#and a few years later is when i remembered i had it bc i found pokemon stadium above in a cabinet when i was standing on the washer looking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strang3lov3 · 1 year

Text

Everyday I'm Shufflin'

Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Summary: Joel is shocked, horrified, disgusted, and absolutely appalled to learn you, an adult, cannot shuffle a deck of cards. He makes it his mission to teach you in a rather unconventional way 😈🔥😍

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smutttt, kind of soft dom! Joel (y’all know the fuckin drill, but this is like the softest soft dom), oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, undefined age gap, unprotected PIV sex, Joel is a sweetie honestly, loosely proofread bc I was so excited to get it out to you guys.

Word Count: 6k (oops)

A/N: Dumb title I know…but listen ladies…I was playing Gin Rummy with my man a few nights ago and he tried to teach me how to shuffle a deck of cards. I have never been so turned on watching him do something so simple. His hands were so skillful, his voice was so smooth and comfortinggggg

Check out my Masterlist

How you learned to shuffle a deck of cards was rather…unorthodox. To say the least.

It started with a game of Gin Rummy.

Joel read once long ago that when shuffling a deck of cards, it is statistically more than likely that the particular order of shuffled cards never existed before and will never exist again.

Joel had played enough games of Solitaire by himself and shuffled enough cards over the past twenty-odd years that he was sure he beat that statistic. What else is there to do when you’re bored as shit in the apocalypse?

It was safe to say Joel was more than sick of Solitaire. So one morning at breakfast, he invited you to join him for a few games of cards. Nothin’ fancy, he said.

You said yes, of course. Joel Miller was distant, reserved. Standoffish, even. But he seemed to have a soft spot for you.

He noticed you sitting alone at dinner about a year and a half ago. He was alone too, Ellie usually ate with Dina. She was too cool for him, he guessed. You looked quite a few years younger than him and looked bored and lonely, nudging and poking at the food on your plate. It made him feel sad.

The next day, you were alone again. And the day after. And the day after that. On day five when he found you sitting alone, he decided to make his move. Instead of going to his usual spot at the end of the banquet tables, he sat across from you.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in confusion. “Can I help you?”

He didn’t think it through. He had no idea what to say, no idea how to make conversation. How to explain why he was sitting there. “I just, uh. My juvenile delinquent ditched me. Just wanted some company. I’m sorry, this was dumb,” his voice was gruff and low as he reached for his plate and began to stand up. “I’ll leave ya alone.”

“No, no. Stay,” you corrected yourself. “I didn’t mean to come off rude or anything, you just surprised me. Joel, right? Tommy’s brother?”

He nodded yes. You gave him your name and held out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Joel,”

“You as well, darlin’,” he took your hand in his and gave it a firm shake. His hand was warm and calloused.

And that’s how it started. You hit it off completely. Conversation was slow and awkward at first, but eventually it began to flow naturally. Joel was older, but the type of person you could talk to for hours. Like when you talk about your favorite food or movie and hours later you’re laughing about something random and obscure, and you wonder to yourself how you even ended up on that subject. You met for breakfast and dinner every day.

“So I’ve got a proposal for you, darlin’,” he said, taking a bite of his buttered toast.

“Pray tell, Mr. Miller!” you requested, a curious tone in your voice.

“I’m sick of solitaire. Been playin’ it every damn day for too long now. Come over for cards tonight?”

You paused, pressing your lips in a thin line. Card games weren’t really your thing. You remember Tommy and Maria and how they tried to teach you euchre a while back. It didn’t end well, you left with a migraine and no understanding of how to play euchre. But there were a few games you enjoyed. “Depends. It’s not euchre, is it?”

“Nope. That’s four players, sweetheart,” he informed.

“Poker? Because I don’t know that one either,”

Joel rolled his eyes. He’d have to teach you that one sometime. “No, not poker,” he chuckled when you let out a sigh of relief. “Tell you what, we’ll do any game you want. I’m just sick of playin’ with myself,'' Joel balked, then winced at his poor word choice. He absolutely did not mean to say that.

Your eyes widened in amusement at his silly word mishap. Now that must be a sight for sore eyes, Joel playing with himself. You tried to push the image out of your mind, but it was nearly impossible. You spent many nights with your hand between your thighs, picturing Joel naked and moaning on top of you. Or under you. Or behind you. Sometimes all three. The truth was, you needed Joel badly. Like, desperately. “Tired of playing with yourself, huh?” you teased with a smile and a playful glint in your eyes.

Joel pouted, the slightest tint of rosiness blooming on his cheeks. You idiot, he scolded himself silently. “Shut up, smartass. Are you comin’ over or not?”

“Duh. Ellie gonna be there?”

“Probably not. It’ll be just us, most likely. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled. Finally, real alone time with Joel. Maybe tonight you could make your move. You hoped that Joel thought about you too. You caught his lingering stares, picked up on his cautious flirting. He could be so sweet and so charming, it had to be because he liked you too, right? But he was from Texas, so maybe it was just his southern gentlemanliness. Either way, it was worth a shot.

“Let’s meet here for dinner like usual, and then we can go over to my place. That work?”

You smiled and nodded, trying to keep cool. Excitement was bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Then it’s a date,”

A date!!

After breakfast, you went home and spent most of the day picking out a cute outfit for the evening. You went through nearly every piece of clothing in your possession, eventually settling for your favorite pair of jeans, a tank top, and a zip up hoodie. Casual.

Dinner came and went as normal. Joel was dressed as his usual self. A dark red flannel and some jeans that hugged his ass a little too nicely. You shared a good conversation, and when you finished eating, Joel took your dishes away and then met you at the door.

You walked side by side until you got to his home. It was cozy and inviting, Ellie’s drawings displayed prominently on the walls. Little tchotchkes and knick knacks here and there. A few old pictures, old books and magazines. His weathered deck of Bicycle playing cards sat in the middle of the dining room table.

Joel pulled out a seat for you and brought you a glass of water. He sat right next to you on the other side of the table. “So,” he started, reaching for the deck. He split the cards in two, braced his fingers along their sides and ran his thumbs from bottom to top. The cards fell in a swift and staggering motion. Effortlessly, he brought the cards up and bent them into an arch, letting them fall. “What card game we playin?”

“I was thinking we could play Gin Rummy?” you asked sweetly.

“Good choice,” he replied. He had some other games in mind, but couldn’t say no to your request. Joel dealt the cards expertly, quickly placing ten cards each in front of yourselves. The thwap thwap thwap of the cards hitting the table was such a pleasant noise. You loved how skillfully he moved his hands.

You brought your cards to yourself, doing your best to sort them into different groups. Unfortunately, Joel gave you the shittiest hand he possibly could have. This would be a swift game, you assumed. Joel snickered when he sorted his cards. By the looks of it, he already had the beginnings of a few good sets and melds. “Gonna kick your ass, darlin’,”

You grumbled in response. Joel flipped the first card up, motioning for you to make your choice. You couldn’t do much with it, so you passed. Joel took it, then discarded one of his own. You were right. The game went by quickly. Within minutes of playing, Joel showed you his hand. He had, in fact, kicked your ass. He was smiling and giggling and bragging, almost how a child would. You loved the way his eyes sparkled and the crinkles that framed them just so. He was too handsome for his own good.

He took your cards and placed them neatly in with the rest of the deck, then placed the deck in front of you. “Your turn to deal. We’re playin’ again,”

“Good. It’s about time I deal. You gave me the crappiest hand you possibly could’ve!” you laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. I purposely gave you a shitty hand because I need to rig the game in order to win. Or maybe I’m just better than you,” he taunted with a smile. He could be such a sarcastic prick at times. You rolled your eyes in response and Joel pointed to the cards. “Deal for me now, sweetheart.”

This is when all hell broke loose.

You took the cards in your hand, doing an awkward shuffle. Moving some cards sporadically here and there and mixing them on the table. It wasn’t the prettiest way to shuffle cards, but it worked. Right?

No, not right. Not according to Joel.

His jaw dropped, eyes squinted and his brow furrowed. He is completely and utterly appalled. Disgusted. Horrified. Offended. “What the fuck is the matter with you? What are you doing to my cards?!”

You stopped your actions. “What?” you asked worriedly.

“My cards! That’s how you’re shufflin’ them? Is this some kind of joke?” his southern accent intensified with his anger.

You looked down at his cards. None were bent or damaged in any way. “Joel, it’s fine,” you chided. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, it is not fine. You mean to tell me this is how you shuffle cards?”

“Yeah, so?” Joel scoffed. “Unacceptable,” he takes the cards from you, huffing and puffing as he sorts them into a neat stack. “You’re an adult. Do it the right way.”

You give it your best shot. Trying to picture the way he shuffled, you mimic his finger placement and drop the cards, sliding your thumbs along the top edges. They don’t stagger nicely, however. They kind of plop on top of each other in groups.

Joel sighs in disappointment. He takes them from you in a sharp motion. “Give me those,” he grumbles. “You don’t know how to shuffle?” You shake your head no. “Gonna teach you, then.”

He splits the deck in two, then faces the cards so they’re mirroring each other, just like before. “Like this, darlin’,” he starts. “You place your pinkie, middle, and ring fingers at the far end. Pointer is bent at the knuckle on top, thumbs at the close end,” He shows you his hand placement, turning the cards so you can see all angles. “See?”

Joel is rambling about hand placement and how to move your thumbs. But you can’t help it. You’re practically salivating watching him move his fingers so skillfully. As he’s explaining how to slide your thumbs slowly up the cards, you’re picturing his thumb on your hot center, slowly sliding up your folds.

“You try now,” he sets the deck down in front of you.

Shit. You can’t remember a thing about what he told you. He helps you move your fingers properly and you freeze, your brain is short circuiting. His fingers are pure electricity on top of yours.

You take a breath and try again. Somehow, it’s worse than before.

“No, like this,” Joel takes the cards and begins rambling about the cards again. Now you’re watching his middle three fingers, wondering how they would feel inside you. How would they stretch you, how would they move? He’s so fucking good at this. It turns you on.

Joel says something, but you don’t answer. He looks at you, noticing your glazed eyes. You’re on another planet. “Are you even listening to me?” “What?” he breaks your trance. You meet his eyes, his eyebrows are raised and he looks rather irritated with you. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you smile sheepishly.

“What’d I say?”

“You said,” you begin, trailing off when you can’t think of a good lie. He caught you, you weren’t listening at all. You couldn’t repeat a single one of his instructions.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Joel’s words are bitter and he feels upset. He thought this would be a nice way to spend some alone time with you, and you couldn’t give less of a shit about tonight. It’s jarring, he didn’t expect this from you and it stings him.

“No! Of course not, Joel. I’m sorry,” Oops. Probably shouldn’t have been fantasizing about what his fingers could do to you. Rookie mistake, that’s the first rule of learning to shuffle a deck of cards! Never fantasize about your teacher’s fingers!

“Then what is it?”

You hem and haw, rattling off whatever you can think of to answer him. He’s not satisfied and you can see it. His brow is flat and he wears a frown of disappointment.

“Quit lyin’. If you’re bored, just say so. Won’t hurt my feelings,” Lies. Joel’s heart is crumbling at the thought of you being bored of game night. He’d actually been planning on inviting you for a while, and finally gathered the courage today.

“I’m having fun with you,” you stammer for a second, “I promise.”

“Yeah. Seems like it,”

You groan and bury your head in your hands. There’s no way out of this. You have to tell him what’s really going on. “Fine, Joel. You want the truth?”

“Yes, I do. Enlighten me,” he deadpans.

“Fine,” you inhale and close your eyes, mentally preparing for the humiliation you’re about to inflict upon yourself. “Your fingers. Your hands. The way you move, the way you’re so good at this. It’s sexy, okay? I can’t fucking focus.”

Joel’s in disbelief that he heard you correctly. When the words finally register, a smirk curls up on his lips. He feels a little guilty for accusing you of not caring. But then again, he never would have thought shuffling cards would be a turn on for a woman. Poor thing, he thinks. You’re not bored, you’re just hot and bothered. It’s no wonder you can’t focus. “You think I’m sexy?”

You stare at the cards, avoiding his stare. God, this is embarrassing. “Yeah, of course,”

“Of course, huh?” he taunts you with a shit eating grin. “My fingers are gettin’ you all worked up, is that right?”

You finally build the courage to look up. There’s no animosity or malice in his gaze, just amusement. Your confidence is beginning to return. “That’s right,” you reply with a whisper.

“Wow. My fingers gettin’ you all hot and bothered and I’ve never even touched you,” he teases. “That’s what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours? You’re thinkin’ about me touchin’ you?”

You nod. “How could I not? I always do,”

“Oh darlin’, how you flatter me,” He pauses, thinking. Joel gets a twisted idea then, and places the cards in front of you. “Tell you what, sweet thing. You shuffle those cards real nice for me, I’ll use my fingers on you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes Joel, please,” you rasp out. You took the scenic route to get there, but the night is finally headed in the direction you had hoped for.

Joel makes it look so easy. Just focus a little harder, and you’ll do it. You split the deck in two, mirror the cards, place your fingers properly, and–

Plop plop. Plop.

The deck splits in large chunks with a few single cards falling near the end. You exhale in frustration.

“Come on now, sweetheart. You want me to touch you, right?” Joel’s wearing a twisted smirk, so smug and cocky. “What’re you screwin’ around for?”

Joel loves teasing his partners, he loves building up tension so palpable that it could be sliced with a knife.

You glare at him. You’ll show him. It can’t be that fucking hard to shuffle a damn deck of cards. You repeat the shuffling motion, failing again.

You grunt at the deck of cards, wishing you could make them burst into flames. You try again, and fail. Yet again.

You try again. Fail.

And again. Fail.

Focusing is becoming increasingly difficult with the throbbing growing stronger at the apex of your thighs.

You huff indignantly, slamming the cards on the table. “Fuck this,”

“Hey, now. If you’d’ve just listened to me you’d get it right by now,” Joel steps out of his chair and hovers behind you, then motions for you to begin again. He places his hands over yours, separating them a little. “Hands are too close together, darlin’. That’s why the cards aren’t falling right. Now try.”

You steady your breath, focusing on the cards. You slide your thumbs up the edges slowly and watch the cards stagger perfectly. The pitter patter of each card hitting the other is the most beautiful and relieving sound you’ve ever heard. You gasp, amazed that you finally did it.

Joel opens his mouth to praise you, but you interrupt him by practically leaping out of your chair and into his arms. Without thinking, you grab his face and press your lips to his, kissing him hard and fast. Your lips slide sloppily against his and your teeth click together every so often.

Your hands leave his face and furiously unbutton your jeans and you grab his hand, shoving it down the front of your pants. You moan when his fingers reach your center.

Joel’s instinct is to tease you some more, but you’ve done that to yourself enough already. It’s evident by the river flowing between your thighs. You gasp when drags his middle and ring fingers up and down your seam.

“You poor thing,” he whispers into your lips. “Fuckin’ needed this, hm?”

You don’t answer him, you can’t. You just whimper into his mouth. His strong nose presses against your cheek and his lips are soft against yours. His calloused fingers paint steady circles against your clit and his other arm is around your waist, holding you tightly against him. He can feel your knees beginning to buckle and he relishes in the way you’re unraveling, just for him.

He parts from you and removes his hand from your pussy. You let out a cry of frustration at the loss. “I know, darlin’,” he sympathizes.

He sits on his chair and pulls you close to him by your hips, then tugs your jeans down your thighs. He motions for you to take them off the rest of the way and then guides you to sit in his lap, your back flush against his chest. He pushes his hand down the front of your panties and returns it to your pussy, circling your clit once more before pushing two fingers inside your wet heat, curling upwards and hitting the spot that makes your thighs tremble. His hot breath tickles your ear and sends a shiver down your spine. “Did so good, baby. So good for me,”

A strangled moan gets caught in your throat. His fingers feel incredible, stretching you out and pressing into you.

He loves the wet squelching sound of your pussy, he loves the way your head is resting on his shoulder, your lips pressing into his neck as you whimper sweet nothings into his skin. His other arm is wrapped tight around your body and he squeezes your breasts in his big hand, pinching and twisting your pebbled nipples. “God, you don’t take much at all do you? So sensitive, just for me,”

His cock is hard beneath you, poking through his jeans and into your back. He desperately wants to be touched, wants to take this further and fuck you hard and deep. But not yet.

“Joel, I want more now,” you whine, feeling heat deep in the pit of your stomach.

“You want to come now, sweetheart? Come all over my fingers?” he nudges your thighs farther apart and you open up deeper for him. He removes his hand from your breasts and trails it down your body, beginning gentle circles on your clit while the fingers on his other hand continue curling into you.

“Please,” you cry. You’re so noisy, he’s thankful you’re screaming into his bad ear.

“‘Course, baby. You can let go. It’s okay,” he coos. If only you could see his devilish smirk and know what twisted idea he’s conjuring up in his head.

With his permission, you let yourself go. Your face and chest flush and your muscles squeeze around his fingers erratically. “Fuck, fuck, Joel,” you moan. Joel continues his work on your pussy as you ride out your high. It’s a delicate orgasm, soft and gentle. It feels wonderful, but you need more.

With shallow breaths, you compose yourself and turn to face him. You press kisses to his lips and his jaw and down his throat. Then, on your knees, you reach for his belt buckle.

“What d'ya think you’re doin’, sweetheart?” he questioned you, his voice taunting and playful. He grabs your hands and holds them tightly to stop you.

“What do you mean? I’m going down on you,” you reply, baffled by his question. “Then we’re gonna fuck.”

“Ah, ah,” he tuts. “No we’re not.”

“We’re not?”

“No. I never said I’d fuck you. I told you I’d use my fingers on you,” Of course, he knew you thought this would go farther. But Joel revels in teasing a woman, making her beg and cry for him before finally giving in.

You scoff in disdain. “But I wanted more,” you complain.

“I know you did, baby. If you want my cock, you have to work for it. You didn’t shuffle the cards right,” he tells you plainly, as if it was so obvious. “Shuffle the cards right and I’ll fuck you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Yes, I did. You watched me,”

“I did watch you, and you didn’t do it right. Have to finish with the bridge fall, sweetheart. Or else you’ll bend my cards and I’ll be real upset with you,” he explains, feigning sympathy for you. “I’d have to punish you. And you really don’t want that, baby. So why don’t you be a good girl now, shuffle those cards the right way so I can fuck you real nice, just how you wanted.” his voice is dark and low and serious, you love the gravelly rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Do that for me?”

You love the threat. One day you’ll have to bend his cards, just to see what he’d do to you. But you have bigger concerns at the present moment.

You take a step back to your seat and sit, the cold wood of your chair is refreshing on the hot and sweaty skin of your thighs. You grab the deck, separate it, and take a deep breath in and let it out. You move your hands apart just a touch, just as Joel instructed earlier. And you let the cards fall into place.

With your hands now holding the shuffled cards, you try your best to maneuver them into falling into place. It doesn’t go as planned, the cards flop backwards and scatter all over the table.

Joel bites back a smile, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Havin’ trouble?”

“No. I can do it,”

You try again. Split the deck, run your thumbs up the edge of the cards and–

The cards fall in chunky groups, not quite the elegant shuffle Joel was looking for. Oops. Fucked that one up. Not to worry, you’ll just try again.

This time you shuffle correctly, attempt the bridge fall once more and fail. Again. You hear the clink of Joel’s belt buckle fall and watch him unzip his pants and pull out his cock. It’s hard and the tip is blushed as he begins to stroke himself. “Better get it together, darlin’. I’m gettin’ tired of waiting on you,”

You glare at him silently.

You steady yourself and try again. And fail. Fucking again. Joel lets out a low whistle and spits into his hand, then brings it to his cock again. His fist is moving up and down his shaft and he shrugs at you, as if to say ‘Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t help it’. This is a delightfully unique change of pace, he thinks. He’s not doing a thing to work you up, your pleasure and release is all dependent on yourself alone.

Alright. Once more, this time with feeling.

Fail.

You try and try and try again, failing each time. Your fingers are exhausted and your palms are sweaty, causing you to slip up. And Joel’s sitting there, playing with his cock and not saying a thing. You’re so beyond irritated, completely tired of this torturous bullshit. Tears of frustration well in your eyes and spill out and down your cheeks. This is fucking agonizing. You ignore your tears, hoping that if you don’t acknowledge them Joel won’t either. You try again. Nothing. You let out a cry in dissatisfaction.

“I know, baby. You’re tryin’ so hard,” Joel whispered earnestly. You just let out a dry laugh. “You are,” he continued. “Take a deep breath, focus for me. You got it.”

You shuffle the cards, set up the arch. “Easy, now. Lift up one thumb, let the cards fall. You can do it, baby,”

You do as you’re told, lifting up your left thumb slowly. You can’t believe your eyes as you watch the spill neatly into each other. Fucking finally.

You drop the cards and let them scatter slightly on the table. In a rush, you leap to Joel and drop to your knees, not even caring about the way the hard floor makes your knees ache. You swat his hand away from his cock and part your lips over the tip, feeling him slide past your tongue and down your throat.

In your fantasies, you’d tease him with your tongue a little. Make him want you, need you. But not here, not now. You’re hungry for his cock and want to waste no time with him. You savor the way his cock feels so smooth and soft in your mouth, the slightly salty flavor of his skin. It’s all so…Joel.

Even Joel was surprised by how eager you were. He gasped when you took him into his mouth, but quickly relaxed as you began your pace. You gripped his denim clad thigh in one hand and brought the other to the base of his length, twisting and pumping it as you bobbed your head. You hummed and moaned against him.

“Wow, darlin’. Someone’s excited,” he mumbles.

You look at him with big doe eyes and offer a wink in response. Joel lets you continue for a while more. He loves how enthusiastic you are, sucking and stroking him like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. It brings him close to the edge.

He taps your cheek a couple times, encouraging you to hop off of him. Your lips are puffy and red, spit dribbling down your chin. He grabs you by your arms and shoves you against the table, then pushes the cards out of the way. You watch and giggle as they clatter on the ground in a big mess. He was so protective of those same cards before, so offended at how you touched them. Now they sat in disarray on the ground. “Your cards,” you breathed with concern.

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, pulling your panties down your thighs and pushing your back onto the table. He knelt before you and draped your legs over his shoulders, loving the way they weighed him down. “Let me taste you, please,” he rasped out. You nodded hurriedly. Joel wasted no time, hungrily licking and kissing your folds. He lapped at you, pressed his tongue flat against your center and dragged it over your sensitive skin. He loved how you tasted, how you made a mess of his mustache and his beard. He pointed his tongue and flicked at your clit as he brought two fingers to your core, scissoring and twisting and stretching you out.

It felt amazing, so intense and pleasurable. But you had been waiting so long for his cock already and it’s all you could think about. You pushed Joel away from your body and tore off the rest of your clothes as he followed suit. He looked gorgeous, tan skin and oh so smooth. He wasn’t very hairy, you noticed. Just a tuft of coarse hair at the base of his cock and a little happy trail leading down to it. His muscles were soft and lightly defined, you loved the little swell of his tummy. “You’re beautiful,” you whispered. “Need you to fuck me now.”

Joel cocked his head slightly at your compliment. No one had ever called him beautiful before. You were such a genuinely lovely person. He smiled sweetly at you before kissing you, closing the gap between your nude bodies. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby. Wish I told you earlier,” he purred. “I’ll fuck you now. You did so good, baby. So proud of you.”

With that, Joel lined his hard cock up to your soaked entrance and pushed inside. Slowly, being sure not to go too hard or too fast. He watched your face, the way your eyes fell shut and your mouth dropped open. He stopped once he was about halfway inside of you. “How am I doin’, darlin’?”

“Please fuck me,” you begged. You appreciated his gentle care, how he wanted to make sure you were comfortable. You’d expect nothing less than the illustrious southern gentleman. But you’ve been waiting long enough with the prospect of being fucked by Joel Miller. Fuck sweet lovings, you needed to be fucked. To be used, like a toy. “Now.” you demanded.

It’s all the permission Joel needed. He slammed his hips into yours and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gripping his tight muscles. Your hands wandered down his back and settled on his ass. You squeezed the soft flesh beneath your fingers and let out moan after moan.

Joel loved how vocal you were. Telling him what you needed, how you needed it. He loved the pretty noises you made, all for him. No one else. Not anymore, at least. You were his now and would be forever.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted between breaths. “Feels so good.” Joel’s head dipped down to your chest and he kissed and nipped at the soft skin of your breasts, tonguing your nipples and loving how you shuddered at his touch. “Good, baby,” he said. “You deserve it.”

You did deserve it, after all. He made you work like a fucking dog for it.

Joel fucked you at a steady pace, comfortable for both of you. He asked you what felt good, what you needed. How he could make it better. “Tell me what I can do, sweetheart,”

There were no improvements to be made. Everything about Joel was second to none, his cock, the way he moved, the way he held you. He fucked you perfectly, just how you needed. “Nothing, just,” you squinted your eyes shut and searched your brain for words, finding it difficult to piece any together. “Just keep fucking me like this. Maybe a little harder, please.”

Joel was a provider. A lady as beautiful as yourself, asking for more? It’d be a sin to deprive you of what you needed. So Joel obliged, picking up the pace and hitting you deeper. “Just like that, Jesus, fuck. Just like that, baby.”

Baby. Joel loved that term of endearment. He wasn’t used to being called any sweet nicknames, usually he was the one who’d dole them out. Not just to anyone, only to those closest to himself. It’s why he called you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ so often.

He liked being the object of your affection. “Keep callin’ me that, please,” he requested, his voice shy and low. He was so tough and domineering just moments ago, and now he was bashful and vulnerable, all because of one little word. Baby.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Wanted this for so long,” you whimpered, holding onto him tightly. You’d abandon his name completely and call him ‘baby’ for the rest of your lives, if he asked you to.

“God, sweetheart. Me too,” he grunted.

Joel couldn’t last much longer. He let out groans and strangled out moans as his pace became sloppy. “Let me make you come,” he begged. He wriggled his hand between your bodies, placing his thumb on your clit. He held a firm pressure to the sensitive bud and moved it in concise circles, pushing you closer and closer to your release.

You let out a throaty moan as you felt your climax begin to bubble up inside you. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m right there.”

Joel just kept doing what he was doing. Circles on your clit and fucking you deep, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. Your moans turned frantic and you cried out his name, over and over again, like a prayer. Your orgasm was much more intense than the last one, it sent electricity all through your body. You felt tingles and sparks wash over you, from your scalp all through your fingertips, down all the way to your toes. It was the best orgasm any lover of yours had ever blessed you with.

Joel felt your body shudder around him, felt your pussy convulse and squeeze his cock. His thrusts became harder, faster, and frenzied as he chased his own climax. You watched his eyes screw shut and little drops of sweat fall down his temples as he let out a deep moan. His cock pulsed inside you, painting you with his hot seed.

He let out a laugh then, between panting breaths. He pulled you in for a hug, his skin hot and slick with sweat. Head pressed to his heaving chest, you could feel his heartbeat in your ear. Your new favorite feeling.

Joel pulled away from you, kissed you sweetly and helped you clean up. You pulled on your clothes and sat neatly at the table, picking up and sorting out the disheveled cards. Joel did the same, he bent down next to you and gathered the cards on the ground.

He placed them in front of you, left for a second with your empty glasses, and returned with the glasses of water refilled before sitting in his seat again. How you didn’t knock them over during your fucking, you had no idea.

“Alright, baby. Show me how you shuffle now,” he grinned at you. He wanted to make sure his unorthodox method of teaching you actually worked.

You smiled back, split the deck in two and mirrored them for the nth time that evening, and then placed your fingers along the two decks. You slid your thumbs up the cards, watched one fall on top of the other, and brought the cards back up into a nice arch. With a breath, you let off one thumb and let the cards fall down slowly. You sighed in relief. Your maneuver wasn’t quite as smooth as Joel’s, but there was plenty of time to practice.

You dealt out ten cards each, gathered your hand and did your best to hide a smirk. You held a three, four, and six of clubs, three kings, and two jacks.

Joel sighs disappointedly at his hand. You couldn’t have dealt him worse cards. Nothing went with anything.

The two of you exchanged cards quietly, as if you didn’t just desecrate Joel’s dining room table. It was quite funny, really.

The game was quick, just like before. You placed your sets and melds in front of him. “Read it and weep,” you jeer.

Joel grumbles something about cheating and steals your cards. “Rematch,” he says. “Loser gives the winner head.”

“Deal,”

Tags: @swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoldglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers @angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #strang3lov3 #joel miller #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #tlou #joel tlou #tlou show #tlou hbo

1K notes · View notes

reikiss · 6 months

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋&𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

tags : fluff!!! gn reader. est relationship. 1.2k words. a/n : ik v-day is over but i just have to post one just bcs !!! this is sooo late bcs school is a pain in the ass. reblogs are highly encouraged and very much appreciated! <3

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ‧₊˚ ✩ ₊˚ ⊹ ♡

"Hey, did you know it's Valentine's Day today?"

"What?"

"Wait, don't tell me you don't know what that is." You teased him, not really expecting that he might not know. Yet he looks down, looking a little shy.

Wait, is this for real? He actually doesn't know??

You cleared your throat to mask your giggle. "Well, for your information, it's a special day to spend with loved ones and friends."

You leave out the part where it's focused on lovers, thinking you might sound like you're hinting something. Little did you know he actually knew what today was and found it quite cute how you brought it up.

"Ahh right." He says as if he finally remembered. He tries his best to refrain from grinning so much and showing his intentions.

"Then..." he trailed off, slowly meeting your eyes as you looked at him.

"Shall we go out later?"

The first time you saw him, you already knew that you would inevitably fall for this precious man, and when he speaks so softly and genuinely while holding such warmth and fondness in his eyes while looking at you, you can't help but get weak in the knees and fall for him all over again (as if you don't already do everyday). "S-sure. I'm looking forward to it."

He blessed your eyes with such a gorgeous smile. "Great. Where do you want to go?"

You end up dropping by the plaza where countless stalls are set up, a variety of foods and gifts being sold. You both ate snacks and took pictures, enjoying every second of the time spent together.

As it was getting late, you both decided to call it a day, but not before Xavier got back as he wanted to check out something. You were surprised that he came back with a bouquet in his hands.

"I told the old man I chatted with earlier while I was going around that I would come back and buy some flowers from him. He said I should give it to someone I consider dearest to me."

He slowly hands it to you, a warm smile on his lips. "Thank you for today, I had such a great time. I hope you enjoyed as much as I did, and I hope you'll accompany me to celebrate this day every year."

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ‧₊˚ ✩ ₊˚ ⊹ ♡

You find yourself in front of Dr. Zayne's office after you intentionally scheduled an appointment with him on February 14. Although he might be busy, you were planning to ask him out today if ever that he was free.

You take in a deep breath. After knocking, you hear him respond with a "Come in."

After everything has been settled and finding that you're as healthy as you can be, you immediately started another conversation. "What are your plans today?"

He looks at you and his face is normal as usual, though you thought you saw a glimpse of surprise on his face for a split second. "Not much, just some paperwork left and I'm done for the day. Why'd you ask?"

Right. Of course he had things to do. "Nothing, just curious."

"What about you? Do you have plans left for today?"

"Nope. I'll just be heading home."

"If you're not in a rush to head home and call it a day, would you care to wait for a few more minutes and go out with me afterwards?"

You were taken aback by how straightforward he is that you embarassingly choke on nothing.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm fine really." You speak after putting back enough air in your lungs. "Sure, I'll be waiting here. Take your time."

He smiles at you before facing the computer and focusing while you sit there scrolling on your phone. (little did you know deep down he's happy that his plan was a success as he actually already made up his mind that he would spend today with you)

It didn't take long before he was finished. It's as if he unlocked 100% of his brain power.

You end up walking in the plaza, buying food and playing games. Of course, Zayne always lets you win whether he plans it or not. He didn't really mind losing to you. How could he when he couldn't help but stare at you that he loses focus?

It was starting to get dark while you were taking a stroll. There was a comforting silence surrounding the both of you before Zayne broke it. "Look, they're your favorite, aren't they?" He points at a stall selling flowers and the ones you love were right at the front. He buys them and hands the bouquet to you.

"What for? You didn't have to." Yet you gave a smile, appreciating the gesture.

"I wanted to buy them for you. They really do suit you. Think of it as my thanks for spending the day with me... and as an invitation celebrate again next year with me."

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ‧₊˚ ✩ ₊˚ ⊹ ♡

You went inside Rafayel's residence, having been called by him.

"Ah! There you are, bodyguard-san." He welcomes you as soon as he sees you let yourself in.

"So, why'd you call me over in the middle of work? Good thing I don't have a mission today."

"Well, besides the fact that I just wanted to see you, I want you to accompany me to the plaza later."

Your ears perked up at his words, but you were unsure as to what was the meaning behind his invitation.

Is this it? Is he asking me out? Or did he just have some business to tend to there?

"What for? There's gonna be a pretty big crowd there later."

He cleared his throat before answering. "I'm just curious as to what's all the ruckus about since Thomas mentioned there'd be some kind of celebration today."

"Ahh it's probably because it's Valentine's Day."

"And what are we celebrating?"

"Well..." you pause, thinking of a simple way to explain. "It's a day of giving love and spending time with loved ones." but it's mostly celebrated by couples. You leave out that part, not knowing why it felt embarrassing to highlight that detail.

"I see. You humans and your celebrations, I'll never understand."

You chuckle at his dramatics, "and why is that?"

"Shouldn't every day should be a day spent with loved ones anyways? Don't you think so?" he said in a as-a-matter-of-fact way before sighing. "I would spend everyday like that, unlike some people."

You roll your eyes but smile anyways at your adorable and clingy boyfriend.

"To commemorate your traditions, why don't we just start now and spend the entire day together?"

And that's exactly what you did. You started out by hanging at his place, attempting to draw a portrait of one another. Of course he nails his art, but yours ended up more of an abstract rather than a portrait. When afternoon came, you two dropped by the plaza and tried almost all of the food.

By the end of the day, walks you home. Standing outside your apartment complex, he pulls out flowers from his coat and hands them to you.

Smiling, you take them from him. "They're lovely, thank you."

"I'm glad you like them." He shows you his killer smile. "Today is dedicated to spending time with people who're important to us, but let's try to spend everyday this way. What d'you say?"

!!! dividers from @cafekitsune and @saradika

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads x reader

204 notes · View notes

fluffymaxsworld · 10 months

Text

“you were a wonderful experience”

“you were everything”

a/n: just a quick fic to tell y’all i’m aliveee and great and everything. just lazy and i don’t want to write lol. anyways enjoyyy

theodore nott x gryffindor!reader

[i don’t remember if reader was female or gn, angst, no happy ending, i love theodore nott, didn’t proofread bc i’m LAZYY :((]

being with theodore nott was one of the experiences you won’t forget, even if you ended up marrying someone else. he was caring, weirdly sweet to be around, kind and utterly in love with you.

being with theo was something you won’t forget

…

the war is over, the order won, voldemort is dead. and so is the fear, the suffering. finally being happy was the only option, whoever you are. except for theo. how could you, half-blood gryffindor, top of the potion’s class, sweet laugh and stunning smile, how could you come into his life and messing it up so easily? how did you made him so helplessly in love with you?

it’s been two years, yet he still dream about you every night. how are you? did you sleep? eat? did you go out? he hated when you didn’t.

“baby i’m just really tired” you complaint one day.

“i swear to godric if you don’t get up and go with me shopping to let me spoil the ass out of you-”

how pretty were you that day, your eyes sparkled each time you entered different shops. you looked out for a matching jumper, you wanted it red over all, red like gryffindors! he just scoffed though, not capable of complaining. how could he? such a sweet girl he found for himself. until… the war.

being a death eater’s son and a order’s component’s boyfriend was too much, but not being able to satisfy his father was a bigger problem for theo. he tried to reach for you, he tried to call, sending letter, weird letters with a half blind owl, calling ron weasley himself to arrive at your sweet, kind voice. yet the efforts were useless, you didn’t even bother to answer. the hatred that was burning into you, the feeling of betrayal, slowly fade away. day by day you started to not feel anything towards the guy you loved so much.

years of soft talks and sweet giggles completely faded away in a couple of months.

oh hell, it hurt.

but then… the war ended, the death eaters were imprisoned and their son semi-free to go.

it took him five whole days to finally knock at weasley’s messy mansion and ask a tired and surprised ron for you.

“hey theo” you greeted him. you had the face full of cuts but nothing compared to the scar on his lips, tracing the left side of his jaw.

“y/n…” he stared at you, eyes fluttering and his heart pounding, full of joy. he wanted to get on his knees and beg your forgiveness, but deep down he knew that was useless. you moved on, you didn’t cared anymore. he was just another ex.

“take a sit” you smiled, a hint, just the smallest one, of awkwardness in that expression as he sat besides you.

“i missed you” he quickly said without thinking but not taking it back, not until he hear you say that you moved on.

“okay… i did too. for awhile, actually.” you answered in the sweetest tone ever. was a bad habit of yours, talking like that for bad news.

“and then?”

“and then not anymore, theo. you were a wonderful experience.”

“you were… everything”

words flourished out of his mouth, he would’ve cried but the tears weren’t coming down. maybe he already cried too much.

“deep down teddy, i’ll always love you and i’ll never forget you” was the last sentence you exchanged.

he walked away a few minutes later, spending that time in silence and staring one last time into your pupils. the same ones that he loved to see expand during potions because he knew your love for the subject was as big as the love you felt for him.

he then politely waved off hermione and harry and excused himself for the death of ron’s brother, getting redeemed with forgiveness. he smiled one last time and mouthed an ‘i love you’, a sign you never mouthed back to.

#theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #slytherin

348 notes · View notes

melrosing · 2 months

Note

What actually is the evidence for Tyrion Targaryen? I’ve seen the bits about Joanna from A World of Ice and Fire but don’t know if there is more? What is the bit in GRRM’s blog post?

I can’t remember if I did an answer for this before but in any case I can’t find it so summary below

THE JOANNA SIDE OF THINGS

Joanna spent her youth at court as a lady in waiting to Rhaella, and Aerys always had a thing for her. Rhaella ultimately dismisses Joanna from court, saying she wouldn’t have Aerys making a whore of one of her ladies, but it’s unclear whether whatever was taking place between them was consensual or not/how far it was taken. Joanna marries Tywin around this time, Aerys gropes her during the bedding ceremony, then presumably they don’t see each other for a few years, in which time the twins are born.

After that they meet again maybe twice on record: once for an extended period when Aerys moves the court to Casterly Rock having named Tywin hand, one year after the twins are born. Then again at court in KL when the twins are six, which is the time Aerys makes a derogatory comment about Joanna’s breasts. And….. this is around a year before Tyrion is born.

So as far as the Joanna stuff goes… if Tyrion is indeed Aerys’ son biologically, it’s unclear what kind of relationship his parents had. There are three possibilities:

The relationship was always nonconsensual, and Joanna has always loved Tywin (or it’s possible even that she never loved either of them idk)

The relationship was initially consensual but later it was not: maybe Joanna loved Aerys in her youth but then fell in love w Tywin instead, and Aerys forced himself on her in the latter years

They were in love the whole time but there were abusive and/or toxic elements to the relationship, with Aerys humiliating Joanna at court before/after they slept together in KL in 272AC.

I kind of tend towards 3. I don’t think Aerys and Joanna were star crossed lovers, it’s obvious he has publicly humiliated her a number of times and that a big part of her appeal is that she ‘belongs’ to Tywin, and Aerys wants what Tywin has, and relishes the opportunity to humiliate him more than anything. There’s definitely some humiliation by proxy shit going on here. Joanna is sometimes the middle man between Tywin and Aerys, and maybe Tywin is sometimes the middle man between Aerys and Joanna.

And the reason I think it’s 3 is specifically bc of how Tywin himself is written. Tywin is fucking deluded, and everything he thinks is gold is shit. If the thing he prized the most (his romance w Joanna) was the biggest lie of them all, that would be some kind of poetry.

Then it’s a matter of whether Tywin knew. And I think he did? Tywin almost never talks about Joanna, except to accuse Tyrion of killing her. And whilst this is quite an emotive thing to say, the way he says it has a level of remove - it’s another in the list of Tyrion’s sins. As for how his grief for Joanna looks from the outside, we’re told that 1) whatever joy he had in him was gone and 2) he tells Jaime at the age of about 8 (I.e. maybe a year after Joanna’s death) that love is worthless.

This could be bc he’s a wife guy and misses her terribly in his usual deeply dysfunctional way. But my suspicion is that Tywin despises Joanna for the affair, but cannot tell anyone about it. No one can know that this grand romance of his was tarnished, and that he was a cuckold. So everyone assumes his coldness is his grief from the outside, but we don’t know that. And it’s possible the sheer hatred he feels for Tyrion has to do with not only having to raise the child of this affair, but that that child, being disabled, leaves him to suffer a fresh ‘humiliation’ that he has to claim as his own.

I’ve also always found Jaime’s dream of Joanna very strange in that it tells us a lot about how insecure Tywin was, and how Joanna knew that - but nothing about how she herself felt about him. She's a very ambiguous character, and have only the most fleeting glimpses of her as a person apart from Tywin. How do we know she ever loved him as much as he loved her?? I've said before I think it's notable she never told him about what the twins had been doing, and her plot to send one of them to Dorne. She was clearly a woman with thoughts and plans quite separate from her husband's, that she let him in on only as she saw fit. There is a tangible distance in there somewhere, it's just hard to say how great that distance might be with what we have so far.

And finally, when Tywin's last words are literally 'you are no son of mine' - was he like. telling the truth? lol?

THE DRAGON SIDE OF THINGS

So obviously this also goes way beyond just the possibility of an affair between Aerys and Joanna - Tyrion is also tied up with a lot of dragon imagery, as well as bits of foreshadowing etc. First off, his interest and affinity with dragons is established several times over:

Tyrion had a morbid fascination with dragons. TYRION II, AGOT

"When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own [...] Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back [...] I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." TYRION II AGOT

When he was still a lonely child in the depths of Casterly Rock, he oft rode dragons through the nights, pretending he was some lost Targaryen princeling, or a Valyrian dragonlord soaring high o'er fields and mountains. Once, when his uncles asked him what gift he wanted for his nameday, he begged them for a dragon. "It wouldn't need to be a big one. It could be little, like I am." His uncle Gerion thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard, but his uncle Tygett said, "The last dragon died a century ago, lad." That had seemed so monstrously unfair that the boy had cried himself to sleep that night. TYRION II, ADWD

And there's a fair bit of foreshadowing in these passages alone, e.g. in the second passage, Tyrion is talking to Jon, ALSO a secret Targ, and in the third imagines himself 'some lost Targaryen princeling', which he may well fuckin be. sort of.

There's also this passage that has always stood out to me.

[Tyrion:] "What do you see in those flames?" "Dragons," Moqorro said [...] "Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all." TYRION VIII, ADWD

Like oh, right. So what's Tyrion doing amidst all those dragons lol. well, I think it's going to be a whole lot more obvious in hindsight; this is very Melisandre searching the flames and seeing 'only snow' - Moqorro has seen something but no one knows enough to take its meaning.

Then there's the fact that we basically know there will be two dragonriders joining Dany, because 'the dragon has three heads'. One of them is obviously Jon, but who is the other? It's not going to be Aegon/Young Griff, because ya boy's a Blackfyre. It's going to be Tyrion. There are imo three main characters in ASOIAF, and they are Jon, Dany and Tyrion, and it's what connects them that's the twist. They're also distinct in that their mothers all died giving birth to them, and each comes from what I think are functionally the three main houses - Targaryen, Stark, and Lannister. Dany is Targaryen-Targaryen, Jon is Stark-Targaryen, Tyrion is Lannister-Targaryen. There's a weird little rhyme to it.

So having established that Tyrion is one of the three heads, I'm referring back to GRRM's recent blog post. There's not a whole lot that's new here, except that I think it comes close to affirming that whatever affinity it is that Valyrians have with dragons, it's in the blood.

I did once prefer the idea that hypothetically, a dragonrider could be anyone (e.g. Nettles), because it seemed kind of just idk. dull that the Valyrians hold all the power here, and kind of romantic that a dragonrider could be almost anyone.

However, I have changed my mind lol. Thinking about it now, it's like.... if indeed the dragons are products of bloodmagic etc, as Septon Barth's GRRM-endorsed theory goes, there is something weird and manmade about them, and indeed about whatever connection the Valyrians have with them. It's not a natural feature of the Valyrians that they just get along great with dragons, it's an affinity intentionally created by their ancestors to grant them access to the power a dragon represents. This isn't an equal relationship between man and beast - man messed with something here. That is why the Valyrians can connect with dragons, and the whole 'blood mages were doing freaky experiments to create a connection for the use of dragonfire' is a fair bit less romantic than 'Valyrians and dragons are one and the same'. There's a deep cynicism in it.

That said, I don't think that means that the dragons can't be used as a force for good. They can and will be. It's more that, taking control of any creature that powerful has consequence, and what are the limits of that blood connection etc.

ALL that to say, if Tyrion's going to ride a dragon he needs Valyrian blood. It can't be enough that Viserion/Rhaegal just think his one liners are killer.

and finally no Tyrion Targ post complete without mentioning that his hair is paler than Jaime and Cersei's and he has one dark eye that who knows could be a deep purple??

WHY DON'T I LIKE TYRION TARG THEORY

Because I like Lannisters lol and I think for all that's interesting about the above, the messy relationships between Tywin and Tyrion and Cersei and Jaime are a whole lot more engaging for me, and I feel like it's some kind of cop out if the one son Tywin never wanted wasn't really his anyway, proper yer a wizard tyrion. It's just. why mess w a good thing, you know. but as i've said before, if it happens i'll just go to therapy and talk it out. i will live. whereas if jaime and cersei were secret targs i WILL jump out a window

#ask #tyrion lannister #joanna lannister #tywin lannister #aerys targaryen

84 notes · View notes

acrylic-anxiety · 4 months

Text

things I thought were canon in mha but are probably just things the fandom made up that are so deeply ingrained in fanmedia, coming from someone who only joined the fandom a few months ago (correct me if im wrong)

(also not caught up on s7)

- literally any ships (rip, i know, but guys, no student relationships are canon as of rn)

- eijirou and mina went to middle school together

- denki probably has (absence) seizures due to overusing his quirk/bc storms

- red shoe theory (the quirkless have an extra toe joint and bc of that they need different shoes. unfortunately there's only one type, so doesn't matter if you're 5 or 80, you're stuck wearing bright red sneakers ://)

- erasermic. just the entirety of them being together. also includes erasermic fam. still rioting from when i found out erasermic is not canon >:((

- denki has adhd + dyslexia + dyscalculia (and probably a seizure disorder)

- hitoshi is in the foster system (and was probablg ab*sed bc of his quirk. includes mentions of muzzles and quirk suppressants)

- present mic was born with his quirk, deafening everyone in the room when he was born (includes mentions of muzzles)

- the bakugous (mitsuki and masaru) are either the best parents in the world (super attentive and caring) or suck and are probably ab*sive (quirk suppressants on katsuki any time he comes home, neglectful masaru, aggressive mitsuki)

- izuku is autistic (while not canon, i wouldnt be surprised, this is coming from someone with auDHD)

- denki's parents are both pro heroes (theres two pro's with electricity quirks. maybe?? maybe not?? we'll never know)

- endeavor is homophobic (i mean... im not saying he's not-)

- present mic was adopted by two moms

- eijirou has two moms (this one tho, so cute oml im screaming)

- the bakugous run a fashion empire (katsuki modeled for them before UA

- rooftop trio's full friend group included nemuri (a year ahead of them) and tensei (iida's brother)

- iida is autistic (ngl, if this aint the case im rioting)

- tsu never had a childhood, too busy parenting her siblings while her parents were at work or traveling

- back to the bakugous, they were too busy traveling to do photoshoots (mitsuki was the model and masaru designed clothes) to watch over katsuki, so he taught himself how to do everything (chores, keeping tbe house, cooking, etc)

- eijirou has depression/was su*c*dal in middleschool, the only thing keeping him from toppling was mina

- some mutation quirks are there at birth, others come in later. ex: toru (hagakure) was not born invisible, she turned invisible when out shopping with her mom (just imagine thinking "oh shit i just lost my kid at the store" and feeling something grab your leg with the voice of your kid but nothjngs there. wild, absolutely wild) just imagine this shit with the rest of our resideng mutation kids (whom i adore) koji, fumikage, mina, mezo, mashirao (would you consider hanta, kyoka, rikido, and mineta mutation quirk kids? bc i do)

- some kids come from all over the world (i like the idea of it, just how do they all know japanese then??) one i can remember rn were like denki is a 2nd gen japanese american, yuga we know is from france, hanta is latino (i adore this)

- mineta is great!! or mineta is a r*p*st (now, hes gotten better, i'll give you that, but hes still not great and i choose to hate him so im moving on-)

- the sports festival ceremony triggered a flashback for katsuki, making him feel like he was back with the sludge villian again

- izuku and katsuki co-wrote all might fanfiction and individually at one point had all might stan pages.

- fumikage, hitoshi, and kyoka rotate between the bakusquad and dekusquad

- the emosquad consists of fumikage, hitoshi, kyoka, mezo, katsuki, and shouto

- ochako has dad sneezes (loud asf and probably back to back) and katsuki has kitten sneezes (cute and singular) (no i will not explain further)

- while katsuki is loud and "angry" all of the time, you only really got to worry when he becomes deadly silent

- if you want tea on anyone, go to either mezo or kyoka. they know all

- shouto had many firsts after the dorms were implemented: first time trying ice cream, watching a movie, listening to music, trying certain foods, etc. bc endeavor either hated it, or didnt allow him access to it bc he thought it was a waste of time

- momo probably has an eating disorder, regardless of her quirk, due to her parents pressure as a high society family

- quirk related symptoms/damage. ex: katsuki's explosions causing low blood pressure and hearing loss. present mics causing hearing loss and chronic sore throats (maybe even repeat tonsilitis??). hitoshi getting migraines, insomnia, and nose bleeds from excessive quirk use.

- aizawa transfered to the hero course after winning the sports festival his first year at UA (i think it makes sense, what with him training hitoshi later)

(this is what i could think of rn, theres probably more, add on if you think of any)

131 notes · View notes

bella-rose29 · 8 months

Text

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 8

from here on out this series is just going to be Lockwood and reader bonding and being annoyingly good together while coming up with steadily more ridiculous ways to piss off the bitchy cousin bc she's trying to get revenge

with that said lockwood does have a brief sad moment :(

Word count: 7.1k

Warnings: swearing, references to sex (both mild and slightly less mild), sleepy lockwood, he can't talk properly when sleepy, the whole morning thing is just what I want to happen in my own life tbh, Steph (the Bitch), lockwood remembers his childhood (might make you sad), brief mentions of murder?? hypothetical murder though (that will make sense I promise), a really intense snowball fight, (can you tell I'm an archaeology student from the way I describe building forts and mud huts?), lockwood gives all the teams in the snowball fight names and they are very basic but I love them

That night when Y/n and Anthony went to bed, they stood staring awkwardly at the bed for five minutes.

"Well that armchair can't be comfortable," Y/n said, glancing sceptically at it. She wasn't sure where Anthony had slept the night before after their argument, or even if he'd slept at all, but she didn't feel right about taking the whole bed for herself anymore now that their situation had changed.

She would do it if he insisted, of course, but there would be a very tiny part of her brain telling her to be the better person. It was unlikely that she'd listen to it.

"I got used to it, and I've slept in worse places. You take the bed again. The bath surely couldn't have been nice to sleep in."

"It was actually a lot more comfortable than you'd think." They kept on looking at the bed, both in their pyjamas (Y/n had stolen one of Anthony's t-shirts already, and when she'd first walked out of the bathroom in it he'd kissed her for a good few minutes in a way that left them both breathless). "Maybe... maybe we could share? I don't know if that's too soon or anything but honestly if we've been supposedly dating since April then I think we're way past that."

"If you're happy with it then I am, darling."

"Alright. I'm having this side though." A couple of minutes later the two of them were under the covers and settled in, and Y/n reached over to turn off her bedside lamp. The room was immediately shrouded in darkness, and suddenly it felt a lot colder than before, despite the fact she was buried under the duvet. "Ant?"

"Yeah?"

"... Can I move a bit closer to you? I'm cold." She didn't get a verbal response, instead receiving the sounds of the sheets crumpling and a body shifting, and a few seconds later Anthony's warmth was surrounding her as he took her into his arms and laid her on top of him. She tangled their legs together and wrapped an arm around his torso, and he brought both of his arms around her to secure her in place.

"Is that better?" he asked, and from where her head was resting on his chest she nodded.

"Much better. Thank you."

Her breathing evened out not long after, and she fell asleep to the slightly faster than usual beating of Anthony's heart.

~~~

When morning came (or rather when the sun finally rose over the horizon, since it was just after 8 AM), Y/n woke up and tried to turn over to stretch, but found that her movements were restricted by a weight on her side.

An investigation of what was happening lead to the discovery that Anthony was now lying on top of her instead of the other way around like they had been when they went to sleep, and that was why she couldn't turn over. She went to shift him off of her, but as she went to move him she caught a glimpse of his face and realised that he looked so peaceful asleep she might just let him stay that way. He barely got enough sleep as it was, so why cut it short when he was finally getting some rest? God knew he needed it with how hard he worked to keep the company going, although that had been much easier in the past year as they had gained more popularity among the people of England (their name had been spread far and wide by happy clients).

He wasn't entirely on top of her, more lying on his stomach next to her while he rested his head on her shoulder and spread his arm out over her middle, but the weight was enough that movement was restricted. A light knock sounded from the door, making Y/n look away from her new boyfriend's face to see who it was. For some reason fear gripped her as the handle turned, but when the door opened a few seconds later to reveal her father she let out a sigh of relief. She had been worried that Stephanie was starting her research into how she was going to get her revenge already, but Y/n's cousin was almost certainly still asleep at this hour.

"Just got some tea," he whispered after Y/n put her finger to her lips, pointing down at the still-sleeping Anthony. "Where should I put it? Just here? Alright, there you go. I think we're all just going to lie in bed for as long as we think we can get away with, so don't worry about coming downstairs yet if you don't want to."

"Thanks, Dad." He crept back out the room, wincing slightly when the door hinges protested as he pulled it shut, and then he was padding down the hallway back to his own room. Soft sounds from just below her head made Y/n look down at Anthony, who had apparently been woken by the door closing. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking furiously as he attempted to properly shake himself awake, and pushed himself up a little to sleepily smile down at her.

"Morning, darling," he murmured, dropping his head to press a small kiss to her lips. "D'ya sleep alright?"

"Mmhm. Did you?" Anthony only nodded in response, eyes drifting shut every few seconds as he tried to stay conscious long enough to hold a conversation with her.

"You can go back to sleep if you want, although Dad just brought tea in if you want it."

"Ooh, that would be brilliant. D'ya want me to pour it?" Y/n stifled a giggle at his slightly slurred speech, and starting to move into a sitting position.

"Don't worry, Ant. I've got it." She poured out the water, making sure to add the honey and sugar to his at the right times, then carefully handed over the mug. "Have you got a proper hold on it? Because if you spill tea in bed then I might have to kill you."

"I can't spill tea? But how else are you meant to know that George and Flo have definitely fuc-" he was cut off when Y/n hurriedly reached out to steady his mug, the liquid inside nearly sloshing over the edge as he had been leaning in in a conspiratorial manner, forgetting he was holding a large cup of steaming hot liquid in one hand.

"Anthony! Watch what you're doing!"

"Sorry," he said, faint blush coming on to his cheeks as she scolded him. "Was jus' trying to make a joke. Although what I said about Flo and George wasn't a joke." He made a point to look her in the eyes with as much seriousness he could muster, as though it were of the utmost importance that she knew all about her colleague's sex life.

"Alright, thank you for that," she responded, making sure her tone was gentle, and when he smiled dopily she felt her heart skip a beat or two.

How the hell is he so pretty?

"You're pretty too, darling." His smile had turned smug, and she realised with a start that she'd said her previous thought out loud. Her face started heating up, and Anthony did a good job of hiding his laughter were it not for the amusement dancing in his eyes as he sipped his tea.

"Shut up," she mumbled, wanting to jab him in the side but not trusting his capabilities of holding his tea steady this early in the morning.

~~~

"Good morning, lovebirds!" Will chirped when Y/n and Anthony walked into the kitchen, and he sent a smirk their way from where he stood at the hob frying eggs. "Sleep alright?" He seemed to be asking something else though from the way his eyebrows were moving.

"Is... he okay?" he whispered instead, leaning down slightly to reach Y/n's ear.

"I talked to him in the library yesterday. After... you know."

"Ah. Right." After they had argued and then made up and then made out. "Does that mean he's up to date then?"

"Yep."

So Will knew about all of that. This could be interesting.

"They must have slept fine," Ben started, pulling out the toast that had popped and putting in more slices. "Y/n looked like she'd only just woken up when I went in with tea, and Anthony was fast asleep."

Anthony felt a blush rise up his neck and cover his face at the realisation that Ben had seen him draped over his eldest daughter, but the fond smile that appeared on Y/n's face made it worthwhile. She was wearing one of his jumpers again (she had really leaned into the habits of being his girlfriend already, which meant that many of his t-shirts and jumpers were suspiciously not in the drawers he had originally put them in), and was cosying up to his side as he leaned back against the kitchen island.

Y/n looked like she was about to say something, but at the exact moment she opened her mouth another voice was already filling the room.

"Morning everybody! How are we all today? Isn't the snow just gorgeous?"

Emma grimaced slightly before she turned around, sharing a glance with Anthony before greeting her niece. "It is, Stephanie. I take it you slept alright?"

"Oh yes, thank you!" She was weirdly chipper for somebody who had been acting like a raving lunatic the night before, and Anthony couldn't help but feel unease creep up his spine at her wide grin.

What was she up to?

"Hello, you two! Are you looking forward to going out in the snow later? I shall have to drag you out, Y/n/n, since you hate going outside!" Anthony frowned. Y/n wasn't the biggest fan of the outdoors, but whenever they gained even the slightest amount of snow she was out of the house in a flash, laughing and spinning around the street while it fell. Anthony had always accompanied her, giving the excuse that he wanted to be nearby if she tripped and fell so he could laugh (to which Lucy, George, and Holly had looked at him dubiously).

But really it was because it had been so long since he had seen anyone so carefree.

He had loved the snow as a little kid, running around trying to catch the snowflakes on his tongue, building snowmen, making snow angels, having snowball fights with his family.

Then he had been on his own, and suddenly the snow was no longer a source of warmth for him. He had looked at the roads paved in white and felt as cold as the outside air, good memories being brought up and tainted the longer he stared at it.

He could see where he had set up a fort in defence against his father and sister's attack, crouching behind the wall with his mother while they laughed so hard their sides hurt.

He could see where the four of them had laid down in the thick snow, spreading out their arms and legs and sweeping them back and forth, back and forth. Jess had deliberately laid down close to him so they could hit each other playfully.

He could see where he and Jess had made their snowman (although they called it a snow ghost), carefully picking through the undergrowth to find the perfect stones that were just right for the features.

He could see all of that when he saw snow, and eventually he had stopped looking.

But then Y/n had come along, bright and burning, and when she had experienced her first snowfall at 35 Portland Row she had shrieked with joy. Within moments she had shrugged on her thick coat and boots, hat haphazardly shoved on her head and gloves neglected as she shot out the front door, and the other members of the agency were left behind to wonder what on earth was happening.

The other three were quick to follow, leaving Lockwood inside to watch from behind the glass barrier, and for the first time in years he looked outside and saw the snow.

He also saw Y/n fall on her ass incredibly dramatically, and immediately good memories were being created again.

It took him another year to actually go outside in the snow again, and by this point he was deeply entrenched in the hating game that he had with Y/n that he used his excuse of wanting to see her fall over.

He didn't admit to himself for a while that the real reason he was in the cold with her was to make sure that she didn't fall over too hard, or get knocked over by a car that hadn't realised anyone would be on the road (really, why couldn't she have gone in the back garden?), or even because being outside when she was this happy was making him forget that he couldn't feel various parts of his body due to the biting air.

So hearing Steph say that she was going to have to drag Y/n, the girl who loved snow, outside into the snow, didn't make sense to Anthony. He glanced at Y/n where she was stood at his side and realised that she had told her family she didn't enjoy the snow, because there was nothing on her face that said she was confused like he was.

He really hoped they could leave this place soon, because while Y/n's parents and siblings were wonderful, her aunt (who had been sat in the corner sneering at the couple) and her cousin were not. The constant remarks about Y/n's body, how she acted, how she ate, her job, her life, what she enjoyed doing and what she didn't, it can't have been healthy for her to grow up with those comments, and apparently Y/n had been lying to them about herself to get some of it to stop. Anthony suddenly felt even more awful for the things that he had said over the years, and he dropped his head to meet the top of Y/n's to press a kiss there. She looked up in surprise, a question on her face, and he only shook his head and laced their hands together.

He wasn't going to hurt her again, not now that he had a chance with her. And if anyone else hurt her? Well, he would just have to ask which one of them was picking up the shovel, and who was taking the body bag.

~~~

After breakfast everybody wrapped up as warmly as they could and headed out into the snow. It really was insane how much snow they had had, given it was England and they were unused to the sort of snow they saw described in other parts of the world. Anthony had grabbed Y/n's hand after Stephanie tried to get there first, and when she had tried again to be the one accompanying Y/n outside he pulled her out the front door where John and Sam had started clearing a path.

"Ant, slow down! You're gonna pull my arm out of its socket!"

"You'll be fine. I'll give you CPR."

"Ant, you can't give me CPR to fix my arm not being attached to my body anymore."

"Oh. Well I might as well do it anyway, just in case it does help." He was tugged backwards when Y/n came to a stop behind him, and turning around he realised they had travelled quite far from the house.

"Anthony."

"Yes, my darling?"

"Do you just want to give me CPR because it gives you an excuse to kiss me?" He tried not to blush too hard at how quickly she had figured out his ulterior motive, but recovered just as fast with a smug smile.

"I don't need an excuse, darling. I just need to know you consent." She pushed forward, hand still linked with his, and planted a kiss on his mouth.

"Unless I physically assault you, Anthony, then consider me always consenting to you kissing me."

"Perfect."

He kissed her again, trying not to smile too much since it stopped them from kissing more, and wrapped both arms around her waist. She was smiling too, her cold nose pressing into his, and she let out a joyful shriek when he suddenly bent slightly and picked her up off the ground, twirling her while not ever taking his lips off of hers. When he finally put her down again he sighed in content, resting his forehead against hers and just revelling in the knowledge that they had worked through it all, and he was happy.

Then a snowball hit them square in the face, and he was spluttering while Y/n looked for the source.

"That's enough kissing, love birds! You can do that later!"

"Will." Y/n's eyes narrowed and the smile on her face was downright wolfish, and Anthony desperately hoped that she considered him a team mate or he was going to get pulverised.

"Darling, can I just ask, is it the two of us against your brother?"

"It's the two of us against them all, Ant." He knew she meant all of her family, but he couldn't help but think that she meant that it was the two of them together against the world, too. "Oh! You've never had a snowball fight with us before, have you? Basically instead of a kill-or-be-killed scenario, we combine it with capture the flag. Nana Jean has a collection of items that she gives each team, and you have two hours to build a fort and any defences you want. Then when Nana Jean says go, you've gotta get all the items in your fort, and then get all the way to Nana Jean on the front porch. It's very important that you get all the items in the fort first, because otherwise you get accused of cheating and get disqualified. Ultimately, though, nobody can trust anybody, but everyone always tries to get Steph and Linda because nobody likes them."

"So... if we can't trust anyone...?" He left the rest of his question in the air, but luckily she knew what he meant.

"Don't worry, I'll pair with you. Normally I'm with Olivia, 'cause we're meant to be in pairs, but my brothers never care about that rule. Mum'll throw at anyone, and so will Dad, my grandparents are on the porch watching from their chairs, so they'll get some good photos I imagine, Olivia is far too busy trying to look good all the time, and we need to duck!" She grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him towards the ground just as a large chunk of snow sailed through the air where their heads had just been. "Right. We need to start making some sort of defence, which shouldn't be too difficult because of how much snow there is, and then we need to start making weapons, because Nana Jean has obviously just started the timer for two hours building. Sabotage is also allowed during this time." It was both terrifying and weirdly attractive how quickly she was getting into the spirit of an all-out snow war, and within seconds Anthony found himself being put to work building walls.

He had done a similar thing with his family.

London never really had that much snow on the ground at any one time because of all the people and cars that needed to move around, and since agents still had to go out at night the roads and pathways were mostly clear to prevent any unnecessary deaths or accidents. One year, though, there had been too much snow for people to shift enough of it in one day ready for the night, and weather officials had said that temperatures would be rising anyway and the snow would melt in a couple of days. Anthony's parents had woken him early (back when he slept without an issue) and pointed out his window at the snow, and he had been so excited he had gone and jumped on Jess' bed, not caring when she swatted at him with a pillow. The four of them had then spent the day building forts in the back garden and getting their defences ready, and he and his mother had tried planning their walls strategically for the best possible advantage.

"You can't just put it all on top like that, you need to build it a bit like an igloo, or a mud hut. And make sure you've got the proper dense snow, not this superficial flaky stuff. Add some sticks and rocks and things for a bit of integrity, and pack the snow around it. That's it!"

His parents had taken fort building seriously, no matter what the material they were using was. Pillow forts were always complex too, but when finished Anthony had a castle to be king of.

"What are you doing?" Y/n asked, pulling him out of his memories. He'd been crouched down behind a bench that was in their front garden, clumping bits of undergrowth together and starting to build up the walls.

"You need to add sticks and rocks and things for integrity," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Oh. That makes sense I guess. Can you-" she stopped herself for a moment to hurl a hastily made snowball at someone, and Anthony made a mental note to get her to teach George how to throw when he heard a yelp from somewhere in the garden and a cheer from Y/n. "Sorry, needed to get John. Can you like, show me what you're doing? Then we can both do it and get these walls up faster. I really think it's unfair that Will, John and Sam always team up because they all play fucking rugby, so their walls are basically done already."

"True, but we fight ghosts, darling. We know better than anyone how to win a fight, because if we lose, we quite literally die. Here, take some of this," he said, placing some of the stones he had found in her outstretched hands. "Stack them up a little bit, like I've done, yeah, that's good. Then take a whole load of snow and pack it around. It makes it a lot stronger."

"Where did you even learn how to do this? You literally never join in when we have snowball fights back home." His hands slipped when he realised that she had called Portland Row home, but he quickly recovered.

"My mother."

"Oh. Ant, I'm-"

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry. It's... it's nice, actually. Remembering her. Sad, because she's gone, but nice." He could feel Y/n watching him and he cleared his throat. "I don't know if you were in London when we had that last big snowstorm, but there was about this much of it. My parents took me and Jess outside all day and we built forts in the back garden, and then had a snowball fight. It was me and Mum against Jess and Dad. We won, of course. Mum had a really good throwing arm and Jess was complaining about the cold." He smiled at the memory of his sister's squeals when he had snuck up behind her and stuck snow down the back of her coat, running away with a gleeful laugh. An idea struck him then, and he sat up a little. "I've just had a brilliant idea on how we can piss off Steph," he said, and Y/n mirrored the shark-like smile he had on his face.

~~~

Around an hour later, pretty much everybody's forts were complete.

Will, John and Sam had taken Tom into their team (to which Y/n had complained further, since it was meant to be a pairs team situation) and their fort was huge, with walls that took up an entire corner of the garden. Steph and Linda had a pathetic looking fort since neither of them wanted cold hands or to touch the snow, but it was good enough to provide a small amount of protection for now. Emma and Ben's fort was surprisingly decent, and they had added a little turret on one side just for fun.

Then there was Anthony and Y/n's.

"What is that meant to be?" Sam shouted at them, his tone mocking. Taunts were always called out at this stage, Y/n had told Anthony, since everybody had made their defences and weapons and now they were just waiting on Nana Jean to say when they could start. "It looks like a mud hut!" John yelled, clearly thinking that they would be an easy target.

"Good," Anthony muttered, smile decorating his face. "Mud huts are weirdly strong if you build them right."

"You are so random," Y/n said, but she was looking at him with stars in her eyes. "George I would have expected this kind of knowledge, but you? Never would have guessed you knew this much about mud huts."

"My parents studied them, Y/n/n. Of course I know this much about mud huts."

"So random," she whispered under her breath, looking back out at the playing field. Each of the four teams had taken a corner (Olivia had chosen to side with her parents after they threatened to take away her tv privileges if she didn't join in), and Anthony and Y/n were in the opposite corner to The Brothers Grim (he had named them that in his head). The Bitches (Steph and Linda) were on their right, and The In-Laws (Emma, Ben, and Olivia) were on their left. That meant that they, The Love Birds, were most likely going to get attacked last. Everybody was going to be aiming for The Brothers Grim or The Bitches, since they were the strongest team and the most horrible team respectively, and Anthony and Y/n had come up with a plan.

"Are the names really necessary though?"

"What do you mean?!" He did his best to look appalled. "Of course the names are necessary, darling! How else are we meant to quickly and effectively communicate which fort we're going for?!"

"You're ridiculous, Anthony Lockwood."

"We've covered this already, Y/n L/n. I'm very aware of how ridiculous I am."

"I mean, what kind of person pretends they're a whale when drinking orange juice?"

"Yeah, but that only works if you have the orange juice with the bits in it, because then you can filter it through your teeth and-" She had cut him off with a kiss again, and while he had been in the middle of a very important explanation, he didn't mind that this was how he was being cut off. "You really need to stop interrupting me like that, darling," he said after she pulled back, but he didn't mean it. She knew that he didn't mean it either, because she was smiling softly up at him in the brief silence that they had before the fight started.

"Go over the plan one more time?" she asked.

"Sure."

~~~

Nana Jean had taken her place on the front steps, wrapped up in about ten blankets as she sat on her chair next to Gramps.

Y/n was tense, a pit of nerves forming in her stomach as she crouched next to Anthony. Their plan was supposedly foolproof, but they only had her knowledge of previous snowball fights with her family to discern what the other teams would try and do, and they could always have new tactics. The one thing they could rely on, however, was everybody attacking Steph and Linda first.

Each team had been randomly allocated an item from Nana Jean's collection, and had placed it in their fort. Their job then was to protect it at all costs, and not let it reach any of the other forts. Once in a fort, provided the thief didn't have all four items, they could be taken back along with any other items in the fort.

The Brothers Grim seemed to have the advantage, what with their huge walls and numbers, but Anthony and Y/n had spent most of their lives fighting far more threatening opponents in far more dire situations, and so this would be a breeze. With her knowledge of how her family fought (extremely dirty) and Anthony's weird knack for planning intricate extractions of items, they were sure to win.

They would even end up with time to spare to get under Steph's skin.

"Ready?" Nana Jean called out, receiving multiple affirmations in reply. "Three!"

Anthony shifted beside her, and she got ready to move.

"Two!"

The pit of nerves was filled to the brim, spilling over and making her limbs shake.

"One!"

Anthony's face was set in determination, and his eyes were flicking over the playing field as he waited. She was sure that she was doing the same.

"GO!"

Immediately action brought the front garden to life, with people running everywhere and snowballs flying to and fro, mostly missing but occasionally finding their marks. Anthony had already shot off while Y/n stayed behind with their item: Nana Jean's scarf that was too old and tattered for her to actually be kept warm by it anymore. She knew that Will would try and sneak around the back, and John would be left at their fort since he had the best aim and strongest throw. Sam would be the decoy, and Tom was just running around hitting everyone. Steph and Linda were getting annihilated, crouching down and shrieking loudly when snowballs from all directions took the top of their fort walls off. They had used the soft flaky snow instead of the proper solid stuff, and as such their fort wasn't much protection. That's what Anthony had said, anyway, and she decided that he knew what he was talking about. Y/n spotted her mother attempting to creep up behind her, and she chucked a snowball right at her face. It missed, hitting her shoulder instead, but it was enough of a threat that her mother backed off for now.

Anthony had disappeared somehow, and while she searched for a while she couldn't spot his skinny beanpole frame anywhere. That was probably a good thing, she thought, because if she couldn't find him, then their first target definitely couldn't.

Olivia made for Y/n then, battle cry piercing the air, but before Y/n could even take aim her sister was taken down by someone else's snowball, quickly followed by a "YES! HA HA!" that told her it was Tom. She looked through the gap in the bench that Anthony had left while building their fort, and saw her youngest brother doing a victory lap of the field, getting hit by snowballs but carrying on anyway.

"Got it," Anthony said, making her jump and nearly hit him. "Woah! It's me!"

She did hit him then, hissing her response. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, darling, sorry. Got it though!" He smiled triumphantly, looking very proud of himself as he lifted up the woollen hat that had been the item belonging to The Brothers Grim.

"Excellent!" She planted a kiss on his frozen lips and he grinned even more widely as he put the hat down. "Did they see you?"

"Nope. I told you earlier, I'm like a ghost myself." He had said something to that effect earlier on, but she hadn't really been paying much attention because she was too busy thinking how gorgeous he was when he got excited. He was like a puppy, and she could practically see his tail wagging while he looked at her with those brown eyes.

"Yeah, you certainly look like one right now," she snorted. "I'm pretty sure you're the same colour as the snow."

"Oi, my ghostly complexion is going to win us this thing, alright? Anyway, it's your turn to go out. Here." He handed her the large rock that they had found, and kissed her on the cheek. "Go get 'em," he winked, and then she was off, leaving him to guard their fort while she made for her parents.

Unfortunately they saw her coming immediately, but purely because Tom was still running around like a headless chicken and had screamed "Y/N'S COMING! Y/N'S COMING!"

"Dammit, Tom," she muttered, frown on her face. She had hidden the rock in her coat pocket since it was the right size (She and Anthony had made sure they would fit properly), but she still had to get the large gloves from their fort. The stone didn't matter now, because they had seen her, so all she needed to do was snatch their item and get back without being brought down. Luckily the gloves were tied together, which meant she only needed to grab one and she could be off again. Her parents were already tiring, she could tell, but years of being an agent and building up the stamina needed to run away from Visitors all night meant that Y/n was only just getting started. She dodged the snowballs that were thrown her way, and slid behind The In-Laws' walls, taking part of it with her. "I'll take those, thanks!" she said, picking up the gloves and immediately running off again, trying to ignore the snow she could feel melting down her spine. "Here," she huffed when she got back to her own fort, nearly knocking Anthony over.

"Oh, perfect! You alright to stay here while I get the last one? Or did you wanna pause for a moment? I don't think The Brothers Grim have noticed their item is missing yet, but your parents are definitely going to start making their move on us soon."

"Just gimme a moment to catch my breath, and I'll be good to go." She had collapsed into his side, clutching her stomach and trying to control her breathing, and he wrapped his arms around her briefly.

"As much as I would love to stay like this all day, darling, I do also need to throw snow at your family because they're coming this way."

"Oh, yeah. Go for it," she replied, sitting up again. Anthony picked up a snowball in each hand and chucked them over their walls, and although Y/n couldn't see who it was she did hear an "oof!" a few seconds later. "I've still got the rock from The In-Laws attempt in my pocket, so I can go and get The Bitches' item if you wanna keep throwing? You're better at it than me 'cause I can only use one arm. The other one is shit at throwing."

"You sure?" he asked, picking up another snowball. She nodded. "Alright. You know what you're doing, yeah?"

"Yep. I'll see you in five, Schmoopie."

"Why are you calling me Schmoopie? That's my name for you!" he called after her, playful frown on his face. Her only response was laughter, which she quickly stifled as she hid behind the thick oak tree closest to Steph and Linda's fort. Their item was a snowshoe, although where Nana Jean had even found one of those was a mystery. The rock she had in her pocket wasn't really big enough, but if she covered it in a bit of snow then it would be good enough to fool them. Anthony's intricate extraction plan for getting all the items had been to use decoys after sneaking up on each fort, and so far their first target, The Brothers Grim, hadn't even noticed. They were too busy fighting off Olivia, who had turned slightly feral over the course of the fight, and Tom, who had apparently decided that no team was better than the team he had created for himself, and was throwing snow at everyone including himself. Y/n crept forward slightly to assess how long she had before either her cousin or her aunt turned around, but then snow started hitting their nearly-destroyed fort again and she knew that Anthony was working on the distraction for her. Tom started attacking Steph and Linda again too, and while her Dad had joined Olivia in attempting to break down the walls of The Brothers Grim's fort, their attack was weakening.

She needed to move fast.

Y/n made her move then, bending down to grab some snow in one hand, and readying the rock in her other, and headed in the direction of Steph and Linda's backs. They were too busy trying to remake their walls, which meant they had left their snowshoe unguarded behind them. She dropped the rock in the snow, then picked up the snowshoe, and in the next five seconds had shoved the snow in her other hand down the back of Steph's jacket and sprinted away. Her cousin's screams followed her the short distance back to her fort, and Anthony didn't need to ask how it had gone when he heard them. "All four items, safe and sound. Now we've just got to get to Nana Jean without them getting taken off us."

That was the hardest part, since Nana Jean was sat on the front porch nearly completely opposite them. They would have to cross the entire playing field and pass The Brothers Grim fort to get to her.

"Alright. You take these. You can't put them in your pockets, which is annoying, but otherwise we'll be disqualified for cheating. You ready?" she asked Anthony after loading his arms with the items. He nodded, fiery determination in his eyes.

"I'm ready. Remember the weak spots in their walls, yeah?"

"Yep." She had memorised the points that Anthony had pointed out to her earlier, and thanked his parents for showing him how to build excellent forts.

"Okay. Three, two, one, go!" They stood up from behind their walls and started running, Anthony's long legs carrying him across the field while Y/n periodically stooped to grab more snow and compact it into a good enough shape that she could throw it far. He nearly made it, and then Will appeared out of nowhere to take him down. Anthony twirled out the way (always the fancy one), and Will missed catching him by a hair's breadth, but now there was more of a distance between Anthony and Nana Jean.

"THEY'RE GONNA WIN!!!" Tom shouted, and suddenly all of Y/n's family members were closing in on her and Anthony with snowballs in their hands.

"RUN!" she screamed, begging her legs to respond. They were slightly numb from the cold now.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!"

Nana Jean had her arms outstretched from where she sat on the porch, and Y/n was momentarily blinded by the flash of her Gramps' camera just inside the window. She threw what snow she could at both people and forts, picking out the points where Anthony had said were weakest and aiming, and sure enough within moments part of The Brothers Grim's fort had collapsed, and the brothers themselves were crying out in anger.

Time passed slowly and in a blur, and before she knew it Anthony was up the steps and shoving the items into Nana Jean's arms and collapsing at her feet, then letting out a small cry of pain when Y/n landed on top of him. "Did we do it?" she asked, expression wild as she tried to catch her breath. Anthony didn't say anything, his face not revealing anything.

Then he cracked a smile, and it was like the sun had come out. "We did it!"

"You did it, love," Nana Jean said from above them, looking fondly down at her granddaughter where she was lying on the floor.

Y/n immediately pushed herself up (that made Anthony make another "oof" since she had braced her full weight on his chest) and turned around, pointing at all her gathered family members who were stood looking sorry for themselves (apart from Tom, he was still running around and throwing himself in the snow) and shouting "HA! WE WIN, SUCKERS!"

~~~

"Thanks," Y/n said, gladly accepting the mug of tea that Anthony handed her. He smiled down at her, one of those soft secret smiles that he kept for the people he loved, and sat next to her on their loveseat.

She wasn't sure when she'd started calling it their loveseat, but that was what it was, she supposed. Nobody else sat on it apart from them, and now they were cosying up like they always did. She had slung her legs over his and made sure not to spill her tea while he adjusted.

"That's nice and warm," he said, holding it under his face to heat up his frozen features. Y/n hummed her agreement, sipping on her own tea.

Everyone was snacking on random bits of food from the still-extensive collection (despite how much had been eaten at the party), and Anthony had brought over a bowl of bits for the two of them to share. Despite the slight chill that still sat in her bones, she was warm, and as she watched Anthony converse with her Gramps she realised that it was him making her warm.

Not his body heat, although he was surprisingly warm for somebody who had been running around in the snow all day, but rather the feelings he was stirring up in her. He made her feel warm just by interacting with her family, just by allowing her Gramps to tell him jokes that the rest of them had all heard a million times, just by even being here with her. He hadn't needed to come with her, and in fact he had argued against it and compromised, saying if she couldn't find anyone then he would do it and be unhappy, and yet he had done it anyway with a smile on his face. She'd genuinely believed that he wouldn't come with her, or would go back on his word because he thought it would be funny to watch her suffer.

But he was here, cuddled up on a loveseat with her in her family's house, talking to her Gramps about trains or something (she suspected it was more her Gramps was talking at Anthony), and he was hers.

Steph hadn't stopped watching them like a hawk since the snowball fight, but Y/n couldn't find it in her to care because she was with Anthony, and they had achieved a sliver of revenge themselves earlier. Her cousin was rightfully pissed about having a bunch of snow chucked down her back, but then again she had spent her whole life making Y/n miserable so really she deserved it.

He was her home, she realised. Not this house, not even Portland Row, despite the fact that she regularly called it that. No, neither of those places were her home.

Anthony Lockwood was.

part 9

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #deck the halls (and not your partner)#enemies to lovers #fake dating #christmas

167 notes · View notes

dottores · 1 year

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore's past includes webtoon mindset.

notes: okay y'all i know I gave u a choice over what u want to see int he next chapter but free choice is only an illusion & mother knows best & I took ur wants into consideration & decided against it bc I had a rlly great idea that can only be implemented in this chapter bc there would be no other opportunities for it later on. but im rlly happy w how some of these scenes came out so hopefully u guys are too.

RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

This again.

You wanted to frown as you found yourself in a large room akin to a chamber with a tall, dome-like ceiling and marble pillars that stretched the height of the room. You were sat in a chair, wooden and creaky, and you could feel the cold shackles wrapped around your ankles without even looking down to see them for yourself.

There were six figures sitting before you, each on large seats that reminded you of Chief Justice Neuvillette’s back in the Fontaine courthouse. Even the air was similar--damp and heavy, it made your skin crawl.

He was on trial, you put together quickly, but for what? And… where?

There wasn’t much in your line of sight besides the six people sitting in front of you. No, that’s not right. You could see a few more figures from the corner of your eye--they were armed with swords and polearms, tense and ready to act. They wore uniforms of some kind but you couldn’t make out what they were from, you didn’t recognize them.

“Three hundred years,” one of the men in the six seats spat out. “It’s been three hundred years since the sages have had to gather for a situation like this. This should have been handled before it escalated to this, Sayid. He no longer brings shame just on the Kshahrewar Darshan, now he brings it upon all of us. This has gone too far.”

Sages, Darshan, this was the Akademiya. These were the Great Sages. The people lining the wall were the Matra.

“Attempting the forbidden, interfering with natural evolution, delving beyond the universe--three sins that he has committed and somehow this is still a discussion,” another voice--a woman this time--added on.

You thought that he should have felt anxious, upset, or even offended by the accusations but you could feel nothing. No tug at your heart, no feeling of your stomach dropping, just a cold and empty void where there should have been emotions.

“It is a discussion because there’s not yet any proof of the sins having been committed,” a tight, male voice rebutted. “What say you, Zandik? Will you defend yourself or just sit there silently?”

Zandik. That was his name--only now you could remember, though it felt as if you had never even forgotten it.

Your lips moved as he responded, voice apathetic and dismissive: “There’s nothing to say… as you said, there is no proof of sins that I have to defend myself from.” His lips pulled up into a thin smile as he spoke, one that unnerved you and you couldn’t even see it. From the expressions on some of the people sitting in front of you, they were just as unnerved as you were.

“He doesn’t even care, Sayid,” the first man hissed. “He won’t even address the accusations laid against him.”

“Sins are not the issue at hand,” a new voice spoke up, voice low and heavy. “We are here to discuss what happened to my Dastur in the Apam Woods.”

Finally, a reaction from Zandik. He raised his chin in response to their words, a feigned attempt at confidence but you could feel the discomfort that began to stir within him--the unease. Somehow you knew that whatever he had been told he was called here for, this had not been it. They had caught him off guard.

“What is there to discuss about that?” Zandik asked. His voice sounded the same as it did before--indifferent, perfunctory--but you could feel the way his heart was beating just a fraction faster than it had been before, you could feel the way his shoulders had stiffened. “It was an unfortunate encounter with a group of Rishboland Tigers. Tragic and should have been avoidable but one of the other trainees had forgotten to set up incense to ward them off.”

“Yes,” one of the men agreed with him, “so the official report says.”

You felt restless as if you wanted to bolt from the room and hide… or he did, for the most part, but some of it was your own. You had attended enough court sessions at Fontaine’s court to know exactly what your soulmate was being accused of… and you had seen enough guilty defendants to know that the accusations were likely not far off from correct.

Did he…?

“Yes,” Zandik agreed slowly, “because that is what happened.”

“Is it?” The man who initially changed the topic questioned. “The coroner has released to us the official report of Dastur Sohreh’s death. There were multiple trauma wounds… lacerations and contusions on internal organs… hemorrhage… but the fatal injury was a wound on the throat--a fractured hyoid bone caused by strangulation. You were the last person seen with Dastur Sohreh, were you not, trainee?”

“Sharnama,” a woman’s voice warned but the man only held up his hand, silencing her, waiting for Zandik to respond.

Zandik did not respond. You could feel the way he was scrambling for an answer, an explanation. You could feel how his heart was racing, how his body was tense. You could feel his anxiety and the realization dawning on him and it all made you sick to your stomach.

What did you do? You wanted to scream at him. Why did you do it?

As if they could hear your questions, the man continued. “Dastur Sohreh reported to me several acts of insubordination while you were under her tutelage--three times in which you acted without her authorization and brought risks upon the investigation team and an encounter with a ruin hunter in which you insisted on bringing the machinery back to the Akademiya to be disassembled and reverse-engineered, which I personally had to reprimand you for and had you removed from the author list of the investigation’s research paper. When did that happen in regard to Dastur Sohreh’s death, trainee?”

“A week,” the words were frigid and biting as Zandik finally spoke up. “It happened a week before her death.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “that was it.”

“I had nothing to do with her death,” Zandik said.

You thought you had gotten good at being able to tell whether or not people were lying. You spent three days a week in the court audience watching trials but you were in your soulmate’s body and you could not tell whether he was lying or telling the truth about murdering someone. His heart was racing and there was a twitch in the corner of his lip--the telltale signs of a lie but they could just as easily be a result of the anxiety stemming from being accused of murder.

(You wondered, distantly, if you were just making excuses so you didn’t have to face the reality that had so suddenly been thrown at you. You had enough experience in court to differentiate the guilty from the innocent.)

“I suppose we have no way of proving that… so you are not at threat of imprisonment,” was his only response but Zandik was not at ease by those words, as if he knew exactly what was coming next. “But with reasonable suspicion of your involvement on top of the allegations regarding your research violating three sins provides grounds for expulsion… assuming it is a unanimous decision.”

It was a question cast to the other five seated in front of Zandik. You noted how Zandik seemed more anxious at the prospect of expulsion than he did at being accused of murder and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

“Sharnama,” the only woman amongst the six spoke again, “you mean to make us the first council of sages to expel a student in centuries. The last time-”

“He murdered my Dastur, Anisa,” Sharnama snapped in response.

“I did not-” Zandik’s voice rose, harsh in defense of himself but he was cut off sharply.

“Enough from you, you had your chance to defend yourself,” Sharnama said, tone laced with venom.

“Sharnama is harsh but… the trainee has had a reputation since his time as a student,” one of the other men agreed after a few moments of silence. “His methods and theories… his interest in Khaenri’ahn machinery… It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Discomfort is not grounds for expulsion, Isami, but regardless, we cannot just dismiss all of these allegations. Should any of them prove to be true and it comes out that we knew and did nothing about it…”

“It would tarnish the integrity of the Akademiya,” the woman, Anisa, agreed quietly. “Sayid, Khalil?”

“This should have been handled when the accusations of him infringing upon the laws and rules our predecessors set up first came about,” one of the men said and you could feel Zandik’s throat spasm as he swallowed, panic beginning to set in.

“... Sayid?” Anisa pressed after a few moments of silence.

And you could feel it. You could feel that small, minuscule bud of hope begin to bloom deep in Zandik’s chest as he shifted a wild gaze over to the sage called Sayid. You had a decent understanding of the structure of Sumeru’s Akademiya after having looked into it because of your suspicions about your soulmate, you supposed this man was the sage of whatever Darshan Zandik was a part of--Kshahrewar, you remembered one of the other men mentioning before.

Zandik trusted Sayid to defend him, you could feel it and you could feel the way his face fell and the way his stomach dropped when Sayid looked away from him, as good an answer as damning him aloud as Sharnama took his silence as agreement, waving his hand for the matra to take him.

You didn’t think Zandik even registered what had happened until rough hands were forcing him to his feet, starting to drag him from the room, and then, finally, the rage hit--bitter and deep, overwhelming.

“Over rumors and false allegations,” Zandik spat out, hatred dripping from every word. “You’ll expel me for that?”

He got no response besides the harsh words of one of the matra urging him along but he struggled against them with every step, even with fingers digging deep into his biceps, bruising his skin, he was undeterred.

“You sages can’t even fall in line with the very virtues you set out to preserve,” he seethed, “and the sins that you deem so treacherous are just an excuse to chain anyone whose convictions do not fit your standards because you fear that a change in our way of thinking will displace your power.”

You had never felt anything like this before. This feral fury that had your blood on fire and your brain melting of coherent thought--uncontrollable and unquenchable, a type of bloodlust that shook you to your core and scared you because you could feel yourself angry too and you weren’t sure if it were remnants of Zandik’s rage spilling to you or not and you hated how you were being so influenced by his emotions that you couldn’t tell what was his and what was yours anymore.

“You’re going to regret this,” Zandik shouted as the matra pulled him through the doors of the chamber. His words, the sages’ words, they all echoed in your head over and over again--all of the accusations, his reactions, and you wondered what it meant and how much of it was true and you wondered who he was not for the first time and certainly not the last. “You’re going to regret this!”

He didn’t even bother to try the tricks he attempted last time--searching for something to read, yelling, blinking, he knew none of it would work and he wasn’t the type of person to make the same mistake twice.

The room he was in--she was in--was large and enclosed with an overwhelmingly sweet and sickly flowery scent that made his stomach churn. He had always hated floral scents and this was beyond anything he had ever smelt before.

And there were too many people. There were too many goddamn people. They were packed in seats before where his soulmate was sitting, they were lined up around the room as if they were waiting to do something, there were so many that the line was even pushed out two double doors, flowing into the hall.

What was going on?

Dottore couldn’t tell. His soulmate was facing the crowd of people--there was something behind her, he could tell that much. He couldn’t see any flowers so he assumed that whatever that scent was, was coming from behind her.

There was a man standing next to her--an older one with a cold, unfriendly expression and thick build. He watched as a woman approached the older man, disgust curling in his gut at the snot-faced expression painting her face, wide teary eyes and trembling lips as she reached for the man’s hand. Dottore wanted to step away, draw back and leave before the woman could set her eyes on him but alas, he was not in control of his body--her body--again.

The more he thought about it, the more odd this was. The last time he had witnessed her past through dreams, her emotions had been loud and intense, deafening. It had him spiraling because he couldn’t understand what he was feeling and he couldn’t tell if he was feeling it or if it was her.

Now, it was empty. There was no joy, no anxiety, no fear or sadness; just a cool void, reminiscent of how the past week and a half of silence from her had felt. Dottore wondered if that was why Celestia was forcing him to sit through another sequence of dreams--punishment for trying to push her away.

Succeeding in pushing her away, he corrected silently, there was an odd pit in his stomach at the thought. He should be happy, he had been worried that not even a direct strike against her persistence would deter her but he had found success in the first attempt.

It was what he wanted. He no longer had to deal with the frequent tugs on the thread. He no longer had to deal with the fluctuating emotions. He no longer had to deal with the good mornings and goodnights and the incessant questions.

The past week had been the most peaceful and productive he’s had ever since that damned string appeared and yet somehow, he was not happy.

It was what he wanted, he repeated but a part of him felt as if he might be trying to convince himself of it.

Around him, people were talking. He could see their lips moving and he could hear the words leaving their lips but they were unintelligible and garbled, it sounded as if they were underwater and only speaking half a word at a time, combining them to create words that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t read their lips, no matter how hard he tried, it just looked as if they were speaking a foreign language.

The woman who had been talking to the older man now turned to his soulmate. Instantly, dread was rocketing through him--he knew what was about to happen and there was simply nothing that he could do about it.

Thin arms wrapped around her, tighter than he thought it would be and he wondered, hatefully, if his soulmate was some agent of Celestia sent to make his life a living hell. Three times now, he was forced to experience something through her that made his skin crawl. First, he was tossed around through that winter storm because she made stupid decisions. Then he was slapped. And now, there was a woman clinging to him, sobbing and speaking words that he couldn’t even understand and all he could do was stand there and let it happen because that’s what she was doing.

It took far too long for another woman to come along and drag her off. Dottore was livid, if he looked to the side, he was sure he would see snot on his soulmate’s shoulder and he could still feel bony arms digging into her sides.

He wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It felt like an eternity and only a few seconds somehow at the same time. People were passing by her in slow motion but they were gone in an instant. Dottore was distinctly unsettled, it felt like someone was fucking with his head, forcing him to perceive things wrongly.

Eventually, his soulmate was approached by someone new--a younger man with dark hair and purple-red eyes. He ignored the older man to her side, everyone else had stopped at him first and then moved to her but he had beelined right to her.

Something didn’t sit right in his stomach about that.

Dottore braced himself as best as he could as the other man reached out to grab his soulmate but instead of pulling her into a hug, he only grabbed her forearms, leaning his head down to say something that Dottore couldn’t understand again.

He was undeterred by her lack of reaction, trying again and again and again. Dottore had half a mind to bash his head in and tell him to leave, fed up by this whole situation. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to escape this. When he thought he finally succeeded, he was dragged right back in by Celestia and their fucked up games.

Then, at last, Dottore could hear again. His soulmate was snapped out of whatever daze she had been in and noise exploded around him: scraping of chairs against the ground, mindless chatter, a violin muted in the background, slow and mournful.

A funeral.

For who?

It had to be someone close to his soulmate from how they were all approaching her and suddenly, he was reminded of that night all of those years ago during the event where Pantalone was being officially promoted to Harbinger. Father, branded right on his forearm. He had yet to get a look at his soulmate through a reflection--he wondered if this was the funeral.

Most of the chatter was sympathetic, talking about the deceased and reminiscing old times… but not all of it was. He could hear whispers of men talking about what this could mean for the stability of the court, eyeing up the new opportunities that came with this death, some sounded excited rather than melancholic, like hyenas feasting on one of their own.

“There you are,” the young man in front of her said with a small smile that made Dottore frown. “Ignore all of them, they did the same thing when my grandfather died. Came to the funeral under the guise of mourning just so they could see if there was any instability for them to leech on. There wasn’t then and there isn’t now.”

“There isn’t?” his soulmate spoke for the first time--her voice was hoarse and empty, the only sort of emotion was a dull sense of doubt. “All they talk about is how I’m too weak to take over for my grandfather. They say a woman is unfit to be warden.”

“If they saw the way you could work your family’s-” he began loudly.

“Wriothesley,” the older man standing next to his soulmate said, a warning written all over his face.

“Sorry,” Wriothesley said, looking away.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” his soulmate said after a few moments of silence, voice quiet. “The instability is right in front of everyone’s faces. They can all see that they’re not here, Wrio.”

Wrio, Dottore thought to himself spitefully once he heard the nickname.

Wriothesley looked irritated at her words, glancing once at the older man again before speaking back up, “They didn’t show up at all? Your mother? Siblings? To your father’s funeral?”

There it was. Finally, a bit of emotion from her. She was hurt at his words, he could feel something pinching at his chest, a dark and unwelcome feeling but for some reason, it made him feel a bit more at ease after the past week of silence.

“They were busy,” she said quietly but Dottore could tell that she didn’t even believe the words herself. Neither did Wriothesley, if the expression on his face had anything to say about it. “They were, Wrio.”

Dottore wanted to roll his eyes once he heard the nickname again but instead, he distracted himself with what she had said. He thought back to the previous dreams he had of her past--being left behind by her mother and stepfather while they went to town, the argument with her mother and the slap… somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had chosen not to go.

Wriothesley scoffed loudly, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the other attendees. “They’re despicable,” he spat out. “Especially that skeevy, rat-faced-”

“Come, Wriothesley,” a middle-aged man who looked just like the younger man said sharply, interrupting him before he could finish his sentence. “This is not the place for this topic. You can speak to your betrothed another time.”

Dottore blanched.

Betrothed?

Blood.

That was the first thing you noticed. The thick, nasty scent of iron was all around you--around him, whatever. It was disgusting, overwhelming. You wanted to throw up, you thought that if you were in your own body, you might’ve passed out but you were in his, Zandik’s, and he was totally unbothered by the smell.

Something was wrong with your eyes--that was the second thing you noticed. You had no peripheral vision, the only thing you could see was his hands resting on the lab table in front of you, fresh and dry blood staining his skin, dripping to the floor below.

He was angry, the third thing you noticed. You could feel the rage curling in his gut; his nails digging into the table, grinding against the metal. You couldn’t figure out what he was angry about and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know because you had a distinct feeling that it had something to do with the blood on his hands and the lab table.

Zandik finally moved, an awful scraping sound meeting your ears as his nails dragged against the metal when he pushed off the table. He paced up and down the length of the room, muttering to himself.

“Everything was right.”

“What went wrong?”

“-was supposed to work, don’t under-”

As he turned, you could see something--some sort of machine laying across the lab table that hadn’t been in your line of sight before. You wondered if these were ruin guards that he talked about so much. There was something pooling around it; from the distance you were at, you thought it might be oil but Zandik turned on his heel to move closer to it and a sinking feeling formed in your stomach when you realized that it was not oil, instead it was a massive puddle of blood surrounding the machine.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself as Zandik stood in front of the machine, taking one of its arms in his hand. The metal somehow felt cool and hot at the same time, uncomfortable to the touch. You wanted to let go of it, there was blood coating the metal and staining his hands even more, but Zandik’s grip was tight around it.

Why was a machine bleeding? You were sick at the thought, hoards of horrible possibilities running through your head but you didn’t get a chance to dwell on any of them.

Zandik sighed, annoyed, jerking away from the machine again to pace. His head shook back and forth in a rough manner that started to give you a headache, he did it over and over and over again and you wanted to scream at him to stop.

“This was supposed to work, Grand Sage,” he said, clicking his tongue sharply once, then twice, and then a third time. “This was supposed to work. I did everything right. Why aren’t you working?”

Is he talking to-

Zandik marched right back toward the machine, much to your displeasure. The longer he stared at the automaton, the more uncomfortable you felt. You could tell that it had been modified in several places, disassembled and put back together but it almost looked as if… he had put something inside it?

“Why aren’t you working, Grand Sage?” he repeated, humming to himself irritably as he tapped his fingers against the metal. “I even went out to fetch you a new core, you’ve always been so damn ungrateful, haven’t you? Everything I did for your Darshan and you still turned your back on me. Ungrateful, even when I’m trying to make you greater than man.”

-to the machine?

You wanted to wake up, you didn’t want to see whatever this dream was showing you. You wondered if it was some cruel joke the gods were playing on you by showing you this. Or maybe they were trying to help you, you considered. He had made his opinion on you clear and yet every day you were still tempted to reach out to him, maybe they were trying to help you move past him.

“Is this what you plan to do with yourself?” a low, unfamiliar voice spoke up suddenly from the opposite end of the room.

Zandik was startled, heart racing and head whipping to the side as he snapped his fingers together. Instantly, there was a loud whirring machine coming from behind him, metal scraping against metal--the sound of an automaton coming to life. His gaze focused on a figure stepping out from the shadows of the corner of the room, tall with graying hair and a mask that covered the entire right half of his face.

“Who are you?” Zandik demanded harshly and finally, you caught sight of him through the reflection of a metal cabinet. Red eyes stared back at you through a mask that covered three-quarters of his face and short silvery blue hair that had blood dripping from the tips of his curls. “Who are you?”

“So much potential wasting away in this poor excuse of a lab,” the man continued, undeterred by Zandik’s hostility. An eerie feeling swept over you--you weren’t sure if it was you or Zandik becoming unnerved by the man, maybe it was both of you. “Don’t you want something more?”

“What are you talking about?” Zandik asked sharply, a scalpel clutched tight in his fist--somehow, you knew that it was no match for the man standing before him and you had a feeling that he knew that too. “Did the Akademiya send you? Who are you?”

“I came after hearing rumors of an expelled student performing heretical acts… So far I’m unimpressed.”

The anger that spread through him was like wildfire, consuming all rationality and any other emotion he might’ve felt. In an instant, the automaton that had awakened behind him was moving, launching across the room at a pace that had you reeling, blades slashing outward but then at once, it stopped. A cold silence took over the room, Zandik’s brows furrowed and his lips turned down as the automaton came to a stop, shutting down right before his eyes.

“Interesting enhancements… but unchanged at its core, meant to be operated by those that created them, not a follower of the gods.”

“I am not a follower of the gods,” Zandik spat out violently, stepping forward before he paused as if reconsidering the man’s statement. “Meant to be operated… you?”

“Yes,” he responded, ignoring Zandik’s entire change of demeanor at his words. You thought you might feel even more unnerved now, at the excited feeling bubbling inside Zandik as he stared at the man, waiting for him to continue. “What are your goals, outcast?”

Zandik frowned. “That’s not my name-” he began but was interrupted.

“If I cared for your name, I would have learned it. If you prove yourself useful, you will be given a new identity anyway,” he told Zandik. “Now answer me, outcast, what are your goals?”

Zandik didn’t answer for a moment, staring at him, but then he glanced back at the automaton still laying on the lab table, the pool of blood beneath it now larger. Luckily, his gaze didn’t linger on it for long.

“I’m going to enhance humans so that we can rival gods,” Zandik said, raising his chin to focus his eyes back on the man. “What do you mean? Prove yourself useful? To whom? You?”

“Lofty goals,” was all he received as a response. Zandik bristled. “How do you plan to do that? With what resources?”

Zandik opened his mouth to respond but no words left his lips. Finally, he pushed out, “I’m making progress just fine.”

“Yes,” the man said dryly, his visible eye drifting over to the mess behind Zandik. “I can see that…”

You didn’t think you liked where this was heading. Zandik was still suspicious but now he was intrigued, ready to listen to this man and whatever he had to say, and you had a feeling that this man would bring nothing good.

“I can provide you with resources,” he offered. “Funding, rare materials… new test subjects. All of the finest and as much as you need.”

“What do you want in return?” Zandik asked.

“There is a war coming,” he responded cryptically, “and you are going to help prepare us for it.”

“A war?” Zandik asked, baffled. “A war against who?”

But you knew.

You knew.

It was the same war that had the Hydro Archon’s paranoia escalating. The war that forced you to hide your soulmark and thread your entire life, that had you looked down on and whispered about because you had to tell people you had no soulmate. The war led by the same organization that had sent your stepfather to Fontaine as an infiltrator, the man who had killed your father and ruined your life.

At once, all of your nightmares and all of your worst fears came true.

“A war against the gods.”

Betrothed?

Dottore was appalled, reeling at the knowledge that was just forced onto him. The scene shifted, Dottore was now in a smaller room kneeling in front of a woman that he recognized from the first dream he had of his soulmate but he couldn’t even focus on the situation at hand.

Betrothed??

Since when had she been betrothed? Dottore thought that would have been one of things that she mentioned when she was rambling on about her days at night. He thought it might’ve been something that was at least hinted at when she couldn’t control what words were being sent to him.

“I have to leave, mother,” Dottore’s lips were moving as she spoke but quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit about whatever conversation she was having with her mother. The lack of emotions she was feeling left a vacuum that allowed his feelings to spiral and he was having trouble trying to keep control of them.

He couldn’t even tell what the emotions rattling him were. He thought that he had become better at pinpointing emotions ever since he was forced to deal with hers but this was foreign--green and ugly, beyond just anger or sadness, stronger than anything he’s felt in centuries.

“You do not have to leave, you’re choosing to.”

Dottore thought he might feel insulted--disrespected, even, being given a soulmate only for them to be married off to someone else. Another cruel joke played by the gods to spite him, a cruel joke played by her to spite him. He wondered if this was her getting back at him for never responding to those goodnight tugs she always used to do: talking to him, trying to get him to fall for her trap and respond, only for her to be with someone else.

“I do, I have to go. There’s something I have to do.”

He shouldn’t feel insulted, or disrespected. He shouldn’t care at all whether or not his soulmate was betrothed to someone else. He never planned on speaking to her. He never planned on meeting her. And he absolutely never planned to do anything about the bond forced on him by Celestia. In fact, this should make him feel better. It meant that there was less of a chance for her to reach out to him again if she was in a relationship with someone else.

It freed him of her. This should be a good thing for him, so why was he so angry?

“You won’t even tell me where you’re going,” her mother snapped. “Best not be to the north, there’s only so much more I can defend you from peoples’ suspicions. They’re starting to ask questions.”

But it was not a matter of whether or not he should or shouldn’t care. It was the sheer audacity she had to keep reaching out to him when she was set to marry, or even has married someone else at this point. She was trying to play games with him and if there was one thing that Dottore couldn’t stand, it was someone trying to play games with him--be it the gods, other Harbingers, or some random girl that Celestia decided to tie him to.

“It doesn’t matter where-”

“Of course, it matters,” the mother said, fingers digging into his soulmate’s forearms. “What am I to tell Her Excellency when she asks about where you went off to? The last thing our family needs is the speculation that would come along with people thinking you went off to Snezhnaya.”

Finally, he felt something from her--something sharp and jagged tugging at her chest that drew him from his thoughts, an emotion he had become acquainted with through her intimately over the past few years: sadness, disappointment.

“Wow,” she said dryly, “that’s what you’re worried about. Suspicions against your family. Not whether or not I might be going somewhere dangerous.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” her mother said, livid. “Of course, I care about whether or not you’re going somewhere dangerous. I’m your mother.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” his soulmate said after a moment, rising to her feet and pulling her arms from her mother’s grip. “You can tell the Hydro Archon I’ve left for Mondstadt.”

“Is that where you’re actually going?” her mother rose to her feet after her, taking a step forward, but his soulmate did not respond. Her mother’s face fell. “You’re going north, aren’t you?”

Dottore finally focused on the situation at hand. North? But the only thing north of Fontaine was-

“Aren’t you?” her mother demanded. “You’re going to Snezhnaya? Why are you going there? To find him?”

Him. She must be referring to Dottore. But why would his soulmate come looking for him if she had…?

“I didn’t say that,” his soulmate shook her head, looking away out toward the window. It was a dreary day, dark clouds hanging low and rain sprinkling down to the streets below. “I told you to tell the Hydro Archon I’m going to Mondstadt.”

“Why are you going there? Why? Answer me,” her mother’s voice rose, eyes tearing up as she stepped closer to his soulmate. She stepped back, freezing her mother in place.

“Have you ever communicated with your soulmate through thoughts? The words that show up on your forearm?” she finally asked, tone harsh and accusing, a sudden change of subject.

Dottore paused, trying to put together what this might be about now. This was another reason why he hated these damn dreams, he never had any context behind what was happening and Dottore hated not knowing things.

“What sort of question is that?” her mother hissed, taken aback. “Of course-”

Her mother cut herself off suddenly, brows furrowing and lips twisting into a deep frown. Dottore could feel his soulmate swallow thickly, watching the reaction to her question. She had been expecting this and he wasn’t sure if it was dread or satisfaction pooling in her stomach--maybe both.

“Have you ever thought about why you don’t communicate through it? Have you ever tried and he just doesn’t respond? Do you try flicking your thread? Does he flick it back?” his soulmate let loose a barrage of questions and a creeping suspicion began to arise, wondering if she was implying what he thought she was.

“What are you trying to say?” her mother shook her head, stepping away. “Enough.”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” his soulmate responded, turning on her heel to leave the room. “But maybe you should think about it.”

She didn’t say anything else as she left the room and finally, Dottore could think.

She was accusing her stepfather of faking the bond with her mother, Dottore realized. But how would he do that? He knew people were capable of faking bonds through old magics but as far as he was aware that type of magic was all but lost… Dottore’s mind was suddenly racing, remembering all of the things he had forgotten in the last dream he had of her past: what he had figured out about the spy in the upper ranks of the Fatui and they had a spy in Fontaine, one of Arlecchino’s spiders and Arlecchino was capable of the old magic, and his soulmate was coming north to Snezhnaya so obviously she must have reason to believe that it had something to do with the Fatui, could it be-

Dottore felt a headache coming on.

He had a feeling that this was going to be very, very bad.

You woke up with a sharp, shaky breath. Your hand flew to your chest as you sat up straight, reeling from what you had just experienced. Blood, anger, betrayal, hope--what could you remember? What could you remember?

You scrambled to the small table at your bedside immediately, grabbing your notebook and panicking to find the pen that had fallen to the floor. You dropped to your hands and knees, fumbling around in the dark until you found it beneath your bed. You didn’t even bother rising to your feet again as you made yourself comfortable on the floor so you could start jotting down everything you remembered.

A cold, empty room. Six people. Exile? Sins and virtues. Lots of blood. An automaton. Uncontrollable, sickening rage. An unfamiliar figure. War.

War.

But what was the context? Your head was pounding as you tried to remember, you wondered if Celestia was warning you against trying to push too hard for information you’re not meant to remember yet. You didn’t care. You had to know.

War. The rebellion stirring in the north. But what about it? What was the damn context?

You glanced down at your forearm, frustration pricking at you as the window above you rattled against the Snezhnayan winter storm. You could feel the freezing air even from inside the warm room with the fireplace burning on the opposite wall--it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, the cold storms at the estate that you thought were the end of the world paled in comparison to this.

You wanted to yell at him, demand to know who he was and what he had done, beg him for the answers that you should’ve received by now… but you remembered the words scrawled across your forearm, the cruel words that cut deeper than any of the nasty words that had been spat at you by people throughout your life.

He did not care about you, you reminded yourself, you have more self-respect than this. Do not reach out to him.

You sighed heavily, arm dropping to your side as you stared back up at the window, watching a branch scrape against the glass over and over and over again. You were only on the Snezhnayan border but already you were feeling anxious--you had half a mind to turn back but the only thing stopping you was the memory of your father, the lust for justice, vengeance. You couldn’t turn back, not until you had all of the information you needed, not until you were sure you could return to Fontaine and have your stepfather imprisoned in the Black Cells.

There was a heavy feeling in your heart as you pushed yourself back off the floor, putting the notebook away and taking a seat back on the thin mattress of the inn you were staying at, the wood of the bed frame creaking beneath you.

You had a distinct feeling that your journey to find proof against your stepfather would lead you to him as well.

He sat upright, eyes wild as he tried to figure out where he was. His heart was racing, anger was still flooding his blood, he breathed in and out deeply as he tried to regain control of himself. He was back in his lab--not dealing with any more of those god forsaken dreams. He wanted to spit out a string of vile curses up toward the gods but he refrained, trying to piece together what he could remember before the vague memories faded.

He flipped over the parchment he had been taking notes on before he had fallen asleep, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his pen to the paper and noted down all of the hazy details.

Flowers. Wrio? Betrothed?? Mother. Leaving. Snezhnaya.

Dottore exhaled, gaze zeroing in on the third word of his list--betrothed. He glanced down at the thread connected to his thumb, inhaling deeply as an unfamiliar emotion began to churn inside of him. Before it could take hold, Dottore diverted his attention to the last two words.

Leaving. Snezhnaya.

What did that mean? What was the context? He couldn’t remember. Was she coming to Snezhnaya? Was she in Snezhnaya and leaving? Or did the two words not have any connection?

No, they had to be connected. It was something important, he knew that much at least, but what? The answer was on the tip of his tongue and again that temper of his began to thin, what was the answer? What was the goddamn answer? Why was she coming to Snezhnaya?

Should he ask?

The option rang damning through his head as he looked down at his forearm. She could be in danger if she came to Snezhnaya--the nation was becoming more and more antagonistic to outsiders, especially outsiders from Fontaine and Natlan and especially because of the masked hostile that was running through Fatui camps and slaughtering their underlings. No matter how much Pulcinella and Pantalone demanded that they take caution with outsiders, there was no telling what a heat of the moment reaction could lead to if there was a possible threat and Arlecchino had made clear that Fontaine was on the verge of becoming a threat to the Fatui.

As he contemplated his choices, Dottore suddenly paused, another realization hitting him suddenly: if he had dreamt of her past then…

Then she dreamed of his past.

Dottore waited, staring at his forearm--waiting for the questions, the disgust, the horror. It was inevitable, he knew it. Last time, he assumed they dreamed of similar time periods of their life. Hers was when she was young, five to twelve years old between both dreams, he assumed; and the word he received from her was cursed, which was directed at him from when he was a child up until he was chased from the village at ten. And if the time periods were similar… that left his Akademiya and post-Akademiya era up as options for what she could have dreamt about, and neither of those periods of his life were particularly pleasant.

He waited and he waited and he waited… but nothing showed up on his forearm, not a question nor an accusation, no emotion spread through him that he thought might’ve been hers--just emptiness, just like it had been for the past week and a half.

Dottore exhaled heavily, leaning back against his seat and staring up at the ceiling above him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with this and how he was supposed to make sure she didn’t get herself killed traveling through Snezhnaya.

The week and a half of peace was over and he realized, quickly, that it had only been the calm before the storm.

rbs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

994 notes · View notes

ghostbeam · 8 months

Text

all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter | dabi/touya todoroki

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

notes: hiiiiii so this is a repost from last year because I unfortunately did not have time to finish dabi’s birthday fic and then I remembered I deleted this one from tumblr bc I suddenly hated it ajshsjhdjd but anyways I edited it a bit but it’s also on ao3 (unedited but I’ll do that later) soooo yeah happy birthday to my greatest love or whatever (gross)

warnings: minors dni, no smut but implied sex, f!reader, blood and injury, angst, hurt/comfort, dabi picks reader up

words: 2.7k

Dabi returns home to you on a Thursday afternoon. He carries a beat-up overnight bag not filled with much since most of his wardrobe now lives in your closet, his toothbrush sits next to your sink, and his stash of fancy chocolates lies inside one of the drawers in your kitchen.

He drops the bag at his feet as he steps through the door, the key you made for him hanging around his pointer finger as he slams it shut with one foot, opening his arms for you to greet him with a hug.

His arms wrap around you tightly, walking you backward as he buries his face in your neck. He’s been gone for a little longer than a week, off on a mission for the league in a few cities over, a mission that you are completely unaware of. As far as you know, Dabi was visiting his family.

“Missed you.” You murmur against his neck. Dabi lets out a deep breath, preparing to pull away to look at your face. He cups your cheeks in his hands and grins.

“Really?” He questions. You reach your hands up to rest over his wrists.

“Mhm,” you nod, “did you miss me?”

“What do you think?” He rolls his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he drops one hand to your waist and pinches your cheek with the other. You swat his hand away, glaring at him, but it only makes him smile.

“I think maybe you did.” You shrug in his arms, “You know, judging from all of the random pictures of cats you saw on the street, and the constant messages asking what I was doing, and all the times you asked for pictures—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He shushes you again with another kiss to your lips, deeper and hungrier than before. You’re breathless when he pulls away.

“You totally missed me.” You tease, pulling away from him and walking past him to the door. He sends a slap to your ass that makes you jump as you walk by, shoving him away so that you can pick up the bag he abandoned when he arrived.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much in here.” You comment, judging by the weight.

Dabi hadn’t packed much for the mission, just enough to get by in the shitty hideout that Shigaraki had set up for him. But you aren’t meant to know about that, so Dabi lies.

“I dropped some stuff at my place.” He shrugs as you look inside. You pull out a cheap box of black hair dye, looking up at him.

“Your roots are showing?” You question, and he nods.

“You cover them up the best.”

“Oh, yeah? How can you know that? Are there other people dying your roots for you?” You cross your arms over your chest. Dabi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in.

“Maybe.” He smirks. You let your jaw fall open, pushing on his chest. But Dabi keeps a tight grip on you.

“Then they can dye it!” You resist, but Dabi pushes your arms down at your sides, trapping you there. He shakes his head, placing kisses across your face as you try to stifle the giggles that threaten to bubble from your throat.

“C’mon,” He rasps, resting his forehead against yours, “you know there’s only you. I don’t think I could find anyone else to put up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with anything.” You say, softly. Dabi pulls away to look at you. “‘Course, I’ll help you with your roots.”

The process is easy enough, one you’ve gone through many many times with him, something Dabi considers important to him. It’s that mix of being taken care of and trusting someone enough to allow it. Dabi couldn’t remember what that felt like—until you.

In the beginning, Dabi resisted you. He hated that wanting feeling and tried to ignore the burning in his chest when he looked at you. You came along and threw his priorities all out of whack, and Dabi was furious with himself for even considering you.

But at some point, the want became need, and there was no longer any doubt about keeping you in his life. Even if it meant hiding things from you. He never planned on not telling you about his villainous activities. He thought about getting it out of the way for a long time. He would tell you and maybe you would scream or cry or call the heroes. Or you’d tell him you hated him, and that had always seemed much worse than being locked up. So want was need, and Dabi was not Dabi he was just yours, and you were something he couldn’t stand to lose.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly way older than you look?” You question him, washing his hair over your tub after letting the dye sit in his white roots. Black swirls around your drain as he chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure.” He says, before pausing to look up at you “Unless…do you maybe have a thing for older guys?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head back under the running water.

“I mean, I am getting up there. I’ll be twenty-five soon. Does that turn you on?” He teases.

“You are the worst. Wash your own hair.” You groan. You watch him run his fingers through his hair to get the rest of the dye out, thinking about his words again. “How soon?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning off the water and taking the towel that hung over the tub. You watch him scrub his hair with his brows furrowed.

“How soon will you be twenty-five?” A smile stretches across his face, and he wraps the damp towel around his neck to free his hands. He reaches for you, pulling you towards his chest.

“God, you totally can’t wait ‘till I'm old and gray, can you?” You roll your eyes at him, pushing at him lightly.

“I’m asking about your birthday.” You stare at him. Dabi looks away from you for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, cause you’re counting the days.” He smirks. You hook your hands around the towel around his neck and pull him down to your level.

“Dabi.” You warn, touching your forehead to his.

“You know, you really can’t get this close to me and expect me not to kiss you.” He speaks, bumping his nose against yours. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and you slowly begin to lean in. Dabi leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, but you don’t let him linger for long. He follows after you, eyes still closed, satisfied with moving to your jaw once you’ve pulled away.

“When is your birthday?” You ask him, a little breathless. He places a soft bite at the side of your neck that makes you shudder before speaking.

“It’s Wednesday.” He speaks against your neck. You freeze, moving your hands up to his head to pull him from your neck.

“This Wednesday? As in a few days from now?” You ask, your hands still in his wet hair.

“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” He tells you. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he celebrated a birthday. He most likely would have missed it if you hadn’t brought it up.

For Dabi, birthdays are a reminder of time working against him, of the clock ticking on all of his plans, everything he’s working towards. He’s also reminded of how those plans seem so small now, compared to waking up with you in his arms every morning.

“We don’t have to make a big deal of it.” You tell him. You move your hands from his head down to rest on his chest. “Can I just…make you dinner or something? Or I can order from that one place you like?”

“Just dinner?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. Dabi squeezes your hips, making you yelp and you jolt in his arms. He smiles at the reaction, “Dinner and one gift?”

“No gifts.” He shakes his head, bringing his hand to the back of your head. You look up at him.

“What if it’s the greatest gift ever?” You ask. He smiles softly and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you.

You let him deepen the kiss, though you know it’s a way to distract you, pressing you into the bathroom counter as he traces your lips with his tongue. Your hands tangle in his newly dyed hair, arching into him as he moves his lips against yours. He lifts you onto the counter, pulling away from your lips to place kisses against your neck.

“C’mon,” You try, your breath catching in your throat, “just one.”

He bites down on your shoulder hard, earning a soft moan from your throat. He kisses over the mark, leaving more kisses down your chest, “No gifts.”

He runs his hands up your thighs as he lowers himself to the ground. He draws circles on the inside of your thighs, looking up at you. “Yeah?”

“No gifts.” You say, running a hand through his hair. He grins at you, kissing your thighs. “Just come at six okay?”

“I’ll be here.” He promises, biting your skin and making you shiver. “Now shut up. I missed you.”

….

Wednesday arrives quickly. You send a happy birthday text to Dabi paired with a scandalous photo of the blue underwear you’re wearing underneath one of his shirts, and he answers immediately. You remind him of what time he’s supposed to come by before leaving your phone behind on your bed to get ready for the day.

The League of Villains, the anchor calls them, a name you find vaguely familiar. You don’t pay much attention to the news at all, but you can recall hearing of the group in passing. You don’t expect to hear your boyfriend's name in relation to them. You, at the very least, have half a mind to turn the stove off before you sink to the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. A villain. Dabi is a villain. For some reason, it doesn’t scare you as much as it should. More than anything, you’re upset about being lied to.

You know that the smart thing to do is call someone, the police, a hero, get someplace safe. You don’t want to do any of that though. You want to stare at the cabinets in front of you, and you want Dabi to come home.

You can’t think of anything but him, not the damage he’s done or the people he’s done it to, just him and the promise of his presence at your door at six o’clock. You can figure out the rest later.

He isn’t there at six, though, or seven or eight or any hour after that. You sit on the floor with the buzzing of voices on your television for hours before you pick yourself up. You pack up dinner numbly, placing things into tupperware that you put in the fridge without thinking. You turn the TV off, and you don’t change out of the dress you wore tonight specifically for him, and you don’t wash your face either. You just pull back the covers to your bed and clutch Dabi’s pillow tight. You don’t fall asleep.

Dabi comes home at around two a.m. He stumbles through your front door and leaves his key in the lock, slumping against the counter. He hears you come out of the bedroom, stopping at the end of the hallway and staring at him. He looks up at you for a moment but averts his gaze in shame. He’s a mess, staples missing and bleeding from his seams. His skin is raw and irritated against his clothes, and he’s sure some of his ribs are bruised.

And you, you look gorgeous, in that dress that Dabi’s always liked on you, your mascara lightly smeared underneath your eyes. Have you been crying? He can’t tell. He hopes you weren’t, not for him.

You walk toward him slowly, a little cautious, caught in between yelling at him or holding him. You can yell later, you think. Right now, you just want to stop the bleeding from his face and ice whatever injury he’s clutching at his side.

Approaching him, you bring your hands to rest at the side of his neck, urging him to look at you. He won’t. You sigh and push yourself closer to him. He doesn't move away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, blood smearing across your skin, and you bring a hand down to his.

Silently, you pull away, tugging lightly on his hand for him to follow you. He stumbles for a moment before catching himself, walking behind you into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and thinks about when you dyed his hair for him, how long ago that feels now, how you might never do it again after tonight.

He watches you pull a first aid kit out from beneath your sink, rummaging through the supplies and setting them on the counter. You wash your hands and dampen a cloth, before leaning down to gently clean up the blood on his face. You do it all in silence, gently pulling away any staples that are near falling out, careful not to hurt him more than he already is. You remove his jacket from his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head, examining the rest of the seams in his skin. The ghost of a bruise is forming on his ribs, and you stand up to find something to ice it. Touya grabs your wrist before you can leave, his grip limp, tired. You could pull away easily if you wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps. You pause, turning around to look at him.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him.

“I’m late.” He says. “And I’m–”

“I don’t care.” You don’t care about what you saw on TV, or how late he was. You don’t even really care about the lying anymore, not when he’s bleeding on your bathtub.

Dabi stands with a groan, and you reach toward him to steady him. He takes the cloth from you and rests a hand on the back of your neck. He gently wipes your cheek in the place where his blood is smeared. You close your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders leave your body.

“Things are never going to be how they are now ever again, you know.” He speaks, setting the towel down on the counter. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “You’ll know everything because I’m not going to hide it from you anymore, all of the gory details, everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do.”

“Dabi.” You try to speak, but he doesn't let you. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, keeping you focused on him.

“I’m not a good man, and I don’t deserve you. And if I was better, I would let you walk out of here. But I’m not. I’ve always been weak, and I’m not losing you.” He’s desperate, so afraid that you’ll walk away, leave him, tell him he’s too much. “So you have to tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“I want it.” You speak, almost frantically. “Maybe something is wrong with me, but the only thing that mattered to me tonight was that you’d come home.”

“I am home.” He speaks, pulling you tight against his chest. He winces at the pressure on his ribs, but when you try to pull away, he only squeezes tighter. “I’m home.”

You wrap your arms around him, “Sorry your birthday sucked so bad.”

“We’ll try again next year.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

148 notes · View notes