam @w-wolfhxrd @useless-creature-213  @angywritesstuff @supernaturalcat7 @harrys-stan @geek-and-proud @pastel-boy-sungjae @austynparksandpizza @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @teenagedreams-bucky

[fangirlovestuff]

Butterfly Effect - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - Hey lovely people! this is for @holylulusworld​​‘s 10,000 followers celebration, congrats!! (even though you have a lot more now lol). the divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics​. italics are for thoughts / flashbacks, and the first parts are all in chronological order. Enjoy!<3

Summary: The words on Steve’s arm point to the circumstances in which he will meet his soulmate, and they’re very specific, or so he thinks.

Prompt: 11 - soulmate AU

Word Count: ~2,070

Warnings: reader gets a tatoo but basically this is just a huge fluff fest:)

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."  

These are the words that were imprinted on Steve's arm since the moment he was born. When Steve could finally read, he asked his mother why are the words there.

"These words are very important," Sarah explained. "They are the first words your soulmate will ever say to you."

"What's a soulmate?" asked a confused Steve.

"A soulmate," his mother answered, "is someone you're gonna love very much. They're the person you'd probably choose to spend the rest of your life with. Their soul is connected to yours in inexplicable ways, almost as if they were one and the same. This," she pointed at the words, "is the sign for you to realize when you'll meet them. Somewhere out there, there's someone with the first words you're gonna say to them."

"So I'll be drawing an owl when I meet my soulfriend?" Steve asked.

"It's soulmate, dear. And I guess you probably will."

"And this… soulmate, will they buy me ice cream?" Steve asked hopefully, not quite getting the point.

Sarah giggled at her son. "Yes, I think they will if you'd want that. But also, they would love you so much, and you'll have the most fun in the world with them."

"Was da your soulmate?" Steve asked.

"He is," his mother answered, the smile on her face tinged with a little sadness that Steve hadn't picked up on.

Okay, so two round eyes, and then the body, and I should add some feathers and –

"Mr. Rogers!" the math teacher said sternly. "I haven’t assigned any equations yet, so I would appreciate it if you'd keep your attention on me instead of your notebook, for now."

"Yes, Ms. Williams," Steve replied sheepishly.

"You know you've already met everyone in this class right? No one here is your soulmate," Bucky whispered once their teacher turned back to the board.

"But I still want to get better at it," Steve shrugged defensively. "She's gonna say it's cute, Buck. For that to happen it needs to actually be cute."

"I don't get your whole fuss around soulmates Steve, but whatever. Suit yourself," Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe in soulmates?" Steve asked.

"Well, I wouldn't strictly say that, it's just… my words are 'watch it, weirdo.' Call me crazy, but I'm not that stoked to find that person," Bucky chuckled.

"Mr. Barnes! Something to share with the rest of us?" Ms. Williams said.

"No Ms. Williams, I'm sorry," Bucky said timidly and Steve snickered.

Steve could draw owls in his sleep if he needed to. Right now, his pencil was sketching over the page, lightly shading the wings of the owl and the –

"Rogers! You're on in five!" the stage manager called out to him.

Steve sighed and snapped his sketchbook shut. He kept hoping that maybe it was one of the girls on tour with him, but so far it wasn't going so well. The government-mandated entertainment had quite enough free time so Steve could draw as many owls as he wanted to in between shows.

He put the notebook aside and slipped on the cowl they had him wear. The Captain was needed on stage.

"So people take art classes… for fun?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," Natasha answered. "Lately you're always drawing away in your little notebook, so if you want to, I could help you sign up for a class. Maybe they can teach an old dog some new tricks," she smirked.

"Ha ha," Steve answered dryly. Yet he couldn't help considering the idea.

The thing was, Steve wasn't sure if his soulmate was still out there to be found. You'd think he would feel a difference, some indication if his soulmate was dead, but when he went out of the ice, Steve felt nothing different. There was still a part of him that was hoping that maybe, just maybe, fate planned this. That his soulmate was still out there.

"That's a great color scheme, Steve," the instructor said, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Thanks," he smiled, albeit a tad shakily.

This was the fifth class Steve took this month, and yet, no luck. He wasn't even drawing an owl, and yet the start of that sentence made him jump as if he didn't have super… well, everything.

But that doesn't mean he was giving up. His tattoo was still in place, even after all of these years, it hadn't faded. So he had to believe he could still find his soulmate.

These times were a lot more different than his. People here weren't always inclined to live by that philosophy of "soulmates". Some people chose to simply disregard that and find someone they loved regardless. Steve admired that, but he couldn't say he understood. If you're offered your perfect partner, why walk out of that?

"It's called instant gratification," Nat chuckled when he raised that question to her. "People like to have what they want as soon as possible. Besides, some people don't believe it's real, or don't believe it'll work for them. So, they take matters into their own hands."

Steve was more patient than the average person. He waited decades in ice, what's a few more years to find his soulmate?

Bucky had found his soulmate. Steve couldn't believe it.

Sure, he was happy for Bucky. When he came back today from the store with nothing but a small slip of paper, Steve had half a mind to smack him upright the head for not getting anything. Probably forgot his wallet.

But when Bucky showed him the paper he read the words scribbled onto it – "call me, weirdo, xx" and a phone number, Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, patting him on the back.

"Congrats, pal," he smiled.

Bucky beamed. Yes, Bucky Barnes, the terrifying Winter Soldier was beaming and his eyes were shining like a high-schooler in love. And Steve wished that could've been him.

He really was happy for Bucky. That's the thing – this was a good thing. Besides from his best friend finding the love of his life, it also meant that Steve's soulmate is almost definitely out there. But he couldn't help feeling a spark of resentment deep inside of him. It made him feel guilty, but he couldn't help the bitter thought that Bucky was never too keen on finding his soulmate while Steve did everything in his power to find them. And yet, Bucky found his while Steve's still in the dark.

So, to get out of his own head a little, Steve decided to go paint in the park.

To be honest, it was a wonder that Steve hadn't gotten awfully tired of drawing by now. But he still loved it, loved the quiet it cultivated in his mind.

Steve set up a canvas and looked around. People weren't noticing him, busy in their own endeavors. He almost started drawing an owl out of instinct, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Steve wanted to forget about the whole soulmate business for a while and just draw.

He saw a butterfly fly over and land on a nearby bush. Steve focused on the butterfly, trying to remember as much as he can. The rest he can improvise. The butterfly fluttered its wings for a few seconds before flying away.

Steve started drawing the butterfly. Once he had the pencil sketch, he started filling it in with the paints he had brought. He started with the little circles on its wings, filling them in so the shade will be just right, and he was about to move on to the rest on the wings when –

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."

"It's a butterfly," Steve turned around, puzzled, before realizing what you had just said to him.

Your mouth opened in a gentle gasp. Your hair and clothes were a little messy from your long day at work. And at that moment, when you were caught completely off guard, Steve first met you. You were the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on, and he was an artist. He stared at you in utter shock while you returned him a similar look.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" your friend asked, sitting next to you with a worried look.

"I'm tired of looking for my soulmate. Do you know how hard it is to make conversation about butterflies?" you looked back at her. "I want to do this," you told her.

The tattoo artist came closer. "Okay ma'am, you wanted a simple butterfly, right?"

"Yes," you answered decisively. "On my left wrist." Your right hand had your words on it. "It's a butterfly." Maybe if you had a tattoo your soulmate would see it, would find you.

You closed your eyes and braced for what came next.

You weren't sure about this blind date thing, but why not. You trusted your friend that she set you up with a nice guy, at least.

You set up to meet in a park, and from there walk to a nearby restaurant. Right when the guy showed up, there was a butterfly next to you.

"What’s that?" you asked quickly, pointing towards it.

Your date turned his head to look, but by the time he did the butterfly was already flying away. "I don't know, it was probably a bug or something."

You stifled your groan of disappointment. At least you'd get a dinner out of this.

You and Steve were staring at each other in amazement. Finally, you were the one to speak up. "You're Steve Rogers," you said, frowning in disbelief.

"And you're my… soulmate," he returned the same disbelieving look.

You introduced yourself quickly, smiling at him timidly when you finished.

"So, you wanna get ice cream or something?" Steve asked, unsure of what exactly to do. But apparently he said exactly the right thing, because your face lit up.

"Right now though? You're in the middle of your painting and I wouldn't wanna –"

"It doesn't matter," Steve said quickly and stashed the canvas and paints underneath a bench nearby. "No one passes here anyways," he shrugged. "Until today," he smiled and you giggled.

You made your way to an ice cream shop across the street from the park, walking side by side.

"So, what is the great Captain America doing drawing owl-looking butterflies in a local park?" you asked, smiling.

"I was just looking to clear my head a little," Steve said dismissively. "To be honest, the fact that you didn't find me drawing an actual owl is very ironic, looking back," Steve chuckled. "I spent pretty much my entire life drawing owls, attending painting classes, anything I could to find you," his gaze met yours and he smiled softly. "And I find you in a random park while drawing a butterfly."

"Don't underestimate nature's camouflage," you chuckled. "And hey, you think that's ironic? Butterflies are so scarce I got this," you rolled up your left sleeve a little, revealing your butterfly tattoo.

Steve's eyes widened. "It's beautiful," he automatically reached out to trace the lines on your arm, then withdraws his arm when he understands what he's doing. "It's not as beautiful as you," he says with a smile on his face.

You avert your eyes to the ground in front of you. "Thank you," you bashfully say.

You and Steve got your ice cream, and you exchanged plenty of stories of your adventures in search of each other, most of which were devastating when they happened but when you look back at them now, they were actually pretty funny.

"I hope I can see you again," Steve said when it was getting a little late.

He looked so hopeful, but the question in itself made you want to laugh at the obviousness of the answer. Instead, you rose onto your tiptoes, and planted your lips on his soft ones in a sweet kiss.

Once you parted you took a napkin and wrote down your number. "I sure hope to see you soon," you smiled.

"I'll call you, butterfly," Steve grinned and you beamed at the nickname.

And that night you both went home with huge smiles smeared across your faces. Finally, your quest to find your soulmate was at an end, and you could start a new journey, together.

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